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heirofnight · 15 days

Text

between you & i

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 2.5k

summary: reader departs on a solo intel mission after ignoring azriel's warnings of danger. reader ends up captured, and guess who ends up coming to her rescue? you guessed it, a pissed off az. enemies to lovers. reader and az do not like each other. yum.

warnings: talk of injuries, being captured, abuse, minor self-deprecation.

you currently found yourself in a bit of a ... precarious situation. to say the least.

your sweat-dampened hair was matted to the sides of your cheeks, your forehead.

holy gods, was it fucking hot in here.

you pressed the back of your head against the stone wall behind you, hoping that the cool brick would offer some reprieve against the sweltering heat.

oh yeah, by the way, the stone wall that you were sat against belonged to a cell. a cell that you were definitely, undoubtedly, locked inside of.

your wrists were bound in chains, your arms bunched behind you haphazardly. this really, really fucking sucked. rhysand would be so pissed.

you huffed out a breath, eyes cast towards the ceiling that was covered in vines, weeds, and moss. you zoned out, reflecting on the happenings that consequently landed you here.

"are you absolutely sure that you'd rather travel alone, y/n?," rhysand had questioned you the evening prior, expression littered with apprehension and hesitation.

you'd rolled your eyes at his protective concern, a smirk playing on your lips.

"rhys, it's a singular little mission to the autumn court," you'd countered, "i'll be back in what - two, three days?," you'd continued, flicking strands of hair over your shoulders. you were hardly concerned - after all, you'd collected intel for rhysand countless times, and you'd always walked away unscathed.

you were a scholar, and this was a huge part of your job within the night court - the chance of running into trouble was slim-to-none. your task involved meeting eris within the outskirts of his territory, collecting confidential information on the inner-political developments occurring within the crisp autumn court for rhys. easy, peasy.

something you could have done blindfolded, hands tied.

which, now, considering your current circumstances, that part had literally come to fruition.

azriel had stood in utter stoicism next to the head of rhys' polished mahogany desk, brows cinched together, eyes hard.

"no, it's unwise," he'd uttered, voice cold and deep - the first words he'd spoken since you'd arrived for your mission debrief.

you and azriel were - well, complicated. while you didn't absolutely loathe each other, there was this very prominent undertone of thick, suffocating tension that had formed a barrier between the both of you. you'd both opted to tread lightly each other - civil when necessary, silent and aloof otherwise.

he'd never really seemed to give much of a shit about you, so this outburst was unlike him.

his words caused you to sit up infinitesimally straighter, eyes locked on his strong frame from across the room.

"and why's that?," you'd questioned, voice sounding bored, dismissive of his opinion.

"too much unrest across his lands as of late," he offered, shifting within his boots just slightly, "we aren't entirely sure who, or what, is patrolling that area. it's dangerous, i should accompany you," he'd finished, sounding as though he'd already made his mind up.

you'd scoffed at the suggestion, standing with the intention of taking your leave before azriel was able to convince rhys any differently.

"no, thank you, shadowsinger," you'd waved a hand in dismissal, waltzing towards the large, wooden double doors of the office.

"i don't need to be coddled, i think i can manage on my own just fine," you'd added, back turned to the two males.

it was azriel's turn to scoff in exasperation, and although you couldn't see him, you could hear his wings rustle in irritation. the thought made you smirk to yourself, reveling in the idea of getting a rise out of the normally impassive spy.

"now, y/n,-," rhys began, his voice laced with consideration.

"i'll see the both of you in a few days," you'd cut him off, letting the door shut behind you with a resounding thud, the sound echoing down the stone halls.

and that was that. you'd decided to depart first thing this morning, hoping to avoid either one of the busybody males just in case rhys had commanded azriel to travel with you, after all.

you rolled your eyes, shuffling slightly against the cell floor as you thought of the verbal lashing you'd receive once you got back to velaris.

azriel would probably be present while rhysand berated you for this catastrophic mistake, and if you thought hard enough, you could just picture the smug smirk that would more than likely be adorning his polished features. az would be enjoying the fact that he was correct, sunbathing himself in your downfall, your failure.

the thought filled you with so much rage, so much embarrassment. it caused your skin to flush and grow even hotter, which was a feat in itself since you didn't think it was possible for the stifling heat to get worse.

you'd been captured by a lone group of autumn court rebels, who'd just happened to be traveling along the exact same path you'd taken to meet eris. you weren't sure what their plans were for you - a night court female. they knew who you were, they knew you were employed with rhys. if you had to guess, they were holding you hostage to use as some sort of bargaining chip.

regardless, it'd been twelve hours since you'd been tossed into this cell. you had not the slightest clue where you even were in relation to the court itself. you'd been blindfolded and jostled about, and your sense of direction had been destroyed in the process.

you were so, so thirsty. your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, throat dry enough that it felt like you'd ingested hot coals each time you struggled to swallow.

you were nervous, yes. on edge. your feathers were ruffled. but you knew eris would report your absence to rhysand. it was only a matter of time before someone found you. and when they did, you'd be reprimanded endlessly. you'd probably never hear the end of it - never be allowed to depart on solo missions again. you'd probably be stuck with azriel, that self-righteous, arrogant -

your thoughts came to a screeching halt once you noticed that the cell had become dark. it was mid-afternoon, and barred holes in the wall had been allowing the afternoon light to filter into the small space. which honestly, with this heat, felt like an additional form of torture.

but now, a chill filled the darkened air. no light filtered through - not even a pin-prick of luminance could be accounted for. you couldn't see inches ahead of you. your spine straightened, your head perked up. and before you could make heads or tails of the odd infiltrating darkness, it had dissipated entirely.

you blinked several times, weary, exhausted eyes struggling to acclimate to the warm light.

but once you'd righted yourself, you saw it. saw him.

azriel stood before you, half of his body swathed in swirling shadows. his arms were folded across his chest, eyes narrowed in distaste as he took in the sight of you - battered, bruised, filthy, restrained. his wings rustled several times before pulling tightly into his back, clearly agitated.

his jaw ticked in anger, and he dropped his head to avert his gaze to the cell floor at his feet. his muscles flexed with tension, and he was pissed.

and while you assumed the anger was directed at you, at your stupidity, azriel was biting back the urge to level the entire autumn court for what those males had done to you.

you swallowed hard, throat burning from the action. you opted to not speak, fully understanding how monumental this fuck-up was. you hadn't even departed velaris with a weapon strapped to your body, completely void of protection. so, so stupid.

"how could you be so foolish," azriel sneered, his arms dropping to his sides, clenched fists flexing. his voice was so low, so cold, you'd finally understood how he was able to intimidate his victims to the point of broken resolve.

you looked down, ashamed, embarrassed.

"i didn't-," you started, voice hoarse.

azriel huffed angrily at the sound of it.

"no, you didn't," he cut you off, stepping towards you with a leveled thump of his boots. "you didn't," he continued, tone laced with contempt.

"you didn't think. you didn't consider how dangerous-," he paused, having to take a deep, steady breath to compose himself.

you continued staring at the floor, anywhere but him. you definitely didn't dare look at his face, his eyes as they bore into you.

"look at me," he commanded, voice growing harsh.

you averted your gaze from the floor, choosing to stare at the bright, barred window that was cut into the upper left wall instead.

"y/n," he growled, stooping down to your level to grab your chin between his thumb and pointer fingers. his grip wasn't harsh - probably due to him being careful of exacerbating any potential injuries - but it was demanding. "look at me," he repeated.

you caved, meeting his hard hazel eyes with hesitation. you tried your damndest to look as unfazed and unwavering as possible - as though being captured and beaten hadn't taken a toll on you. but when you met his familiar face, took in his features and realized you were being saved, you faltered. relief flooded your veins, overflowing until it reached your softening eyes.

unshed tears began to well up, and you used every ounce of willpower that you had left to not allow them to fall.

azriel's expression became tender as he took you in, as he studied your expression. he saw your bruises and scrapes up close now, and he dropped his head once more, shoulders drooping slightly.

"you could have gotten yourself killed," he croaked, anger still lacing his words.

"so, what," you deadpanned, voice rasping, "then you would have been right, about me - about this mission. about how foolishly incapable i am," you said solemnly, jerking your chin from his unfaltering grip.

he snapped his head upward, meeting your eyes immediately. his brows cinched, and you momentarily observed the splattering of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose - you'd never noticed them before, had never been this close to him.

he blinked once, twice - his long, thick lashes whispering across his skin as he did so.

"that's what you think this is about?," he questioned, voice breathless in disbelief.

you scoffed weakly, pushing yourself up further against the damp wall behind you.

"please, azriel. you've never been subtle about how incompetent you find me," your voice coated in disdain.

he let out a slow breath, shaking his head as he absorbed your words.

"no, y/n," he grunted, his hands moving forward to begin working at the cuffs around your wrists. you'd both needed to get the hell out of here, urgently. it had been hours since you'd last seen your captors, and you were both painfully aware of the likelihood that they'd return.

could azriel singlehandedly fight off an entire hoard of rebels? absolutely. did he want to dismember and mutilate the males that did this to you? abso-fucking-lutely. but more than that, he wanted to get you home, safe, and with madra.

you hissed as he began to work his deft hands around the harsh chains. they'd been pulled so tightly to your skin, that you'd already come to terms with the possibility of losing circulation to the limbs.

his eyes flickered up to your face at the sound of your discomfort, and he winced at the realization of causing you further pain.

"i've never thought that you were incompetent," he continued as he worked, using his words to distract you from the pain he was inflicting, "hotheaded? yes, confident to a fault? sometimes," he continued, and you scoffed at his jabs.

"azriel, just shut the fu-," you blurted, his words bristling your already raw skin.

"but," he cut you off, continuing on with his tangent, "you are also strong, brave - obviously. loyal to your court, to rhys," he went on, pausing for a moment, "and i've always admired you," he finished, voice lowering.

you went silent, considering his words. you became painfully aware of his close proximity, of his hands against your swollen wrists as he fought to free you.

his eyes flitted to your softening expression, gauging your reaction to his words.

and internally, you were realizing for the first time, that maybe you and azriel were more alike than you'd initially thought.

he finally freed your hands, and you groaned at the relief, at the blood rushing down to the stiff limbs.

he helped you gently, bringing your arms back to the front of your exhausted frame. you closed your eyes for a moment, taking deep, even breaths at the feeling of being free, being saved. by azriel.

"how did you know where to find me?," you croaked, peeking one eye open to look up at the male before you. he was crouched closer to you now, poised to catch you if you careened over.

"eris relayed the information to rhys - the general whereabouts of your planned meeting location," he began, eyes flicking over your entire body to scan for any other injuries.

"and rhysand sent you to track me down?," you questioned, assuming that it was a command from his high lord - a decision he didn't make.

"i didn't give him the chance to," he offered, swallowing thickly, "i was at autumn's border before eris finished his report," he cleared his throat, cheeks tinting the slightest shade of pink.

there was a slight pause.

"he didn't have a choice," he spoke, voice deep and gravelly. he met your eyes with that last statement, as if to make a point.

you sat up slightly, reeling with the words azriel had spoken. they blanketed the both of you, sitting heavy against your chest.

azriel had chosen to track you down, to save you? not only that, but it seemed like it was almost second nature for him. to seek you out, to rescue you.

you opened and closed your mouth several times, looking for the right words. nothing you'd come up with was good enough.

"let's get you home," he said softly, reaching under your limp frame to hoist you into his strong arms. you whined quietly, your body rebuking the movement.

"i know," he soothed, bracing you against his chest.

and then you were both wrapped in endless shadows and night.

cradled against your tall, strong salvation.

things had irrevocably changed between you and azriel after that. you'd both known it.

and sure enough, from that day onward, he was your chosen partner on every mission you'd decide to embark on. and azriel had insisted the same.

choosing each other, time and time again.

and sometimes, when you'd both inevitably need to stop for the evening - finding reprieve in a shoddy inn after a grueling travel day, azriel would request a room with just one bed.

and what happened under the covers on those evenings - when your body would melt into his, his forehead pressed against yours, explorative hands learning each other -

well, that was just between the both of you.

a/n: another one shot that just demanded to be written immediately. brought on by scrolling on tiktok lmao. hope u loved it! let me know your thoughts <3

#azriel #azriel acotar #acotar #azriel fic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #azriel angst

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romanticintheory · 5 months

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thinking about fellow soldier!reader coming back to ghost after having been mistaken for kia

gn!reader x simon "ghost" riley

-maybe he's back in your shared apartment, holding the last photo he took with you.

-it was taken the day of your birthday, with your arms around simon's waist and a gleeful smile permanently etched on your face.

-you were looking directly at the camera with your eyes crinkled at the corners. simon, however, was looking at you and only you with an expression only a lovestruck fool could manage.

-he had long since stopped crying about what he believed was your death. when price came to him with a somber expression and the news that you were on the wrong end of an explosion, the only thing he could do was cry or be angry.

-now, he felt nothing.

-you could imagine his surprise when he hears the front door open. did he forget to lock it? was someone breaking in? he didn't care enough to prepare himself for a potential attack.

-but, no, you walked in with an ungodly amount of bandaged wounds and a tired look on your face.

-you expected him to stand from his place on the sofa to meet you, but he didn't. he thought he was imagining things, again, so he said nothing.

-"simon," you said softly, not bothering to take off your shoes and throwing you things onto the ground next to you.

-still, he said nothing.

-"i'm sorry. i'm so, so sorry. price said he tried to contact you but that you never answered," you continued. nobody knew where you and ghost lived, and simon's grief took the form of self-isolation.

-he still didn't answer you at this point, and it was becoming unsettling.

-"simon, can you hear me?"

-"you're not real," was all he could muster. he didn't have the heart to tell "fake" you to go away or beg himself to wake up from his supposed dream. "i can't do this again. you're not real."

-you realized just how hard your false death had hit him.

-"i'm real. i promise. i was able to take cover last second and-"

-"no. you're dead with not even a body to recover because i wasn't there to protect you. god, i..." the words got stuck in his throat as he leaned forward on the sofa, holding his head in his hands and near trembling.

-you dropped to your knees in front of him like a follower worshipping their god. taking his hands, you held them tight as you could in a silent attempt at convincing him you were alive.

-there was a moment of silence between the two of you before he drew his hands away from yours. it made your heart hurt.

-"simon..." you were grasping at straws, now, trying to figure out how to convince him of what was true. maybe there was something in your luggage that might help.

-as soon as you turned your body to your bags by the front door, you were pulled right back in by a pair of strong arms.

-he was hugging you like the moment he let go, you'd disappear into thin air (and, in a way, he believed it to be a possibility). after being pulled from your shock, you immediately brought your own arms to reciprocate the embrace.

-"(y/n)," he said, trying to keep his voice stable. there was still a part of him that couldn't believe he had you with him. if he weren't so thankful, he'd be lecturing you about acting wreckless on missions and convincing you to quit your job so nothing like this happened again.

-but, for now, he was content like this.

#call of duty imagine #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #cod imagine #cod mw x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost imagine #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #cod angst #call of duty angst #simon riley angst #ghost angst #rara writes

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scoobysnakz · 8 months

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loser miguel who starts to normalize his perverse thoughts because, if he’s thinking nice sweet things, surely they balance out?

he can imagine your plump ass bouncing on his cock as much as he wants, as long as he pictures himself cooking you a romantic meal right after, it’s fine.

loser miguel who can finally start accepting your hugs again. and thank god for that, he thought he was going to combust without your warm embrace. he had gotten so used to not getting them again, that his cock immediately stiffened the first time around, leaving him a blushing mess when you made another joke about his keys.

loser miguel who starts outwardly asking for any form of physical affection. he’s gone so long without any touch that living without your hugs leaves a burning deep inside him.

he shamelessly stands there after saying goodbye, arms outstretched, waiting for you to run over to him and press your smaller frame against him as you bury your head against his chest, forcing you to get dizzy from his cologne.

loser miguel who puts on a show of being embarrassed whenever someone says your his work wife, or simply more than the best friends everyone at the workplace has come to know you as.

they all know you’re a very touchy feely person, but you’re extra clingy with miguel, and he doesn’t mind a bit.

loser miguel who is over the moon when you want to repay him for walking you to your train the other night.

he has a few ideas in mind, you sprawled out on the sofa with his thick fingers burried in your leaky cunt while stares up at your perfect face with those soft, brown eyes of his. his cock sliding against your slick folds as you beg and whine for more doesn’t sound too bad either, if you aren’t down for him ravaging your clit.

loser miguel who has to make do with you buying him lunch one day because you insisted on something other than the ‘quality time’ he proposed. he was too busy forcing himself not to ogle at your face when he suggested it, to even notice the way your gaze softens at his kind offer, or the flicker of hope in your eyes when he smiles awkwardly at you.

loser miguel who’s too self conscious for his own good. he’s been told countless times how easy it would be for him to walk into any bar and have anyone come home with him.

there’s always plenty of girls who throw themselves at him, the waitresses who tell him when their shift ends, the delivery drivers who offer to settle for a different payment, the women he works with offering to stay behind with him to work on different projects. and maybe if he wasn’t so oblivious he would have said yes at some point, too fed up of his palm and whatever fucked up porn he can find to resist the rush of arousal that hits him whenever he sees a pair of tits.

but that was before he’d met you, it’s different. sophia vergara herself could get down on her knees for him and he would deny her. she doesn’t have your smile, your charisma, you cheery laugh, your perky ass, your soft, homely scent that lingers on everything you touch , no one does.

loser miguel who has to excuse himself from the project meeting because he can’t hide his erection, no matter how many times he changes position.

much to his dismay, the toilets are full and your hand placed lazily on his thigh as you idly fidget with his fingers has left him with an achingly hard cock. so he has to hobble down the, thankfully, barren hallways, cock so hard it hurts to walk.

he pulls himself into the lab, door locked firmly behind him as he pushes himself into the corner. hastily, his hands reach for his belt buckle, fingers fumbling with the urgency that shoots through his veins.

a low, shaky groan escapes him as he finally wraps him clammy palm around his cock, precum already spilling everywhere. he starts of with soft, gentle strokes, hoping that it’ll be enough to get him off but all he can think about is the way you leaned into him as the two of you walked into the conference room this morning.

his deep brown eyes scan the lab lazily until they land on your lab coat. in a moment of desperation, he grabs it and brings it up to his nose, cock instantly growing harder as your scent takes over his senses.

his hand moves faster now, more deliberate and hungry strokes that cause his hips to stutter and countless prayers of your name to fall from his lips.

“migs?” for a second he thinks he’s gone insane. he’s started hearing your voice, feeling your warmth, the sweetness of the air around you, when he knows damn well your in that meeting.

“migs, you okay?” you call out again, concern clear in your shaky tone, “the lab was locked but i couldn’t find you anywhere else.”

fuck

you’re in here. but he’s so close and if you keep standing in that exact position he can see your ass without you even knowing he’s there.

“there you are! i was so worried when you rushed out of that meeting,” you ramble, finally turning the corner, only to be met with the sight of miguel’s head rolled back and leaky cock on show with… is that your lab coat?

“fuck! i’m so sorry,” you yell, hands flying up to cover your reddened face.

“ay coño,” he husks, still pumping at his cock, too close to stop now.

you try to back away but those gentle, mahogany eyes you love so much are glowing a fierce red, drawing you in closer to miguel and his burning desire for you.

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tag list: @xxyaoi-nationxx @farrowroyale @m4dyy

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #spider man 2099 #spiderman 2099 #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel fluff #fluff #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x y/n #miguel smut #miguel o hara #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #miguel au

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luveline · 7 months

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If you’re still up for requests — could you maybe do one where peter or remus comes home after a visibly bad day and the reader misinterprets his behavior and assumes he’s upset with her instead ?? like she’s walking on eggshells, silently fussing around trying to figure out what she did, meanwhile all he wants to do is hold her and decompress 🥺☹️

absolutely no pressure! <33

“Oh my god.” Peter lets out a pained groan at the door, followed by the plastic crinkle of shopping bags hitting the floor. “My back. Jesus.”

You look up in surprise from your book at the table. “I thought we were going together?”

“I couldn’t face coming home and going out again.” He drags the bags to the fridge and pauses. “I figured you’d be okay with not having to go?”

“Sure,” you agree immediately. He has a black cranky fog around him, you can practically feel it as you get up to help him unpack the bags. He doesn’t seem best pleased with you.

He rubs his eyes, rubs his mouth, and turns to the sink. He runs the faucet, pulling one of the glasses back off of the draining board to fill, and wincing at the harsh sound when he turns it too fast. Peter forgets his own strength every now and then —usually when he’s not feeling well.

Peter gives you a funny look as you step into his space. You quickly step out of it and start to load groceries into the fridge and cabinets, pleased to find he’s bought the things you would’ve gotten yourself and even some things you’d have wanted but not allowed yourself. Maybe he’s not that mad after all—

“God damn,” he says, rolling an empty bag into a ball in his hand, “I forgot the fucking laundry detergent again.”

“That’s okay–”

“It’s not okay, you’ve asked me to get it three times this week.”

“I was just reminding you,” you say, fingers tingling with the potential of an impending argument. “It’s fine. We haven’t run out yet, we can squeeze another wash out of it. I’ll get some tomorrow.”

He sits down in the chair you’d been sitting in and moves your book and plate of snacks aside, neither gentle nor rough about it. “Damn,” he says again, dropping his face into his hands.

“Pete…”

His eyes must be sore by now he’s rubbing them so much, hands held to his eyes and fingers scratching into his hair. He tips his face toward the table and lets himself sit with whatever it is that’s getting him down. Me, you think worriedly. I shouldn’t have asked him to get groceries today. You knew he had a longer shift than usual, and that he’d want to do some Spidering afterward.

You’ve sorry on the tip of your tongue when he lays his face heavily in one hand, elbow on the table barely keeping him up, and holds the other out toward you. Rejecting him doesn’t even cross your mind.

“Fuck, I missed you today,” he says, taking your hand as soon as you offer it and dragging you toward him. You peer down at him with wide eyes as he wraps his arm around you, his nose quick to hide in the linen of your shirt. His voice tickles, “I just wanted to be with you. I knew this would make me feel better.”

There’s a little dry barb at the back of your throat you can’t speak past. Peter doesn’t notice, rubbing his cheek in your side as he repositions you for optimal hugging. He lets out a self-pitying whine, second arm joining the first in a lock behind your back. “You smell amazing.”

“I do?” you ask finally.

“I think you’re just made for me, angel,” he says, voice dragging with fatigue. “You always smell good.”

You squint with lips pursed, blinking in confusion as you bring your hand up to his hair. “Thanks for going to the store.”

“You’re welcome. I can’t function without groceries either, anyways.” He sighs with the particular Parker brand of lovelorn contentedness, a familiar sound. He makes the same noise when you’re tucked up in bed together on the weekends with nowhere to go, or holding hands on the subway travelling home, knee to knee or intertwined. “Can’t believe how quickly you make me feel better,” he murmurs.

“I kinda thought you were mad at me,” you confess, matching his tone.

“You have some strange wires crossed in your brain,” he says. His sympathy and affection for you is palpable; his hand tracks a soft line down the curve of your back.

“Yeah, I know. Do you want me to rub your shoulders?” you ask, pressing your face to the mop of his thick hair.

He hugs you tightly. “You’re my dream girl.”

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pathologicalreid · 18 days

Note

what about Spencer x reader in a relationship and readers struggling with drug addiction?

and now i have to act like i can't read your mind | S.R.

your sobriety is broken by an old 'friend', and spencer's there to help you navigate a new reality

who: spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst, hurt/comfort content warnings: drug use, being drugged, spencer's addiction (pre-s12, i was thinking s9), attempted sa, probably inaccurate bc i've never been a drug addict (only dated one), rehab, sobriety, self harm and death. hospitals. take care while reading. word count: 2.6k a/n: i love you cool about it i love you boygenius i love you spencer reid

You could hear your own heartbeat, it was so loud that, for a moment, you could convince yourself that your heart was migrating through your body. The cold of the bathroom tiles sept into your skin as you willed it to cool down the rest of your body. Your inability to recall how you ended up on the bathroom floor didn’t concern you, the only thing you could think of was getting the rest of your body to feel as cold as the bathroom floor.

And then the knocking on the door woke you up. Quick, frantic knocks at the bathroom door jolted you awake as you blinked the sleep out of your eyes, “Y/N, open the door,” Spencer said from the other side of the door.

Against your better judgment, you didn’t move to open the door. “I don’t have anything,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes as they struggled to focus in the bathroom, only a nightlight available to illuminate the small space. You sat up, using the edge of the bathtub as a backrest as you took a deep breath, imagining air swirling through your lungs as you did so.

“Baby, you have to open the door for me,” he begged, fidgeting with the door handle. At some point in your exhaustion, you must have broken the number one rule in your apartment – no locked doors. Obviously, he hadn’t heard your response, because he just continued to knock, “I need to know that you’re okay.”

Besides a crick in your neck from sleeping on the mosaic tile, you were fine, but Spencer didn’t wait for an answer from you before swinging the door open, the key still in the lock. “I’m fine,” you told him, but he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking around the bathroom. “There’s nothing in here,” you said, knowing he’d still look.

After he had done a once over of the bathroom, he crouched in front of you, “You fell asleep in the bathroom?” His brows were furrowed in concern as he hooked a finger beneath your chin and tilted your head to the side, inspecting the imprint the tiles had made on your cheek.

You nodded dejectedly, “I didn’t feel well, I must’ve locked the door on instinct, but I…” Your voice trailed off, thinking about the bathroom in your dream. “I was in the bathroom?”

Spencer gave you a confused look, “You’re still in the bathroom?” He responded, feeling your head with the back of his hand as if he was checking for a fever.

“No, at the bar,” you clarified, “I was in the bathroom.”

He swallowed thickly, studying your expression for a moment before answering, “Yeah, that’s where they found you.”

‘They’ being the group of college friends that you had gone out with last weekend, just a small get-together while a few of them were in town. It had been a perfectly fine outing until one of them had slipped something in your drink, knowing your history with drugs, he had thought he could brush it off by telling people you relapsed.

Ten years. Ten years clean. Ten years without a pill. Ten years reduced to six days, just because a guy you went to college with wanted a quick fuck.

But his business degree hadn’t taught him how to measure the drugs he had gotten from god knows where, and in the process, he nearly killed you. You excused yourself to the bathroom where you promptly keeled over, hitting the ground hard enough to bruise the side of your body.

A college girl, who you’d never be able to thank, had found you and called an ambulance, and one of your friends had called Spencer.

You reached up and wiped at your face, “I didn’t take the drugs,” you mumbled, pulling your knees to your chest.

“I know, baby, I know,” Spencer told you, reaching out and gingerly resting a hand on your shoulder. He had been your biggest advocate in the hospital, requesting new nurses if any of them even dared to look at you funny, turning away visitors on your behalf, and letting you cry into his shoulder when he had to be the one to explain what happened.

Spencer had been the one to insist something was wrong, his rational mind couldn’t find any justification for why you would try to overdose on ketamine after being off narcotics for a decade. Without leaving your bedside, he asked the BAU to get security footage from the bar, and just like that, you were no longer a strung-out addict but a victim.

You didn’t remember much of anything from that night, bits and pieces came back to you in flashes, but you’d have to learn to be okay with never having memories of that night. You had lost something so dear to you, and you were struggling with trying to choose if it was better to have no memory or to remember everything.

The hospital staff kept you overnight, waiting for the drugs to leave your system until Spencer brought you home. He was taking time off to stay with you, taking every snide remark that you threw in his direction because he knew. He knew you were retaliating against what had happened to you, and he knew that none of the anger you felt was genuinely directed at him.

Once you had gotten home, the first thing you told Spencer was that you wished he had killed you.

The only person in your life who would understand was Spencer, but he still had to take precautions. He changed the code on his gun safe, all sharp objects were now out of reach, and when he searched the bathroom earlier, he was looking for something you could use to hurt yourself.

Resting your chin on your knee, you sighed and closed your eyes. You looked outside the bathroom, the faint glow of a lamp emanating from the bedroom, “What time is it?”

“Almost four,” Spencer answered, that would be four in the morning then.

You still had a few hours before you needed to get up and face the day, there were therapists to see and NA meetings to attend. “Are you going to work today?” You opened your eyes to see that Spencer had joined you in sitting on the floor.

He shook his head, “No, I’m gonna stay with you for at least a few more days.”

A certain kind of guilt built in your stomach when Spencer stayed away from work on your behalf like you were dooming people by keeping him from the FBI. “Maybe you should just have me committed,” you told him, wrapping your arms around your knees, trying to make yourself seem as small as possible.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” he said, giving you a knowing look. “Do you think that’s your next step? In-patient rehab?”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you tightened your grip on your legs, “You could go back to work if you didn’t have to stay back and babysit me.”

The dim lamp from the bedroom cast abstract shadows across his face, “I’m not particularly concerned about work right now.”

Pulling yourself up from the floor, you turned on the tap and splashed your face with cold water before switching the water off. “You and I know you don’t get enough PTO to keep staying home with me,” you snatched a washcloth from the towel bar, pressing the cotton to your skin and groaning.

“I’ve worked it out,” he responded, providing you with no more details – they weren’t strictly necessary.

Setting the towel back in its place, you sniffled before turning to face him, “Give Dave his PTO back, Spencer.”

Rising to his feet, he looked at you with misery in his eyes – misery you had caused. “It’s already gone through to HR, and for the record, everyone pitched in to help, Y/N.”

“God, fuck the record! I don’t care if the director himself came to you and gave you more time off, you don’t need it,” you told him, dramatically trudging out of the bathroom with Spencer following close behind.

Instead of meeting his eyes, you focused on his hair, a single strand had fallen across his forehead. “I can’t in good conscience leave you alone. Baby, you have to understand that. I know how you’re feeling right now.”

You scoffed, “You have no fucking idea what I’m going through right now.”

That wasn’t technically true though. Spencer sighed, taking each of your hands into his, “Being victimized-“

“Don’t call me that,” you interjected, flinching at the word he chose to use.

Spencer paused for a moment, squeezing your hands reassuringly before speaking again, “In this situation, you’re a victim first and an addict second. You’re being deposed because you’re the victim of a crime that the state is taking to trial. I know you hate the word, and if I have to be the one to desensitize you to it, then I’m alright with that.”

You’d previously asked about being allowed to provide a written statement instead of being presented in court, but you were still waiting for a response. In the meantime, you needed to make a decision on whether or not you wanted to make a tort claim. “I don’t want to be,” you breathed, wishing you could turn back time.

“I know,” he whispered, “and it’s not fair. None of this is fair to you, but you’re not seventeen and being prescribed oxycodone by a surgeon. You’ve been dealt a hand of cards for a game you never wanted to play in the first place, and I’m so sorry for that.”

Swallowing thickly, you looked at him, blinking back tears when you accidentally met his eyes, “How… no it’s- never mind.”

Spencer frowned, “Stop doing that,” he spoke gently.

“Doing what?” You asked, leaning back against the bed, using the mattress for support.

He knelt in front of you, allowing you to maintain the upper hand, “Starting to open up and then shutting yourself down. You’re filtering your words, and I’d rather you hurt my feelings than stay silent,” he reassured you, “I can take it.”

Pursing your lips, you peered down at him, “How do you cope with it?”

“Cope with what, baby?”

Taking a deep breath, you looked at him thoughtfully, “The loss of autonomy,” you answered. “That… that was how it started for you, right? Being drugged? How do you cope with having that decision forcibly taken away from you? Because, right now, all I can think of is lashing out in some way to try to reclaim my autonomy.”

“Like hurting yourself?” He asked, peering up at you through his eyelashes.

There had been moments where you considered it, things like putting your hand on the kettle when you made tea. You wanted an external wound that you could use to somehow convey the hurt you felt internally. “Yes,” you breathed, the answer escaping from your lips before giving it a second thought, “Or taking something.” A city like D.C. was never lacking in narcotics dealers – you just had to know where to go.

Spencer frowned, “It’s always been different for me than it was for you. I think it’s important for you to remember that yes, your choice was taken from you that night, but every day and every night since then you have made the choice to protect yourself.”

You sniffled, leaning your head onto your shoulder to wipe tears from your cheeks, “I keep trying to convince myself that one day I’ll forget about it, but I know that’s not true and I- I’m having a really difficult time,” you admitted with watery eyes.

“I know,” Spencer cooed, “I know, c’mere.” He slowly rose to sit next to you on the bed, gathering you in his arms and allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder, tears seeping through the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

His fingers gently skimmed over your spine, causing you to melt into him, “I hate him,” you whispered, wringing your hands as Spencer held you close.

He hummed, “What happened to you does not erase the fact that you were sober for ten years. Do you understand that?” Pausing for a moment, Spencer continued his ministrations on your back, gently rocking back and forth, “You should hate him. You’re allowed to be angry at the situation you’re in, I never want you to think that you can’t express how you’re feeling to me because you’re worried I’ll have you committed.”

“Keep holding me,” you murmured, soaking in the physical contact like a sponge. Other than holding your hands or a hand on your back to guide you, Spencer had been wary of touching you. He was worried about triggering a memory you didn’t know you had, but you’d found yourself wanting him to hold you tightly enough so that you couldn’t break even if you wanted to. “I don’t want to go to rehab,” you told him, keeping your voice just loud enough for him to hear.

Adjusting the way you were sitting, you looked up at him to see that tears of his own had formed in his eyes, “Then no rehab. You have the coping skills that you need to get through this, and I’m going to be here the whole time.”

Your therapist had likened this to a bump in the road, but it felt more equivalent to a sinkhole. “Are we going to be alright?” You asked with a note of hesitation in your voice. There were a lot of tribulations that came with an addict dating another addict, but you and Spencer had always felt stronger together as opposed to apart.

“Yes,” he answered easily as if he had given it thought already, “You and I are going to be just fine. It’s just going to take time.”

You groaned, separating yourself from him and laying back on the bed, “How much time?”

He smiled softly down at you, “As much time as it takes.”

“That’s a horrible answer,” You told him, following his movements with your eyes as he lay down next to you. “You’re supposed to tell me that the power of our love can overcome anything.”

Propping his head up so that he could see you better, Spencer studied your bloodshot eyes, “I love you so astronomically much,” he whispered across the pillows. “There will never be a day where my heart is not full of love for you,” he told you, reaching across the bed to skim his fingers across your cheek.

You melted into your pillow, watching him curiously, “Will you promise to tell me if my recovery becomes too much for you?” Pulling the inside of your cheek between your molars, you awaited his answer, afraid of jeopardizing his sobriety in the name of regaining your own.

He nodded, “I promise that I will tell you if I need to take a minute to protect myself, but you don’t need to worry about censoring yourself to protect me.”

Closing your eyes you nodded, “I’m sorry about all of this.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, honey. You have done nothing wrong,” he insisted, opening his arms as you shuffled across the mattress to him. “You never have to apologize to me, not for this.”

Resting your head on his shoulder, you absentmindedly traced shapes on his chest with your pointer finger, “Everything feels so… wrong.”

Spencer pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “It will all level out eventually. The sky can’t fall forever.”

#spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #margot's requests #written by margot

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evie-sturns · 9 months

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Chris Sturniolo Boyfriend Imagines

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very requested part 2 of matt sturniolo boyfriend imagines!!

summary: cute lil imagines!!

contains: NSFW at the bottom, nothing else just cute fluff!

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this man is definitely super clingy once you guys make your relationship official, your going out to the grocery store? he’s right behind you. he basically cannot let you go anywhere alone 😭

it takes a while for him to fully warm up to you because he’s scared of losing you by getting too comfortable, but once he finally 100% trusts you he’s not afraid to burp in your face! 🤠

you guys cook dinner together each night, even if your not feeling well Chris will drag you to the kitchen and then sit you down on the countertop and let you watch him cook, (he always ends up burning something so you are forced to get down to help him)

he hides it when he’s stressed but you can always tell so you go round to his house unannounced and just cuddle him in bed until he talks to you about what’s bothering him, it helps him when he talks about it with you so that’s one of the reasons he loves you. “thank you for listening to my nonsense..” “i feel bad making you sit here and listen to me yap”

when you guys argue he gets a little bit immature so you have to apologise first so he doesn’t get to hurt and upset, he doesn’t want you to be mad at him but he can’t bring himself to face you to apologise after an argument in fear of making it worse.

this man always has his hands on you to let everyone know your his, if you’re out in public he’s holding your hand, holding your waist, playing with your hair, it doesn’t matter where you are he’s superrr touchy.

he loves to pick you up, when you two are just standing around he will come and hold you above his head randomly while your squealing, laughing and flailing your arms and legs “chris i’m too heavy your gonna drop me!” “shut up y/n you basically weigh nothing.”

he HATES arguing with you, when you drive away from his house after an argument this man will lock his door and just cry, he will never tell you but he’s definitely a crier after you leave mad at him.

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the first time you two fuck he goes slowly at first but looses self control and starts pounding into you from behind 😭, then afterwards he gives you tons of words of affirmation and make sure you’re okay - “you took me so good baby” “ i didn’t go too hard yeah?”

he defo doesn’t give you enough time to adjust to his size, he’ll push all the way inside of you relatively slowly but then instantly start thrusting.

this man LOVES hair pulling, like he grabs your hair and pulls it for support and to keep him balanced while he’s hitting from behind, he always apologises after though 😭

he’s a slut for public sex, he will take you behind a bush and fuck you, he doesn’t care where you guys are he just needs to be inside you.

he loves aftercare and making sure your comfortable after fucking, like he’s picking you up and placing you on the countertop in the bathroom while he cleans up the inside of your thighs while telling you how perfect you are, then he doesn’t bother getting you changed he just places you into bed and cuddles you while rubbing your back.

he loves when you get on top, he gets submissive and try’s to hide it, but he’s pretty bad at hiding it 😭. like he will 100% be whimpering and arcing his back off the bed when he’s close while he holds your hips tightly. “f-fuck oh my god y/n i’m so close..”

he is a makeup-sex kind of guy, after you two apologise to each other and there’s still some awkward tension he’ll just take your hand and silently take you into the bedroom.

this man is a sucker for blowjobs, sometimes he’ll purposely act more stressed than he actually his just to get you to suck his dick to “calm him down” 🫢

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that’s all for today!! my requests are open so request whatever you want and i’ll probably write it

hope y’all enjoyed

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic

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basketonthedoorstepofthefbi · 3 months

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“dressing down” - aaron hotchner x fem!reader

after a party at rossi’s, you and aaron get ready for bed. you may or may not be sober.

tw: tipsy reader! mentions of food & alcohol, kissy kissy but no smut teehee sorry

wc: 1.5k

a/n: read dressing up here, but it’s not necessary to enjoy this!

You carry your heels, pinched between your fingers, as you stumble into your apartment. You wait for Aaron to lock the door before you grab him by the lapel of his suit jacket. Your lips crash into his, and his gigantic hands are on your hips instantly, a chemical reaction. Your kisses are sloppy and off-center, hitting the corners of his mouth, his Cupid’s bow, his chin. Your laugh floats into his mouth.

He’s backing you up, towards the bedroom, and your shoes clatter on the floor. You didn’t even realize you let them go. Your belly is full of Rossi’s bolognese, paired with three glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon - or was it four? Your shapewear is stretched from your slightly bloated stomach, but you’re not thinking about that right now. Your mind is totally clouded - Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, and nothing else.

One hand cradles your face - his hands are so huge. His entire palm covers half of your face, angled and creating space for your ear between his fingers, and his thumb applies the slightest bit of pressure to your earlobe. He’s pressing that raw spot where your earring sits. The feeling brings a melting pot of discomfort and ridiculous pleasure as the gold hoop earring shifts under his touch.

“You had a lot to drink tonight,” Aaron says between kisses as his other hand shoves the bedroom door open.

Thank god Jack is at a sleepover tonight.

“So what?” you whisper nonchalantly, backing up towards the bed. You break your mouth from his and trace your index finger across his upper lip.

“So, you’re going to have a massive headache in the morning,” he says, prodding your knee with his. You plop down on the edge of the platform bed and bite your lip for a moment. “Might be better to try and get ahead of it.”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” you ask, your state of mind catching up with you. The world around you moves in slow motion, like someone spilled molasses all over it. “I feel fine.”

“Oh, yeah?” Aaron nudges your foot with his and you spread your legs a little so he can stand between them. Your dress is an entirely unladylike position, hiking up as your boyfriend rakes his meaty fingers through your hair. “What’s the square root of one hundred and forty-four?”

“Ask me something I’d know sober,” you snicker, a sound that mutates into a tiny mewl when you feel Aaron’s stupidly large hands brush your hair off your neck. His lips are honey, tongue jutting out carelessly and dabbing at your skin, like he just wants a little taste.

“Don’t you want to just get in your pajamas and go to sleep?” Aaron just knows everything, doesn’t he? You shrug his obsidian suit jacket over his mountainous shoulders and toss it aside.

“I definitely want out of these clothes,” you whisper.

Aaron pulls his head back, looking down at you. His thumb presses into your chin and he nods, leaning down to kiss your forehead so tenderly that you forget how insatiably hungry you were for him when you walked through the door.

Maybe you do just want to get in your pajamas and go to sleep.

It’s not that you don’t like having sex with Aaron. It’s sex with Aaron, for crying out loud. It’s always good.

But your belly’s full, and you’re starting to wind down from the Poor Decision Making level of drunk and into the Introspective and Zoning Out level of drunk.

Aaron notices this shift as he walks to the dresser, pulling out two pairs of your matched pajama sets. “Kittens or… what are these? Donuts?” he chuckles lowly.

Plus, he wouldn’t have gone through with anything, anyway. Not when you’re intoxicated and he isn’t.

“Donuts,” you answer, smoothing out your dress and self-consciously crossing your ankles. You’re dangling from the tall bed.

He brings your pajamas over to you and stands in front of you again. He presses the front strand of your hair between his thumb and forefinger. “I love you, Y/N. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know, baby,” you coo, looking up at him and feeling a slow smile laze across your face, like a cat on a windowsill. “I love you, too.”

“Want me to get your zipper?” he asks, gesturing to the new dress you’d gotten specifically for this evening.

“No zipper,” you say rather articulately, then lift your arms up over your head with the same gait as a marionette. “It’s a pull-over type deal.”

Aaron gives a small chuckle and takes this as permission to remove your dress, gathering it at the bottom hem and pulling it off delicately. You’re left in your shapewear and your bra as he tosses it in the laundry hamper. “Think you gotta stand up for this next bit, honey,” Aaron says, tugging on the waistband of the shorts you wore beneath the dress and snapping them against your torso.

You rise unceremoniously to your feet, placing your hands on Aaron’s shoulders as he takes a knee, helping you step out of the shorts one leg at a time. You’re moving slowly and concentrating hard on not falling over, and when you’re finally only in your undergarments, Aaron stands and smiles appreciatively down at your form.

“Hi,” you say to him, watching his eyes travel down your chest, your belly, your legs. You don’t mind that he’s ogling you - you’ve been together a while, so it’s nice to know he still thinks you’re beautiful. Aaron’s brown eyes snap up to meet yours.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Come here often?” you attempt a lame joke, flipping your hair with your hand.

“To our bedroom?” Aaron teases, catching your wrist and kissing the inside of it.

You feel your knees wobble a little, and you have to perch yourself on the edge of the bed again so you don’t fall over. Aaron’s kissing up your forearm, along your bicep and your shoulder and your collarbone, a grand tour of your arm where the big finale is at your neck.

“Love you,” he rasps between kisses. You’re grabbing his white dress shirt and blindly trying to unclasp the buttons. “Love you so much, honey.”

“Angel,” you murmur, just barely above a whisper.

Aaron pulls back to look at you quizzically, with an amused incline of his head. “You want me to call you angel?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, you’re the angel,” you tell him.

His cheeks blush furiously red at this, and he shakes his head. Bashful was never a word you used to describe your boyfriend, but here he is. A tall, brick wall of a man, looking at you sideways, like what you said is the most out of pocket compliment he’s ever received. Maybe it is. “I’m an angel?”

“You’re an angel,” you confirm like it’s merely common sense, finally undoing the last button and shrugging his shirt off. “You’re an angel. You’re my angel,” you tell him.

Aaron’s chest is full and hairy and scarred and broad, and you grab him by the shoulders and tug him down so you can kiss him again. He’s hunched over to meet your level, his hands hot as a brand as they press firm into the small of your back.

“I’m your angel,” he repeats slowly, like they’re brand new words, like he’s never heard them in any capacity before. You run your thumbs along the column of his throat, feeling the words vibrate against your fingertips.

You kiss him slowly, letting your tongue part his lips. You lap him up in slow motion, like you’re in a chocolate commercial, and Aaron’s hands are gliding to your hips. The pads of his fingers press circles into the pudginess there, eliciting an alto moan from you that he directly swallows.

Aaron’s back must ache from standing at a hunch, because he pulls back, tenderly squeezing your hips. “D’you want your…” he trails off, a soft laugh escaping him. He points to your bedclothes and snaps his fingers until the word comes to him. “Your pajamas?”

You giggle girlishly and nod. Aaron helps you into them delicately, like you’re made of fine china, and you pad barefoot into the ensuite bathroom. As you wipe off your makeup, Aaron changes into his pajamas - blue and green, plaid flannel pants, and a George Washington University t-shirt.

You emerge from the bathroom with a bare face, too exhausted to go through your skincare routine. Instead, you stalk with laden bones over to Aaron and wrap your arms around his torso. His hands are pressed against your back in an instant and he kisses the top of your hair.

Again, that physical hunger has dissipated from the both of you, and you’re stripped back. You love nights like this, when you see the acoustic version of Aaron, in all his softness. When his edges are sanded down this way, you are privy to a version of himself he saves only for home, for nights like this, when you come home tipsy and take a million detours on the road to bed.

“Love you, angel,” you murmur as Aaron embraces you.

“Love you, too, honey,” Aaron’s voice rumbles. “Let’s go to sleep, shall we?”

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #basketonthedoorstepofthefbi #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fic #hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fluff #hotchner fluff #hotch fluff #hotchner x reader #hotch x reader

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miabebe · 2 months

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Reverse Trope Series - Accidently Kidnpping A Mafia Boss (Teaser)

Kidnapping the Yoon Jeonghan was not on your 2024 bingo but sometimes, shit happens right?

Pairing - Yoon Jeonghan x afab!reader

Word Count - Teaser is 1.3K, I'm not gonna promise a number for the full fic just yet

Genre - Strangers to something more than that I guess? Crack because there’s ‘dumb’, ‘dumber’, ‘dumbest’, and ‘dumbest of them all’ so you can imagine and also angst, just a small splash and smut. Loads of it (not here but in the full fic)

Warnings - none for the teaser, mentions of kidnapping and mafia. (But just to be clear, this is not like your usual mafia fics - it’s not dark, there’s no violence and things of that sort)

Estimated posting date - I have a shit ton on my plate right now so I don’t want to stress myself out with a deadline! If you want to be in the loop, please follow me or join the taglist by commenting, sending a message or an ask, thank you!

Thank you @taechwita613 for bearing my annoying self yet again 💕

"You're being a real pain in my ass right now."

"I don't see how it’s an issue since that’s not much of an ass."

Seokmin glared at Seungkwan.

"Just because some stupid college club awarded you a silly superlative-"

"-best bakery in town is not a ‘silly’ superlative-"

"-like once-"

"-twice. In a row-"

"-doesn't mean-"

"-absolutely does-"

"Will you two shut up?" You hissed under your breath looking around. "Are you trying to get us all caught?"

Seungkwan clicked his tongue annoyed. "You're acting like we're in the middle of a crime."

Your eyes flickered from Seokmin to Seungkwan before landing on the third guy between them, the one who was unconscious and being held up with his arms thrown over the shoulders of your friends.

"Last I checked, kidnapping is a crime." You pointed out.

Seokmin rolled his eyes. "Pranking your friend isn't."

"That is if Soonyoung decides he wants to save your sorry ass."

"Again, not much of an ass-"

"I swear to god Kwan-"

Groaning you covered your ears to shut out all the bickering.

That night when drunk Soonyoung had pushed your buttons, consequently leading to the events of tonight, you did not think it would be this hard.

The plan was simple - on Mondays Soonyoung was in charge of closing the BBQ shop where all 3 of your closest friends worked part time. His routine was fairly straightforward - first he clears and cleans all the tables, then he closes the kitchen, then changes out of his uniform and finally wraps it up by locking the main door.

That's where you would get him, right as he closed the doors. You were to take him by surprise from the back, cover his face with a black cloth bag then bring him to your apartment and tie him up leaving him immobile, blinded and helpless.

One might wonder why such cruelty when you called him a friend but you would argue that Soonyoung deserved it. After all that night, he hadn't stopped mentioning how you were boring and your life was so uninteresting and you didn't have a single exciting adventure while he had a shit ton of them. Well, today you were about to give yourself, and him, a story to tell.

Now things did go according to plan, for the most part. Seokmin and Seungkwan were first reluctant to be a part of this madness but that was until you brought up the prospect of Soonyoung being scared enough to hopefully piss in his pants. Intrigued by the idea, they joined and all three of you waited in the bushes, watching your friend's silhouette moving around the shop, putting things away, cleaning up. Just as he reappeared after changing, hurriedly trying to leave the shop, the three of you got to action, approaching him silently from the back, swiftly holding him by the hands and putting the bag over his face.

What you didn't take into account in this plan was just how much resistance Soonyoung would show, God knows why you didn't consider his adrenaline driven reaction, but man did he put up a fight. It was only natural you retaliate and so instinctively, you landed a smack on his head with the torch in your hand knocking him out, making him buckle into the pavement as the two other boys caught him, looking at you bewildered.

That was perhaps just the beginning of your problems because now you had to very unsuspiciously drag a very unconscious man to your apartment in the dead of the night. It would have helped if this neighbourhood was even a little sketchy but being a quiet, painfully uneventful suburb meant even the smallest of things was seen with high scrutiny.

So far, the three of you had somehow managed to make it from the restaurant to your building undetected but it was getting from the first floor to your house that was the real task since the building's resident old woman decided she wanted to feed the stray cats at 2 am.

"How much longer are we gonna have to do this?" Seungkwan groaned. "He's surprisingly not that heavy but my arm is starting to sleep."

"Yeah, this joke isn't as funny anymore-"

"Will you two just keep quiet?" You turned to them annoyed. "She'll be gone in a few minutes and then we can move. Didn't you guys say you wanted Soonyoung to shut up for a few days?”

Seokmin mumbled a yes under his breath while Seungkwan nodded hesitating. Hoping for some silence after this, you turned to watch the old woman stroking the cat softly as it slowly nibbled its food. Although your patience was really being tested, something told you if you didn't go through this plan, in another 40 years, you'd be exactly like that old lady - lonely, boring and feeding stray cats. Terrified by that thought, you held it together even though it took a whole 15 minutes for the scene to clear. As the three, no four of you, proceeded towards your apartment, the stray cat watched, licking its paw.

Seungkwan and Seokmin groaned in relief as they half threw Soonyoung onto the chair you pulled to the middle, rubbing their aching shoulders. Scouring the drawers, you pulled out a rope with a soft “aha” making them turn towards your unnaturally happy self. Soonyoung stirred in his chair.

“You're a little too excited about this-”

“Shhh!” You covered Seokmin's mouth with your hand, whispering. “If you talk, he'll know it's us, then it's not scary anymore.”

“Frankly, I think the kidnapping and knocking him out cold must have been scary enough already.”

“Not enough” You glared as Soonyoung let out a soft groan, letting you know he was coming around. “Quick, take my phone and open that AI app. We'll type what we want to say and use the bot voice - that way he'll have no idea.”

All three of you huddled, glancing at the phone as Seungkwan typed something quickly, pressing play to let the low toned automated voice echo through the room.

“I cannot wait to see Soonyoung shit his pants.”

Seokmin giggled as your lips curled into a pleased smile. Oh, he was surely going to shit his pants.

“And why would I do that?” Soonyoung's voice sounded confused.

“Because we-”

Seokmin looked up, freezing mid-sentence, noticing the voice did not come from the person before him.

All three of you exchanged looks realising the same before slowly turning around. Soonyoung was standing at the entrance like he just walked in, looking bewildered.

Before any of you could process the situation, he pointed over your shoulders, frowning.

“And who's that?”

Oh.

“And why is he wearing my clothes?”

Oh no.

You turned back to see the man in question, slowly pull the black bag from over his head, shaking his golden tresses away from his face. Oh lord was he gorgeous.

As he blinked his eyes open, wondering where the hell he was, you were busy running your eyes all over his pretty features and suddenly, in that short span of 20 seconds, you had memorised where every single mole on his face was.

Seokmin and Seungkwan held your arms on either side half hiding behind you which was stupid considering you were the biggest coward in the room.

But somehow, as the man before you looked at all of you with narrowed, accusing eyes and tried to stand up, you swung your arm and smacked him right on the head with the torch again. All three boys gawked at you as the man fell back into the chair again, head rolling to the side, unconscious.

“What the hell mate-”

“I'm sorry I panicked!”

“Will someone tell me what's happening? Why is he wearing my clothes-”

“Shut up Soonyoung.” Seungkwan turned to you looking terrified. “Do you have any idea what you've done?”

“Hey, this can't be just on me, we all thought it was Soonyoung-”

“Me???”

“-how is this my only fault-”

“Because!” Seungkwan raised his voice pointing a shaking finger. “The man you just knocked out again, that's…that's….”

“That's…” Seokmin's eyes widened in realisation. “That's the city’s most wanted criminal, Yoon Jeonghan.”

A/n -I have tagged all those on the current taglist in the comments, if you wanna be added to the taglist for the fic or for the series, please let me know by leaving a comment/sending an ask or a message!

#svthub #thediamondlifenetwork #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan smut #jeonghan angst #yoon jeonghan angst #jeonghan fluff #yoon jeonghan fluff #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan fic #jeonghan oneshot #seventeen fic #seventeen series #seventeen imagines #accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss #reverse trope

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ja3hwa · 3 months

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♡ 𝐖𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐈𝐭 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐲 | 𝐊.𝐘𝐒 ♡

【Synopsis】 : Anger surged through your lover, and you were the only one who could calm him.

『Word count』 : 1.61k

-> Genre: Smut. Fluff. Little bit of Angst.

Pairing: Sub!Yeosang x SoftDom!Reader

[Warnings] : Tiny bit of self hatred. Swearing. Anger issues. Pet name (Baby boy, Sangie. Baby). Making out. Hickeys. Male whimpering. Hand job. Bathtub sex. Unprotected sex. Multiple orgasms. Crying. Dirty talk.

Networks: @blossomnet @atzhouse

Note: Thank you, @yeosangiess, for this request, I haven't written subby men in a while, so this is refreshing to write, hehe ♡♡

Masterlist | Navigation | By Jae a Ko-Fi ♡

Some of Yeosang’s members swear they saw smoke fuming out of Yeosang’s ears as he left the studio. Even going as far as saying he was leaving footprints of chard wood on the timber floor as he stormed out. The guys had texted you, Hongjoong even went as far as calling you, warning that Yeosang had been pushing himself and that he was very agitated and blowing up at everyone.

You, of course, reassured that you had everything under control and that Yeosang would feel better after some relaxation as you put it. Hongjoong wished you luck saying there was nothing to change your lover's sour mood. But you knew him best. You knew what Sangie needed. So once you hung up, you got to work. Grabbing bath bombs scented in vanilla and berries. Oils and candles alike and some chocolates that you knew he liked. The bath was filled to the brim with bubbles when you were done with it, and you had an order prepared for Yeosang’s favourite fried chicken placed so he could eat something hot when he got out.

You were proud of what you had made. A little safe space for him. And as you lit the last candle, you heard the lock on the front door unlatch, making you aware your partner was home. “Honey! I’ll be out in a second.”

Yeosang, on the other hand didn’t say anything to your call. Instead, he grumbled, still radiating anger towards himself and the world. Why couldn’t he just get the line right? Why did he have to miss his queue in the choreo every goddamn time? Why the fuck was the buckle on his shirt not opening like he wanted it to. Oh my god, where are the fucking scissors? He basically threw his phone, wallet and keys on the counter before slamming his hands down, giving up on the stupid piece of fabric that held his shirt onto his jacket. He was so tired. Every little thing that could go wrong went wrong. Everything he did was wrong. God why did he have to hate himself.

“Baby…” Your sweet, soft voice called him out of his mind, making him lazily tilt his head over to you. His heart stopped seeing you completely bare of clothing. Only being left in your cute little pink panties he bought you not long ago. He had to gulp, taking in your beautiful figure. Everything about you was perfect. “Come with me…”

He took your hand without hesitation, letting you lead him towards the bathroom without as much as a peep from him. He sighed immediately once the sweet smell of vanilla entered his nose. His eyes closed, taking in the aroma, and while he stood there silently. You slowly undid the belts and loops and zipped off his clothes, slowly stripping him from head to toe. And he let you do it. Taking a moment to give you control. He just wanted you to take it all away. “Join me…” He spoke finally for the first time since coming home.

You give me a small smile, knowing he was going to ask that already. So you give me a little nod, getting in the tub first before letting him take a seat in between your spread legs. You slowly began to wash him, bringing the water to his shoulders, working your thumbs into his tight skin. His groans bounced off the tiled wall of the bathroom, becoming music to your ears. He was finally relaxing, and you were the reason for it. “Tell me what happened.”

You knew talking about it would help him, and deep down, he knew it too. So he began to explain. Explain how he couldn’t seem to do anything right. Now, every little thing got in his way. Heck, even Wooyoung’s laughter itched his brain the wrong way that he ended up yelling at his friend… he felt terrible for that one. “I just feel like… I’m useless. Nothing is going right for me.”

“You’re not useless, Sangie.” Your voice tickled his neck as he snuggled more into your chest with his back flushed against yours. “You are just having a bad day. Everyone has them.” Your hands glide over his biceps, playing with the bubbles stuck to his soft skin.

“I know...I just…” He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Did he want to scream? Or was crying a better option? Did he want you to keep rubbing his arms with the gentlest touch, or did he need more… the way your fingers smoothed over skin. How you knew always the right places to touch him. His cock twitched in the water at his thoughts. Growing impatient, the annoyance from today brewing into pure sexual tension.

“What do you need, Sangie?” You asked innocently, having no clue what the bubbles were hiding beneath. Yeosang groaned, tilting his head so his face was now inches from yours. You could see the sparkle in his eyes. The anger that turned to desperation. You suddenly knew what he needed, and with a parted mouth and a whimper, Yeosang answered you.

“P-please…help me.” His soft whine caused a smile to form on your face, locking your lips gently on his. Your hand snaked from his arm to his cock, feeling he had grown harder in every moment. Your fingers wrapped around the shaft giving it a light squeeze, causing Yeosang to bite your lip in a whine. “P-please baby. I n-need it..arghnn.”

Your breath mixed with his as he kept repeating his sweet little ‘pleases’ against your tongue. You started to stroke him, feeling his cock twitch with a delicate touch. “That’s it, baby. Relax let go.” You murmured against his lips, slowly kissing down his cheek and jaw, suckling a big red mark on his collarbone. Yeosang gripped the sides of the tub, saliva painting his plump lips and hiccuped whimpers spilling from him. He felt pure bliss. Finally getting a taste of relaxation as he came all in the water.

“I...I need more… please.” he cried, tears trickling down his hot red cheeks. You shifted, feeling yourself become wet from your lover's little whimpers. You kiss his shoulder before squeezing him tightly, making him throw his head back in a silent scream.

“Do you want to be inside me, baby boy?” You suggested, making his eyes snap open to greet your dark ones.

“Yes, yes. Please, I need it. I want to feel you around me so badly.” You wiped a tear away from his cheek, wetting his cheek with some of the bubbles that clung to your fingertips. You let him go, giving him a moment to breathe, and with no grace, you shifted in the tub until you were sitting on his lap. Yeosang leaned back, his hands still holding the edge of the tub, making his knuckles turn white. “P-please baby. I need you.” He gulps feeling your cunt so close yet so far away from him. He was about to lose his mind if he didn’t feel you right this second.

“It's okay, pretty boy. I’ll give you whatever you need. You want my pussy. All you gotta do is ask.” You kiss his lips tenderly, holding his cheek in your palm. He melted, his hands reaching for your hips desperately. He tugged, needed to feel inside you. He needed to feel your soft velvet walls wrapped around him as if it were the only thing that would keep him alive.

“Please, please, baby. I need your pussy so badly. I think I might explode.” His whimpering words made you chuckle as you lined your aching cunt to his tip. His wide teary eyes stared hopelessly into yours, a twinkle shining in them from the moonlight creeping its way into the steamed room. He held his breath as he felt you take him inch by inch until you completely bottomed him out. “Fffucckkk huhngg.”

“That’s his baby, let go of all that tension.” You rubbed his shoulders as you kissed along his jaw. Yeosang was sobbing quietly at this point on the verge of already emptying his load when you had only just sunk onto him. He needed this. This was what he had been craving. His beautiful precious partner riding him like it was the only thing you both required in life.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m c-coming.” Yeosang cried holding you desperately. His face disappeared into your shoulder as he felt his whole body shake from pleasure. His load quickly filled your insides, making you moan out. Your hips didn’t stop until you knew his high was gone, leaving just a peaceful lingering silence along with the soft heavy beats of two hearts.

“y-you didn’t come..” He hadn't left your shoulder, words mumbling against your skin. You just chuckled, saying it was okay and that he was the priority, but he didn’t take that answer lightly. Pulling you away from him, he held your face between his hands. You could clearly see his tear-stained red cheeks and puffy eyes from your view. Even when he cries, he still looked eternal. “But I wanna make you feel good too baby…”

You grabbed his wrist, kissing each of them softly before chuckling. “I’ll be fine. I feel good, making you feel good. And that’s all that matters right now.” You softly kissed his cheek. “Now relax, we have all night for you to make me cum. But for now, let me look after you, okay?”

Yeosang sighed, letting you carry on with kissing away his pain. And once all the bubbles had popped and the water ran cold, he would whisper, answering you softly…

“okay…”

—

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 : 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑁 𝑁𝑂 𝑊𝐴𝑌 𝐴 𝑇𝑅𝑈𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑃𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑍 𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑆. 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝑃𝑈𝑅𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐼𝑆 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝐴𝐾𝐸𝑁 𝑆𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐿𝑌

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faerygrant · 10 months

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knee socks - carmen berzatto x waitress reader

summary: four discoveries come about your and carmens secret relationship; he’s very into knee socks, you’re acquainted with a staff member he has a tricky relationship with, he can be possessive and weirdly enough he likes being called daddy?

You’d stayed back last night to help Carmen, despite the raging headache that had caused you to have to take a 30 minute break from waiting tables just to rest your head. Carmen appreciated that, and was not shy in showing you. Once he’d insured everyone had gone home for the night, doors locked and safety measures taken care of, he had come into the office and kissed you softly, before walking you to your apartment. Where things had escalated, resulting in you falling asleep stuffed and sated and Carmy going home with a pair of your panties.

Today however you felt refreshed, you’d woken up at the crack of dawn, showered, threw on your uniform and decided you’d wear a pair of knee socks due to the cold fall weather. You arrived to the usual chaos of The bear, Tina and Sydney getting started on prep, Marcus unloading the batter he’d made the night before and Richie barking orders at your fellow waitstaff about today’s schedule. Carmy however wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so you assumed he was in his office going over stock orders or doing payroll.

“Hey, you look pretty good this morning princess” Rich or Richie to everyone else, whispers into your ears.

“Don’t be gross Rich.” You mumble, grabbing your apron and tying it around your waist as he mockingly smiled back at you.

“Damn can’t even give out compliments anymore.” He throws his hands up in mock self defence.

Your and Richie’s relationship was simple, he was a longtime friend of your brothers and had always been mockingly flirty and playful with you, occasionally you’d reciprocate the flirtyness but it was all in good fun. Carmy however hated it, so much so that he’d ensure he did his best to put a distance between you two most of the time.

As the day went on Carmen would make subtle appearances from the office, coming into the kitchen to help Sydney with recipes she was working on, answering some of Tina’s questions, giving Marcus the green-light on some new dessert ideas, the works. But what you noticed from these appearances were the glances he kept making towards you, or specifically towards your legs. Until it finally hit you, it was the knee socks.

Carmen couldn’t think straight with the way you were just casually waiting tables while looking like a goddess. Your uniform clung so nicely to your body, your smile ever so bright and those god damned knee socks. He was convinced you were trying to send him into cardiac arrest. He’d never even known he had a thing for those until today and he wasn’t about to let them go to waste.

carmen 🐻

You busy right now?

you

Kinda, why?

carmen 🐻

Need your help in the office, now.

you

Alright, coming

"Hi" you smiled shyly, walking up to his desk and taking a seat on one of the chairs opposite his desk.

"Come 'ere " he says lowly, beckoning you forward with two fingers. You slowly get out of the chair and make your way behind the desk to his side.

"Hi, again" you say as you look down at him, with a sweet smile on your face.

"Hey, feelin' any better, since last night?" He questions as he turns his chair to face you and pulls you in between his legs, his hands holding your hips in place.

"Y-yeah a little, thank you by the way" you reply softly, flustered by the touch he was so lovingly giving you.

"Your welcome, just wanted to make sure you were alright, it was so worth it" he smiled as his hands began to roam, up and down your hips.

"Wh- why was it worth it?" You reply, voice barely above a whisper, as you look down at him though your lashes.

"I got to kiss you, touch you, and keep your panties" he smirked at the last part, knowing it was going to annoy you.

"Thanks for reminding me to kick you for that by the way." You playfully swat his shoulder and he fakes a pout. You began laughing at him.

"What?" He asks, curiously.

"Nothing" you smile as you lift your hands to play with his hair.

"No tell me" he insists, as he squeezes your hips and pulls you down, to straddle him.

"Mmm, it's just I didn't expect you to be such a softie" you smile as you move down on him a little harder, to feel his crotch.

"Of fuck- I" he tries talking but the feeling of you pressed down against him is too much.

"Fuck-“ he says your name “you're gonna kill me" he replies as he pushes his hips against you and you feel his hard on.

“These knee socks have been killing me all day, did you wear em just f’me?” He grunts the last part.

“I did, wanted to impress you.” You smile, wiggling into him.

“It worked, I’m fuckin impressed and so hard f’you.” He smiles into a kiss he plants on your lips.

"I want you now, please daddy" you weren't sure where the 'daddy' came from, but honestly you didn’t care at this point, you needed him. His eyes widen and you're pretty sure you feel him get even harder once the word leaves your mouth.

"I'm your daddy?" He questions you with a smirk on his face.

"Ye-yeah, daddy" you whispered as you continue to grind down on him.

"That's right, I'm your daddy, keep grinding on your daddy till you cum" he groans, face all red.

"Mmmm" you whisper against his neck as you continue. Just as you feel him moving to reposition you, the phone in his office begins to ring. You look up at him and he shakes his head.

"Leave it, keep goin" he groans as he pulls you down, once more. You're so close to your climax when the phone rings again.

"Mmm, just answer it" you groan as you attempt to get off him, he however pulls you back down and answers the phone.

"What?"

"Ok, and?"

"Fine"

"I'll send her in"

He slams the phone back down and kisses you hungrily once more. You oblige and bring your hands up to his hair.

"Who was it?" You ask, pulling back from the kiss.

"Dumbass Richie, he wants to see you, claims one the regulars is here and only you can help him service them" he spits, you can tell he’s annoyed by Richie’s interruption.

"Rich’s always been quite the mood stealer" you smile, as he kisses your neck lightly.

"Rich?" He questions as he pulls back from your neck and looks up at you.

"Yeah, Rich?" You reply confused, had you said the wrong thing?

"Why the fuck, do you call him that?" He asks angrily, as he lets go of your waist. Alright so Carmy’s moods did always change quickly, noted.

"He's a family friend, I've known him since I was like 18 he's like a brother to me, at-least that's how I feel about him." You reply, whilst putting his hands back on your waist.

"Alright then, Good" he says refusing to smile.

"Why the long face, hmmm?" You question as you smile at him.

"I don't want anyone else to have you, I'm territorial, possessive, I don't know call it what you want but you're mine now and I don't need anyone getting in the way of that" he smirks.

"Mmmm, I just loveeee being owned by men, it's so empowering" you say sarcastically.

"I don't mean it in that way, you know that" says Carmy quickly, afraid you misunderstood him.

"I'm just fucking with you, and this may sound a bit anti-feminist, but I like the thought of belonging to you" you whisper into his ear, leaving him groaning.

"Alright we'll, Rich’s waiting for me, bye Carmy" you say as you try to get off of him. His grip however is too strong and he manages to pull you back down.

"I want to take you out for dinner tomorrow night, somewhere nice but chill ,not too fancy." He says shyly.

"I- I would love too, also not too fancy? this doesn't sound like Michelin star chef Carmen Berzatto" you joke, and he simply smiles at you. He finally let's you out of his grip and you give him a sweet peck, before making your way to the door. Before you can leave the office he calls out to you.

"Wear something pretty ok?"

You turn around and smile at him before replying with poise, "only for daddy"

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy x reader #the bear fic #carmy smut

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ncroissant · 5 months

Note

you can ignore this request but can I ask you to Make a story of Francis mosses and like a housewife reader who has an ignorant husband so when the milkman comes visit she "pays" him very nicely

switch! francis mosses x fem! reader

summary: paying your neighbourly milkman a hefty tip

wc: 2.2k

content warning: nsfw, cheating, double infidelity, masturbation, slight nipple play, soft dom francis energy, slightly subby francis, kind of unrealistic p in v (i was too lazy to write foreplay), creampie, very fluffy

author's note: hii anon, thanks sm for the ask :)) i love this sm and i hope ur okay with some sub married francis teehee >:) this was soooo self-indulgent :O hope u guys enjoy this one !! not proof read, minors please dni!!

your marriage was bland to say the least.

your husband was a busy man, working to provide for you to max out his credit card, but never giving a second of the day. he always blamed his lack of time at home on his job, never taking accountability.

you felt bored. he promised you a life of luxury with no work, but it was boring staying at home all day. weekly visits from cleaners to clean up the apartment gave you absolutely nothing to do at home.

but the longer your husband stayed away, the more time you spent listening in on your neighbors to past the time.

the milkman and his wife were a noisy couple.

you could hear the headboard thunking against the wall, his grunts and her awfully loud moans. he must be so good to her, you thought, feeling your fingers slip down your pj shorts.

you felt yourself passing the time, humping pillows, playing with toys and fucking yourself with your fingers. you could read every book in your apartment, watch tv for god knows how long and still be bored.

but one particular night, you heard a knock on your door.

you perked up, almost skipping to the door in excitement. you haven't had a visitor in ages and it was about time someone kept you some company in this little cage of yours.

"milk delivery." your eyes widened when you fully opened the door, realizing who was in front of you.

the buttons of his uniform were struggling to close, his hands veiny from his grip on the milk box he held in his arms against his stomach. seeing him this late at night was making you think of not so holy thoughts.

"what're you doing here so late? it's almost 9," you peered up at him, unaware of how your breasts nearly spilt out of your lingerie. you were wearing a skimpy little nightgown, forgetful of how you were married and half naked in front of another married man.

he smiled, placing the milk box beside your doorstep. "you're my last stop since we're neighbours. did i disturb you?" he crossed his arms, his biceps bulging.

you felt your heart beating out of your chest, you could feel your fingertips vibrating. "no, not at all..." you bit your lip, feeling your thighs clench tightly.

"i needed some milk for my tea. would you like some as well?" you worked up the courage to ask, looking at him with an expectant look in your eyes. "if you're not tired," you clarified, lifting your hands.

he didn't look like he took much time to think it over, nodding at your suggestion. you didn't wait for a verbal response, ushering him inside, locking the door.

now, here he was, sitting at your kitchen table while you made tea. if only you could see what he could see. the entirety of your back was exposed, a v-cut just above your ass to cover the rest of your lower half.

"chamomile or green tea?" you called out softly, snapping him out of his daze. you looked back at his lack of silence, looking at how flustered he looked for dozing off.

"green tea," he murmured, averting your gaze. he was so comically large, making your kitchen chair look small. his hands were gathered on his lap, his back straight against the backrest, waiting for you to finish making his tea.

you sauntered over to his, leaning your hip against the kitchen table. "n-nice place," he stuttered when he got a closer look of you, trying to break the silence.

you didn't expect him to come in, but now that he was here, you didn't want to waste this perfect opportunity. "mhm...i decorated it myself," you leaned closer, giving him an innocent smile.

"y...you're very good at decorating," he swallowed. his hands were sweating, he felt them grip at his slacks anxiously.

"isn't it so sad that my husband didn't help me decorate at all?" you pouted, puffing out your lower lip. his eyes switched back and forth from your eyes to your lips.

francis mirrored your nod, gulping when he realized how close you were. you placed a hand on his cheek, caressing it with your thumb. "you're very cute, francis," you chuckled as you pulled away.

you scurried away to turn off the stove, watching the water spill out of the kettle. when you reached your hand to grab the kettle, you felt a hand reach over yours to pull you back.

"careful, it's hot." he was pressed up against you, his painfully obvious bulge pressed against your ass. maybe it was because the only thing that was preventing your bare skin from touching his was his shirt, or how small you were compared to him, but he was literally shaking.

you spun around, hands now holding onto his sleeves. "help me onto the counter?" you looked up at him, slowly tugging him towards you.

francis was a loyal man. he was dedicated to his wife, to his work and to everything else. but however wrong he wanted to feel about lifting you onto the counter and smashing his lips onto yours, he just couldn't.

"so pretty," he mumbled against your lips, while your hands found themselves tangled in his brunette locks. "you're so pretty," he was almost whining, brows knit from the intensity of the kiss.

your other free hand cupped his cheek, dragging his even closer to deepen the kiss. his kisses felt even better than imagined. lips soft, tongue warm, sloppy.

you were scared that he would hear the way your heart thumping out of your chest. "f-francis," you'd pant, but he'd be too lost in the way your lips felt against yours to focus on anything else.

he'd pull away to just soak in the sight of you, admire the lips of the woman he just ruined. he'd look at you like you were the most precious thing in the world, watching the way you'd nuzzle against his hand when he wiped away his spit off your lip.

"are we stopping here?" you frowned with a huff, tugging on the loop of his belt. "or can i tip you, hm? for the delivery?" you pleaded, tilting you head to look cuter.

he fell for it, having no intentions of stopping. "yeah, yeah. tip me or whatever, just don't stopping kissing me," he pressed kisses up your neck trailing up to your cheek.

you wanted to chuckle at his neediness, but you were feeling the same. your arms wrapped around his neck, allowing him to effortlessly lift you into his arms.

while you two made out, he carried you to you and your husband's shared bedroom, laying you down. he toppled over you, knee nestled between your thighs and arms caging you in his hold.

"i wish you could see yourself right now," he pulled away, his hand trailing up to your chest. your nipples were poking through the thin fabric of your night gown, his fingers toying with the neglected nub.

you jolted, biting your lip to hide an embarrassing moan. "d-do i really look that pretty?" you hide a moan with a laugh, throwing your head to the side when he pinched your nipple lightly.

"you're gorgeous," he sighed, rolling his fingers under your gown to lift it off your body. you were more beautiful than he had even imagined, waiting so patiently for him to do something.

before he leaned down to kiss you again, you tugged at his shirt. "take this off? 's embarrassing being the only one naked," you blushed, his eyes widening.

for a married woman, you were surprisingly inexperienced. francis never heard you getting railed by your husband. he could only hear your pretty whimpers when you pleasured yourself with toys, but never finishing.

he could only chuckle, reminiscing your frustrated sighs when you couldn't get yourself to finish. he smirked knowing now he could take matters into his own hands.

"whatever you want, sweetheart," he effortlessly tugged at his bowtie, unbuttoning his shirt. he was so handsome. lean, but not entirely skinny. bulky, but not too much. he was perfect.

you wrapped your arms around his neck to press your lips against his. "you're so handsome, francis," you cooed. he felt his ears flush from your compliment, his knee riding higher up your thigh.

you moaned when you felt it reach your core, feeling yourself grind on it for more friction. "make me feel good, hm?" you flicked his loose hairs out of his face, making him bite his lip.

"want it inside, francie," your fingers trailed down to your pelvis, slightly opening your folds. his felt his dick throb, his eyes unmoving from your cunt.

almost immediately, he felt his dick throbbing against his suddenly too tight slacks. he grunted as he finally unzipped to let his cock free, his dick slapping against your tummy.

you gulped at the size, looking up at him in awe. "j-just the tip," he whined, his cock sliding against your stomach. a part of him still wanted to be somewhat loyal, but you so badly wanted him in you, your fingers wrapping around the head.

"you're so big," you gasped, your eyes were still widened. he could only rub himself against your fingertips, whimpering at the friction. "just the tip, hm?" you grabbed the head, dragging it down to your entrance.

when francis felt the warmth of your cunt against his cock, he was almost 100% sure his loyalty would be thrown out the window. "j-just the, hngh..."

he felt himself thrust into your wet, soppy cunt almost too quickly, completely devoid of reason. he was nestled so deeply into your core, allowing you to adjust to his massive length.

"i-i'm suhh...sorry, i said just the tip, but i...mnghh..." he could barely get a word out, too lost in the feeling of your tight cunt sucking his cock in. "y-you feel so, so good. it's so good, so..."

he was chanting it like a prayer, babbling whatever came to find. "francis, can you move?" you bluntly asked, guiding his hands to your waist.

almost like a switch, he thrusted into you wildly. his cock was reaching parts that you weren't even sure were possible to reach, especially with your husband's tiny, flimsy cock.

"am i making you f-feel good?" he asked, his lips just barely ghosting over yours. you felt his breath brushing against your face, the neediness evident on his face.

you nod, pressing a kiss on his lips. you moaned against his lips, feeling so full of him. "p-please say it. please say i'm making you feel good, ngh," he pleaded, pressing kisses against your neck.

your eyes were nearly rolling back, the entire galaxy filling your line of sight. "you make me feel so good, francis," you squealed when he hit a specific spot in you.

satisfied with your answer, his pace sped up. he was entirely bottomed out in your cunt, his pelvis pressing against yours.

you felt yourself getting close when his thumb trailed down to your pelvis to roll it against your weeping clit.

the squelches from him fucking you were so vulgar, it made you remember the sounds you heard when he fucked his wife. and finally you were living in the dream you so desperately wanted to come true.

"'m so, so close. m-might cum," you groaned, throwing your head back against the mattress.

he shook his head, feeling his hips stutter. "no, no. wait for me please. wanna cum together, hm?" he panted, mouth filled with saliva. he had grabbed your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand tightly.

you could feel the coolness of his wedding ring against your fingers, making yourself get closer. you, a married woman, were fucking married man. the dirtiness of it all excited you so much.

here he was, the man you've been masturbating to for weeks, begging you to cum at the same time. "t-together, right?" he begged, his high coming so, so soon.

his thrusts were getting sloppy and your cunt was getting tighter. you nodded, his lips crashing onto yours, kissing you until you came together.

his cum spilled so deeply into your cunt, filling you generously. "you're so beautiful," he sighed, wiping the sweat soaked strands of hair off your forehead.

he just stayed inside of you for a few minutes, admiring you.

he'd tend to you right after. taking a bath with you, drying your hair for you, cooking you a meal. he did all the things you wished your husband would do for you.

and when it was finally time for him to leave, you'd be in bed sleepily, arms wrapped around his torso, head leaned against his chest. "don't leave," you whined.

he didn't want his wife to question why he came home so late, so staying the night was out of the question. "i'll be back again, okay?" he smoothed out your hair, patting your head.

"i'll be back here tomorrow same time with another delivery, hm?" he smiled, hugging you tightly. you were so cute when you were clingy and nearly asleep.

"i'll tip you again," you yawned, feeling your eyelids get heavier with every blink.

he placed you onto the bed, tucking you in well. he looked at you once more, brushing your hair out of your face. "sweet dreams," he whispered, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

you smiled as you drifted off to sleep, knowing he'd be there same time again tomorrow.

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #tnmn #tnmn milkman #milkman #that #that's not my neighbour #that's not my neighbor #thats not my neighbor #x reader #ncrescent asks

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buttercupblu · 2 months

Text

God is Fair|The Lore

Devotional Love with Suguru x Reader|Two-Shot

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3

the deets: ever since you were young, you knew you were meant for each other. he came into your life like a storm and grew closer no matter how distant you seemed. he swelled and captured your heart every time he was near. so why did you keep fighting him? w.c: 12.7k (holy f*ck) out of idk yet for part-two the rest (god bless) tags: fem!reader, mostly angsty….pretty much 90% angst for part 1, repressed feelings, jealousy, lingering lips and fingers, a little bit of self-depreciation at the end but pick that crown up love, reader gets a little violent at the end 😳|if i missed anything, pls comment or DM ☺️ angel’s note: this story started as one thing and ended up as another—so goes the way of life. PSA: most of the good, filthy, mack-nasty shyt is in part 2/3, but you’ve gotta wade through the fire first to get it. It’s always worth it|thanks for reading 🖤 earworm 🐛: Chihiro|Billie Eilish

Over time, you became perfectly molded to him.

As did his lips to your tender bud that sank under his sinful tongue.

Slender fingers grip and drown under his raven locks, barely saving you from the shallow breaths you must take to stay alive.

You’re just above water, and he steals your air, spelling poetry with his tongue over your folding petals.

Broken coos spill from your puffy lips—his favorite melody to ever grace his ears.

Whether it was today, tomorrow, yesterday, or forever—you fall—in and in and even deeper into his grasp. Under the waves and trapped in his ocean—he gently pulls you under—your lungs yearning for air, but you never want out.

And the way he dives in, drowning to taste every drop, every sweet, delectable sip of your nectar like he could live the rest of his life without oxygen—tells you that he doesn’t either.

You learned to love each other’s oceans and came to mix seas. Both treaded rough waters but learned to float with calm bodies.

Now you lie hand in hand, limbs weaved like vines through each other’s arms, as you cuddle. Completely spent from another night in each other’s depths. Grateful. Grateful for his love—his patience.

And wondering how on Earth you thought it’d be possible to exist without someone you swore you despised.

Suguru has always been the best—the best at being good, the best at being kind, the best at being quiet—the best at being better than you.

When you were eight years old, he made his quiet introduction into your quaint little neighborhood, arriving in a flashy Mercedes-Benz followed by two moving trucks that pulled right into the driveway directly across the street from your humble home. Heels painted with red bottoms adorning stocking-covered legs were the first things you saw as you watched from your bedroom window.

The sound of movers drew your attention. No one ever came to your city, let alone your cul-de-sac. You felt a shift. A change was coming.

A tall woman, her long, sleek ponytail blowing in the wind, stepped out of the driver’s seat wearing large couture shades that took up most of her face. The overhanging forecast made everything bleak and gray, but the sunglasses stayed. A man exited the passenger seat and came to the woman’s side. He gingerly took her hand and looked around with a small smile, gently rubbing her arm. She slightly grimaced and handed him what looked like one of those small, overpriced designer bags.

They looked so…out of place.

They had to smell like money.

What the heck were they doing here?

In a city like yours, one of those places where everyone knows everyone and everybody's business, you instantly knew that this couple would be the talk of the town. At least with the adults.

You blew air into your bangs. You weren’t expecting new neighbors, but they could have at least come with a kid—someone who might actually want you around.

“Hey, Bug,” your dad called from the garden.

He always left the back door open so he could hear you in case you needed him. He must have heard the rumbling of their heavy trucks now being unloaded with elegant furniture. Would all of that even fit in there? Their house was bigger than yours but not by much. “Sounds like we’ve got new neighbors. Might go by later and say hi if you want to come.”

“No thanks.”

You turned back to the window, resting your head on your arms. Meeting Mr. and Mrs. Richy Rich didn't sound very appealing to you and might only make you feel worse on this already gloomy Spring day.

For once, you wanted to be pleasantly surprised and not just surprised with something you wouldn’t expect, like hitting the jackpot or whatever.

And then you saw him.

Inky black hair drawn into a short ponytail, emerging from the back seat of the fancy car and clutching a book thicker than his torso. His starched white-collar shirt and beige shorts reminded you of school. He kept his chin tucked and looked like the wind just might knock him over if the book wasn’t keeping him upright.

He and the woman were near twins. Definitely mother and son. She smoothed her hands down her skirt and put on a genuine smile for him. The man draped his arm around the boy’s shoulders as he took in the neighborhood. Slow and sheepish. You thought his eyes caught yours when he looked behind him and you ducked under the window sill.

Sh—

“You can’t stay cooped up in here all the time, Bug,” your dad called again. It sounded like he might be wrapping up. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

You inched back up to the window and peered over the edge. The boy looked like he was just as lost as to why he was there.

Anxious. Reserved. Kind of boring.

Not your speed.

You blew a raspberry and turned away. So much for that. You wouldn’t be missing much.

In your neighborhood, all the kids walked freely to each other’s houses to see if anyone was home. This was before everyone had cell phones to save time and figure it out for them.

You watched it happen with the other kids all the time. They’d visit each other and either stay inside (super rare) or gather the rest of the neighborhood to play in the cul-de-sac or park.

But you were never quite given a direct invitation.

The few friends you were close with moved away about a year ago, and the thought of making new ones who would eventually do the same kept you emotionally at arm's length. To make it worse, you swore the group you were left with undoubtedly hated you.

Why?

Because you had a history of sucking.

Everyone else in the neighborhood was naturally good at something. Anything. Everything.

But you?

You had to try.

Mess up. And try again. At almost anything you could name.

Basketball? Trash.

Tag? You were slow.

Football? Pssssh. As if—like you’d let yourself get hurt? You sat out every time.

So, the kids stopped inviting you or always picked you last. Both were grimy slaps in the face. Because you always knew you could be better. Delulu was the solulu if they’d only give you a chance. Or two. Or a few. But damn, you were trying.

At least you weren’t the only one being left out.

It’d been weeks since you saw the new kid on the block—not like you thought about him much after you dismissed him. But slowly, as the sounds of Spring beckoned him outside, he reminded you that the new “rich” neighbors did indeed have a kid.

It started with the curtains in his living room window gently ruffling before he’d peek out, scanning the scene for signs of life. Then eventually upgraded to gracing the neighborhood with his presence to sit outside. For hours, he watched from his front porch as the neighborhood kids dashed past your houses to play in the cul-de-sac.

It kind of made you jealous—the amount of space and freedom on their porch that his parents clearly weren’t taking advantage of. Only two plastic chairs and a small table occupied the space, and they weren’t nearly as lovely as the things you saw go into the home on move-in day. If it were up to you, you’d string up one of those hammocks big enough for two like you’d seen on TV and just float in the breeze under the overhang. It had been a frequent daydream of yours long before they moved in.

Instead, a gawking boy with too much time on his hands made it his home. Watching. Fiddling with his fingers and leaning on the rail. Watching. Always seeming too afraid to approach.

He had what you thought was the best house in the neighborhood (and probably the most money), and still, he looked so lonely.

With the background he seemed to come from, you thought he’d be more ballsy.

One day, you were, and you walked right up there, took the hand of the wide-eyed kid, and led him to the rest of the kids down at the park. His dad watched the whole thing go down from the kitchen window as he did the dishes, silently laughing as the boy stumbled behind you without saying a word.

This was your chance. You were so tired of the other kids being better than you. With him being the new kid, you thought he’d at least be somewhat on your level or maybe even a bit worse. Anything was better than being the odd one out.

You and the boy just a few inches shorter than you crashed the party right before the next game started. You beamed at the group like you had caught a prized fish.

“Guys, this is um…um…” Then you realize you hadn’t asked his name. And he was still holding your hand.

You dropped it and nudged him. “Suguru,” he said softly, seeming to avoid eye contact.

Suguru hadn’t seen that many kids in a group like this outside of school. He didn’t mean to look so anxious, but he wasn’t used to being in a neighborhood full of kids his age. He instantly felt like an outsider seeing how comfortable everyone was with each other, apart from you by his side. While soft smiles offered him a glimmer of acceptance, the stares made him self-conscious. He wondered if he could ever fit in.

You repeated his name in case no one heard him. Suguru. It naturally rolled off your tongue. Soft and sweet. Like the boy. He fidgeted with his fingers, but hearing his name felt reassuring. You looked at him and grinned. It was time to see what he’s got.

Tee-ball was the game. One you hated the most. Running was not your sport, and you certainly didn’t have an arm, so it never hurt your feelings too much when you weren’t picked for teams. But you made sure Suguru was. You wanted to see him in action.

Last summer, you guys found an old traffic cone to use as the tee and placed sticks around the field for bases.

You didn’t expect much from Suguru when it was time to bat because…look at him. He was so small and timid. The bat borrowed from someone’s dad was almost the same size as him, and you swore you saw his feet lift a few times during his practice swings. Too much of that and he’d be airborne. You prepared to give him a “job well done” pat on the back once he hit the ball a few feet.

Suguru squared up at the tee—on his way to join you at the bottom of the barrel.

And wouldn’t you know it?

He knocked the ball clear out of the park and didn’t even skim the cone.

Your mouth fell open before you remembered you were the designated retriever since you weren’t playing the game. You grumbled the whole walk and search for it.

And then he did it again. And again. And again.

And surprise, surprise, he excelled at every game he played after. Everyone wanted Suguru on their team.

You gaped at the feat—so much power, strength, and coordination in such an unassuming body.

And instantly hated him.

Not because he was the best or braggy about it.

It was the complete opposite.

He barely seemed to acknowledge it—not in an arrogant, dismissive way, but more like he was just happy to be involved and doing something. He was sheepish with compliments and even seemed nervous to receive them. He’d rub his head and give a little close-eyed smile before returning to the game.

And peer over to you on the sidelines for approval.

Every swing, every hit, and every game after, his purple eyes would find yours whenever he thought he’d done something worthwhile.

You tried to hide the jealous scowl, returning his shy smile with a nod and told him to keep his head in the game.

But he noticed.

He saw it. He knew you were unhappy, and he wanted nothing more than to help.

So after that, you kind of mirrored each other.

The kids always saw you as a try-hard—constantly on repeat, trying to make yourself valid and stand out. You’d grab failure by the throat and wring its neck, determined to make it forget your name. Not because you were attention-seeking; you only wanted to be counted in.

And so the student became the teacher. Suguru began to slip you little nods as if saying he saw you—just like you saw him all those times on his front porch. It’d annoy you at first, what you thought could’ve been pity, but it felt nice to finally be acknowledged by someone.

And so gradually, you looked to him as a spectator, earning silent yeses and nos until you finally worked up the courage to do what you were afraid of most. Ask him to be a friend.

To help you perfect your skills, of course.

But the friendship blossomed like the Spring, and you and Suguru actually grew really close—instantly drawn to each other. Pop-ups to his house were the norm as you had the most advantage out of everyone in the neighborhood by living right across from him. And you both were always brought up by one another’s parents.

Turns out Suguru’s dad was a lot like yours and they got on really well. They’re both funny, kind. But your dad’s a little bit different. He’s got rebellion in his bones, as he often talked about when he told you stories about his youth and take-no-shit hippie days.

“I’m serious, Bug. So, there we were, strapped to the tree. Shackled, really.”

He mimicked the story with his arms in between laughs.

“So, so we’re all chained up, right? And this bulldozer is coming right at our heads, ya? I look over to Stanley,” your even crazier God-father who showered you with gifts every time he visited, “I say, ‘Stanley, toughen up. You look like you’re about to piss yourself.’ And he goes, ‘I’m not scared. I forgot to go before we locked ourselves in.’”

Your dad roared with laughter, wiping the tears from his eyes like he hadn’t told that story a million times. Like he was going around trying to collect little activists. But Suguru almost fell over, leaning into his every word. He was such a shy laugher, always creasing his eyes and dimpling his cheeks when he did. It made your dad feel like the funniest guy alive when Suguru entertained his jokes.

“You were so brave,” and Suguru called your dad by his nickname just like your dad told him to. “I want to be that brave when I’m older.”

Your dad winked at you—you stuck out your tongue. Suguru was a good kid, he thought and reminded him a bit of himself.

Those days, your dad was mostly the same. He didn’t need much and chose to live a quaint and peaceful life. He’d talk your ear off about activism, travel, and stories about your mom who passed when you were born. You never got to “meet” her, but you always felt like you knew exactly who she was. And she was totally different from Suguru’s mom, who you learned was a hard-working corporate baddie. Red bottom heels. Makes sense.

By the end of that first summer, your families were practically joined at the hip. You and Suguru even more so. Outside of house calls and playing games with the rest of the neighborhood, the two of you also made frequent trips to the makeshift pier. Almost everything in your neighborhood and the surrounding area was walkable, including a small, wobbly, probably dangerous dock that sat over the small lake in town. You’d play a little alphabet game you made up on the walk down and constantly challenge him. Only for him to literally beat you at your own game nine times out of ten.

“Angels shop at—” You skipped down the dirt path.

“Blessed boutiques,” Suguru finished, “Beautiful coats—”

“Can clothe their wings. Dashing dolls—”

“Eat every sweet. Forks will find—”

“Giant…giant,” you thought and thought and thought, “Giant—”

“Geese!”’ Suguru tagged you and ran down the dock, deeming you the loser of that round. You strolled down to meet him near the water reflecting the sunset. A pout took up your face. He patted the deck, motioning for you to sit. “You’re gonna miss the fireflies.”

Watching them pop up one by one and glow on the water as the sun went down became a ritual. And one of your favorite memories of summer.

The following school year, you were even more inseparable. And when the end of fifth grade rolled around the year after, you knew it was fate when you found out you’d be attending the same middle school.

You were overjoyed. So was Suguru, but for different reasons. To you, now it was on.

Academics was an area where you had a fair shot at flourishing. You were studious, attentive, and almost the perfect student. And while you didn’t have bad grades, you always felt like you could be better. And you know why. Because everything came naturally to Suguru, of course.

Thank goodness for extracurriculars, though. The two of you didn’t need to do everything together, and you both benefited from the time and separation to do your own thing and discover your own interests. The Newspaper club caught your eye and was more interesting than you thought it would be—the first hobby to make you fall in love with words.

Suguru took an interest in robotics and, surprisingly, Yearbook. He was pretty crafty with a camera and made sure to snap the best photos of you during your events.

But the two of you rarely spoke of school or after-school activities. You never wanted him to know if you were struggling or needed help with anything and tried not to rely on him so much those days, so everything with you was always good.

It had to be.

He was still the competition, after all.

And you had to appear just as flawless.

Instead, you enjoyed late-night phone calls that went way past both of your bedtimes as you grew into middle schoolers. Pretending to be asleep and slipping the phone under your pillow without moving a muscle when your parents checked in was a sport, but it couldn’t be helped. The books you were reading, shows you were watching, and thoughts on what high school would be like were too good not to talk about into the late-night hours—even when your eyelids got too tired to stay open. Falling asleep with your cellphones in hand or occupying a space on your pillows was the norm.

“What’d ya think about the movie?”

“I mean, the book is always better, right? But like,” you sighed happily into the phone, “they made their lives look so…amazing.”

The two of you watched The Great Gatsby 1979 version on DVD at Suguru’s house right after school that day before you had to scurry off to help your dad in the garden. Suguru finished the book a few days ago, and after catching him with it during lunch and poking him enough to get him to spill some of the details, you were sold.

A glamorous romance about a life of luxury and passion?

Say less.

And because you couldn’t resist, you told him you’d finish it in less time than he did.

Suguru thought the movie was pretty true to the book, but man, what a sad story. You, however, were in love with the lifestyle.

“What about Daisy?” he asked.

You pondered Daisy’s decision for half a second before deciding she was a one-off. All her life she had been spoiled, something you were a total stranger to but didn’t make a point to say—only dismissed her frivolous ways and called her a coward. “Just the money and parties would be enough for me,” you said in a daydream. “It’d be too happy to be that shallow.”

Suguru laughed and said that wasn’t the point of the book. “Money can't always buy happiness. She could’ve had love. It was right there.” He sounded so sophisticated when he said it, much too wise and sappy for a 13-year-old.

You sucked your teeth. “That’s easy for you to say.” And you reminded him that he has a nicer house, clothes, car. “And when are y’all getting the Benz back?”

Lately, you and Suguru had been getting picked up by his dad in a major downgrade of a car. It’d been at least two months, and you were missing the feel of luxury against your skin.

The phone went quiet for a second, and Suguru scratched his head. “Uh, we actually don’t have it anymore.”

Your eyes widened as if he'd just told you someone died. Borderline devastation set in like it was your family losing one of its greatest displays of wealth. But Suguru didn’t sound the least bit sad when he told you that his dad referred to the “new car” as a “cash car” because they needed something quick.

And then it clicked, and you realized why you’d been noticing that furniture and things had also been disappearing in his house when you came over. And why he had to switch to the free lunch program you were also on at school. And why his dad mentioned looking for a second job the other day.

Suguru’s family had been hit by the recession.

And that’s how he became your neighbor.

Most of everything Suguru grew up with in his previous family home was placed in storage when they first moved into your neighborhood. His mom thought their stay would be temporary; she had been demoted at work but didn’t think it was a big deal, and things would quickly be back to normal—maybe even come with a promotion if she worked hard enough.

But it wasn’t her skills that was the problem. The economy was in shambles, and her company was running out of money. After two years of hoping for a miracle, she and over 40% of her company were laid off.

They kept all of this from Suguru until only a few weeks ago. He was much too young to understand what it all meant when it first happened—he was just a kid. But now, he was older, smarter, way less naïve. They couldn’t keep lying to him about why the car was away at the shop or why the family heirloom dining table went missing, among other things.

When they told him that he’d have to slow down on his growing book collection and only get one gift for his birthday that year, that’s when he started asking questions—not that either of those things meant much to him. He was more than happy to frequent the school library, and you noticed that he’d been spending a lot more time there than usual during breaks.

What bothered Suguru the most was the looks his parents gave him when they told him everything. Like they were delivering the worst news in the world. Like they were so worried that they’d be disappointing him. Like they should be ashamed.

It hurt him more to know that they felt like they had failed him.

“My dad just looks so tired all of the time now.”

Mr. Geto, who had been a stay-at-home work-from-home employee since before Suguru was born, had to get a part-time job working overnight to help bridge the widening gap between their old and new lifestyle.

Now, Suguru doesn’t get to see him as much except to make breakfast and kiss Suguru goodbye with a sluggish smile on his face before school.

He really missed his dad. And it made you feel like shit for momentarily being a Daisy.

For the rest of the night, you just listened to Suguru tell stories about back home—what his parents were like, the things they used to do, the trips they would take, and the time they spent together. Little memories from a place you’ve never been but could clearly see as he talked through the night.

Never once did Suguru mention missing the things he used to have or wanted now. The people in his life were what he cared about most.

“My dad got a new antenna for the TV to surprise my mom with so she can still watch her favorite channels from back home,” he laughed. “It’s so big. I hadn’t seen one before, so it was kinda funny to look at, but I’m glad it’ll make her happy.”

You solemnly smiled and propped up on your arm. “Do you ever miss home? Like being back there?”

He mentioned that he thought about it sometimes: the plush green grass in his front and backyard that he’d lay in for hours, the much sunnier skies compared to the frequently gray and cloudy ones, and humid air here in your rainy city, the few friends and family members he had to leave behind.

But he liked it here better and surprised the hell out of you by saying so.

Anywhere was better than being here.

Even though his family was going through a hard time, they still managed to get the nicest house in the neighborhood. You could only imagine what his childhood home looked like compared to the one bedroom and living room your dad made into his own space.

You asked why. What could possibly make this place any better than where he came from?

You could hear him shrug through the phone as he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just something about this place.”

You still think about that conversation sometimes.

The end of middle school came in a blaze, and so did puberty.

Suddenly, you became aware that it was time to start caring about what you looked like.

Some nights, you would call it early with Suguru in favor of spending hours on YouTube watching videos and learning how to wear makeup. You put more thought into how you dressed and tried your best to style the little clothes you had into mostly decent outfits.

Every morning, you’d beam when you entered the kitchen to grab breakfast and say goodbye to your dad. He’d try his best not to cry, watching his little Bug grow up before his eyes.

Suguru did some growing, too.

The summer of 7th grade, he got a little taller, and when your final year started, you guys were finally neck and neck. He was beginning to be able to see the top of your head when he lifted his chin, and he would make little jokes about it in his prepubescent boy voice that was starting to crack. You’d push the too-big glasses that he got at the start of middle school up the bridge of his nose and tell him not to get too cocky. This was the tallest he would get, you’d tease. He may have been good at everything, but he’d always be a pip-squeak.

When you weren’t going back and forth with Suguru, you were hanging out with the new gal pals you made at school. Your little trio started spending more time together, window shopping at the mall, attending football games after school, and talking each other’s ears off about anything in between throughout your last year. You couldn’t tell Suguru everything, of course—there are some things that guys will simply never be able to relate to or understand.

And one day, while the three of you sat at lunch together while Suguru was off with his robotics team, one of your gals leaned over the cafeteria table to poke you with a devious smile and ask the age-old question: who do you like in school?

Your brain had the audacity to picture Suguru first.

Your friends squealed watching your face blush beet red, but you turned away and never answered the question—only said that you were more focused on school and extracurriculars to help you in college more than anything else.

But where the hell did that come from?

Suguru was, debatably, your best friend, but that was it.

Not that you needed to convince anyone else of that. Just…yourself?

Before that day, you never really thought of Suguru in that light. He was this quiet, nerdy, prodigy of a boy who was great at everything and gave you another reason to want to be just as good. You secretly looked up to him, if you wanted to call it that, but you certainly didn’t like him.

He was just the boy next door.

The boy next door who was challenging you once again: to push the little hints of affection that had been blossoming aside and dismiss them.

Bury them down, keep your eyes on the prize, and finally be rewarded for your efforts.

To keep up with him, not fall in love with him.

On a rare sunny Saturday, a month and a half before school let out for the summer, the two of you sat on his beloved front porch with the future on your minds.

Suguru picked at the grass growing between the wooden boards. “Thinking about trying something new next year?”

You popped another sugary blackberry from your backyard into your mouth while stretched out on Suguru’s favorite quilt. He couldn’t help but notice how relaxed you looked, drinking up the warm sunbeams on your skin.

“I don’t know,” your arms folded behind your head as you stared at the ceiling, “I love Newspaper, but…I don’t know. I think I wanna branch out.”

You just weren’t sure how yet. You had done some research on the high school you’d both be attending next year and ran down the list looking for something to jump out at you. Something you could really put yourself into. You still loved writing and expressing yourself, but there was nothing else besides repeating Newspaper or trying Yearbook (Sugu’s territory). The rest of your options weren’t ideal, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“How about volleyball?”

“Nah.”

“Art club?”

“Mmm-mm.”

He leaned against the wooden railing. “Hmmm, choir?”

You laughed and didn’t even bother to respond to what was clearly a joke.

He sighed and pensively licked the sugar from his fingers before asking if maybe you’d want to do something together.

You looked at him and squinted. “What?” he shrugged.

“You know what.” And he shook his head all innocent-like.

Always innocent that Suguru. Effortlessly wrapping everyone around his finger. Your dad, his teachers. Even your trio mentioned him from time to time about how helpful he was. With all the times he went out of his way to make sure you were okay, even you were starting to let your guard down. Watching him now as his ponytail blew softly in the wind, looking so naïve as to what you meant but still wanting to understand, made you blush sick.

Not having much of a reason to actually be so guarded, you made one up. “You tryna go toe to toe with me, Geto?.”

Your brow cocked, and you used his last name because you knew it’d get to him. He was fully aware that you only say it when you’re serious, and it’s mostly blurted when you guys go at it on Mario Kart.

“Just because I said we should do something together?”

“Yeah, so you can one-up me.”

If there was a hobby or favorite pastime that you really enjoyed and might actually be better than good at, you knew it was best to keep it out of Suguru’s reach. Academic and recreational competitions needed to remain separate if you wanted to keep your sanity.

Suguru took a breath. If there was one thing he didn’t bother competing with you at, it was arguing. He knew you wouldn't back down if he just sat here and tried to convince you; you’d poke a hole in every counter until he simply gave up.

So, instead, he pandered to your inflated ego, chewing his lip before telling the truth. “C’mon, Twin. I promise I won’t. Do it for me.”

His soft purple gaze landed on you, and you got a funny feeling in your stomach that you hadn’t felt before.

He was serious.

He really wanted to be at your side trying something new—exploring together—helping each other find yourselves.

The shy teen who was as quiet as a mouse and yet a beast of a kid wanted to be right there with you. And he wasn’t afraid to say it.

You cleared your throat and averted his gaze. “Fine,” you agreed, but on one condition, “It stays a hobby, no competing.” And it sounded like you were talking to yourself more than him. “But valedictorian? That’s mine.” And you tossed another blackberry into the air and caught it perfectly in your mouth, making Suguru raise his eyebrows.

“That’s a bet,” he said, reaching over to wipe a bit of sugar from the corner of your lips. You swat away his hand and punch his shoulder, but damn him if the gesture didn’t make you feel all weird inside. He faked an “Ow” and rubbed his arm before joining you on the quilt to soak in the sun. You closed your eyes and pretended to float in the breeze whistling through the railing. Even without the hammock, it kind of felt like you were.

“Sooo, what do you wanna do this summer?” And the possibilities felt endless.

Who knew this core memory of each other’s youth, the moment you finally let his fingers inch across the blanket and softly brush yours without pulling back, would be one of your last?

Two weeks before break started, after all of your plans for the summer and the following school year had been planned out, it happened.

To this day, you question the timing of your worst nightmare—just when you thought you were living the dream—coming true.

The Geto’s were moving on up.

For years, Suguru watched his mom grind in corporate America. It wasn’t new to him; she had one of the hardest work ethics he’d ever seen, but it was on a different level after his family moved to your city.

Something in her had changed—the thought of instability.

She knew Suguru was used to not seeing her due to long hours at work, but when it started to affect her husband, when it began to shift the family’s dynamic, she knew she had to figure something out, and fast.

She could sacrifice her time for the family. She couldn’t sacrifice Suguru’s time with his dad.

All these years, Suguru’s family pulled themselves up by their bootstraps while Suguru was lost in the bliss of friendship. Mrs. Geto’s hard work paid off, and she got a promotion—on the opposite end of the country.

The day was bright and sunny when he left, the exact opposite of how you felt watching the beat-up car that had grown on you drive out of the neighborhood.

You looked on from your window because you didn’t want him to see you crying, watching, or caring.

You had been right from the first time you saw him.

And were back to square one.

Alone.

You guys tried to stay in touch, you really did, but being in totally different time zones made keeping up with each other a little harder. New apps for your phones, like Snapchat and Instagram, helped a little, but they didn't compare to the late-night phone calls you missed so much.

At first, Suguru would Snap you about how he was getting on in his new city, neighborhood, and places his family would explore over the summer.

The thought of him being someone’s new boy-next-door made your stomach twist.

When school rolled around, he’d send Snaps and joke about his preppy new uniform that came with a vibrant red tie and over-starched navy pants. His mom got him into a fancy private school because, of course she would, but they were really strict with phones, so you weren't able to talk to him until he got home. By the time he did, the sun had already gone down for you, and you’d be too tired from your own after-school activities to keep your eyes open.

You missed Suguru—even your dad missed him and his family terribly.

You missed him so much that you began to resent him—his new life, fancy school, and new “friends”. Jealousy reared its ugly head, forcing you to put your walls up again.

Another friend, gone, moved on to bigger and better things. Leaving you behind once again.

You had finally found a friend, a real friend, who never made you feel bad—someone you could tell almost all of your secrets to.

Who got whisked away.

Who you’d give anything to see again and go back to the way things were.

Though it’d only been five years, you felt like you’d known him your entire life.

But what you thought was fate, turned out to be folly.

It wasn’t fair.

Sometimes I fall But still, I rise To the skies high above In the clouds my ego Will go where no one knows

Why I am here

And why I try

To defy what I believe What it means to succeed To be won

To be one

To be “the one”

A smoking gun.

“Thank you.”

The cafe filled with snapping fingers as you walked off the stage, heart pounding and a smile plastered on your ducking head.

Look at you now. Performing in cafes, libraries, open-mics, wherever you could be that called for an audience. Still a little shy, but letting it motivate you and pour out on the floor to be soaked up by the listeners. It was an adrenaline rush, finally finding something you knew belonged to you and being damned good at it.

No one was better than you at telling the world how you felt while simultaneously mesmerizing an audience with your soliloquy and speech. Words still had a hold on you; you just figured it was better to say them out loud than keep them written down.

“Good job, Bug.” Your dad handed you a hot cup of tea fresh from the counter with your nickname scribbled in big cursive letters across the cup.

“Dad, please stop calling me that.”

He frowned. “But you’re my little bug.” He threw an arm around you, almost making you spill the hot liquid.

You groaned and protested. “I’m not a kid anymore.” And took a sip too soon, burning the tip of your tongue. You held it in and swallowed, looking around to see if anyone else saw the scorned look on your face.

You thought of 15 as one of your prime years and kept yourself busy to prove it. Just a sophomore in high school, Baby had a new hobby: dominating slam poetry. You had taken over the scene in your city with expansion heavy on your mind.

Though it was hard for your dad to hear, you were right; you weren’t a kid anymore. But you knew he was just proud of you. More than you could ever know. It made him happy to see you had something no one could take from you.

With a tsk, you leaned into his hug. You should be thanking him more. When the idea of doing slam poetry first crossed your mind, you were a hot mess (surprise, surprise) at being confident (BIG surprise)—your stage presence was lacking, to be specific.

On the page, your poems were like water in a desert, but opening your mouth and performing it with your whole chest was…different.

Fixating on your lines and rhythm made you want to pull your hair out. It was hard making sure your words sounded like you and would be understood. You needed to be understood.

You’d practice your performances in front of your dad until you were blue in the face. A show was put on for anyone who would listen. And secretly, you missed Suguru’s presence because he’d be perfect for it.

But you didn’t need him. You were on your way to competing in your first official local competition. All your practice around the city and long hours at home agonizing over your talent for slam poetry built up to that moment—the time to show the world what you had to offer.

Nothing felt better than holding the gold 1st place medallion between your fingers afterward. Regionals came next, and nothing could have validated your talent more than the medals you took home on top of the prize money your dad stashed away for college.

It was time to travel, and Nationals was your next target.

You couldn’t describe the feeling of finally being outside your city. The thought of being beyond the walls of home once felt like a hopeless dream. New cities, new friends, new organizations, and new styles of poetry were within your reach. The exhilarating travel that worried your dad put a thrill in your heart. You wanted to see everything—be heard everywhere. Life was full of opportunity and everything it had to offer.

“So you’re gonna do the group piece and then an individual one, maybe?”

You leaned against the cool bus window as you and your teammates winded down the road to your next hotel. Over the summer, you traveled with your state’s top slam poetry organization to compete in regional cities around the coast. All of this was practice for the Nationals coming up that August before school started. The day was coming faster than you could imagine.

“I don’t know about a solo,” you wondered.

You looked out the window and chewed your bottom lip. Your team lead had been pushing you to do a stand-alone piece for the Nationals for weeks, but you felt far from ready. You were strong in a group, but on your own, looking out into a crowd of people while demanding their attention on an empty stage, the thought made you queasy.

This wasn’t your local library or a small regional contest. Nationals is where you tell the country who you are and why you matter.

“Hey,” a hand rested on your shoulder, calling you back. “You’ve got this. You deserve this.”

And you did deserve it. You’d worked too hard and advanced so far in such a short amount of time. You didn’t think you’d get here so fast, but here you were, on a double-decker bus full of others who were just as talented as you, in a place where you belonged. In a place where you didn’t have to try so hard or look for that slight nod of approval to let you know you were seen.

August was in a hurry to put you on the stage because, before you knew it, it was time to head to California for the Nationals. What better place to begin to live your dreams than in the place where they all come true? Sunny skies, sandy beaches, and the aura of art and performance lingered in the air. It was the complete opposite of where you came from. It felt like home. You could see how Suguru could get easily lost in all.

You always wanted to visit the West Coast and see how he was living.

It’d be so funny to randomly Snap him after all this time and tell him you were so close, but you decided against it.

Cali was HUGE; there’s no way the competition would just happen to be in his city for you to casually bump into him.

Plus, imagine that awkward reunion after a few years of radio silence.

You two could be completely different people now.

He probably wouldn’t even want to see you.

Maybe you didn’t want to see him.

So many great things happened since his family packed up and left. In fact, without Suguru around, you found yourself excelling more naturally at anything and everything than ever before. Comparisons were a thing of the past, and you knew you had something no one else could take away from you.

Except maybe the competitor going on before you at the Nationals.

The audience was loud and clearly approving of his killer performance as they ate him up with whistles and snapping fingers.

Who needed a mic when you had a voice like that?

Easily projecting across the entire venue with every rhythmic pop, beat, and enunciation of his words.

You might have met your match or worse.

For the first time in your poetic career, you thought you just might lose your winning streak.

Anxiety convinced you to head back to the holding area. You just needed to run through the lines of your solo only a few more times.

You’ve got this.

He was nothing.

This was nothing.

You were taking home first place—absolutely positive that success was literally on the tip of your tongue. Until you saw him.

The boy with the raven hair.

Unmistakable and stopping you dead in your tracks as you saw him in the flesh for the first time in 2 years, standing long and tall in the venue.

Not in the audience.

Not as a stagehand.

But in another team’s holding room.

As a competitor.

Your heart plummeted into your ass.

What in the fuck was he doing here???

You swiftly ducked behind the wall leading to your team’s holding area, hand flying to your chest to still the thunderous beating.

Deep breaths, deep breaths. DEEP B R E A T H S.

Suddenly, your mouth was desert dry.

The entire summer, you prepared yourself to keep from slipping up—how you would suppress the urge to call him, think about him, or wonder where he would be when you were here.

You covered all of the bases.

But here he was in a place you least expected.

In a place you now knew you’d dread seeing him the most.

The boy you had become a ghost to was haunting you, but somehow, you knew this would happen.

You only got a quick glance at him before you vanished, but it was enough of a glimpse to notice the chances.

And God, were there changes.

As teenagers do, you both had grown out of your prepubescent bodies and into your young adult ones. And while you thought you looked relatively the same with a few upgrades here and there, Suguru had gone through a full-blown glow-up that set yours on fire.

“Almost ready?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin. Your teammate followed your line of sight and smirked. “Know him?”

You shrugged a bit too nonchalantly and said you thought he looked familiar but didn’t. “Shame,” she rested her shoulder on the wall with a dreamy gaze. “He looks like a dream.”

You turned away before you threw up and realized that you were about to be called up next. The frazzled look on your team lead’s face let you know she’d been looking for you, and you took a synced deep breath when she spotted you. Her hands fell on your shoulders before you went up the stairs to the stage. “You’ve got this.”

I’ve got this. . . . You don’t got this.

Your legs felt like Jell-O walking up the short set of stairs to the black platform in the middle of the stage. You hadn’t been on one this big, in a venue so large, with an audience so vast and eyes in the hundreds. The row of judges sat below you, yet looked so intimidating. Heat engulfed you from the lights above—a literal deer playing the lion in the headlights.

Sight zeroed in on the judges, you avoided the audience. Hoping that he wasn't still there because you knew seeing him WOULD freak you out.

In the silence Between the shattered and oppressed dreams I found, I tore The roar Of my own voice Reclaiming the night

Your lines flowed out of you more naturally than water, eyes closed, unfocused, or hazy as you transformed your surroundings into the scene of your story—the journey from struggle to empowerment—the story of why you deserved to be here. In that moment, there was no one else—not even the judges—just you, the stage, and the song that belonged to you, even if it mattered to no one else.

But it mattered to him.

And you didn’t see him until near the end of your set.

The familiarity of your voice called him to confirm it for himself. To make sure it was you. He couldn’t believe it. You looked so…powerful. Fully fledged in your adulthood, kicking ass and taking names. Fierce and poetic. The same attitude as the girl he grew up with but in its full realization.

Your voice cracked a little when you spotted him, completely awe-struck by you, but you played it off like it was part of your set. Damn the boy who had the same gawking eyes that used to watch the neighborhood kids—quiet and longing. You hoped it wasn’t obvious, but Suguru noticed. He knew. He still had some kind of effect on you. He could tell by how quickly you looked away. You still felt a way about him. He wasn’t just a nobody to you. But given the circumstances, he didn’t know whether to love or hate it by the time he took the stage.

The mic fit snuggly between his fingers. It was rare that someone fully approached it without starting their piece first. You wondered where he was going with this, why he looked a bit tense, why he kept his gaze low—if it could be because of you.

You held your breath and crossed your fingers. Once again, it was time to see him in action under the sweltering stage lights. And in seconds, you saw your gold medal fleeting.

You expected nothing less.

His voice was lined with melody—a sweet, ethereal flow and a melodious string of vocabulary that wrapped you in an envelope and swaddled you like a baby. He sounded so mature. He sounded so much better…than you.

The nerdy boy with too-big glasses and cracking voice had been replaced by a young man who towarded over the audience with a long side-bang and gauges in his ears. The red tie around his neck did look absolutely ridiculous like he said, but the rest of his navy blue uniform was tailored to perfection and fit like a glove.

He looked and sounded like where he came from. Money. But he was more than that. You found yourself hanging onto his every word as you watched from out of sight. He couldn’t see that he made your heart thump, but it was begging to fall out of your chest by the second.

This wasn’t about slam poetry anymore.

Suguru had entered your arena.

Shy, reserved, and knocking the ball out of the park.

Out of over 200 solo acts, you came in 6th. Suguru came in 5th.

And you couldn’t even feel good about it. Because you knew what this meant.

Regionals took over the remainder of your sophomore academic year, but when summer rolled back around, it was time to look Suguru in the face again at almost every out-of-state competition. The West Coast was once a dream—now you dreaded touring the area because you knew he would be there.

Performing.

Waiting to chew you up and spit you out.

Over the final two years of high school, you both spent most of your free time hopping around the nation and directly squaring off with each other.

Growing more apart as you did.

Silent hatred brewed and led the way every time you saw him—unmistakably written on your face.

He chalked it up to the fact that the two of you had changed over the years, and maybe you’d simply outgrown him. But he never thought someone he used to call his best friend could give him a look so cold. With no other choice but to follow your lead, he kept his distance and pretended you weren’t there.

But the way he racked up medal after medal, winning over judges and audiences alike, was loud and clear.

With him, you could only hope for second best. Though out-of-state competitions were just practice, losing to him in any capacity was a constant reminder that what was yours, wasn’t anymore.

If it ever was.

This time, anxiety burned through you instead of helping you.

During junior year, one of the most pivotal moments of your poetic careers, you met face-to-face again at the Nationals. Both of your organizations fought their way to the semifinals, but as you held your breath waiting for the judges to call his team’s name, silence swept both of you when you realized that neither of you made it to the finals.

Again.

By that summer, you were tired, good and tired of inching closer and closer to third place, then second, but never first in out-of-state competitions where Suguru was in the mix.

He was sucking the life out of you, but you couldn’t show it, especially when on stage where you knew he’d have his eyes glued to you.

Then, in August of your senior year, it finally happened; you returned to the Nationals, your final opportunity to win and go international. This time, it was close to your territory, in Georgia.

All bets were off.

The winner was a toss-up.

And what a slap in the face to finally win….and tie with Suguru.

You sulked on the inside the whole ride home while your teammates cheered and celebrated around you. To them, you’d just made history with your organization being the first in your state to go to the continental competition and have a shot at the World Poetry Slam Championship.

To you, your freedom of expression kept escaping you.

You felt yourself starting to mold into something outside of yourself.

Some nights, you lied in bed, unable to sleep hearing Suguru’s rhythmic beats rack through your brain.

Analyzing them.

Judging them.

Mimicking them.

Wanting to be like the best.

Your foundation was shaking.

At least you didn’t have to worry about the continental competition. Winning wasn’t the point; only earning one of the top 10 high scores to be automatically qualified for the WPSC.

It was a dream come true.

But how come it tasted so sour when you stood on that stage, your teammates going absolutely insane in the crowd at the news of you advancing to the international championship, but once again with a score just shy of Suguru’s?

The two of you were declared the best in your country…and you were sulking.

It shouldn’t matter!

You're one of the top 40 poets in the WORLD, babe!

And, for Godsake, a free plane ticket and trip to leave the country was waiting for you with your name on it! Belgian waffles and fountains of chocolate are more than enough reasons to get over yourself and this one-sided beef.

But your dad still got an earful about it.

Weekly chats with him almost always centered around poetry and Suguru ever since you first saw him sophomore year.

The closer the world championship came, the sadder you sounded.

“What if I-”

Your dad stopped you. “Don’t even finish that sentence. What have I always said?”

You hugged the phone to your ear, rolling your suitcase back and forth between your legs in the airport terminal. “Bug,” your dad said after a moment’s silence.

You groaned. “We don’t say ‘what-ifs’. We say ‘what is’.”

“And what’s going to happen.”

You looked over to your team lead, soundly napping in the corner. It was the butt crack of dawn, and both of you had gotten to the airport way too early for your liking to make sure you didn’t miss your flight. Your first international flight. You actually had a passport, like???

So much had gone into getting you here.

Energy. Time. Effort. Trust. Encouragement.

People were rooting for you. They wanted to see you win. You wanted to see you win.

“I’m gonna do my best.”

“Then you’re already a winner, Bug.”

God, your dad was gushy. And God, you loved him for it.

You didn’t feel so bad by the time you watched the sunrise in full bloom through your airplane window.

Pink, orange, and yellow washed over your face, making you feel so small. It wasn’t your first time in the sky, but definitely the most nervous you’d been.

Local papers, blogs, and newsletters featured your name—people knew you now; they had expectations.

A reputation had been made, and now you were in the fight of your life to keep it.

You sighed into your palm with your dad’s words in mind.

David was determined to take Goliath down.

Belgium.was.cold.

Like you hadn’t packed nearly thick enough coats type of cold.

You felt like an idiot.

You were a lyrical genius but couldn’t even put ‘Belgium in December’ and ‘it might be freezing’ together. But the lobby of your quaint little hotel with hot chocolate on tap was warm and inviting.

Your team lead handed you a cup, and you found yourself missing your teammates. They would have loved this and cheering you on at the top of their lungs.

The feeling was lonely—nerve-wracking.

You were in the beautiful country of Germany for a competition, not leisure, so you couldn’t even relish in the fact that you were overseas.

At least the food was good. Nervous eating made you binge until you felt sick the night before the competition, but a quick stroll in the brisk morning air made you feel better.

The bus ride to the venue felt like you were about to hop into a boxing ring. And the gloves were off.

Crossing the threshold into a space full of chosen people was like marveling at the diamonds of top-society. And you were one of them. Your team lead walked by and closed your gaping mouth with a smile. “Chin up, dear.” And disappeared into the crowd.

You'd never met a foreigner before and were thrust into a venue full of different skin tones, accents, languages, and ages. It would’ve been even more overwhelming had it not been for the smell of coffee wafting through the air, reminding you of your last safe space for poetry before you went pro. With half an hour left until the competition, you thought exploring a little wouldn’t be a bad idea.

The venue was dark and moody, perfect for setting the atmosphere and circulating the rising tension in your body. The main stage basked against the background of darkness under a single warm light that cast a circular glow.

Your final destination.

His burial sight.

Suguru was nowhere to be found, but by the looks of the thick crowd shuffling in to fill their seats, it was easy to get lost. You met back with your team lead to run your rhythms a few more times.

“Please don’t say it.” And she laughs, giving you a small nod and shoulder squeeze.

You still hear it in your head. You’ve got this.

But man, were these poets giving you a run for your money.

It was exhilarating and terrifying—a glaring reminder of why you were here among the best.

Translations were available on the screens behind the performers as you ping-ponged between their words and their expressions. Both demanded your attention and the crowd’s.

But so did you and Suguru when you both breezed through the semifinals.

For a second, you thought he hadn’t made it to the venue at all when you looked for him during your performance. But he let you and everyone else know he was in the building when he graced that stage. A hush fell over the space, and even you felt your face go soft while watching him.

He more than deserved that advance, but you weren’t done just yet.

After a brief intermission—the DJ wasn’t playing any games—you turned the corner to line up for the final round when you collided at 100mph with Suguru.

“Fu— oh.” You held your arm as you looked at him—really taking him in.

When he was on stage, you noticed he wasn’t in his usual uniform, but up close, the alternative was definitely a choice. The loose black tee ruffled as he smoothed his bang.

“Sorry.”

He rubbed his shoulder and kept his eyes low. His hands stuffed into his black cargos as he looked away, not wanting to upset you. Or see the look of resentment on your face.

You could tell he knew he made you uncomfortable, but you didn’t know how different he wished things could have been.

Hurt was written all over the face of your childhood best friend, and you never knew Suguru to be upset about anything.

You cleared your throat. “Good luck.”

His head drew back like he’d seen a ghost.

His lips parted.

Then he kind of smiled, leaning against the wall—looking at you for a moment.

You were so grown up and had accomplished so much.

Suguru was fully aware that you hated his guts and was so proud of you—even if you didn’t need him anymore.

He reached out to shake your hand. “Good luck, Twin.”

Your heart thumped—no one had called you that in 4 years—sweet and low from honeyed lips.

Suguru’s hand lingered in your air for a second before you gingerly took it.

Soft and warm.

Just like you remembered but stronger—firmer.

The gloves were off for him, too.

Things were done a bit differently for the final rounds. Instead of holding deliberations for the end of the rounds after everyone had gone, everyone got their votes front and center from five random audience members.

Paddles would fly in the air, displaying the scores to be tallied up and held until the end.

Thank God you could do quick math. Numbers were racking up—bone-chilling talent was on full display.

You were amazed, laughing, shocked. Every set was different from the last.

The crowd fell into a hush when one guy came on stage and laid straight down. Bareback to ground. Then fired off rhythmic jokes that made you laugh at some and ponder the seriousness of others.

Dark humor often has truth in it.

Most sets were in a completely different language yet spoken so beautifully that you dug your nails into your palms to keep from crying. Emotion was universal. And you were feeling a lot of them.

Suguru walking onto the stage snapped you out of it as you watched from the other side of it.

Though you’d just seen him a few minutes ago, this was a completely different light. Something had shifted.

Nice to meet you My name is Suguru Oh really? So is mine! It’s nice to meet you too.

Tell me what you’re like, what do you like to do? Lately, I’m not sure Was hoping for a breakthrough

In a world where masks are sticky and glue I’m lost in a maze with no clear view Doubt will cling like morning dew Caught in the storm of shifting hues

If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought Suguru was having a mental breakdown.

Your jaw tightened, clothes fidgeting between your fingers.

It was the most unexpected thing you could’ve imagined. And this was just the beginning of the journey through his paradoxical mind.

His ship was sinking. And he was taking you all down with him.

…I wear many faces each one feels new, But none will fit like I want it to Left with a voice that's small and untrue Burying deep I don't know what to do

In this mirror, I’m searching for clues, But this reflection is oddly askew. You scream through the glass, “Stay real and stay true!” But if you’re me, then…who are you?

You could hear a pin drop.

Suguru stopped breathing.

He couldn’t believe that he actually did it. He had never been so vulnerable.

If you thought you knew him and what he was going through before, you were left stunned and corrected.

A few of his scores floated into the air, and though you couldn’t see them all, the few you did were perfect 10s.

It would’ve been hell to go directly after that—thankfully, you had a few more people before you.

Time crept closer and closer to your set—nervous sweats and fidgeting fingers kept you company.

So much for keeping a hobby a hobby, you thought, pacing backstage.

This wasn’t fun for you anymore; it was always supposed to be fun, easy, natural.

But this was no longer just about you.

It never was.

It was about proving anyone who ever doubted wrong.

When the host called your name, you made those 3 minutes on stage feel like your last.

Rain, rain don’t go away, You’re the only one who stays, Cross my heart and hope to die I promise that I will not cry

Build and build and There it goes! All for naught and just for show Hypnotize your guards to grave Leave the trust to fade away

This was your final plea to be heard by the world if you had ever made one.

A letter to those who ever dismissed, ignored, or left you.

Fire and brimstone poured from the pit of your soul—served up on a plate with the audience in mind but Suguru as the guest of honor.

You thought he’d be away in the dressing room or at least within earshot, but no. He stood tall and bright, leaning against the door frame that led out to the hall, backlit by the warm lights that framed his figure, watching.

Listening.

Knowing the poem was partially about him.

You hoped it hurt him as much to hear it as it did for you to write it.

Deep breaths kept your voice steady—he wouldn’t hear it crack this time as you powered through your trembles. Bold and brash. Unleashing your truth.

He saw it in your eyes and unconsciously did the only thing he knew to support you, the beginning of your connection—trust that blossomed into turmoil. The small nod of approval.

Years had passed.

Envy had pushed you to avoid him.

He accepted that you no longer saw him as a friend.

Yet he still wanted to show his support.

And it pissed you off.

…Lo and behold the savior's light Here to take another flight Take me by my desperate hand Lead me how you only can Fragile like a gentle rose I will follow where you go.

Shadows whisper of the known What I am. I am alone...

You walked off stage before you could see your final scores.

Whatever would be was now out of your hands—the relief felt agonizingly sweet.

Your team lead wrapped you in her arms as you silently cried. You didn’t know how long the tears had been building up, but the release was like a dam burst.

Crying on your first international trip to Belgium.

Nice.

A final intermission was left, and the scores were tallied. You guzzled down some water and took a few breaths before meeting the rest of the contestants. Finally, finally, you and Suguru stood side by side again on stage. Your entire history had built up to this moment—ready to declare a winner. Ready to determine whether you finally caught up.

His pinky brushed yours, sending sparks to your belly like that day on his porch.

Head down, you waited for a name to be called.

Any name, every name, would be better than—

“Suguru Geto.”

Naturally rolling off their tongue.

Suguru stiffened beside you like he couldn’t believe it himself as they motioned for him to come forward. In your mind, everything went quiet. You couldn’t feel anything but emptiness in the pit of your stomach. Not even anger.

Before he moved a muscle to claim the spotlight, he turned to you, daring to offer his hand again. But it felt less like a “Job well done!” and more like a pitiful “I’m sorry.” And you had had enough of condolences.

You turned away and left the stage in the midst of the raging applause for Suguru. No one else may have caught the cold shoulder, but to Suguru, it felt like he was trapped in ice. He could leave your life forever now for all you cared.

This was your one, final chance to make things even between you two.

But reality was a bitch.

You couldn’t get away from him quick enough.

Yes, you’ve gotten to travel the country. Yes, you got the opportunity of a lifetime to go overseas just off your hard work alone, but all of that meant nothing if you were only second best.

It was redundant.

What was even the point in trying? You would never be good enough to stand on your own. Always under his shadow, drowning in his wake.

It wasn’t.fucking.fair.

You brushed past your team lead, contestants—anyone trying to tell you how amazing you did. You couldn’t stand being bathed in lies and beelined out the back of the venue.

“Fuck this.” You choked back tears, breath escaping you as you pushed the door open.

The contrast of sharp, cold air whipped your face, making you realize you didn’t grab your jacket, but it was just what you needed to set the gravity of your situation in.

You were nothing.

You bawled your fists.

And foolish for trying.

Hyperventilating.

Look at what you came from. Look at what you get for trying to change that.

Hot, fat tears spilled down your face as you huddled in a corner of the building. You wrapped your arms around your knees, trying to shield the icy winds, but you already felt dead inside. Pathetic and worthless. It was out of your hands to change that.

A voice called after you, belonging to the last person you wanted to see right now. That soft, angelic voice that swooned the world and made your insides boil. Why couldn’t he just get it?? Why couldn’t he stay the fuck away??

You thought you had hidden yourself well by putting a bit of distance between the exit and the corner you tucked into, but he found you in seconds, tears dried on your face, crouching into your knees.

He stood there gaping, completely overwhelmed by the state of you.

For once, he was out of words.

“Well??” It was hoarse and cracking.

“I-I’m—”

“Oh my God, pLEASE fucking save it!” You shook, burying your head into your arms.

It was enough that he got to bask in your pathetic breakdown with front-row seats. He didn’t need to pretend he didn’t enjoy it.

But Suguru was fed up with your bullshit and came looking to tell you about it. The final straw was leaving his extension of sympathy high and dry as you walked off stage. Giving him the ultimate “fuck you” in his moment of congratulations.

He never understood why you hated him—the resentment, what happened, what he’d done. But he was about to make you explain yourself.

“Get up.” Gentleness left his voice.

He came closer and towered over your petite frame, cornering you so you couldn’t run away. “You think I don’t know how much this meant to you?”

When you didn’t answer, he crouched down to your level.

“Hey.”

You buried yourself deeper.

“Hey.”

“Don’t touch me.” You brushed him away, pressing your back into the wall as you stood up, shivering in the wind.

But it felt like you had punched him in the gut.

He had never seen you so bothered before, and the revelation that you were pointing the finger and naming him the culprit made his chest feel tight. It felt worse attempting to bury your heart on your sleeve. But the extent of your scorn was on full display.

After a moment of looking your bitterness in the face, it finally clicked for Suguru.

Why you hated him. Couldn't stand to look at him. Avoided him.

Why you started all of this competitive bullshit in the first place.

The root of it was more painfully obvious to see than the daggers in your eyes. What else could it be?

“You’re jealous.”

And that set you off.

“HA!” It almost hurt to laugh. “Jealous?!”

People could probably hear you inside the venue. But Suguru knew just what to say to get you to talk.

“This whole time, I thought you were upset because I left, but…you’re just jealous.”

You snorted. “You’ve never worked hard a day in your life.”

“What? You don’t think I earned this?”

“Who knows? Mommy buys you everything.”

“Woah,” he held up a hand and laughed, “Is that what this is about?”

Your cheeks burned hot, but you had egg on your face and had just spilled the beans. But fire still raged in your chest.

“You could have had anything else. Anything! Anything in the world, but you just had to take this from me!”

“How was I supposed to know??” he cut you off, “You stopped talking to me.”

You felt a pang and fell silent—flurries of unread texts, unopened Snaps, and missed calls played in both of your minds.

“How was I supposed to know anything? How was I supposed to have anything without making you feel bad?”

“Me?” You scoffed. “Without me, you’d probably still be sitting on that dusty ass porch (you loved that porch), watching everyone go and fucking live life.”

“I was like 7.”

“9.” You rubbed the blooming goosebumps on your arms.

“Whatever, you think I owe you or something? You want a ‘thank you’?”

His tone made you shift, but you puffed up your chest.

“No, I don’t need a thank you." Your eyes narrowed. “I’m just not that impressed.”

Oh?

He scoffed, backing away with a smirk, arms swinging as he looked away then back at you. “You’re full of it.”

“You’re not that talented.”

He cocked his head, raising a brow. You were questioning his talent—clearly emotional and spewing lies—but it was a shot at his reputation nonetheless.

His smirk faltered as he clasped his hands. “You wanna go?” And then he got closer. Your breath caught as he studied your face, his left arm shooting out to frame you, pinning you into the corner.

The heat radiating off his body should have been a comfort in the frosty air, but fuck, you also felt other things that raced your heart and made you hate yourself.

He leaned over you. “How would you like to eat your words? Fried? Or sautéed?”

His eyes bore into yours, daring you to buck up or back down. But just because he finally had the balls to challenge you and take up space didn't mean you were intimidated.

He was the same little boy he'd always been.

And you were quick to remind him.

“Bite me, Get—”

Instead, he kissed, capturing your lips in a way that shot electricity down your spine and stole the breath and shriek right out of your body.

In an instant, you swore your pupils morphed into hearts. For so long, he's wanted to do that—kiss your sweet, supple lips that ramble nonsense and shut you up—bridge the gap between your broken friendship to ask for more, to make all your fire, resistance, and anger melt away...so you could come back to him.

Knees weak, you nearly staggered, scrambling for the walls to keep you up, but was saved by his hand cradling your hip to hold you. Keep you. Protect you. Your heart burst.

You pulled away, eyes heavy. Leaving a sliver of space between your lips to see your heated breaths mingling in the chilly air as he rested his forehead against yours. Softly, you cradled his face in your hand, feeling waves of longing swell through your body—his had already burst. Then you slapped him.

“How’s that for poetry?” And left.

extended angel's note: this story took a TOTALLY different turn from what i originally planned (thanks Mac Miller) but omg it's sO much better and kinda fits into all of the sugu angst i have planned (oh how i love to hurt myself so). this story in particular was supposed to be like all smut and no exposition but um…things happen 😅 sO, all of the low-angst, ‘enemies’ to lovers lives in part 1, with a focus on the resolution in part 2: lovers who give in and chose each other arc while remaining focused on my original goal of making a smut that spotlights and actualizes realistic sex. learning each other, listening, patiently growing, and choosing.

#bluuharem #God is Fair #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk poc reader #jjk x y/n #jjk imagines #suguru x you #suguru x y/n #suguru smut #jjk smut #suguru geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto x y/n #geto x you #anime fanfic

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duhnova · 1 year

Text

bad girls make good boys cry | joshua hong

pairing: virgin!joshua x experienced!reader (fem reader)

genre: smut, some fluff, academic love

word count: ~3.7k

synopsis: crying was never on joshua’s list of things to expect when he finally lost his virginity, but it’s more blissful than he could’ve imagined.

warning(s): smut under the cut (mdni !!!), established relationship, virgin joshua, dacryphilia (shua kind of full on sobs), hand kink, breeding kink, begging, dick riding, hair pulling, marking kink, spit kink, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, creampie

author notes: this is my retaliation towards @onlyhuis ,and also @lovelyhan ... i innocently self projected in my hannie fic and they in turn ATTACKED ME <3 and now im paying it back hehe.. also thank you @onlymingyus for proofreading for me.

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when you and joshua decided to rent a study room in your university's library, neither of you accounted for how cold it would be. he was dressed in a thin button up shirt with a sweater vest and you had on a skirt, that sat a little high on your hips so the underside of your ass peaked out every time you lent over the table to reach for something you placed methodically out of reach so you could give your boyfriend the perfect view.

“babe..” he mumbles, burying his face back in his textbook to hide his blush, the reading glasses he had on sliding down his nose a little as he reads the words on the page quietly to himself.

“hm?” you plop back down in the chair next to him with the highlighter dedicated to vocabulary words.

“i’m all for you expressing yourself with your clothing but.. don’t you think your skirt is a little short?” he mumbles, side eyeing you as you innocently play with the hem of said skirt.

“maybe i did pull it up a little.. don’t you like it like this though shua?” you look at him with a pout that dripped with fake innocence.

“i.. uh.” he stutters as he looks down at the skirt fanning over your thighs before looking up into your eyes, his tongue poking out to wet his lips as he thinks of something to say that doesn’t make him sound completely stupid.

“maybe a little shorter?” you mumble as you trail your fingers to the waist of your brown plaid skirt to pull it up more, your thighs on full display now as the only thing it covers is the white lacy panties you have on.

“god.. don’t do that..” he mumbles, his fingers gripping the edge of his textbook tightly as he watches your fingers ghost back down to your thighs where you grab the hem of your skirt again.

“why not? too distracting?” your lips quirk up a little as he nods, watching as you slowly lift the hem, your panties barely becoming visible but he’s able to see the edge of a wet spot that has his cock twitching in his loose trousers.

“y/n..” joshua is no stranger to your naked body, seeing it multiple times as you have no shame in changing in front of him, and he’s had his mouth on you once or twice before.

he waited a long time to have his first time be special, wanting it to be with the right person - and if he’s being frank he never thought you’d be that person at first. you were beautiful and way out of his league. yet here you were, sitting next to him, teasing him with the thought of you being dripping wet for him and he’s never felt more sure about someone in his entire life.

“shua..” you flutter your eyelashes at him, knowing you were pushing buttons your boyfriend possibly didn’t know he had.

“we’re in the library.” he mumbles as his eyes flicker off your body to look at the door that was very much locked.

“and we have the room all to ourselves for the next two hours,” you lick your lips as you watch him fidget, the gears turning in his head as he mulled over the idea of you two being in public. “we don’t have to do anything if you’re not comfortable though..” you place your skirt back over your thighs, pulling it down your hips so it was at an acceptable length. you might’ve liked to push his buttons to see how far you could go but you knew when to stop, your boyfriend’s comfort is more important than anything.

“i-” his hand shoots out and grabs your hand that was still holding on to the hem of your skirt. “i’m comfortable.. i just,” his eyes look at the door before looking down at you again. “the door is locked, right?”

you fought so hard to hide the cheeky smile as you watched your boyfriend's eye’s darken the longer he stared at you. you nod your head quickly, offering to double check it but he doesn’t let you move far as he yanks you into his lap just as you stand up.

“i trust you.” he whispers as he rests his hands on your hips allowing you to situate yourself comfortably on his lap.

“are you sure this is what you want?” you mumble softly as you brush the strands of hair that fell out of his eyes. he gulps quietly as he nods, whispering a quiet ‘yes’ as he squeezes your hips harder.

“i’ve always wanted you..” he whispers as he looks up into your eyes, his eyes completely blown with lust but his voice was steady with confidence. “need you so bad now.”

“well i’m right here, baby.” you whisper against his lips before you’re kissing him hard enough to bruise his lips. your hips experimentally rock against his as he groans into your mouth, a shock of pleasure shooting through his body as his cock twitches in his pants.

your body was far from foreign to joshua as his hands began to rub up and down your sides, his warm fingers slipping under your shirt before his hands dip under the waistband of your skirt so he can get two handfuls of your ass. his hands were warm and his nails dug into your plump flesh deliciously, ripping a quiet moan from you that broke the heavy makeout session.

“why’d you pull away.” he pants quietly as he watches you through hooded eyes. he continued to knead at your ass as you bent over to the side to dig through your bag.

“condom..” you mumble as you fished for the gold foil you always carried in your bag that you’d take to joshua's place just in case.

“why?” he whined a little desperately. “you don’t want me to fill you up?” you could hear the pout in his voice as you froze, blood rushing to your face as your body began to heat up.

“i-” he cuts you off by jerking your body so you are sitting up straight again.

“i overheard you talking with your friends a while back about getting creampied..” his face began to heat up as he couldn’t make eye contact with you at first. “i.. i had to look it up but, i wanna creampie you.” he swallows the lump in his throat.

“fuck..” you groan quietly biting your lip. the idea of him fucking you raw and cumming in you had a new wave of arousal soak your panties. “okay.” you whisper, burying your fingers in his hair again. moaning quietly, joshua's eyes flutter as he lets you tug his head back enough to give you a better angle to kiss him.

you kiss him a little softer this time as you settle down on his lap, your warm cunt pressed fully against his painfully hard erection. you can’t help but giggle into the kiss when you feel him twitch below you before you start to rock your hips slowly. joshua has always had impeccable self control, being able to make you cum on his tongue, fingers, and thigh plenty of times without so much as breaking a sweat - however, right now all of that is out the window as you make feelings he was unfamiliar with rush through his body.

“y/n..” he moans in between kisses, his hips sloppily bucking up against yours when you barely lift them to reposition yourself. gasping at the friction and force behind his hips you grip his hair tighter, the moan leaving your boyfriend was sinful. “sorry..”

“it’s okay, you're just desperate aren’t you baby?” you smile at him as you pet his hair gently, soothing the sting from you pulling it. he nods his head quickly as he begins to roll his hips up into yours experimentally.

“yes.. god yes.” he sounded desperate as he squeezed your ass cheeks harder. “please..”

“please what baby?” you watched the way he bit his lip shyly. “use your words shua, i won’t do anything unless you ask for it.”

“please fuck me already.” he sounded breathless as he watched your eyes sparkle, the lust drowning out your irises as you sat up on your knees. joshua whines quietly at the loss of friction. “why-”

“be a good boy and undo your pants for me baby.” he almost mewls at the words ‘good boy’ before he slips his hands out from your skirt to make quick work at undoing his belt and pants so he can push them down his thighs enough to give you access to his cock.

“are you gonna keep your skirt on?” he licks his lips, watching the way you pull your skirt up higher on your torso so he can see the soaked lace of your panties peeking out from the bottom of the plaid material.

“if you want me to take it off i will.” he shakes his head as he continues to watch your fingers hook onto the waistband of your panties, pulling the ruined material slowly down your thighs where you lift one leg at a time to pull them fully off.

“fuck..” he whispers at the sight of your bare pussy glistening in the poor study room light. “so pretty.”

“you think?” you giggle when he looks at you incredulously.

“do i think so? of fucking course i do, every inch of you is beautiful.” you can’t help but scoff playfully, trying to hide the bashful smile threatening to make its way out.

“keep talking like that and i’ll gag you with these.” you hold your soaked panties up before balling them up and tucking them into the pocket of your jacket.

“i wouldn’t be opposed to that.” he mumbles as his eyes drop back to your hands that are gingerly wrapped around the waistband of his boxers.

“are you ready?” you look back up at him again, wanting one more verbal confirmation before you continue.

“yes, i’ve been ready.” you give him a sweet smile before you finally tug his boxers down, freeing his cock that springs up and slaps against his sweater vest.

“now that's pretty.” you lick your lips and wrap your fingers around the base, squeezing it gently causing joshua to hiss and buck his hips up.

“god..” his ears get red as he tries to keep his eyes open to watch how your fingertips barely touch as you jerk your hand slowly up and down the full length of his cock. your thumb would come up to rub at his slit every couple strokes and every time he almost sobs in pleasure.

“tell me when to stop.” you lean up to kiss the underside of his jaw that was exposed to you after he threw his head back from the sheer force of the pleasure just your hand was causing. joshua was always a giver, he never expected, let alone asked you to go down on him after he had his chance to go down on you - so the feeling of your hand was new, and the look of adoration on your face when you saw his cock for the first time had his head spinning.

it was almost like time slowed down when you rubbed the tip of his cock through your folds, his precum mixing with your juices. joshua can’t help but groan lowly at the feeling of your warmth before he's moaning louder when his tip becomes enveloped by your pussy.

“fuck!” you stop moving when he moans out loudly, his fingers coming to dig into your hips. “slow.. go slow please.” you relax realizing you didn’t hurt him. everything was new to him and he didn’t want to cum just from the feeling of your walls hugging his tip.

you began to sink down on him slower, his tip dragging agonizingly slow against your walls as you took a couple minutes to finally bottom him out inside you. joshua's legs shook gently along with yours, his from the overwhelming feeling of being squeezed by your pussy and you from never feeling so full before.

“so.. big..” joshua groans quietly at the praise. you both took a couple minutes to recuperate before you slowly lifted your hips until just the tip was still inside and just when joshua went to question what you were doing you slammed your hips back down, drawing the loudest moan from joshua you had ever heard.

“ah!~” his eyes roll at the sensation, his words coming out jumbled as you do that a couple more times before finally setting a steady pace.

“that's it baby, let me take care of you.” joshua was completely relaxed in his chair, his eyes closed and his teeth digging into his lip as he tried to control his sounds so no one came knocking to investigate.

“so, so warm.. you're so warm.” he babbles, his nails leaving crescent shapes in your hips.

“am i?” you tangle your fingers in his hair again as he nods his head. “tell me more baby.” you whisper before moaning loud when he bucks his hips up in time with you pulling his hair.

“be.. be good.” you struggle to talk as his hips keep instinctively bucking up into yours, his control slipping even more. “so bad.” you mumble as you let his hips jerk you forward against his body where he wraps his arms around your waist to hold you close.

“‘m not bad.” he whines trying to bury his face in your neck to muffle his moans more.

“you’re such a bad boy,” you smirk at the way his cock twitches inside of you. “”so so bad shua, bad little whore who likes to get fucked in public.” you kiss sloppily at his jaw.

“n-no, ngh~” he lets out a strangled moan when your pussy clenches around him when he hits that spongy spot inside of you that has your toes curling and your hand gripping his hair tighter.

“can’t believe you wait this long just to have me fuck you in the university library shua.” you pull your head back enough to see his eyes were glassed over as he moaned louder, any shame of being heard going out the window. “you want me to fuck you in public more baby?”

joshua nodded his head quickly, his voice lost to the constant moans and whines escaping his mouth. you smirk at the sight of tears finally welling in his eyes, the sadistic side of you coming out a little as you tug his hair more, jerking his head back and causing his mouth to fall open. taking a second to just admire the sight in front of you, you felt your heart swell at the fact he trusted you enough to make him feel this good.

without wasting another beat you reach forward and nip at his tongue that is sticking out now. his eyes flutter and cross for a second before they close completely when you begin to suck on his tongue.

everything was beginning to build up inside you both, his moans were beginning to get lost in his throat as his cock twitched more with each bounce of your hips. your legs were beginning to shake from exhaustion and from the building orgasm that was winding up quicker and quicker the more his tip hit your g-spot.

“are you close, baby?” you whisper after letting his tongue go.

“i-” his sentence is cut off with another wave of moans and whines as he squeezes his arms around you tighter.

“i think you are.” you try to laugh but it comes out as a breathy moan instead as you rest your arms around his shoulders as you let your hips slow down a little.

“no no no.”’ he begs as he starts to buck his hips into yours more quicker. he didn’t want the pleasure to stop as he found his own rhythm and confidence in his hips.

“fuck, thats it baby,” you moan louder than you have. “right there shua! shit!” you whine, burying your face into his neck.

joshua continued to thrust his hips up into you fast, his cock leaking precum into you until he felt a strange feeling building up his legs and back that caused his hips to stutter.

“gonna cum?” you sit back up enough to see his nose scrunched up as he bit hard into his bottom lip to stifle his sounds. “that's it baby.” you begin to bounce quickly again, taking over the reins as you helped him reach his orgasm quicker.

“fuck! god please, i’m gonna cum inside.. let… let me come inside. please!” joshua bubbles and tears up more as his first ever orgasm was right there.

“cum shua, please please, cum inside me.” your orgasm was right there as well, the familiar warmth was filling your body as you leant forward to be pushed up against his body again. “give me your cum… your.. your.. fuck please baby. you feel so good.”

with a strangled sob, joshua buries his face in your neck as he unloads his cum deep inside of you. your own orgasm finally washes over you as you sit fully on his cock, letting your pussy clench and unclench around him until he is milked dry.

a quiet sniffle followed by tears hitting your neck causes you to panic and come out of your post orgasm haze quickly as you jerk away from joshua's body to see his eyes welled with tears and his eyes still hazy from his orgasm.

“joshua? joshua baby.” your voice was soft as you cupped his cheeks to tilt his head up so he was looking at you. “what's wrong baby? did.. did you not want his after all?”

“no.. no i,”’ he sniffles as he closes his eyes and lets you gently wipe his tears away before you kiss his eyes and nose gently. “just a little overwhelmed i guess.” he mumbles before his eyes flutter open to look up at you again.

“maybe doing this here wasn’t the best idea.” you gently rub your thumbs against his cheeks.

“i couldn’t have thought of a better place actually.” he offers you a genuine smile, causing you to laugh quietly.

“really? you never imagined your first time being in a bed?”

“i’m not that boring,” he pouts a little, his mind coming out of the haze. “but i never did imagine my first time being in our universities library.” he laughs quietly before groaning at the feeling of his softening cock slipping out of your warm pussy.

“i’m glad this was memorable for you.” you lean forward to peck his nose again before finally standing up, wincing at the slight sting between your legs.

“it was perfect.” his hands rubbed gently at your thighs as you stood in front of him for a couple seconds before shuffling out of his way so he could stand up as well to situate himself back into his pants.

“that makes me so happy.” you smile brighter, grabbing your still wet panties from your pocket you slide them back on to make sure none of his cum drips out of you. “i'm hungry now, how does burgers and a milkshake sound?”

“sounds amazing,” joshua begins to pack your stuff up, handing you things so you can put them in your bag that sat on the ground between your chairs. “lets find a bathroom too… fuck.” he groans when he looks over to see you bent over, putting your bags away.

“what?” you stand up straight and tilt your head back to look at him as you swing your bag over your shoulder.

“pull your skirt back down baby..” he couldn’t make eye contact with you as he stared at the wall ahead of you.

“what? you just fucked my brains out and you're still embarrassed to see my ass?” you smile playfully as you wiggle your skirt back down to cover everything.

“first of all, you rode me till i cried. second of all, i'm not embarrassed to see your ass… i just left hand prints on it that's all.” he mumbles the last part but you heard him loud and clear as you walked towards the door.

“you what?” you turned and lifted your skirt like you were gonna be able to see them. “show me!”

“show you?” he looked at you wide eyed. “how?”

“take a picture! i wanna see my boyfriend's hand prints on my ass.” you pout as you turned and put your ass on display so he could pull his phone out and snap a picture really quick.

“here.” he mumbles as he shows you his phone screen, where your ass was beautifully on display with two pretty red hand prints on it.

“woah,” you could feel your face heating up again. “keep that.” you go to hand him his phone back before pulling it back again. “actually, let me make it your wallpaper.”

“no no no,” he tried to get it back from you but you just giggly evilly while keeping it out of his reach.

“don’t you want everyone to see how pretty you make my ass look?”

“fuck no.” he grabs you by the waist and pulls you back against his body. “only mine to see.” he pouts as he looks over your shoulder to see you had closed his phone already.

“i’m only yours baby.” you giggle as you hand him his phone back and kiss his cheek before wiggling out of his grasp. “now let’s go find that bathroom and get some food.”

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