#those squeaky shoes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

psychic-pigeons · 1 month

Note

hey if you write a pattern for the chilchuck amigurumi I will buy it instantly

ive gotten multiple asks about this, so ill just answer them all here in one go.

i wrote down everything while i was working on it, but i theres some stuff that i would do diffrently and i also didnt take a lot of process pics so it wont be a full proper pattern for those reasons, but ill add all that i have under the cut!

i dont want any compensation, but if you wanna do me a favor you can donate to esims for gaza, unrwa, any of these gefundme's, or another trusted charity of your choice.

now to the pattern! i would love to see the results of anyone making a squeakychuck, feel free to tag or dm me :)

the dimensions of this depend on the size of ur squeaker and yarn, i had a 4ish cm squeaker and somewhat thick 4/8 cotton yarn (kinda 6/8ish thickness). depending on ur yarn and squeaker u might need to follow a different pattern for the body.

if youre using a different body base pattern, the tunic and blouse pattern are pretty easily adjustable. ill add some notes for that at those sections of the pattern. ill also link some videos i used at relevant sections.

if theres an Action store near where u live, see pic below for the yarn i used for the skin, reddish brown, black and light brown. i got 3 of these but 2 packs was enough. the dark brown and creme were from my stash. i also got the squeaker from a donut dog toy from Action.

abreviations list (all in us terms):

mr = magic ring

sc = single crochet

hdc = half dubble crochet

slst = slipstitch

ch = chain

bobble = 5 double crochet in one stitch

4inc = 4 sc in one

4 inc = increase in the next four stitches

BLO = back loop only

FLO = front loop only

what you need:

-skin color of choice yarn

-creme/white yarn (normal for body, thin for blouse)

-greyish creme (for boot flaps)

-black yarn

-dark brown yarn

-light brown yarn

-reddish brown yarn

-green yarn

-4 tiny buttons (for arm joints)

-cardboard (for shoe sole

-3.5mm hook

-squeaker

-needlefelt needle

-stuffing

-stitchmarker (optional, i always mark the first stitch of the round)

once again disclaimer, this is not a propper pattern, this is just what i wrote down while i was crochetting. it may not nessecarily be the best way to do it. i wanted most clothes to be removable, but you have to partially disassemble the doll if you want to remove them. if you dont like how something looks or works ur free to do whatever you want. big fan of fucking around and finding out personally.

if you have any questions feel free to dm me, might take me a while to reply though.

SQUEAKY CHUCK PATTERN 3.5mm hook

head (skin)

r1: sc 6 in mr

r2: (inc) x6

r3: (sc 1, inc) x6

r4: (sc 2, inc) x6

r5: (sc3, inc) x6

r6: (sc4, inc) x6

r7: (sc 5, inc) x6

r8-15 : sc 42

r16: (sc 5, dec) x6

r17: (sc 4, dec) x6

r18: (sc3, dec) x6

r19: (sc2, dec) x6

r20: (sc 1, dec) x6

r21: sc 12

slst, fasten off

ears x2 (skin)

r1: sc6 in mc

r2: (inc) x6

r3: (sc, inc) x6

r4-6: sc 18

r7: dec 9. slst fatsen off.

Body - leg up (skin, black, thick creme)

start with skin

r1: ch 6, inc in 2nd from hook, sc 3, 4inc, sc 3, inc

r2: inc 2, sc 3, inc 4, sc 3, inc 2

r3: inc 3, sc 5, inc 6, sc 5, inc 3

r4: BLO sc in all

r5: sc 3, dec 2, sc 3, dec 2, sc 6, dec 2, sc 3, dec 2, sc 3

r6: sc 1, dec, sc 4, dec 6, sc 4, dec, sc 1.

r7: sc 6, dec 3, sc 6

stuff

-r8 dec, sc in all

change color to black [color change video]

r9-23: sc in all

1st leg: fasten off

2nd leg [joining legs video]:

r24: sc7, ch 1, sc join in 1st leg after last sc, sc13, sc1 in visible v loop of ch1, sc 7

r25: sc7, sc 1 in remaining v loop of ch1, sc21

r26-31: sc 28

r32: sc 7, change color to creme/white, slst 1, sc 20

r33-35: sc 29

r36: (sc 8, dec) x3

r37: (sc7, dec) x3

r38: (sc6, dec)x3

add squeaker

r39: sc21

r40: (sc 5, dec) x3

r41-42: sc18

r43: (sc 1, dec) x6

fasten off

Arms (skin, dark brown)

i made the arms movable with button joints, but after looking at some videos i discovered that what i did is not called a button joint and i dont have a video explaining it, so i hope this drawing helps.

the red bits are the buttons inside of the arms and body, and the thread (blue for clarity, i matched it w the skin) should be pulled tight and finished off with a double or tripple knot inside the body.

or you could just sew on the arms that also works. but wait with doing that until youve finished the blouse as the hands dont fit through the sleeves. i have a seperate section on assembly at the end of the pattern.

start with skin

r1:sc6 in mc

r2: inc x6

r3(sc, inc)x6

r4 : sc 18

change color to brown

r5: sc 18

1st arm r6: sc 3, bobble, sc 14.

2nd arm r6.2: sc 14, boble, sc 3

[i matched the top loop to the bobble color but i think it would look better if u didnt]

r7: sc 18

r8: (sc 4, dec)x3

r9: (sc 3, dec)x3

r10 sc12

color switch to skin (you might want to do this a round earlier, i didnt initially plan on making the gloves flared, and this color change part can sometimes be seen and look kinda weird)

r11-14: sc 12

r15: (sc4, dec)x2

r16-19 : sc 10

r20: (sc3, dec)x2

r21: sc8

insert button joint

r28: (sc2, dec)x2

slst, sew shut

glove flare (dark brown)

r1: ch 15, slst join LONG TAIL

r2: (sc4, inc)x3

r3: sc4, inc, sc8, inc, sc 4

r4: sc 2, slst fasten off

sew 2 rows below thumb bobble

boots (light brown, dark brown, greyish creme) [video]

these are removable but they dont go on easily, so you gotta patiently massage the feet in there.

start with light brown

ch 7, start in 2nd from hook:

r1: sc 5, 3inc, sc 4, inc

r2: inc, sc 4, inc 3, sc 4, inc 2

r3: inc, sc 5, hdc inc 7, sc 5, inc 2

r4: slst fasten off. sew in holes/tails, fray ends for flat gluejob. trace onto cardboard for sole.

switch color to dark brown

r1: BLO join slst, BLO sc in all

r2-3: sc in all

glue in sole

r4: sc 8, dec 5, sc 12

r5: sc 7, dec 4, sc 10

r6: sc7, dec2, sc 10

r7-10: sc in all

switch color to greyish creme

r11-12: sc in all

r13: slst, FLO sc in all

r14-16: sc all

slst fasten off

flip the greyish creme flap over.

blouse (thinner creme)

this is a standard raglan pattern, if you need the whole thing bigger/smaller you need to have more/less chains at the beginning. this change also carries over to the collar. the increases are evenly spaced for me, and unless your doll has a very broad chest this shouldnt have to change.

if the arms need more space you need to either add more rows to the r3-7 part and/or add more chains in r8 (this part should fit pretty sugg around the body)

i was experimenting a bit w using BLO to minimize the gap where the sleeve and body seperate (r8). it worked p good but you can ignore it if you dont understand it and just sc in all.

(edit: if this confuses you, understandable. I answered an ask abt it here but feel free to ask if its still unclear)

r1: ch24, slst join.

r2: (sc 5, inc) x4

r3-7: inc in first of previous inc. last row should have 10 sc between increases.

r8: sc5, blo sc 1, ch 5, blo sc join in 1st of next inc, sc 11, blo sc1, ch5, blo sc join in 1st st of next inc, sc 5

r9: sc6, blo sc 1, sc 5, blo sc1, sc11, blo sc 1, sc 5, blo sc 1, sc 6

r10-13: sc in all (36)

r14: (sc8, inc)x4

r15: sc in all (40)

slst finish off

Sleeve

r1: join mid armpit, slst ,sc2, sc in the leftover bits from the BLO stitches, sc 11, sc in leftover BLO bits, sc2

r2-6: sc in all

collar

join left-middle front, sc 7, inc, sc8, inc, sc 7. turn

r2: sc7, inc, sc 10, inc, sc 7. turn

r3: sc8, inc, sc 10, inc, sc 8. turn

cuffs

r1: join mid body-facing side, FLO sc 20

r2-4: sc 20, slst fatsen off

Tunic (red brown) [tunesian entrelac crochet]

if you want to make this bigger i recommend keeping the same square layout, but making the squares bigger. its a bit of measuring and math to figure it out.

the tunic is made in tunesian crochet and i dont really know what written patterns for that look like so i hope this makes sense.

for a single square:

r1: ch4, start in 2nd back bump from hook. pull up a loop from ever back bump. you should have 4 loops on your hook total. simplestitch in all

r2-4: simplestitch in all.

r5: slst in all. fasten off

for the slanted parts i did the decrease by pulling through the middle 2 loops in one go on the back pass

this is how the full thing should look, its worked from bottom left to top right.

sew together the shoulders together, then sew in all of the ends

:) good luck

tunesian crochet has a tendancy to curl, so if you used cotton i def recommend blocking it

i defined the grid a little bit with a dark brown pencil.

cowl (green)

BLO sc 7, repeat till desired lenght, then BLO slst join the last row to the first.

scalp undercut bit (dark brown)

r1: sc 6 in mr

r2: (inc) x6

r3: (sc 1, inc) x6

r4: (sc 2, inc) x6

r5: (sc3, inc) x6

r6: (sc 4, inc)x6

r7: sc36

sew on back of the head (recommend doing this before the ears and face, see end for more detailed assembly instructions)

hair (reddish brown) [hair video]

disclaimer, this is kind of a mess. the lenghts didnt line up the way i intended so i improvised by adding loose strands and spent a lot of time pinning every strand in place before glueing them down.

i used bison kit contact glue since its sturdy, transparant, flexible and waterproof. you can use hot glue as well, i just personally dont like it because its bulky.

r1: sc 21 in mc. join BLO slst

r2: ch 12, sc in 2nd from hook, gdc10, BLO slst join

r3: ch 12, sc in 2nd from hook, gdc10, BLO slst join

r4: ch13, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 11, BLO slst join

r5: ch13, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 11, BLO slst join

r6: ch 14, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 12, BLO slst join

r7: ch16, sc in 2nd form hook, hdc 14, BLO slst join

r8: ch 18, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 16, BLO slst join

r9: ch 18, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 16, BLO slst join

r10: ch 14, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 12, BLO slst join

r11: ch 12, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 10, BLO slst join

r12: ch 10, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 8, BLO slst join

from now on, join in the FLO's of previous round

r13: ch10, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 8, FLO slst join

r14: ch10, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 8 , FLO slst join

r15: ch12, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 10 , FLO slst join

r16: ch12, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 10 , FLO slst join

r17: ch14, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 12 , FLO slst join

r18: ch16, sc in 2nd form hook, hdc 14, FLO slst join

r19: ch 18, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 16, FLO slst join

r20: ch16, sc in 2nd form hook, hdc 14, FLO slst join

r21: ch14, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 12 , FLO slst join

1x ch 6, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 4

2x ch8, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 6

2x ch 10, sc in 2nd from chain, hdc 8, slst in same, fasten off.

2x ch 12, sc in 2nd from chain, hdc 10, slst in same, fasten off.

3x ch14

pin all in place until it looks good, tie +glue loose strands first. then glue back pieces, crown, and lastly bangs/ top back layer. some of the lose strands go behind the ears, one is the left sideburn, and the rest is to cover up the crown. these pics are the best i can do as a guide, this was my first time doing this so i was struggling lol.

i didnt fully glue down the bangs and the top back layer bc i thought it would be fun if u could ruffle his hair, but my friend who i gave the plush to has significantly abused him (its been 2 days) and his hair is a mess so im gonna have to glue it down again lol. might as well do it all the first time if u plan on throwing him down the stairs or something.

Face

for eyes + eyebrows, embroider outline with dark brown, then needle felt [video] the inner parts w unraveled dark brown fluff. the dark brown i used was probably acrylic. cotton doesnt really work well for this.

Belt and pouch (dark brown)

the belt is a 3 strand basic friendship bracelet! [video]

sew together the ends and hide it with by sewing the pouch on top.

i didnt write down the pattern for the pouch, but from the top of my head its the same start as the squares for the tunic

r1-9: simple stitch in all

r10: simple stitch 1, decrease by putting your hook through 2 vertical bars when pulling up a loop, simple stitch edge 1.

r11: slst in all, finish with a long tail

use tail to sew together the sides, and sew the pouch onto the belt. use some yellow thread to make a button.

ASSEMBLY.

put on the blouse, put the arms in their place and finish the button joints.

put on the tunic, lace the sides with dark brown yarn, finish with a knot and hide the tails underneath the chest part of the tunic.

slide on the belt and boots.

sew the scalp undercut bit to the head

sew the ears to the head

tie + glue the loose hair strands behind the ears

glue the back of the hair

glue the middle circle part of the hair

glue the top back layer and bangs

sew the head to the body

put on the cowl

i hope this is somewhat clear, feel free to dm me is you have questions.

enjoy your squeakychuck :D

#ask #crochet #chilchuck #dungeon meshi #mine #talk #crochet pattern

255 notes · View notes

merlucide · 11 days

Note

would you ever consider making a part 2 for the Blue Lock Icks! headcanons but with other characters? the one you made had me struggling to keep my composure while at work omg it's sooooo accurate

BLLK BOYS “ICKS” PT2

Notes: OMG STOP REALLY??? that makes me so happy omg tysm?? <33

characters: Isagi, Aryu, Chigiri, Shidou, Oliver, Otoya

pls again, don’t take this seriously 💀

PT1 PT2 “ICKS” BLLK BOYS GET

ISAGI YOICHI

Says O-possum instead of opossum

Uses the “😁” to show he’s happy

default wallpaper

2019 humor

scared of clowns (same Isagi, same)

worst fashion sense ever. just think of a white guy in his 30s in the year of 2017

ARYU JYUBEI

SQUEAKY SHOES

Licks his finger before turning the page

uses stereotypes often (not on purpose lol)

Makes sure the barista spelt his name write on his drink

wants to go to Paris just to pose at the Eiffel tower, wear a beret, and eat a baguette (okay but same..)

CHIGIRI HYOUMA

one-ups every thing

Makes over exaggerated faces so you know he’s judging you

Chews gum really loudly

If you move to much in bed he’ll kick you

highlights/ writes in his books

has so many hair products but like one body wash

SHIDOU RYUSEI

Walks up the stairs on all fours

Long ass finger nails (so chipped and have dirt in them)

Sends selfies when he’s on the toilet

knows how to throw it in a circle (he’s really good at it too…)

Eats lemon rines

Likes to sit really close to the screen at the cinema

Barks at dogs

Puts the book face down to bookmark his spot

Says “zoo wee mama”

Idk how to word this but, Shidou:

AIKU OLIVER

(I know I did him b4 but I wanted to add one more thing)

“Where’s my hug at?”

keeps a toothpick in his mouth

actually calls you babygirl

OTOYA EITA

puts his socks over his sweats

doesn’t grease the pan

Wears hats inside

Sags his pants

smacks lips and it sounds really wet

puts peanut butter on his burgers

licks his fingers after he eats and doesn’t wash them afterwards

bends over at the waist when he is picking smth up

THOSE Naruto fans

Squeezes the middle of the toothpaste

uses a spork

Says “bop”

Says “drip”

Says “on God bro”

Says “You tripping”

Twerked on Karasu once

Owns so many shoes

Has very little milk in his cereal

Only likes chocolate ice cream

Uses blue ink pens

Fav bottled water brand is deer park

Forgets to zip his fly

his LED lights are always on red

ABHAHAHA I’m actually running out of icks

made May 25th 2024

203 notes · View notes

the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 6 months

Text

#385

“OK faggot. I’m surprised to see you. I thought you would have flaked out. I told you that you are to bring nothing. I don’t see your transportation here—no car or bike. That’s good. But you fucked up one thing though. Bringing nothing means nothing. I see you are wearing a t-shirt, shorts, shoes, probably underwear, and cap. That’s not nothing. I told you that if you were to spend time with me that you would be kept naked. I meant that….

“Look, I live to be naked.

“I drive… naked.

“I eat and drink… naked.

“I sleep… naked.

“I jack off in my bunk… naked.

“I jack off while driving… naked.

“I step out to piss… naked.

“Then with the last few drops of piss hanging on to my cock head, I’ll jack off… naked.

“I fuck faggots… naked.

“I get my ass licked… naked.

“I shove my cock down some faggot’s throat and unleash my piss… naked.

“As you can tell I love being naked. So much so, that when I bought my own Kenworth, I formed my own trucking company, and I called it ‘Naked Trucking.’ I don’t give a shit who sees me when I’m on the road or stopped at a place like this.

“So when a faggot like you agrees to spend one week with me kept naked shows up, that faggot should be fucking naked.

“No! Don’t strip there. The only thing I told you that you will have while with me is your ID. Give it to me. I told you to leave behind your wallet and phone. You did to that?... Good. It would have been awkward if you hadn’t.

“Now see that dumpster over there on the other side of the parking lot?... Walk over to it and strip. Don’t use the dumpster to hide behind. Strip so I can see you… and either of those other two drivers can too if they are paying attention. Throw your clothes in the dumpster and walk back. Don’t hide your dick. Don’t race back here. Just walk normally.

“If you can’t do any of that, then keep on walking. Now go on. I need to do some quick paperwork before we roll out….

…

“…Faggot, you did good. You are rock hard. That’s good to see. As you can tell, my dick is longer and thicker than yours, as it should be.

“Oh, should you need to leave my cab, I do have shorts, shirt, and flip-flops for you to wear.

“Your primary reason for being here is to service my cock—to offer two holes for me to dump my cum and piss into. The other reason is to get my shithole worshipped. That’s about it.

“Speaking of which, I need to take a piss. Get on your knees bitch, I need to see how you drink a load of piss. I expect you to drink it all. When we are on the road, I will snap my fingers, and you will drink while I am driving. All my piss goes through you. All of it. I wouldn’t have even considered you if you didn’t have experience.

“Your piss will go into empty water bottles. You will set them aside and use them to douche your cunt on the road. It’s your responsibility to make sure you are cleaned out at all times. As much of a pig that I am, I am not into shit. At. All. You got that?

“Pull off. I’m done pissing for now; you’ll get the rest in a bit…. You got that?... Good! And keep up the not talking. Nodding is fine.

“Stay on your knees. Pull apart my cheeks and start eating my hole. I take lots of psyllium which makes wiping almost not necessary. I just pull over in a secluded spot and get out. I squat, wipe up, and move on. No need to get dressed for that. A fisting faggot I once used told me this is what he does to clean out without the mess. It works on me.

“I will say that I sit on a hand towel as I drive. If you ever see skid marks on it, it’s your duty to clean it up. There are extra hand towels behind my seat. And if you ever encounter me not being clean when I am sitting on your face, keep that knowledge to yourself and clean me up squeaky clean. I don’t want to ever hear about it. You got that?

“Good. You will start on psyllium immediately. In fact I will be controlling what you eat to make your douching easier to do along the side of the truck.

“Ok. Your tongue knows it’s way around a shithole. That’s good. Get up. Ok boy. Pull out. You will have a lot of time under my rimseat later on. I have a rimseat in the storage bin under the bunk.

“Yeah, if I can avoid putting on clothes and going into a truck stop, I will. I dress only when I absolutely have to.

“OK, climb on up.

“I know these runs very well. I know where to stop so we won’t have to get dressed. There’s a few rest areas where the layout lends to privacy. Some lend better when there’s no moon or if it’s raining.

“We are going to this one truck stop in a couple nights. Hank and I go way back. We used to drive together, naked of course, until his dad died and left him the family truck stop and garage. It’s one of the last old school truck stops, you know, with communal showers and a bunkhouse. It holds about thirty to forty trucks in back. When the bypass went in, his business dried up. He started to lose many good customers. He started messing around with a few drivers as a perk. Then word got around. The garage started getting more business. Drivers would come in, a little bit out of their way, fuel up and get their balls drained or get bred. Or if the rig needs some work, Hank will work on it and the driver could kick back in the bunkhouse with other drivers or Hank’s fag.

“Years ago after we went our own way, he took on a fag who gave up on a six figure marketing job to be his bitch—kept naked too. The fag gets gang banged almost daily. The fag has kept the business running all these years. At night and in between sucking cock, he got this on-line business up and running to help keep the truck stop afloat. The money is real good. It allows Hank to run the truck stop the way he wants to. He put up a privacy fence and a sign on the inside that this is a clothing optional business. There’s no advertising, it’s just known to a group of drivers. Many of them have been jacking off already as they pull in. Even the delivery drivers know about the place.

“We are going to spend a night there as well as my day off entirely naked. They have a tiny convenience store that we can stock up on food. We can do that naked too. I can’t imagine a fag like yourself not loving being there.

“Before we get rolling, there’s a black towel for you to your left to throw over your crotch if you need to cover up. As we drive no one will be able to see in. Cars and trucks are too low and other drivers will be too focused on passing safely to worry about seeing a naked driver and his fag in a split second. But should something come up, the towel is there.

“Also, you can jack off as much as you want. But know this. You better not be one of those fags that after cumming you don’t want to do anything sexual. Because if I need to get my rocks off, I’m using you to get my rocks off. You refuse me or any man I pass you off to, I will leave you on the side of the road. I see your dick gets this. It’s been rock hard.

“Oh look, that driver over there is ready to pull out as well. He’s in his driver’s seat. Here stand up. Bend over the dash. We have twenty-five minutes before I’m allowed to pull out of here. I need to breed you.

“That glob of spit is all you are getting. If I find any fag mud on my dick, I will beat the shit out of you and leave you here. You are a bit loose. That’s good. Unless I’m smashing a cherry, I don’t want my cock strangled. But your pussy feels so good on my cock. Oh fuck. I’m gonna enjoy having you to use.

“Oh look, the other driver is watching us. Faggot, I hope you like being on display because that’s the way it’s gonna be. There’s no humiliation too taboo for me to inflict on you. Fucking you in front of some random driver is only the beginning.

“Oh look, he’s jerking off to us. Oh fuck yeah! Oh fuck yeah! It’s not going to take me long to shoot. Fag, I’m gonna flood your fucking guts. Here it cums! Here it cums! Fuck! Fuck! Jesus!

“Fag. I love my new cunt. Quickly clean me off….

“That driver is still pounding his pud.

“You know. Get out!... Don’t look confused. Get out! Now! Passenger side. Go on!

“That’s right. Take a step back. Get on your fucking knees and look up at me. Open your toilet mouth. I need to finish taking a piss. I will try to get it in your mouth.

“Ahhh. That feels good. I would have just pissed in your toilet mouth up here, but I wanted him to see you. And he’s pounding his dick like he really needs to get off.

“Ok stand up. I want you to walk over to him and I want you to tell him the following: ‘My new owner sent me over to help you empty your balls. Use me in any nasty way you want.’ Then also tell him that I want to watch you get used. “If you don’t drain his balls in the next 20 minutes, I will pull out of here without you. This is an easy one. Now go.”

491 notes · View notes

rosie-writings · 3 months

Text

Collapse Into Me

Request: anon— A honeymoon fic of Colby bringing his wife to Wales like he mentioned on Snapchat during their Europe trip

Summary: Wedding planning polarized you and your family, but it made you realize that Colby’s family is the one you were meant to be in.

Warnings: Colby x Reader smut, Dom/Sub dynamic, Bondage, Overstimulation, Unprotected Sex, and all the warm fluffy feelings

Words: 9k

No Y/N Used

Title is from ‘Telomeres’ by Sleep Token

My hands were shaking, trembling to the bone, and I couldn’t tell if it was due to the cold in the air or that shrill in her voice.

“And so you think it’s a good idea, now?” My eyebrows pushed together at the sight of hers raising. “Of all times, now?”

”I mean, technically not-not now. In February.”

”February?” I didn’t think her voice reached that pitch, but of course it was me who could draw it out of her. “You’re giving yourself four months to plan a wedding? You’re so stupid.”

”Tell me why I’m stupid about this. You haven’t given me a valid reason; you’ve given me ridiculous reasons for why you think I’m stupid about other things, but not this.”

”Because,” she sighed with a twinge in her voice. My eyes grazed the stringy amber brown streaked blonde directionless curls at the end of her wavy hair. The last three inches of them should have been cut off months ago. “You of all people should know that it’s dumb behavior to have a ring on your finger three months into even entertaining the idea of being-of being stuck to someone.” My eyes fell flat.

I never liked the fact that I was five inches shorter than my cousin, but at this moment, I realized that she swung her height clunkily with those heels that used to be in my bedroom. My mom left them on my bed for me when she accidentally bought two sizes too big for herself. Of course I left them in my cousin’s car accidentally on purpose because why would a clan of near-six-foot-tall women leave a size ten shoe for the one who barely hit five foot four.

“Okay,” my voice shook. “That kind of hurt actually.”

”Yeah; truth hurts. That’s how you know that this is the truth.” If that was the case, I could hurt her a lot right now. I would start with the fact that her eye color never really matched her beloved blue mascara, but that was neither here nor there.

”Well… I’d rather be stuck to him for the rest of my life than you guys.” I looked away and shoved down the burning in my throat. I continued the blame before she could gasp her pitiful response. “I mean, it’s true for you I suppose.”

”It’s true for anyone!”

”You-You hardly know what I want.” The scoff of her thick lips made mine push in a tight line.

”I’ve seen you under the sun enough to know that you’ve daydreamed about your honeymoon being at the beach.” Or maybe I simply day dreamed about a summer vacation without your squeaky voice cutting through the soothing sound of waves—

“I mean, you’re probably just projecting,” I sighed. “At least your skin keeps a tan. It’s just too much work for me to prioritize staying dark.”

“Yeah I know,” she said and I bit my tongue to conceal the roll of my eyes as if my eyes and tongue were connected. “Maybe I should just convince your mom to talk sense into you.”

”I mean, I’ve told her already and you’re the only one who’s given me this amount of shit about it.” Her eyes widened; they yielded a confrontation I wasn’t ready for.

“Hm,” she sighed. Her eyes scanned me and it felt nice for her to be speechless if even for a second. “Well I still don’t like it.”

”And not everything’s about you.” This time her eyes rolled.

“Where are you even getting married? He has enough money to take you wherever you want and have it done.”

”Pf,” I scoffed because my stomach turned at the sound of her already expecting something from him. “Perhaps, but you damn well know I have enough money to bring all of us anywhere I want to go.” Her eyebrow rose. Only one of them.

”So you’re telling me he’s making you pay?”

”I don’t remember your opinion mattering when it comes to issues between a husband and wife, but go off I guess.” She audibly gasped.

”I’m telling your mom you said that.”

”Do it,” I challenged without blinking. She rolled her eyes. Her stupid car keys flicked over her hand. No one ever told her that the weight of all the senseless chains between far and few keys on the ring could ruin her ignition. She probably pumped her own gas once.

”I will.” She spun on her heel and walked over the edge of the curb. Her hand settled on the handle of that pristine Audi she bought last autumn. Well, she didn’t buy it; follow the money up the chain and it would come from YouTube into my bank account. “Also, I could never see you getting married in the dead of winter. You’d blend in with the snow and dead trees.”

I rolled my eyes because she didn’t know that it made me cry at night when my skin reddened from the unrelenting summer sun.

It didn’t even snow in Southern California.

”Hey,” he said, and the door of the car hardly opened all the way when the sweet sound hit my ears. Despite the tension in my throat, I stifled a wide smile.

”Hi,” I said as I sat down and closed the door. A flick of a millisecond long expression from him told me that I held my breath for too long when I said my greeting.

“I’m guessing it went…”

”Yeah no,” I sighed as I released the tension in my throat. My fingers etched into the thick leather of his car. His hand found my thigh. My eyes still peeled out the window. “She’s an idiot. They all are.” He was quiet for a moment. Before a smile broke. God, I couldn’t look away from him even if I only drowned on half of his appearance. His eyes were on the road.

“Sorry, but I anticipated that.” I shook my head.

It was September, and Colby and I got engaged almost a month ago. I waited to tell any of my family until now so that we could breathe and be excited by taking a break at work and partying with friends more than necessary. I knew that it would put yet another ringer between my women dominated family who each had expectations much higher than I did.

Well, my expectation of the actual person I was going to marry clearly was higher than theirs. Their primary focus was the wedding and who their bridesmaids were going to be and where the bachelorette parties would be and where the honeymoon—

Jesus Christ.

Maybe I was the second out of eleven of us getting married—I had three sisters and four first and three second cousins; all of us girls—because I wanted to get it over with. Maybe it sounded sad, and I kind of was, but this sadness was rooted in the stigma they inadvertently forced in me when I was young. I knew I didn’t meet their expectations when it came to the kind of dresses I liked.

Don’t get me wrong; I was no less materialistic than they were. I just liked making my own money and giving myself clothes and dresses devoid of color when I wanted to, unlike the ones their mothers and fathers threw at them in between whiny complaints. They dressed me up one time when I was sixteen; that was when the oldest was married at 25. I wasn’t a bridesmaid because there were too many of us, especially when combined with her two best friends.

And I wasn’t the flower girl either because I wasn’t the youngest. But if she had asked me to be the flower girl, I would have dressed in a floor length black dress out of spite towards the embarrassment.

The first time I would be in a wedding would be my own, and I was thoroughly happy about it.

I liked the way—that when Colby’s fingertips dragged up my leg to find my hand, and once found—his own rings clashed with the one he gave me. I also liked the fact that the first ring I ever accepted from someone was his, and also the fact that the first ring to be placed on his ring finger would be the one I would get him. Despite the dozens of rings that adorned his fingers at every second of the day, I knew he deliberately made vacant his ring finger, even if he never explicitly mentioned it. I noticed.

So now we were on the way back to his house. I suspected Sam was back from his morning responsibility and as were other friends considering the amount of food in the backseat. Colby must have picked it up right as he picked me up from the cafe I met my sisters at that morning.

We talked about the engagement at first, and I was smart enough to tell them in public so they couldn’t make too large of a scene. It was my sister who was the happiest. She was two years older than me; the oldest of us four. Two of the three cousins who decided to spend their time on me had to warm to the idea. It was my second oldest sister and the third cousin who stayed later after everyone else left to chew me out about it.

I was saved by God herself when my sister said she was going to be late for work and left. My cousin didn’t get the memo and didn’t leave in her car until Colby’s had been sitting on the side of the road, since all the parking spaces were taken, for a solid minute.

It felt like I could breathe everytime I stepped foot in their house.

Once everything was settled, anyway.

Colby told me the night we were engaged, after the party and after we had been alone for two hours, that he would have proposed to me in the spring, but it took all those months to convince Sam that it was a good idea.

”I never expected you to be the one to convince Sam that marriage could be good; I thought it would be the other way around,” I told Colby when my thumb still twisted the engagement ring on my finger. He laughed.

”I don’t think it would have mattered who was getting married between us; the other one was bound to take months to come to terms with it.”

And I knew it had nothing to do with me. I love their friendship wholeheartedly; I had no complaints about it at all.

“I really don’t hold any of that-that mess against you, you know?” I shook my head in faux annoyance.

”You don’t have to tell me that everytime I had a standoff with them about you,” I snapped. “I know you don’t. If you did, I wouldn’t be here.”

“That’s a little much—“

”I mean, even though I fucking hate them sometimes—most of the time—I still couldn’t marry someone who seriously hates them. That’s for me and me only.”

”You take the brunt of them too much.”

”Yeah well,” I sighed as we got to the house, and thanked God for it. “Someone has to and at least I have the patience to not tear their family apart unlike our mothers.” He smiled, and I knew it had nothing to do with what I meant.

Their family, as in, I was already founded by another.

Wedding planning was nice when I was secluded with my friends and when I was with Colby; the anxiety of being without the rest of my family was forgotten. I knew I was different from them, but I didn’t realize how much I was until my own wedding planning turned into a mirror. I also couldn’t stop thinking about my oldest cousin’s wedding; maybe it was a blessing more than a curse that I didn’t have to wear one of those coral bridesmaid dresses that looked stuck in a 2015 Instagram feed.

I really didn’t look good in coral. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t chosen. Or maybe it was the fact that if I chose a dress that would cover my tattoos, it wouldn’t match her aesthetic.

It didn’t matter to me. None of them would be in my wedding.

I take that back; one would, and that was the one who cried when I FaceTimed her two weeks ago. Colby, even, invited her to a party of recent to which she declined but was thankful still for including her. She was a month younger than me. I threatened her to not tell the rest of our family. The fact that I told her was enough; I knew she wouldn’t.

Maybe there was a certain decibel of venom on my tongue when I talked about my family to the boys, but I was too lethargic to say it to their faces. My family would expect yelling, arguing, and receipts, and at this point, I simply didn’t care enough.

I decided to save the energy for the week the world learned about who was in my ring of bridesmaids.

“Good thing you only have a few months left of it,” Colby said a bit too happily. I smiled as we grabbed the food and walked into their full house.

And a few months it was.

I dizzied at the sight of the makeup on my face. To be completely transparent, I tried this look on myself before and I thought I looked decent until a professional artist, obviously, made my version of the look more similar to a newborn digging through its mother’s makeup bag. Two days. Just two more days and it would be over. It guilted me that that was how I felt about wedding planning, but I just wanted to be alone.

Alone with Colby; how was that different than being alone at this point?

Somehow, the weather caved as if it knew and obeyed the spite in my heart. Thick winterous clouds rolled in last night, and I couldn’t help but smile at them. No longer did I imagine a piercing blue sky over us in our wedding photos. I didn’t fully understand why it made me ecstatic to know that the weather would traditionally be not ideal for a wedding.

Maybe it was the fact that the earth gave me what I wanted.

My mother, three cousins, and one sister complained about how gross it was outside and how they wished the sky would clear up. I silently prayed it wouldn’t. I could have sworn the clouds turned grayer. I knew I wouldn’t get snow in Los Angeles, but my family was right about the fact that I wouldn’t have been able to handle the chill.

And I thought that fluke cool front in September was cold.

“What do you think?” I asked as my best friend walked in the room upon the makeup artist’s request.

”Stop,” she gasped and she smiled ear to ear until the burning I ever so hated coiled in my throat. “I fear I’m going to have to be a bitch to you tomorrow so that we won’t get all sentimental and cry it all off.”

”Good,” I snorted. “Because if I cry I’m punching you in the throat.” I held the mirror and looked at myself. It was the first time I wore makeup that mended with my skin tone. It didn’t look like I stole mud from the earth and rubbed in on my cool skin. I looked more alive and healthy than I did when my sister did my make up, and my heart sped at the idea that each of them would scowl at the eyeliner that might have been a millimeter thicker than the average wedding liner. I don’t know what it was; I didn’t do things out of spite all the time.

It simply looked like spite when I did things for myself.

I saved putting my dress on for tomorrow.

But when tomorrow came, my best friend tied it up for me. Or zipped it. Both, actually.

The photographer snapped our intimate moments in the women’s getting ready room. My two other friends, my sister, and Colby’s sister including our moms who stopped by for no more than ten minutes accompanied. The silence was a blessing even though we were the furthest from actually staying quiet. I didn’t think I liked other human voices until I met my closest friends.

It ended before I convinced myself it started.

My stomach was in knots until I saw Colby that day, and then I remembered the rest. I blacked out when I was with him, always, and could only remember the things we kept between us. The rest of it didn’t matter. The morning mattered, but the nerves gnawed at them, and when we were together, who cared about the cousin gossiping rows away?

I heard his footsteps before his voice. He took his time, and I didn’t move.

I stood in the room that my bridesmaids and I readied ourselves in nearly an hour ago.

My lips still buzzed from the feeling of his. We kissed far too many times to count, but it felt like this one counted more than the rest.

He took more steps towards me.

I noticed my breath as my eyes still peeled out the window. The heavy winter clouds still hung low, and the trees around the venue were almost colorless aside from the nearly black bark that hung on through the stress of winter. The decorations took the place of snow, and I appreciated my best friend’s idea of having black and white be the colors for our wedding, because I couldn’t look away. The red roses displaced here and there warmed the ornate black iron chairs facing the altar, and I imagined what the semi outdoor and indoor reception space appeared like now that people and music filled it.

He didn’t say anything by the time he stood behind me. His hands found my waist. I still didn’t move.

I knew he came to find me, primarily, but also prepared me for entering the reception hand in hand. I assumed all that was forgotten when he found me here, alone. I didn’t intend on being alone. After photos, my bridesmaids and I came up here to freshen up and they then went off to arrange our entrance. Colby did the same with his groomsmen.

“Fuck off; go find your wife we have business to attend to,” I read Sam’s lips. Colby laughed and didn’t question when a handful of them raced by with cans and markers in their hands. I watched them down below on the porch; butterflies filled me when Colby walked in the front door.

A breath dragged quickly between my teeth when Colby left a trail of slow kisses from my neck to my shoulder. The white lace of my sleeves hardly clung on my shoulder giving him much room. He didn’t take advantage of it for the sake of photos, but I knew he wanted to. I leaned back into his touch, but didn’t take my eyes off the window.

The ceremony space was fully empty now; the last few guests made it to the reception space.

“As much as I’m contemplating taking you here and fucking you on every surface of this room, I’m not sure you would appreciate me messing up your makeup before we go to the reception.”

My face burned, oh it burned, I didn’t look at him or else his pestering smile would make it worse.

”Bring me downstairs then,” I laughed and turned to him finally. I hardly looked at him before his lips were on mine. My arms wrapped around his neck, ever pulling him tighter. I breathed him in as he tasted me.

Maybe my wine red lipstick was transfer proofed on purpose, but a tiny part of me wished it wasn’t because his new ring wouldn’t be the only symbol of claim on him.

”Come on,” he said, and his hand slipped in mine.

I tasted him through the reception.

Through pictures, dances, cake, and conversations; I didn’t think a mouth could be so memorable.

”What?” I gasped when I butted in the boys’ conversation at the end. Sam looked at me with wide drunken eyes that buzzed from the thrill of the night.

”Uh—We were reminding Colby to just chill out and take a breath before seeing his car and probably have it washed before you do anything else or else he’d have to get a new paint job tomorrow.”

”Jesus Christ,” Colby laughed.

And after we left the venue, we did just that. I didn’t know that shaving cream could eat away at car paint but there we were.

My ears rang after the car doors were shut, and my breathing caught in my chest.

We were alone.

We had been alone and spent many nights sleepless and breathless, but none of them amounted to that night, that moment. I couldn’t pinpoint why, I just knew.

He didn’t say anything in the minutes it took to reach the freeway. My palm burned against his. His fingertips raced up my palm and invaded the lace that started at my wrist. Chills electrified up my arm from where his fingertips touched, and I didn’t move away from them.

My head spun with every step, and before I knew it, we walked into the hotel suite booked if only for a handful of hours. Until our flight. I walked in, my breathing definitely not under control, and he haphazardly set our bags down. I felt his eyes on me, and before I could turn around, I heard his quick steps. I broke into a smile when his hands reached me, and he spun me around harshly for himself.

His hand held my face, and no longer was his touch filled with care for my appearance. No, it was filled with a vengeance to touch, to please, to get near. He licked into my mouth and I gave and gave, his hands didn’t leave any part of my body untouched, even as we stood there.

And then he fell to his knees.

My breath left me as he looked up darkly from where he descended. As I drew a breath to ask what he was doing, hands slowly snaked up my legs.

“Colby,” I hummed his name. There wasn’t much of a skirt to my dress; it was more a-line than anything, but the thin layers of fabric were soft, durable. My skin crawled at the sound of it brushing against the sleeve of his thick jacket. He still hadn’t changed a thing about his appearance since the ceremony. Maybe his jacket came off at some point while dancing, but we could see our breaths in the air outside.

”Oh—“ I couldn’t contain my hums, moans, and noises as his fingertips trailed up my skin, and when he dove under my dress and used his mouth on me instead, I saw stars.

I couldn’t remember another word other than his name. I felt it too; the hum of his own moans against my thighs. What on earth took him so long? I was torn in two. A part of me needed to feel every part of him now, but the other wanted to stay here forever and let him touch and kiss every cell of my body.

The muscles in my stomach tensed the moment his fingers grabbed the top of one of the garters around my thigh and he snapped it back. My hand reflexively pushed his head and he laughed. I thought he would take it off, but no. His retaliation was shoving me by the hips to sit on the edge of the bed behind me.

Instead, his lips and tongue dove right where I ached for him.

With a gasp, I tried to handle what I felt, but I couldn’t. He didn’t even move to take off the lace that was probably ruined with my arousal and had been for hours now. Then a few fingertips dipped behind the side of it and I preened at the feeling of his cool fingerprints in my unbearable heat.

“Colby—“ I gasped yet again, but he didn’t wait up. Two fingers dove into me. He knew how ready I was; he probably knew from the look in my eyes alone. Then he whispered something against me that I couldn’t make out. He shoved the lingerie out of his way, and I gasped at the tough stretch of the lace in my inner hip. His tongue was on me, his mouth worked me and sucked me sweetly as his fingers slowly moved in and out.

My head hit the bed as I gave up any power I had.

Then he gasped and breathed heavily as he pushed my skirt up higher. It pooled across my hips, and I rose to my elbows so I could finally see his pretty face. It was flushed, and his eyes were dark and hazy.

Those hands grabbed my thighs, and the pressure fueled my lust must have left bruises in their wake. I yelled his name as he dove back down into me, and I finally was able to string my fingers through his messy hair.

I chanted his name like a prayer and I felt moans and words in between my legs again. No part of me could find the mess he made of his mouth, my heat, repulsive in any way even though I know I would scrub us clean in a handful of time.

”Oh my god, I’ll come already,” I gasped. Of course this fueled his movements. My voice broke into higher whines, and he didn’t complain if I yanked on the roots of his hair too tightly.

He licked me through my orgasm even as I shook through violent aftershocks.

He shot to his feet.

”Please—“ I gasped. His eyes didn’t come off mine as he unbuckled his belt. I did, though, I took my eyes off his eyes, and I launched forward. Even though it may have taken more time than if he did it, he allowed my excitement to fumble with the button and zipper of his pants. I felt his gaze on top of me, and his hand stroked in alignment with the currents of my hair. It was pinned behind me loosely where rivers of strands wound elegantly.

My heart raced at the feeling of his rough, and respectfully gentle hand warmly brushing and leading me without messing up my hair. I wanted him to, though. God, I wanted him to ruin my hair.

Ruin my makeup.

I pulled him from his pants, and a river of uneven breaths flowed from him. He hummed my name when I took him in my mouth.

”Just-Just want inside you,” he whispered. I ignored him and laced my gaze with his as I went down on him over and over. His eyes rolled back and my body surged deeper around him when pleasure overcame him. I might have gone faster, might have gotten ahead of myself— “Alright, alright,” he gasped. He grabbed himself and pulled me by the hair. I gasped when I came off of him.

He shoved me down to the bed.

I looked up at him, and he didn’t move us. He didn’t take another article of clothing off us.

I couldn’t speak, and from the look in his eyes, he clearly couldn’t either. His heart raced; I could tell by the way his breath escaped him in and out unevenly. He shoved my lingerie to the side again.

Like every time his body mended with mine, he filled me to the brim.

“Love you—“ He gasped so lowly I hardly heard him. “Mine, you’re all mine.”

”And you’re mine,” I whined when he thrusted harshly. We didn’t leave room for teasing. He didn’t want to waste another second—not that any of the many seconds of the day were wasted—but what else was each glance we sent each other on this day other than teasing, foreplay.

God, I undressed him with my eyes dozens of times today alone.

His hands raced down my legs, pushed them back and spread them further apart. Eyes tore me to shreds. His face strained with pleasure, and I had to hold onto the duvet tightly since I couldn’t read what I wished to.

”God—fucking—in the way—“ He cut himself off with a tear.

He didn’t want to take off any of my clothes, no, he wanted to savor the sight of this day on my skin, so he tore the side lace of the lingerie slightly so that he didn’t catch on the tightness of it. I gasped some tension released, and he was able to find better leverage.

”I love you, I love you—holy shit—you’re mine.” This time he leaned forward with one of my legs hooked over his arm.

”I’m yours,” I repeated.

”I’m going to cum in you and you’re going to stay filled with it until the morning,” he said. I thought his hand wrapped around my throat, but that was just my visceral reaction.

“Colby,” I gasped his name breathlessly. “Need you in me forever.”

It was quick, and I didn’t realize until later how calculated it was.

After he filled me, he recovered me with the tight white lingerie—albeit slightly ripped now—and his release couldn’t slip out. My body trembled under his touch, his gaze, and he kissed me like he meant it at the altar. He always did.

”Sit up,” he gasped. I obeyed and looked up at him for the next direction. Instead of making a command, he walked over and sat behind me on the bed. His hands were hot and sweaty, his breath still quick.

Then, his hands started working on the laces and zipper of my dress. It took him a second, but he learned and released me from the dress slowly. A part of me wanted to rush him, but this was it. The first and the last time he would take this dress off of me. When it was undone, his fingers uncovered my shoulders; fingers grazing my inked skin behind the falling lace.

Colby stood in front of me as I too raised to my feet and he pushed down my dress. I stepped out of it. When he went to worship the rest of my body that he neglected, I cut him off. I grabbed his face and kissed him. I savored his moans against my tongue before I licked into his mouth. His hands were on me. They fell down my bare sides, ran over the roughness of the lace lingerie over my hips, and raced back up over my shoulders, my chest.

I pulled away.

Without looking away from the eyes I swam in every day, I loosened his tie and pulled it off. Then his jacket.

My fingers worked and unclasped the buttons of his button up. With each one I unbuttoned, I kissed down his skin. I felt the way he shuddered under my breath, my lips, and I was reminded all over again the real effect I had on him. His heart beat erratically, his breath wavered.

I kissed all the way down his body until I was on my knees. The shirt slipped from his shoulders. He pulled from his shoes and pushed them away. Then I pulled his pants off fully; obviously they were already unbuckled.

He moaned my name, and somehow this was more intimate than him putting his cum in me.

”Come here,” he said before I could take his underwear off. I stood. He kissed me again, but he pulled me. His lips pulled me, his hands.

I followed him into the bathroom.

Looking back on it, every decision he made was calculated. He always allowed me my fun, but he never skipped a step or a plan.

Colby flicked the light in the bathroom on and he pulled the stool at the wide granite sink away for me. I sat and looked at myself in the mirror.

A flush matched my messy makeup and painted my skin. For as dressed as my hair and face were, my body sat completely bare. Naturally I considered cowering away, but he would never allow that. I froze as he stood behind me and ever so gently, began pulling the hair pins from my hair and setting them on the sink.

Pretty sure I melted then and there as if nothing that had just happened, happened.

I watched his face as he focused. With every pin, a strand of hair cascaded down my skin. Goosebumps spread over the touches. He kept the hair down my back and didn’t allow it in front of me. I knew that was on purpose; I would have covered my nipples with the strands.

When my hair was completely free, he left the bathroom.

”Colb—“ He immediately returned with my bag. He opened it. He grabbed the smaller bag inside of it knowing my brush and makeup remover were in it.

I could have been shaking from the chill in the bathroom, but I think it was from the warmth that pooled in between my legs in my underwear. I knew my eyes were darkened with thoughts. I looked up at him in the mirror as he brushed my hair.

The fact that his cum pooled in my underwear while he did the sweetest, gentlest thing he had ever done for me turned this into the filthiest memory I had.

He must have known that this memory would get me on his knees for him every day for the rest of our lives.

“Stop that,” he finally broke the very long silence. I don’t think we ever sat in such a long silence without one of us sleeping.

”Stop what?” My voice caught. We ignored it.

”Staring at me like you’re going to eat me or something.” I laughed.

”Obviously,” I mumbled as I rolled my eyes away. He laughed at the heated blush on my face.

”God, you’re so beautiful. Insane in my hands.” He left the brush on the counter. “Take off your makeup and we’ll go lay down, okay?”

”Okay,” I nodded.

I knew he wanted to shower, but he wanted me to sleep with his cum in me more.

After I was finished cleaning my face, he shoved me back down on the stool. I gasped when he got on his knees in between my thighs. Darkly, his eyes glanced up at me for a moment and then he looked at my skin where he touched me.

As his fingers drenched the skin of my legs, he tugged the garter on my thigh off with his teeth. His breath left hot chills trailed behind.

When the early sun woke me up, I realized he purposely didn’t draw the curtains so we could wake up without an alarm but still on time. We woke up very much so on time; we didn’t need to leave for the airport for another three hours. It was six am. I opened my eyes and rolled to him. His body was on fire, and my skin writhed at the feeling of his hard he was against me already. Before he choked out his first word, I straddled him.

“Baby,” he moaned, hands rested on my hips. I still wore my underwear like he wanted. His eyes fell down my body and landed on my underwear. “Off. Need these off now,” he demanded as he played with the frayed edges of the tear he caused. I raised my hips and pulled them down. His refreshed eyes didn’t miss a second of my body that was revealed from under the white fabric.

”Holy shit—“ he gasped, and that was how I realized we mixed—our fluids mixed—in between my legs and still connected my underwear to me. He didn’t spend another word. He threw the lingerie aimlessly and grabbed my hips with a force, a dominance, he didn’t use last night. I squealed as he yanked me back down on his lap.

My eyes rolled back when we both thrusted my hips across him; up and down.

And when he filled me, when he shoved me down on him, I rode him until we both neared tears and more of his cum stuffed inside of me. The sun had barely awakened the city.

He washed my hair and my body in the shower that morning, and I was glad I woke us up so early so that our third round in seven hours was under that hot shower rain. It was less the rain that washed clean our mess between my legs and more his tongue. More within this night had he fallen to his knees for me than I could remember. So, naturally, I fell on my knees for him after.

We stood at the wide mirror and talked as we got ready.

Our flight to Wales was in an hour and a half.

And my stomach was in knots.

It was difficult to wrap my mind around the fact that this was the true start of the rest of our lives together, and not only that, we were on our way to an entirely different country alone to stay alone for a week without distractions. We’ve traveled together before, but I knew that nothing was about to compare to this.

Only through TSA did he pull his hand away from mine.

I didn’t even think about it.

Not even a millisecond of time was spent worrying about anyone else. Not our families, our friends, or our work took up a second of space in my head. I was torn apart for choosing the honeymoon location. While discussing it with Colby, we realized that we both already wanted to come here. He had been here with Sam before once while on their Europe trip. This country was simply romanticized in my head by the books I enjoyed.

The grass was infinitely greener than I anticipated considering the chilling weather. When I touched the grasses and blades of bristles that show from the soft earth, they weren’t soft or warm, and I snapped my hand back with a smile.

The room was blue, I think; more windows spanned the walls of the bedroom than an actual expanse of drywall. The spindles of the bed were high and came together only a hair from the ceiling with white satin draped past the plush duvet. My fingers grazed the stitches in the duvet cover. He was behind me.

I figured we would get accustomed to this house in a few hours.

We would get accustomed to each others’ bodies again in the meantime.

First, his hands raised to my waist like they did so often.

Then he spun me around violently; that same gentleness must have run thin from our hours of travel. The sun set behind the horizon already and orange bands through the winter clouds were the only light in the dim room.

He kissed me again and without being able to see, my sense of touch was heightened to the max.

My back hit the bed and my pants slid down; I wasn’t sure which came first. The next thing I knew, he was over me, and his hand supported himself next to my head. I only made out his silhouette as my hands touched every part of it.

“Oh fuck—“ he gasped when my hands harshly invaded the top of his pants before he could remove them himself. I couldn’t not say his name; at this point it was a habitual moan for me.

He kissed my neck and shoved my arms to the bed on either side of me. I didn’t even try to stop the embarrassing sounds that poured from me when he harshly fucked his hips into me at the same time that his teeth hooked on my skin. Now he could leave his mark. I knew he suffered the past month not being able to leave his love marks all over my body for people to see for the sake of photos. I yanked his shirt off forcefully before he dove back into tasting my skin.

He needed to make it up to me. There was a month of aggression, possession and need to touch, to claim.

“Fuck me,” I demanded. His breath hitched in his throat and the pressure from his hips doubled. “Fuck me so hard, Colby. I swear to God—“

I screamed when he suddenly pushed into me and didn’t give me a second to process.

”No need to beg, baby,” he hummed; his voice darkly quiet in my hair. I didn’t remember when he pulled himself from his underwear or when he moved mine. It was all too fast. He fucked the moans out of me. I thought my vision went blurry.

He raised to his feet and I realized that this was the second time we hardly made it to the bed since being married.

“Feel so good,” I whispered with moans broken by his thrusts.

“Get up,” he demanded. I tried to sit up, but I couldn’t. It was all too much. “Get up,” Colby spat and his hand linked around my neck and he yanked me up. I gasped and open mouthed kisses shared between our panting breaths. I rolled my hips into him and his eyes shut tightly.

”Turn over.”

Shaking gasps poured from me from the fire lit butterflies that those simply words shoved down my throat. I turned over. My knees almost fell to the floor, but he hoisted me up and shoved back into me.

”Oh my god, Colby!” And a loud lengthen moan streamed from him. I balled the blankets in my fists when he raised one of my knees onto the edge of the bed for a better angle.

I didn’t just see blurry, stars and colors swirled behind my eyes as well.

”Holy shit, my pretty wife, taking me so well.” I could have passed out from his words alone. Then his fingers grabbed me by the roots of my hair.

He yanked. My back bent backwards and I felt him push kisses and moans against my head, my neck. God, it was so rough too. It had only been a month since the last time he fucked me with that desperation of wanting to leave a piece of him inside, but it felt like the first. His other hand left bruises and purple crescent moons in my hips, my ass.

”Fucking hell—Get up, lay on the bed,” he finally broke and pulled out of me. So of course I scrambled to lay my head on the pillows naturally if it meant he wouldn’t be inside of me again until I obeyed. I watched as he grabbed things from his bag. “Will you give me your wrists?”

”Fuck,” I gasped and my hands shot above my head. “Yes, yes, yes.” And he laughed at my enthusiasm. He tugged my shirt off.

A gasp sucked through his teeth fast enough that I knew they burned from the chill.

Even in the dark, his eyes devoured the way my fair skin contrasted with the dark lingerie that laced over my chest. He yanked my pants off the rest of the way and his eyes fell lower.

”You wore this all day?” He gasped.

”I put it on when I went to the bathroom in the airport.” A deep breath slowly left him. Then he leaned over and clicked on the lamp that sat on the table next to the bed.

The orange glow drenched my body, and I writhed under his intense gaze. I knew he ripped the thick lace apart in his mind. I waited and waited for him to actually do it.

Instead, he grabbed something he laid on the bed a second ago. The world stopped spinning when he lifted his wine red tie and wrapped it around my hands and a portion of the frame of the bed below the headboard. My heart was in my throat; the same tie he wore when he sealed our marriage with a kiss in front of our closest friends and family was now the fabric that tied me down to his bed. Our bed. It didn’t matter what physical bed we were in; it was ours.

”Pull, baby,” he sighed. The way his voice was smooth like he talked me to sleep as if he wasn’t tying me down thinking of all the ways he could rip my clothes off. I tested the makeshift cuffs but we knew it didn’t matter; he was entirely proficient in tying me down.

Fingers started at my throat and they painfully slowly dragged down my skin. Chills waved down my cold skin in their wake, and he rounded my heat and followed the band of lace that dipped an inch lower down my rib cage. The strap of matching lace around my waist that hooked onto my matching underwear were what his eyes drowned on next. He tugged on one of the stretchy bands that connected them and snapped it back. I winced.

”You’re going to kill me,” he simply said. I nodded like that’s what I intended.

I held my breath when he picked up my vibrator from the bed.

”Colby—“

”Sh,” he said with finality. The vibrator hummed to life. “You’re not about to tell me what to do, right?” I shook my head furiously.

He shoved it against me over the lace.

I gasped and my back arched. His hand held my side; thumb stroked across the lace.

”So fucking hot, holy shit,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

”Why-Why are you holding back?” I moaned.

”You don’t want me to? I won’t be nice.”

”Tear me apart, Colby.” His eyes darkened, unblinking. “Do you not want to use me? Claim your wife?” His nails jutted into my skin and I gasped a moan.

He turned the vibrator onto the highest setting.

I screamed. My eyes rolled to black as the pleasure washed over me—more so drowned me under tons of ocean weight—and he firmly held my hips down and pressed it tighter against me.

”You want me to use you?” My skin crawled. His voice still hardly trespassed a whisper. “How could I expect anything else from my slutty wife, hm? Tied to my bed, dressed like a whore, and begging for me and teasing me with that filthy mouth?”

“Colby—“ I gasped with a shaking seriousness.

”What? Realizing you bit off more than you could chew?”

”Colby—“ I warned him, loudly this time.

”Cum,” he demanded. “You wanna act like my slut? Then cum for me.”

That’s what I warned him about; I was too glad that he demanded from me what I couldn’t control.

My climax blinded me and the pleasure only lasted for a breath before overstimulation stung me. He didn’t budge though. Not as I writhed, kicked, and tried to twist away from him.

”You fucking kick me again and I’m tying your legs down too.” I couldn’t even respond to that jeer. His voice picked up now and a sick part of me couldn’t get enough of it.

“Please,” I begged. “Can’t breathe—“

”You know our safe word,” he teased. My mouth closed. He scoffed. “What I fucking thought. Just a dumb slut who wants me to ruin her.”

“I’ll be so-be so good for you, please! Your fingers—Give me your fingers, please!”

”God you sound so pretty crying for me to fill you,” he sighed as his head lulled to the side. Completely enthralled; his eyes only blinked as much as necessary.

Moving my underwear to the side just enough for his fingers, Colby’s lips parted as he teased my slick entrance.

”Plea—“ He pushed three inside of me. “Oh shit,” I gasped. “Oh shit, yes, yes please.”

”You love it, hm? Love it when I fill you? Fuck you senseless?”

”Yes! I love it, I love it so much.” I tightened around him when the waves of pleasure built again. He shook his head quickly before the words even started.

”Don’t cum.”

”What?” I gasped. “Col—“

“No, I said don’t cum. You told me you wanted me to fill you and fuck you, so how about you take it first? Then maybe I’ll be nice if you cry hard enough.”

He wasn’t wrong. Tears already flooded my eyes.

Colby leaned over me. His lips hovered just out of reach. They parted as if he breathed too heavily to contain himself, and a parted smile shined down at me when I couldn’t gather myself. I whined when I couldn’t kiss him or touch him or reach him. I could only feel him the way he wanted me to.

”Please,” I gasped quietly.

”Please what?” His soft voice whispered. My eyes shut tightly, a tear fell. I wouldn’t be able to see that cute smile and listen to that gentle tone without imagining his fingers fucking me harshly and his other hand pinning a violent vibrator against me.

”Let me cum.”

”You’re not demanding me to let you cum, are you?” He asked as his eyebrows furrowed with question.

”N-No, please, Colby, please let me cum on your fingers, please.”

“Aw you sound so sweet, baby, trying to sound like my good girl?” The teasing made it unbearable. Yes, the vibrator made me lose my sense of self, but that venomous teasing gave it to Colby. Everything that I am was in his hands, his control.

“Yes! Been so good for you let me-let me cum already I can’t-I can’t control it—“

”Good thing you’re not supposed to,” he said. “I’m the one who tells you when to cum, okay?”

”Yes-Yes Sir, you-you—Please! I’m so good for you, wait-wait for you—“ I lost control of my voice.

The pain from the overstimulation dissipated.

My hands didn’t pull on the restraint anymore.

Colby kissed me sweetly. His lips and tongue left soft kisses down my neck.

”Yeah, that’s right, good girl,” he whispered calmly. He moaned and looked down in between us before he rose to his knees again. “You’re so good for me, so beautiful, so perfect. Fucking cum—oh my god—cum for me, baby,” he finally told me. And I let go.

I moaned his name and I fully relaxed into it, into the pain and the pleasure, and everything he gave me. I knew I drenched him. I added to our mess. I couldn’t tell if he lost control of himself or if I blacked out, but the next thing I knew, he finally filled me again.

”Holy shit—Colby—“ I cried. Finally his moans met my ears, and I almost crashed into that pool of pleasure all over again.

He fucked me as harshly as his fingers just had, and I watched his sweaty face twist in pleasure through blurry tears.

His free hand moved to my throat; his forearm rested on my chest for support. I whispered his name. Another warning.

”You going to cum one more time for me, my love?” He gasped breathlessly. “I’m so close, will you cum with me?” I nodded quickly even though I didn’t want this to end. I lost track of time when his body made itself home in mine. ”Oh shit!” He finally broke and raised himself to his knees.

I watched as he raced a hand through his hair; fingers tugging at the roots as his eyes watched where he entered me.

”Cumming—“ I cried and his eyes flicked to mine for a moment.

The height of my orgasm hit me then he pulled out. I rode it out on the vibrator as his moans became music in my ears. He finished himself off; painted me with his release.

It took work for me to hold my eyes open. Between the pleasure and the way he looked painting me with his cum, I couldn’t really believe there was a heaven better than this one.

And he turned the vibrator off.

He sat on his knees in between my useless legs and panted.

I didn’t object when he grabbed his phone from his pants pocket and took a flashed photo high enough to capture his chest down to my ruined body and my hands tied up to the bed. I opened my eyes when the flash was over and he fell over me; hand supported him next to my head. He showed me the photo with bated breath.

My throat coiled in on itself at the disgusting filth he captured. He was still enticingly hard, flushed pink, and I couldn’t tear my eyes from the sight of his cum ruining my lingerie. My mouth watered at the pearly streaks of white that contrasted on the black lace and black ink on my fair skin under the lingerie. The red of his tie only enhanced the flush over my skin. Thin faintly black tears raced down my face.

I was a mess.

A disgusting mess that somehow made my knees weak all over again.

”You’re such a good artist, husband.” The phone fell to the blanket under us as he burst out laughing.

His thumb linked under my chin when he kissed the life out of me.

”Needed to at least put my signature on my work, yeah?” I laughed back at him and he planted more kisses on me. Then he untied my hands.

They fell to the bed and my eyes widened. I still hadn’t gained much control over my body.

”It’s okay,” he whispered and brushed my hair, my sides.

”I know,” I sighed as I rose from my subspace.

“I’m right here, love. Always right here.” He kissed my skin as I came to.

”Is it gross that I don’t really want to shower?” Colby laughed again.

”I’m not sure,” he teased and sat back to his knees to look at my body again. “I mean, if you take a shower with me I’ll wash you for you.”

”Yeah, with your tongue like you did this morning?” A fond smile.

”I’ll wash you, I’ll touch you, and I’ll make you feel good however you want, my wife.” I smiled. We both couldn’t get used to—get over—the titles.

”Fine, then carry me to the bathroom, my husband.”

✧˖*°࿐

Taglist (Comment to be added):

@a-random-google-user

#colby brock #sam and colby #sam golbach #18+ only #minors dni #colby brock smut #colby brock x reader #rosie writings #rosie hub

346 notes · View notes

eiightysixbaby · 1 year

Text

blue raspberry syrup

(part 2 to sunscreen and chlorine)

word count: 3.9k

pairing: lifeguard!eddie x fem!reader

summary: a second meeting with your favorite lifeguard after pool hours… what will you get into this time?

cw: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI - SMUT. oral (m receiving), eddie watches reader get herself off, unprotected p in v, creampie, sex in a public place (they’re alone tho), use of pet names, temperature play

author’s note: here she is, finally! hope i did part one justice with this sequel, let me know what y’all think!!

Milky twilight began to fall over the community pool, the sunset casting orange and lilac reflections on the surface of the water. Fireflies flickered on and off in the grass beyond the fence, communicating in their own way. Meanwhile, Eddie busied himself with any task he could think of as he waited for you to return. He took out the trash, cleaned the disgusting bathrooms, washed his hands ten times afterwards, closed all the umbrellas positioned between lounge chairs. Billy had been the last one to leave at 7:30, telling Eddie he ‘better not pull anymore bullshit tomorrow’, and now Eddie finds himself taking a well deserved quick swim in the pool, cooling himself off after a scorcher of a day. One half of the water, the deeper end, is concealed by the pool cover, Eddie having left the shallower end open for use. He submerges himself underwater, propelling himself forward and then coming up to the surface, shaking his hair wildly like a dog. He pulls himself out of the water, hands flat on the concrete as he pushes his body up and out. His swim trunks drip the chlorinated water all around his feet, hitting the pavement in loud droplets. Drying himself off with a towel, he sees headlights pull into the parking lot, hears faint music playing from the car radio. You step out of your car and catch his eye, giving him a wave - the same little delicate wave you directed at him when he first saw you lounging by the pool earlier that day. You have a towel tucked under your arm, and another popsicle in your left hand. Eddie’s head swirls with delight.

You’d been antsy all afternoon after your shower session with Eddie, pacing back and forth around your room at home just trying to distract yourself. The minutes seemed to drag, moving slow like thick honey as you waited for your next meeting time with the lifeguard that made your heart pound. You’d showered and slipped on a different bathing suit, the other one being damp and cold and reeking of chemical water. You forced yourself to gain some sense of composure as you stepped out of your car after arriving back at the pool, unwilling to let Eddie know just how much he’d occupied your brain the last several hours. He beams at you from behind the painted metal fence and you feel butterflies take flight in your stomach.

“You and those damn popsicles,” he laughs, opening the gate to the pool to let you in, still towel drying his hair.

You held the frozen snack at your side, still in the crinkly white wrapper. You try to bite back a smile but ultimately fail. The squeaky metal gate closes behind you, Eddie positioning the latch into place with a clink.

“Thought you liked it, don’t tell me you’re gonna complain if you have to watch me eat another,” you look up at him innocently with round eyes, batting your lashes for effect.

Eddie just rolls his eyes, giving you a dismissive wave as he walks with you towards the water. The heat has dissipated slightly with the gradual nightfall, the intense glare of the sun now faded into a subtle wink. Crickets chirp in the grass, filling the night with sound, a lullaby coaxing the town to sleep. He finds himself sick with adoration as he looks at you, looking so effortlessly perfect. An oversized t-shirt covering you down to your mid-thigh, concealing the swimsuit underneath - he can see where it ties at the back of your neck. You wear white flip flops on your feet, toenails painted a bright shade of purple. The backs of the shoes clap clap clap as you step towards the pool, Eddie’s bare feet padding silently next to them. You lay your striped beach towel down onto the concrete, next to the pool’s edge. Eddie watches your every movement, his heart pounding in his chest. He wants to touch you, to taste you, to feel you all over him.

You sit on your towel, leaning your head to the side to glance up at Eddie. “Well, Munson? What kind of lessons do you have for me?” you ask playfully, itching to get his hands on you.

There’s a pause as Eddie thinks. His eyes trail to the still wrapped popsicle, and then back to you. His face twists into a devious grin. He sits so he’s facing you, legs spread as he gently pulls you to sit between them. He pulls you in for a kiss, forcing back the moan that threatens to break free at the mere contact with your lips. He hears you sigh into him, hands coming up to cup his face. Soft lips move against even softer ones, tongues searching the inside of cheeks eagerly. Your hands tangle in his damp hair, cold droplets covering your skin. When he finally pulls away, he admires your kiss swollen lips, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the bottom one. He picks up the popsicle, slowly working the wrapper off of it, and you eye him curiously.

Eddie holds the stick of the popsicle with one hand, other hand gripping your jaw, pulling your mouth open gently.

“Stick your tongue out, baby,” he murmurs, watching you intently as you oblige.

He presses the popsicle to your tongue, prompting you to suck it past your lips. You take only a little bit into your mouth at first, and Eddie doesn’t seem pleased. He tsks at you, lips forming a slight frown.

“Surely you can take more than that, sweetheart,” he coos, his eyes steady as they observe you.

He pushes the popsicle further past your plush lips, enjoying the way you let it all happen without protest. Less and less of the blue tinted ice is visible the further he coaxes it into your mouth, and your eyes tear up a little as it reaches the back of your throat. The muscles tense, making you gag a little.

“That’s right, honey, choke on it for me. You were such a good girl gagging on my dick earlier, you can handle this too, right?” his voice is almost patronizing, yet it sends shockwaves right to your core, wetness beginning to pool in your bathing suit bottoms.

You pull away for a moment, suddenly the cotton shirt on your body is too much, too heavy on you. You pull it over your head hastily, setting it beside you before turning to face Eddie once more. You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out for him, prompting him to keep going. Eddie groans as you eagerly suck the popsicle, taking all that he gives you without complaint. He pulls it from your mouth suddenly, a soft slurping sound forming as you gather the sticky sweet juice from dripping past your lips. Without warning, Eddie puts the treat in his mouth, blue raspberry syrup coating his tongue. You feel a persistent throbbing between your thighs, watching his sloppy tongue lick remnants of your saliva off of blue ice. It’s not what you expected him to do, but you’ll be damned if you don’t find it fucking hot. He looks at you with heavy lidded eyes, sucking slow on the popsicle, driving you crazy.

You can’t take the teasing anymore, needing more of him, and you grab the popsicle from his hand. You lean into his personal space, getting him to lean back on flat palms. He watches you silently, hears his heartbeat in his ears as you suck the popsicle into your mouth once more, proceeding to pull it back out and kiss his neck with cold lips. He shudders, gasping when you press your cold tongue flat to his warm flesh, licking and nipping at the thin skin. You travel down his body like that, taking a lick of your frozen treat, then putting cold lips and tongue on Eddie’s skin, sucking hickeys into his chest. For the first time, you notice he has a nipple piercing. Just one, two silver balls resting on either side of puckered skin. The metal seems to gleam for you, calling you in. You take it into your mouth, icy tongue teasing the skin and tasting metal. Eddie whimpers, laughing a little when you pull away.

“Just now noticing that, honey?” he asks, pretty teeth on display for you as he smiles.

“I like it,” you reply easily, licking flat across his nipple once more before continuing your journey down.

Eddie knows where this is going, and his body practically vibrates with anticipation. Goosebumps break out on his skin as your mouth finds its way beneath his belly button, mouth kitten licking and kissing over his happy trail. He thinks he may die when you hook your fingers in the waistband of his swim trunks, coolly sucking on your popsicle all the while, getting your mouth nice and cold for him. His dick throbs, begging for attention. You coax the damp fabric down his legs, his cock springing free, curving towards his tummy. Before Eddie can even register it, your mouth engulfs him, cold tongue licking his shaft. Eddie tenses, throwing his head back and letting out a puff of air at the new sensation. A thin ribbon of saliva connects your bottom lip to the head of his cock when you start to pull away, licking up and down the popsicle again, tongue turning more blue with each swipe of it. You suck on the head of Eddie’s weeping cock, hollowing your cheeks out as he moans your name, fingers tangling in your hair. His cock practically aches, every cold press of your mouth against it has his breath catching in his throat, strangled moans escaping his pretty lips. He lets you work your magic for a while bobbing your head up and down, rolling his balls between your fingers.

The popsicle starts to melt where it rests in your free hand, and Eddie takes it from you, sucking on it while you suck on him. You pull off of his cock with a quiet pop, and Eddie grabs your chin, urging you up towards him. He kisses you hungrily, two blue tongues swirling around one another. Eddie stifles a groan, you taste like artificial berries and him and it’s turning him on even more. He’s not gonna let you have him so easily though, oh no, he’s gonna give you a taste of the teasing you gave him earlier. Just as he has you whimpering for him, he pulls away. He walks over to the trash can, bare feet on gritty pavement, tossing the remnants of the popsicle away. Turning back to face you, a grin spreads across his face and he goes running straight for the pool, completely naked, landing in the water with a huge splash. He comes back up for air with a gasp, hair sticking to his forehead.

“Eddieeeeee,” you whine between giggles, toes dangling into the water, watching him as he paddles around. “Need you,” you pout at him. “Now you’re being a tease.”

Your pussy throbs beneath skimpy bikini bottoms, so desperate for him to fill you. You can still taste him in your mouth, briny pre cum lingering in the back of your throat, and you chew on your lip in anticipation.

Eddie looks at you for a moment as he bobs in the water, arms splayed over his rescue tube that he snatched from beside the pool, keeping him effortlessly afloat. He has to hold back a devious laugh when he gets an idea. He paddles closer to the ledge where you sit, pulling the safety equipment from under his arms, holding it out to you.

“Show me how bad you need me, baby. Why don’t you ride that, and pretend it’s me,” he smirks at you, only growing more satisfied when you fail to form words in response, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Go ahead, honey, don’t be all shy now. Grind on it,” Eddie commands, gesturing for you to get on with it.

You delicately wrap your fingers around the safety equipment, GUARD written in bulky white block letters on the side. You straddle the rubbery red tube, one end of the object brushing against your clothed clit as you position yourself. An involuntary moan escapes your lips even at the minimal contact, and Eddie huffs a laugh, face sickeningly smug. Your face heats up instantly, suddenly ten times more aware of his eyes on you, like a specimen under a microscope. Your eyebrows knit together in concentration as you find a comfortable rhythm, riding the slippery material in desperation, dying to soothe the heat between your thighs. Pitiful mewls escape your lips, and Eddie raises his eyebrows at you.

“Oh, feels good, huh?” Eddie says, his tone mocking.

You want to reply with something witty, don’t want to give in this easy, but your core aches and pleads for more. Instead you whimper, wiggling your hips lower to rub across the tube, material dragging underneath your clit. The friction is so good, your hands grabbing desperately at the flat pavement beneath you, seeking purchase on anything and failing to find it. Your hips have found a steady pace, grinding against the spongey edge of the object, hair falling in your face with your head hung low. You moan his name and Eddie instinctively reaches down to palm at his hard cock. He shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he is, but all he can think about is how he’s going to be using that same equipment during his shift tomorrow, keeping this little secret all to himself. Your cheeks are flushed with arousal yet also a slight twinge of embarrassment as Eddie watches you come undone on a fucking rescue buoy, pretending it’s his muscular thigh you’re riding. You soak the material beneath you as your legs tremble, glancing up at Eddie with pouty lips, silently pleading for him to have his way with you.

“Fuck, honey,” Eddie murmurs, reaching up from the water to brush hair out of your face. “Get in here with me, take everything off,” his eyes are dark as they watch you, standing up on shaky legs.

You shuffle out of your swimsuit bottoms, untying the straps on your top and letting it drop to the ground. You ease yourself into the water, cold touching every inch of your sun soaked skin as you lower your body in. Your feet touch the smooth bottom of the pool, water rising up to your breasts, making you shiver. Eddie pulls you to his chest immediately, naked bodies radiating warmth onto each other in the cool chlorinated liquid surrounding you. Darkness seems to have crept further in now, like a blanket shielding your naked bodies from the rest of the world, keeping these secrets for you. Eddie brushes your hair to one side, kissing and licking at your neck as his hands find their way to the globes of your ass, squeezing.

“Need to fuck you, baby, right here,” he says, voice muffled slightly as he presses kisses to your shoulder.

“You’re sure no one will catch us, right?” you breathe out, voice wavering slightly as his lips tickle your skin.

“It’s just you and me, honey. No one will catch us. Promise,” he’s pulled away from you, looking you straight in the eye so you take him seriously.

And he’s telling the truth. The cops make their rounds nightly, stopping by the pool at 10:30pm on the nose every. single. night. Eddie knows this partly because of several almost-busted drug deals he’s attempted to host late at night in the pool parking lot, and partly from stories he’s heard from other people who’ve tried to have late night swims in private. Given the fact that their whole goal is to catch people doing illegal things, the cops have really become far too predictable, doing their routine runs and making the same stops in the same order over and over. Eddie chuckles to himself as he thinks of this, pulling you even closer to him, giddy with the promise of more time alone with you.

He lifts you slightly and you instantly wrap your legs around his waist. He dips his head down, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth as his hands toy with the fat of your ass. His mouth sucks bruises into the skin around your breasts, teeth biting at the skin just for his tongue to soothe it afterwards. You can feel his cock pressing against you and you squirm in Eddie’s grip, aching to be full of him. His blunt fingernails dig into your skin where he grips you, mouth finding its way up your neck and to your ear, leaving kisses in its wake.

“Want me to fill you up, honey?” his voice rasps in your ear, cold wet hair tickling the side of your face.

“Y-yeah, fuck,” you inhale sharply as he sucks on your earlobe, pulling it gently between his teeth.

He pins you against the side of the pool, your legs still wrapped around him as he attempts to line himself up with your entrance. You finally feel him slip in, both of you letting out heavy sighs at the feeling. You swear you can feel him in your guts by the time he’s fully inside you, and your body feels like it’s going to short circuit from sheer pleasure. He bucks up into you, teeth biting hard on his bottom lip, brows furrowed as he concentrates on making you feel good. Water ripples around you with every movement, sloshing gently around your partially submerged bodies. Your fingernails claw at the soft skin of his back, sure to leave scratches on the otherwise empty canvas. Eddie’s barely keeping himself together as he fucks you, his pace less brutal than round one in the shower, but you feel too good around him and he finds it hard to will himself not to cum so soon. You’re so tight around him, so warm, and every time your muscles clench he’s cursing under his breath. You lean your head forward, resting it on his shoulder, incredibly grateful for Eddie’s tight grip on you - your body is far too overwhelmed with pleasure to focus on keeping yourself upright, limbs feeling like jello. Eddie’s hips snap into you with a particularly rough thrust, the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot in just the right way, and you bite down on his shoulder to muffle a cry.

“Right there, baby? Y’like that?” Eddie’s voice is low and hovering just above your ear, sending a shiver right down your spine.

“Feels so good, love when you fuck me Eddie,” you moan, and god Eddie swears he could die from the sound of you saying his name alone.

He continues to plow into you at just the right angle, hands fighting to keep their grip on your ass, skin growing slippery from the water. You’re close, Eddie can tell by the way your breathing is staggered and your eyes are pinched shut, his name tumbling out of your mouth in barely coherent strings.

“E-Eddie, ‘m so close,” you whimper, confirming his suspicions.

“Me too, honey, fuck,” Eddie’s panting, hips faltering slightly in their movements as he pushes his body through water.

“Wanna ride you, Eddie, please,” you beg him, and he pulls out of you almost instantly, hoisting himself out of the pool.

“Come on then, baby, what’re you waiting for?” he smirks, laying back onto your towel, the thin layer of fabric easing the roughness of laying on pavement.

You follow him out of the pool, water dripping everywhere as you straddle his lap on shaky knees. You sink down onto his cock, hips falling into the same rhythm they’d had on Eddie’s rescue gear earlier, this time feeling so enticingly full. Eddie groans as your gooey walls envelope him, gripping onto your waist to ground himself. Heat pools in the pit of your stomach once again as you rock yourself on top of him, the new angle stretching you in different ways. You bring a tentative hand down to rub circles on your clit, the sensitive bud begging for more attention. Eddie can’t help himself, he starts rutting up into you, trying to match your pace. He’s right on the edge of bliss but determined to get you there first, pushing himself as deep inside of you as he’ll go. He’s sick with lust as he watches you ride him, delirious with the way your tits bounce with every jolt of your body.

“Gonna cum, Eddie, don’t stop,” you warn, fingers moving quicker on your clit, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Not planning on it, sweetheart,” Eddie grunts, driving into you again and again as you squirm on top of him.

A few more thrusts from him and you feel the rope finally snap, hunched over Eddie’s body as you come undone around him. Your chest heaves as you work through your high, walls fluttering harshly around Eddie’s throbbing length. You feel like your bones turned to mush as Eddie keeps bucking his hips into you, your limbs tingling with the overstimulation of it all. You press chaste kisses to his neck as his moans grow louder, biting and licking at his skin before he finally reaches release. He paints your insides for what feels like forever, loosening his grip on your sides when he’s finally done.

“Shit, honey. Milked me fuckin’ dry,” Eddie laughs, breathing heavy with exertion.

You giggle as you slowly pull off of him, a mix of your release and his leaking out of you, sliding slowly down your thighs. Eddie sits up beside you and you pull him in for a lazy kiss, sloppy lips on lips and tongues peeking out to greet each other. Pulling away, Eddie glances over at the clock hanging on the wall near the locker rooms. It reads just about 10 o’clock. He huffs a sad sigh as he turns back to you.

“We should probably get going, baby. Cops usually show up pretty soon,” Eddie stands, holding a hand out to help you up as well.

You stick out your bottom lip in a pitiful pout as you rise from your sitting position, earning a laugh from Eddie.

“Wish we could just stay here all night,” your pout persists as your press your palms to his chest, scrunching your nose when he kisses it.

“Trust me, honey, you’ll be seeing more of me. No way you’re getting rid of me now,” Eddie chews on the inside of his cheek, attempting to suppress his smirk.

You wait for him by the gate as he covers the rest of the pool and puts his equipment in his locker, admiring every stride his long legs take, thin frame lit up only by the light of the moon and the subtle glow of the flickering lamps in the parking lot. He jogs over to you, kissing you sweetly as his hands unlatch the gate behind you, metal scraping on metal as it opens. He walks you to your car, shaggy wet curls falling over his shoulders as he leans through the window to give you one more kiss goodnight. You pull a pen from your glovebox, writing your phone number in blue ink on his wrist, then kissing the back of his hand before letting him go. He keeps looking over his shoulder at you as he walks to his beat up van, giving you a little wave as you pull out of your parking spot.

Almost as soon as you get home, your phone rings - and you have a feeling it might be one particular lifeguard you know.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #lifeguard!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic

1K notes · View notes

irisintheafterglow · 7 months

Note

(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)🌷✨🩷🍪 Greetings Author-nim

Can I please request (⁠^⁠_⁠^⁠メ⁠)

(OPLA Zoro x You) Where Reader is an Assassin or Ninja and is a Pirate hunter, When Zoro used to be one too, they would always compete who gets the target first. Sometimes Zoro wins, sometimes reader.

So, imagine Reader's reaction when they saw Zoro with the crew.

And also, Luffy, somehow by some miracle with his own style of talk-no-jutsu managed to convince reader to join them(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥. Hope u have a great day and it's okay if u don't want to do this. I'll understand.

baby, let the games begin

wc: 2k (surprise, shawty)

cw/tags: gn!reader, swearing, canon-typical violence, mentions of drinking and alcohol, pining pining pining pining PINING

note: hi love, thank you so much for your request!! i hope you like this because i certainly love writing for this stupid himbo man

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

Honor be damned, you really wanted to kill him.

“Dirty play, demon,” you huff irritatedly, scowling at the asshole who skewered your target before you could. In a single clean slash, the head is relieved of its body and unceremoniously kicked into a bag. “We both know that one was mine.”

“Better luck next time.” Asshole. Stupid, selfish, infuriatingly attractive asshole. A million different ways you could end his life flashed through your mind and, with his back turned to you, became more of a possibility the longer you sat in your disappointment. The dock creaks beneath his receding footsteps and you spit a curse under your breath. The head now bouncing around in the pirate hunter’s hand would have had you living comfortably for months, not to mention buying some shelter for the stray dogs wandering your home island. Monsoon season was coming and you didn’t have nearly enough space to keep all of them dry. Finding food that wasn’t old bread and horse balls was hard in itself and shelter was just another task added to the to-do list. “You’re not gonna try and take it from me?”

“Why would I? You killed him; you get the bounty,” you reply scornfully, praying that whoever came up with the idea of hunter’s honor is torn to shreds by an octopus. “Guess it is your turn,” you concede reluctantly and take note of the blood dripping from the dirty fabric sack as he reapproaches. You’d have to clean your shoes when you were done. “I did take that guy from you in Flamingo Village, last week.”

“The one with the big, ugly hat,” he confirms and you don’t budge when he stands right in front of you. He had pretty eyes, you’d give him that. Too bad you wanted to slam your fist into his nose. “I was mad about that one.”

“Well, you got this one. Aren’t you gonna cash ‘em in?”

“I will. I’m just curious,” he says and his expression is unreadable. It bordered on amusement and suspicion with a little bit of awe. “You could have killed me a million times since I killed the target.” Already thought that, buddy. “Why didn’t you?”

“Like I said, hunter’s honor–”

“No,” he shakes his head decidedly and you narrow your eyes. “You’ve been following this guy for four days, watching other hunters fail to bring him in. My question is, why do you need this bounty so badly, and why aren’t you willing to kill me over it?”

“Technically, that’s two questions,” you deadpan and your heart does an unwanted little stutter when he scoffs, the tiniest smile pulling at his mouth. “If you really wanna know why I need it, it’s ‘cause I need to take care of some friends back home.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but you also didn’t need the most feared hunter in the seas knowing that you needed the money to buy squeaky toys and dog beds.

“Those friends aren’t worth killing for?”

“It’s sounding like you want me to kill you,” you fire back incredulously. “Do I need to worry about you, Zoro?”

“Look, all I’m saying is, all other hunters would be leaping at my throat as soon as I take their kill. I just don’t understand why you won’t, especially if it’s worth four days of stalking.”

“Maybe I like playing this little game,” you admit. It’s no secret to you that your job becomes incredibly boring at times. All the other hunters you come across take their jobs too seriously and believe that they’re purging the seas of evil. You, however, knew that the real evil was pacing around ivory towers and putting up the wanted posters. When you first met Zoro, it seemed like he didn’t take his job seriously at all. He killed like it was breathing and remained unamused at the melodramatic theatrics of flashier hunters. You ran into each other often because, besides being the only ones who survive their hunts, you were the top-earning hunters of your generation and ended up following the same pace every time. “I take a bounty; you take a bounty. I try to beat the pirate hunter at his own game; he throws a fit when I’m faster than him.”

“But, today I was faster than you,” he corrects and you stick your tongue out at him in defiance. “Who’s throwing a fit now?”

“Get out of my sight, demon,” you frown but you can’t hold it for long. It becomes a tired, melancholy smile and you start to make your way back to the town to book passage home. “Hope you enjoy all that Berry.”

“Let me buy you a drink with it before you go,” he calls after you and you freeze where you stand. “Consolation for kicking your ass this time around.” You shoot him a scathing look over your shoulder and take the bait.

“I did all the dirty work for you, asshole, so it better be three drinks at the least.” He chuckles softly under his breath and you roll your eyes, letting him catch up to you before heading to the nearest bar together. “I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t.”

As time passed and you ran into him more during your hunts, that hatred turned into something different, an annoying feeling of excitement every time you heard a sword unsheathed or spotted someone with green hair. You found yourself checking your watch when you were ahead of him, counting down the hours until he caught up. You knew the sound of his footsteps and the rhythm of his breathing and memorized how the sun hit his eyes down to the iris. Sometimes, you’d work with him directly and split the bounty evenly once it was completed. During conversations to kill time, though he never admitted it, he liked being around you as often as he was. Eventually, you told him about your furry friends back on the island and started marking the places you’d been with a hasty drawing of a dog. It became part of your routine and the time that it took for him to catch up to you decreased exponentially as a result. You’re easier to follow, is what he said. On a particular mission where you were unusually behind, you were delighted to find his gross attempt at mimicking the mark scratched into the wooden bar counter.

You lose touch with him after a year or so of working together and you don’t expect it to hurt as much as it did. Word floated around that he was captured by Marines and posted up in Shells Town, but the same mouths reported that he escaped with pirates the following day. None of it sounded like him and it reminded you that you really didn’t know him at all. Still, you marked that silly dog into every barstool and backdoor you came across as you fell back into the same boring routines.

Taking a rest day at a floating restaurant called Baratie, you think you’ve found the perfect spot to scratch into the counter when you realize that someone has already done it for you. It was horrendous and nearly incomprehensible, but you choke back a sob when you run your thumb over the mangled wood. There was only one person who could have drawn the little dog so badly.

And it’s like your body senses him before your mind does.

In an instant, you’re hyper fixated on the familiar rhythm of his boots and the soft noise as his swords clank together with every step. There are four others with him, but you know his approach like the back of your hand. A boy in a straw hat whom you recognize from wanted posters rushes the bar, loudly requesting a glass of milk for himself and the finest rum for his swordsman companion. When he slides into the seat next to you, you can barely look at him, rendered defenseless from the conflict of emotions stirring in your mind. Thousands of questions were screaming to be answered but you couldn’t even open your mouth. The alcohol in your half-finished glass is all you can see.

“You found me,” he murmurs, flagging down the bartender and asking for a bottle of whatever you’re drinking.

“I wasn’t looking for you,” you reply just as quietly, watching his hand carefully replenish your glass before filling his own and downing it in a few swallows. You stop him from pouring another with a light hand on his shoulder and he wordlessly sets down the bottle, making you smile softly. “You still drink too much.”

“I don’t have you to slow me down,” he replies without hesitation, glancing at your fingertip as it traces the mark he made on the wood. “I’ve been putting those everywhere since I joined up with Luffy. Figured we’d run into each other at some point.”

“Luffy,” you echo. “That’s your pirate captain?” The irony of your situation escapes neither of you. If you were smart, you’d have every single one of them dead and bouncing around a burlap sack, just like the pirate all those years ago. But, just the same as the first time, you were stopped by a profound desire to be closer to Zoro.

“He’s not like other pirates. Not like the ones you and I know.”

“I’ll let the Marines know next time I bring in a head, then,” you laugh humorlessly, feeling the rum burn down your throat when you take another sip. You feel his eyes watching you carefully but you don’t look back at him. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to hear that.”

“They don’t have to hear anything,” he says in a low tone, one that sends goosebumps up your spine and has your heart beating a little faster. “They don’t have to hear anything from you ever again.”

“You’re not saying…”

“That's exactly what I’m saying.”

“You want me to just switch sides like it’s nothing?”

“This job has been nothing to you from the beginning, nothing but a way to feed strays that, thanks to you, have loving homes,” he reminds you and you exhale deeply. He was right, but part of you wanted vengeance for all the times you secretly wished he was still with you. “So, come with me.”

“Zoro, I–”

“You know, I’ve missed you so much I can’t sleep,” he shakes his head and sighs in defeat. “Every time we dock at a new city, I’m hoping you’re on a hunt because, as much as I care for them, they’ll never know me the way you do.” He looks back at his crew with something like sad fondness in his eyes. They wouldn’t ever know him the way you did, as a bounty hunter with no real place to call home and no real people to call friends. “It gets lonely when you’re not forced to be alone anymore.”

“And it’s lonely when you are forced to,” you add. “It’s lonely either way–”

“But I’d rather be that way with you,” he concludes. “It’s not bad when I’m with you.” You pause, collecting your thoughts and calculating how much money you’d have if you suddenly abandoned your current line of work. It was risky, sure, but something about risking it on Zoro made it feel a little less dangerous. “Your silence tells me I convinced you.”

“I’m not the one you need to convince; it’s your captain you should be talking to.”

“Trust me, he’s the least of our problems.” As if to drive home his point, a choir of cheers rises up from behind you as a loud belch sounds through the harbor.

“‘Our’ as in the crew, or ‘our’ as in you and I?”

“It’s always been you and I, hasn’t it?”

“It always will be,” you promise, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. He’s warm and safe and everything you were needing. “But, I need to teach you how to draw a better dog.” He hums in agreement, downing another glass contentedly.

“Yeah, you need to teach me how to draw a better dog.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#zoro x you #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #opla x you #opla x reader #opla x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #ask iris!

620 notes · View notes

refriedrambles · 1 year

Text

To say Skoodge was crushed when he'd arrived at the base was a bit of an understatement.

Krysa noticed some off about him when they were still at the labs. She wasn't surprised the sight before him pushed him over the edge.

The place was torched.

#refriedrambles #everyone is running away #those squeaky shoes #being fired fic #somewhere new fic #oc shit #skoodge

1 note · View note

niallsstainedcoffeecup · 18 days

Text

A Scoop of Love

Y/N, a single mother, who no longer believes in love, meets the new ice cream shop owner, Harry Styles. Can she balance a new love, her ex-husband, and her daughter? Or will it all fall apart?

This is a new miniseries I'm working on. Let me know what you think, and if you would like to see anything in the future parts. Lots of love! Love either bloomed beautifully or withered wastefully. Y/N witnessed this first-hand with her parents’ marriage, then her own. Her parents loved one another, from sharing multiple morning kisses before leaving for work to drawing lavender bubble baths for one another after a rough day. She grew up surrounded by love, so naturally, she searched for and planned her true love. They would meet at a bookstore or in a university lecture, and then he would propose after three blissful years of dating. They would get married in the church her parents got married in, she would wear a modern version of her mother’s wedding dress, and there would be bouquets of beautiful pink peonies everywhere. However, a higher being glanced over her plans and laughed.

She met her husband at the first university party she attended. He was in his second year of university, and she was in her first year, but her dark humor and extensive music knowledge kept him entertained all night. They dated for an exciting year filled with morning kisses before she left for class and late-night conversations about their future, and then they were blessed with the news that she was pregnant.

Her parents rejoiced, but his parents forced him to propose. They were married in her parents’ garden, under a floral arch her mother designed, with very few guests because his parents did not want their friends to see the small bump under the maternity wedding dress that she despised. At twenty, she gave birth to their beautiful daughter, Daphne.

The couple attempted to raise their daughter together, but the morning kisses turned to cold glares, and conversations about the future transformed into hate-filled mutters about feeling trapped. A few weeks after their daughter’s third birthday, she divorced the man she planned to spend forever with. Her marriage devoured her hope for love. * * * * *

Oldies from the sixties and seventies flowed from the Bluetooth stereo and throughout the small kitchen. She flipped the sizzling bacon, plated the burning eggs, and buttered the steaming toast. Pausing the music, she listened for movement, like the sound of her daughter’s electric toothbrush or the squeak of those awful shoes her daughter’s school assigned as the required dress code. The sneaky eight-year-old was known for slipping back into bed after her mother returned to her busy morning schedule; however, they could not be late this morning. The bathroom door’s squeaky hinge informed her that Daphne just finished her morning routine and should appear in the kitchen soon. She chugged the remainder of the French vanilla coffee in an attempt to muster all possible energy.

Two bouncing ponytails hovered beside the wooden kitchen table and then descended until they disappeared with a giggle. “Did it look like I was walking downstairs? Daphne asked, hopping up the minute her mother chuckled at the illusion.

She nodded, wrapping her arms around her daughter’s small frame. “My little magician. Who taught you that?”

She knew the answer before she asked the question, recalling mornings when her ex-husband would send her into a fit of laughter by claiming he left the eggs downstairs and then descending behind the counter until he reappeared with two eggs in his hands. Late at night, she often wondered what happened to that man. Did she kill his spirit? Or did he reserve that side of himself for people he actually loved?

“Daddy. Will he pick me up after school?” She never knew how to answer these questions. She should have a solid answer, but her ex-husband loved creating excuses as to why he couldn’t watch their daughter during his scheduled weekends.

Instead, she replied by handing her daughter the breakfast plate. “You need to eat breakfast. We’ll leave in ten minutes.”

Daphne hopped onto the nearby stool, taking turns between eating breakfast and kicking her feet along with the music’s beat. Her mother rushed around the apartment, shoving expired library books into the young girl’s pink backpack. No matter what time her mother woke up, she was always in a hurry. She couldn’t remember a time when her mother wasn’t busy, even when they visited her grandparents, her mother took it upon herself to cook everyone dinner.

“Are you ready to start our Friday?” Y/N asked, helping the little girl into her black raincoat.

Daphne nodded, flashing her mother a wide, toothy grin before running down the quiet hallway. Shushing the eight-year-old and her heavy feet, she followed her daughter down the stairs and into the real world. She despised Fridays because Fridays looked like her, alone in the apartment with a Chinese delivery and a movie that she ignored in favor of thinking about where her life was headed. Her best friend, Christie, often suggested that they go out and find someone new, but she knew the love of her life wasn’t in a bar waiting for her. Romantic love skipped right over her, so years ago, she decided she would focus on the only love in her life, her daughter. * * * * *

A higher being loved irony, especially when leading her through life. Although her chances at true love were dashed when she signed the divorce papers, she spent the majority of her days photographing random couple’s wedding photos. Sure, she also photographed family portraits, fashion shoots, and other various photography projects, but many of her customers were couples in love.

Today, she was capturing the love between Peter and Samantha, a young couple who planned a Shakespearian wedding, so they dressed as Romeo and Juliet for the wedding invitation photos. She wondered whether Romeo and Juliet were couple goals because wasn’t the play criticizing the societal norms that killed the teens? Peter’s check told her to shut up and do what she did best–photograph the sweet couple. She had about thirty photos before her ex-husband’s ringtone startled everyone in the studio.

She sighed, waving over her assistant, “I’m sorry. Kira will provide you both with champagne while I answer this call.”

Kira poured the champagne for the happy couple, who reassured them they needed a break anyway. She walked away from the small group and farther into the studio’s storage room because her gut knew Tyler’s call was not about what he ate for lunch.

“Hello?” She prepared her heart for the excuse.

She heard shuffling on his end as if he wasn’t expecting her to answer his call. “Hey, I’m sorry to call you at work. How are you?” His deep, hypnotic voice shook with guilt.

The first time she heard that familiar shake in his voice, she thought she still made him nervous. However, she quickly learned that his voice shook when he was about to utter another lame excuse as to why he couldn’t be a father that weekend. She rolled her eyes because she did not have the time for this.

“Tyler, what is it this time?”

He sighed. “I need you to cover for me this weekend. Jo asked me to drive her to the doctor’s office, and she also planned a romantic weekend away.”

A low growl pulled her lips back into a snarl. “You can’t spend time with our daughter because you have to drive your girlfriend to the doctor? Can she not drive herself like an adult? Do you not understand how much Daphne misses you?”

“Listen, I didn’t call you for a lecture on parenting. We all can’t be perfect parents like you.” Tyler hissed, a tone she knew very well from their relationship.

The couple could argue about anything, from when the milk expired to why he never wanted to hold her hand anymore. The passion in their marriage centered around their hatred of one another until, one day, the arguments stopped, and a cold silence enveloped the couple. The heart of their marriage had shriveled up and died.

She chuckled bitterly, running her free hand through her hair. “I’m not asking you to be the perfect parent. I’m asking that you be there for our daughter, and you can’t even do that. Have fun with your girlfriend.”

Tyler ended the call without another word. Did he not respond because he knew she was right? She would break Daphne’s heart when she told her the news, but they would still have an amazing weekend because her daughter deserved it. Sighing, she regained her composure and returned to the lovely couple, whose love reminded her that love was still alive for everyone except her. * * * * *

“He canceled on Daphne again because Joanna needed an uber? Did you tell him to fuck off?” Christie complained as if she were the one who divorced Tyler.

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “No, I did tell him to fuck off in parent though. Does Joanna not understand that Daphne misses her father?”

“You mean the woman who ruined your marriage is trying to separate your daughter from her father?” Christie’s sarcasm usually made her laugh, but those words stilled her hand on the computer mouse.

The wedding photo she was editing once again mocked her situation. Her marriage wilted away for two years, but Joanna produced the final drought that destroyed every root and petal.

She recalled the day, replaying the moments as if they were scenes from a movie. She left early that morning, dropping Daphne off with her parents while she went shopping for her daughter’s birthday party. She purchased party hats detailed with a singing, independent princess and ordered two cakes decorated with the same princess and her quirky sidekick. Deciding to surprise her husband with a lunch date, she returned to their apartment, where she found her husband kissing another woman in their kitchen.

The cheating couple spun around toward her, and his only response came in the form of an apathetic mutter, "I thought you would be gone all day." They divorced a few weeks after that. She never cried because Joanna slept with her husband; she cried because the couple shared an emotional connection far deeper than what they ever had. The love in his eyes returned and sparkled brighter than she had ever seen, all for a woman he met five months ago. He found his soulmate, and it wasn’t her.

“Y/N? Hello? Did the call drop?” Christie’s frantic questions rescued her from the dark spiral she fell into.

She gasped, realizing she had fifteen minutes of editing time before she had to pick up Daphne from school. “Yeah, I guess this photo distracted me for a moment. I’m sorry. I’ll call you later.”

The problem with phone calls is that Christie couldn’t spot her friend’s distress. Her teeth gnawed on her bottom lip, her fingers picked at her fingernail polish, and her knee bounced erratically under her desk. The couple’s smile in the photo made her stomach churn with jealousy and sorrow. When would she find her soulmate? Could anyone love her? After downloading the images onto her thumb drive, she locked away the hideous feelings behind her studio’s glass doors and walked toward her sunshine. * * * * *

Daphne dried the hot tears from her cheeks, swallowing the sobs she wished her father could hear so he would cancel the plans that kept him from her. Her watery vision focused on the delicate rings decorating the hand holding her left hand, which provided the warmth and comfort needed to soothe her broken heart. Glancing up, she admired her mother's ever-present smile that never seemed to falter, especially when her father did not have time for her.

After her mother broke the news outside of the primary school, she wiped the tears from her daughter's damp cheeks and mentioned a surprise. Walking down the busy sidewalk, they slowed their pace once Y/N spotted the neon blue sign that read Dream Cones. Two months ago, Daphne returned from a friend's birthday party and raved about the delicious ice cream served. Today, Y/N saw the friend's mother at the school, and she asked for the ice cream shop's name to surprise her daughter. Her daughter's sparkling eyes and enthusiastic giggles revived her heart from her earlier conversation with Tyler and Christie.

“Surprise. Should we go inside?” She asked, already knowing the answer she would receive from her daughter.

Daphne nodded, gripping her mother’s hand with the strength of a hundred sugar-crazed children. Y/N might regret her decision later, like during their bedtime routine, but her daughter deserved a good childhood, and she would strive to provide her with that. As they entered the shop, a golden bell chimed loudly above their heads. “Welcome to Dream Cones.” The men and women cheered from behind the white marble counters. The warm, sugary scent of freshly baked waffle cones greeted their noses. Y/N's eyes flitted around the room, stopping briefly on the cerulean walls, the ornamental vanilla cone hung above the menu, and the wooden tables crowded with laughing families. Despite the conversations melding together into nonsensical noise, she could still pick up the soft pop music flowing through some unseen speaker.

Daphne seemed to speak the words she was thinking, “This place is cool.”

They approached the marble counter, reading the various ice cream labels, which featured unique names like lemonade over ice. She enjoyed the clever names; however, her eyes and stomach could not believe how fluffy and creamy each flavor looked.

“Mommy, will I like Sign of the Limes?” Chuckling at the amusing name, Y/N wondered whether the staff competed to create the unique names or the owner carefully curated each one.

“Yeah, do you want a cup or a cone?” The eight-year-old took a second to consider her options before ultimately choosing the waffle cone.

Y/N nodded, waiting until one of the women behind the counter asked for their order. She ordered the flavor Watermelon Sugar in a cup and Sign of the Limes in a cone for Daphne.

“Watermelon Sugar is my favorite flavor.” The cheerful worker commented, handing out the coral-colored ice cream. “Let me know how you like it.”

“Absolutely, I’m a sucker for anything watermelon flavored.” She giggled, agreeing with her customer that anything watermelon flavored was superior.

“Okay, your total is 23.96.”

Y/N's eyes widened, and she nearly gasped when she heard the price. She appreciated the artistic decor and the friendly workers; however, twelve-dollar ice cream was expensive for a single mother's budget. Smiling through the pain, she handed the woman her card.

“This is delicious. Can we have ice cream every Friday?” Daphne asked between mouthfuls.

Y/N giggled, wiping the messy corners of her daughter’s mouth with a napkin. “Of course.” She would find room in the budget for twelve-dollar ice cream as long as it made her daughter happy.

She stole a spoonful of ice cream from Daphne, which resulted in her daughter shooting her a playful glare, which she fixed by giving her a spoonful of her own ice cream as an equal trade. Between the two flavors, she could not decide which one she enjoyed the most. While she liked how the lime's zestiness did not overpower her palette, the watermelon found a balance between salty and sweet due to the salt crystals disguised as watermelon seeds. However, she knew one thing for sure, she loved the shop. After they finished their treats, they returned to the counter.

“Well, what is the verdict on Watermelon Sugar?” The woman asked, wiping the counters with a wet dishrag.

“Absolutely delicious,” she licked her lips. “Can you give our compliments to your boss?”

The woman nodded fervently, “Of course.” Then she paused, processing her idea before responding with a smirk. “Would you like to tell him yourself? He recently returned from a late meeting.”

Y/N shrugged, unsure about the possible interaction, but she recalled the numerous compliments she received from customers and agreed to the suggestion.

The worker walked away, disappearing behind a door labeled Employees Only. Y/N understood her compliments could brighten the owner's day; however, the longer the woman remained behind the door, the longer she had to overthink the future conversation. What if the owner did not care about her opinion and laughed in her face? What if the owner misunderstood and expected her to complain? Her worries eased once the door swung open, revealing the worker and a Greek God. The moment her eyes fell upon the curly-haired man with his lime-green sweater, her mouth ran dry.

“Hello, I'm the owner, Harry.” The man's low and slow tone melted her heart like ice cream on a summer day.

She smiled dreamily, “Hello, I'm Y/N, and this is my daughter, Daphne.”

Before she could produce a compliment, he turned and faced the little girl. “Hello Daphne, did you enjoy your ice cream?”

She watched in awe; not only did he acknowledge her daughter, but he also cared about her opinion. The girl's father rarely asked about her interests. She reminded herself not to idolize this stranger's kind gesture simply because her ex-husband lacked decent human qualities.

“Yes sir, my mommy bought me a lime cone. She said we could come back every Friday.” Daphne gushed, revealing their plan with a toothy grin.

Harry's smile widened, unveiling two crescent-shaped dimples that dented his cheeks. The man was perfect. “Awesome, you must have a cool mom.”

Daphne agreed, smiling proudly at her mother, who blinked back happy tears. Y/N cleared her throat, feeling slightly embarrassed that her daughter's compliment nearly brought her to tears.

“We appreciate you and your staff. Everyone is so kind, and the ice cream tastes wonderful.” She mumbled timidly.

His crystal green eyes found hers, sending chills down her spine at how they seemed to sparkle from the compliment. He reached up, placing his palms over his heart.

“Thank you. Our customers brighten our day, but compliments like these are the reason why we opened this place. What flavor did you try?”

“Watermelon sugar, and I think I’ll crave it until next Friday.” She giggled, shaking her head in shame over her sweet tooth.

Harry threw his head back, releasing an abrupt cackle that fluttered her heart. Her mind stuttered, questioning why her body was reacting to this man she met five minutes ago. Why did his beautiful laugh make her want to join in?

“Imagine how I must feel working here. I spend a majority of my day in my office because if I didn’t, I would have to reopen my gym membership.”

Now, it was her turn to laugh, a proper boisterous laugh, which she had not heard in quite a while. However, her ex-husband's cruel nature rang loudly in her head, reminding her not to be annoying. She quickly recovered, silencing her laugh and preparing an apology, but before she could speak, Harry settled her doubts and insecurities.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” He admired her melodic laugh.

She ducked her head, hiding her sheepish grin from him. Daphne's eyes traveled back and forth from the curly-haired stranger to her bashful mother. The interaction made her question why her mother and father never laughed or smiled around one another. Did her mother like this man more than her father? Daphne hummed, examining the man further, deciding whether or not she liked him, and since she liked the lamb on his sweater, she decided the man was okay to talk with her mother. However, she needed to leave soon to change out of her uncomfortable shoes.

“Mommy, my feet hurt.”

Daphne's whines reminded Y/N, that as a mother, she should not flirt with random men. She didn’t have time for a relationship and should focus all her efforts on her daughter. Cooing, she lifted the exhausted little girl up into her arms.

“Well, I hope to see you two soon. Daphne, next time try the Lucky Charms ice cream." Harry suggested, waving goodbye to the mother and daughter.

Daphne created a mental note to try the suggested flavor next time. However, she doubted her father would bring her next Friday, so she hoped her mother might bring her back before then. Y/N wondered whether she could return to the ice cream shop. Her heart rejoiced from the attention like a middle schooler who received a note from their secret admirer. However, she could not allow this infatuation to blossom into anything else. She would return because Daphne loved the ice cream, but she would not flirt with the handsome man. * * * * *

Red paint bled through the thin paper and mixed into the watery blue paint, coloring the princess's hair a violent purple. The plastic paint brush fell against the kitchen counter at the familiar sound of jingling keys unlocking the apartment door. The little girl raced toward the door that swung open to reveal her mother’s beaming smile.

“Mommy, I missed you.” Daphne confessed, jumping into her mother’s loving embrace.

Holding her daughter tight, Y/N chuckled and dropped her purse onto the nearby table. “I missed you too, Nugget. Where is your Aunt Christie?”

“She’s cooking dinner in the kitchen before you think I abandoned your daughter.” Christie shouted from the kitchen, making the mother and daughter giggle.

When setting her daughter down, she spotted a bright red paint stain on the girl’s uniform, which transferred onto her blazer. Pressing her palm against her forehead, she hoped Christie bought washable paint so she wouldn’t have to purchase another uniform blouse for Daphne.

“Mommy, come and look at my painting.” Her daughter grabbed her hands, leading her toward the kitchen, and with that simple gesture, her worries about stained clothes washed away.

While some might consider the painting grotesque due to the amount of red paint coating the cartoon princess’s body, she admired the art as if Van Gogh completed the masterpiece himself. She grabbed a yellow alphabet magnet from one of the kitchen’s drawers and hung the art on the fridge.

While the little girl danced with joy, Christie announced, “Watch out world. A new artist has entered the scene, and her name is Daphne.”

Since last Friday, Y/N noticed how Daphne rarely cried over Tyler’s absence, and she finished the wedding photos without any more pity parties. Choosing to ignore her previous stressors, she found herself singing and laughing more often. Eventually, she knew Christie would ask about her sudden change in mood, and the question came during dinner.

"You two seem happier. What happened? Did Daphne pour sugar in your cereal?" Christie wondered, earning a giggle from her niece.

Daphne responded first, answering the questions through a mouthful of broccoli. "No, do you remember when Andrew had delicious ice cream at his birthday party? Mommy took me to that ice cream shop, and I ate an entire scoop."

Christie’s brown eyes widened in pretend shock. “An entire scoop by yourself? Are you sure your Mommy didn’t help you?”

She nodded as if she were convincing her Aunt of something unbelievable. "I did because it tastes like your key-lime pie, but next time, I'm going to try the Lucky Charms flavor because Mr. Harry told me to. I like Mr. Harry. He made Mommy laugh."

At the mention of Harry's name, Y/N ducked her head down like a teenager avoiding an awkward conversation with her mother. Taking an interest in the vegan meatloaf on her plate sounded better than making eye contact with her nosy best friend. However, once Christie cleared her throat, she knew she could not escape the inevitable questioning. Glancing up, she found herself face-to-face with Christie's smirk.

“Who is Harry?” Those three words manifested a swarm of butterflies in her stomach.

She attempted to shrug nonchalantly to convince her best friend that he was not important, but her robotic movements unveiled her nerves about the subject.

“He owns the ice cream shop. We complimented the shop, and he thanked us.”

Christie knew her best friend better than anyone else, and the slight sparkle in her eyes told her all she needed to know. Y/N finally found a man worthy enough to develop a crush on. This time, she hoped she wouldn't ignore her feelings and allow herself to find happiness.

“Is this Harry attractive?” Y/N squeaked at the straightforward question, which only made Christie laugh loud and long.

Munching on the lumpy mashed potatoes, Daphne watched the women talk about Harry. She noticed how her mother wore the same smile from Friday, the smile showed more teeth, unlike the tight-lip grin she sported around Daphne's father. Her grandmother wore a similar smile when she told her granddaughter the story of how she met her grandfather. Was this what adults call love? Shouldn't her mother love her father?

Y/N took a sip from her glass of red wine before responding, “He could be a Gucci model.”

Christie hissed as if she burnt her hand on something hot. “You caught the attention of a Gucci model, and you didn’t ask him to father your children?”

Y/N gasped, reaching across the table to lightly slap her friend's arm. "Daphne is in the room." She grumbled, shaking her head with embarrassment.

Christie frowned, deciding it best to change the subject. They could discuss the possible Gucci model at a later date when her niece was not around.

Instead, she turned toward the little girl and asked, "Babe, did you tell your mom about music class?"

Daphne gasped, falling into an animated story about how Ms. Lee assigned her the role of drummer in the class band. Y/N hung on every word, but her mind and ears groaned at the mental image of her parents surprising Daphne with her very own drum kit. After that story, they all took turns telling stories from their day until their plates were empty. At the end of the night, Christie hugged them goodbye and informed Y/N that she would call tomorrow for more details about Harry. Once she shut the door, Daphne asked the question that had been on her mind since dinner.

“Do you love Daddy?”

Y/N froze, gaping at her daughter like a fish out of water. Tonight must have been the night for shocking questions because every question caught her off guard. How should she answer? Should she call Tyler before she answers? Her heart uttered the words, just be honest with her.

“I do love your father, but not in the same way that grandma loves grandpa. I want your father to be happy and healthy, but we stopped being in love a long time ago.” She hoped the questions would end there, but her daughter was as curious as her mother.

“Why?”

She hummed, kneeling so she could look into her daughter’s eyes. “Well, your father and I were very young when we met, and we did not know who we were as people. During our marriage, we both changed and realized that we were better off as friends than husband and wife. I’m sure your father is happy we ended our marriage because he found Joanna, and she makes him happy.”

While Daphne nodded, Y/N could see her mind trying to process the information before coming to the conclusion, “I’m glad that Daddy is happy, but I want you to be happy too.”

Tears blurred the woman’s vision, and she choked through a heartbreaking sob. How could her daughter not see that she was one of the few people who brought her happiness? She shook her head, cupping her daughter’s cheeks. “Baby, you make me the happiest mom in the world. Now, how about we cuddle and watch some cartoons before bed?”

“Yes, can we watch my favorite show?” Daphne asked, bouncing with excitement.

“Of course.” Standing up, she walked into the living room with her daughter by her side. Watching the silly cartoon, they forgot about the heavy conversation and enjoyed each other’s company. Y/N would answer Christie’s questions tomorrow, but today’s conversation with Daphne reminded her that her family was more important than a handsome man. * * * * *

The bright sun peeked out behind the dreary clouds, drying the murky puddles from the sidewalks and streets. Birds flew from the damp branches, lightening the solemn mood with cheerful chirps and songs. People fled from their busy schedules to spend a few moments outside, enjoying the sights, sounds, and smells of nature.

Since her next client booked a later appointment, she decided to eat lunch at the nearby park. The fork poked at the roasted brussel sprouts while she watched the crowds of people around her, from the family of three setting up a picnic to the lovely couple sharing a lunch before their offices called.

There were moments when her parents dropped all worries and duties to escape into nature for a few days, like the weekend her parents planned an impromptu camping trip because the deadlines became too much, so instead, they taught her how to build a fire and enjoy the music of the critters. She carried that sentiment into her life, finding moments throughout the week to feel the fresh air on her skin. However, her buzzing phone interrupted her second of silent gratitude.

Sighing, she answered the call despite knowing what it would bring. “Hello?”

“Hey, I need a favor. Before you lecture me about the importance of parenting, just know that I will pick up Daphne, but my boss scheduled an emergency afternoon evening. We probably won’t get out until six, so can you watch her until then? I would ask Joanna, but her boss double-booked her.” With wide eyes, she pulled the phone from her ear to double-check that the man speaking with her was her ex-husband.

This man would rather spend time with his daughter than create an excuse to skip out on his fatherly duties. Typically, she could hear the annoyance in his voice as if having a child were a burden. While her heart soared at the possibility that her daughter might finally have a father who took an interest in her life, her mind questioned and created reasons why he suddenly cared about their daughter.

“Of course, should I feed her dinner? Or do you and Joanna have dinner plans?” She asked, thinking of how long it had been since she and Tyler had a civil co-parenting conversation.

He hummed in thought for a second before deciding, “We can feed her. Wait, I almost forgot, could we keep her until Monday?”

Her heart stuttered when she thought about spending the entire weekend away from her daughter. She could not recall the last time she spent more than a few hours, let alone a day, without her. Also, she worried about her ex-husband's fatherly nature. Sure, she wanted him to spend time with their daughter, but she worried that he would not successfully prepare her for a school day.

His reassurance broke her reluctant silence. “Y/N, you can trust me. I have a few pairs of her school uniform, I know her schedule, and I will walk her to the front gates. I can even update you. Please, let me keep her for the weekend.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples with her free hand. “Fine, but promise me that you will call me if anything goes wrong.”

Tyler chuckled, shocking her even more because she hadn’t heard that delightful sound in so long. “I promise. Joanna and I planned a Sunday dinner with my parents, and they asked if they could see Daphne, complaining that they haven’t seen her since her birthday party.”

Rolling her eyes, she exhaled the irritation growing in her chest. Her relationship with Tyler's parents was rocky. During their first meeting, they wooed her with luxury cars and expensive food, which differed from the lifestyle she grew up with.

However, once she announced her pregnancy, his parents uninvited her to their events and took to uttering hateful comments about their future granddaughter. Everything about the situation threatened their social status in the gated community. The cruel comments ceased the moment they laid their eyes on the beautiful baby, and instead, they turned their cold glares and vicious whispers toward Y/N.

They criticized her parenting skills and provided unwarranted advice on how to raise a polite young lady. Despite their hostility, Y/N sent frequent updates and planned weekends for them to visit, so their comment to Tyler irked her. If they had not seen Daphne since her birthday party, it was because they chose not to.

“When will your parents stop being so charming? Daphne will be excited to see her grandparents.”

Tyler laughed sarcastically, understanding the trouble his parents caused everyone. “I’m glad that someone will be happy to see them. Well, I better finish these reports. I’ll see you tonight.”

Ending the call, she sat, shocked that they discussed their daughter without starting an argument. Throughout the years, she could count on one hand the amount of civil co-parenting conversations they had. She wondered how long this civility would last and if her advice about being a better father finally permeated his mind. She shook her head, deciding to focus on the positive rather than overthink the conversation until she found a reason to spoil it. If she was on after-school duty, then she and Daphne could stop by Dreams Cones, which meant she might run into Harry again. She leaned her head back, thanking the sun for blessing everyone. * * * * *

Children gathered around the marble counters to speculate about the new ice cream flavor, teenagers borrowed board games from a bookshelf to rid themselves of the pressures from school, and parents claimed tables to discuss upcoming weekend plans.

Daphne sprinted toward the crowd, ignoring her mother’s stern reminder that people do not run indoors. The magenta-colored ice cream gained everyone's attention because, unlike the other flavors, this new sweet treat lacked a name. Instead, someone had scribbled three question marks onto the paper card taped to the glass display.

Harry chose unique names for the other flavors, so she wondered why he hadn't done the same for this one. Perhaps he needed to workshop the name some more, but his excitement insisted that he could not keep the flavor from his customers any longer. Maybe he chose a name but taped the wrong placard to the display.

Breaking her focus from the mystery container, she looked up, expecting to find the grinning woman from their last visit; however, she found herself face to face with the owner’s irresistible dimpled grin. All the air from her lungs became trapped in her throat, and her heart tried beating out of her chest and into his beautiful hands.

“Y/N, I'm happy to see that you and Daphne returned.” The sincerity in his voice made her heart flutter wildly. Despite the numerous customers he met daily, he remembered their names and actually sounded happy to see them. She wondered whether or not this man was real.

Locking away her bothersome emotions, she responded rationally and calmly. “Thank you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” Well, she tried.

Harry's eyebrows shot up, but once the initial shock cleared, he didn't seem disgusted by her comment. Instead, his warm smile shifted into a smug grin as if her slip-up intrigued him. While he handled the situation with grace, she prayed for the ground to open up and swallow her whole. She pictured some higher being cackling at her as she shook her head fervently.

“I'm sorry. I meant to say I haven't stopped thinking about your ice cream. I promise I'm not trying to hit on you." Her mind begged her mouth to shut up. She didn't want him to think she didn't find him attractive. "Not that you aren't incredibly handsome."

Processing the conversation, she groaned and dragged a palm down her face. At that moment, she decided someone could die from embarrassment. She recalled when she could speak normally with people she found attractive, but her skills must be rusty from their lack of use.

An amused chuckle flittered past his rosy lips as he crossed his arms across his chest, clearly enjoying the sight of her squirming and scrambling to correct herself. “Thank you, I needed that today. I woke up feeling unsure about myself. Would it be inappropriate to say that you look beautiful?”

“It's not, thank you.” She mumbled, biting back a bashful grin.

For a moment, she basked in his sweet words, allowing her heart to soar with excitement because he thought she was beautiful. Would she replay this conversation before she fell asleep tonight? Yes, she would repeat his words and alter the situation so that it ends with them on a romantic date. Her dreams were the only space she could be selfish and chase after the life she wanted.

Daphne watched the shy couple flirt with one another, stopping her staring only once to wave and smile at Harry when he looked at her. Thanks to her friends, she realized that her mother might have a crush on the curly-haired man.

During recess, she told Ziva and Andrew about the situation, and they informed her that her mother like-liked Harry. However, Ziva raised an important question, did Daphne want a new father? She didn't know. She never questioned her parent's relationship because her earlier memories always featured her father's girlfriend. Did she wonder why her parents weren't in love like Ziva or Andrew's parents? Yes, but if her father could be happy with Joanna, then her mother deserved happiness too. She was hesitant to replace her father with Harry, but she would accept him because he made her mom happy.

“Hi Daphne, how are you?” He asked, returning her wave.

“I’m excited because I get to spend the weekend with my dad and Joanna.” She announced through a toothy smile.

He glanced at Y/N, scanning her face for negative emotions before returning his attention to the little girl. “I hope you have an excellent time with them. Did you want to surprise your father with a cup of our ice cream?”

She shook her head while her mother answered his question. “Although my ex-husband loves surprises, he despises anything sweet.”

Then Daphne added some vital information, “He’s also allergic to milk.”

Harry chuckled, nodding slowly. “Well, that’s too bad, but at least you can still enjoy ice cream. What flavors will you two be trying today?”

Daphne found herself in a predicament. The Lucky Charm ice cream promised colorful marshmallows and cavity-causing sweetness, but the mystery flavor guaranteed excitement and amazement. What flavor did her mother want? Could she convince her to order the new flavor while she stuck with the safest option? Before Daphne could decide, her mother eased all of her stress.

“I might try the new flavor.” His dimpled grin reappeared at her response.

He nodded once before bouncing toward the purple treat, his head bobbing side-to-side with each step. Elation radiated from his heart and soul, eliminating anyone's sour mood in a two-mile radius. Y/N and Daphne shared an amused look and a giggle before following the man. The short distance between them allowed Y/N to peek at his outfit for the day, which consisted of navy blue dress pants, a pastel blue striped dress shirt (which he folded at the elbow, a look she found herself drooling over), and a sweater vest with white sheep dotted over it. She should hire him as her stylist since her closet consisted of worn shirts and blazers for work.

“Recently, I created a new ice cream flavor, but I struggled with the naming process. I wrote down multiple unoriginal names. Until I had an idea to let my customers choose the new name. If you order the ice cream, you will also receive a slip of paper to write down your idea and drop it in the box by the door. In two weeks, the staff and I will choose our favorite suggestion, and the winner will receive free ice cream for a month.” Once Harry finished his announcement, she realized a crowd of curious customers had gathered around them. Perhaps she should have paid attention to the contest rules instead of watching his rosy lips curve around each word.

“How fun and creative. Can I have one scoop of the mystery flavor in a cup, and a–” she paused, realizing she hadn’t asked Daphne what flavor she wanted.

Luckily, he heard the lull in her speech and jumped in where she left off, “Daphne, what flavor would you like?”

“Lucky Charms in a cone.” Daphne's anxious heart rested easy because now she could taste both flavors without the risk of wasting her Friday treat on an icky treat.

Before scooping the sweet treat, he readjusted his sleeves, pushing the starchy material further up his arm. Y/N couldn't help but admire the concentrated crinkle between his eyebrows as he created the perfect scoop. Her knees even went weak when his pink tongue poked out to swipe over his bottom lip. Why did this man have such a powerful effect on her? Was she really that lonely? Her mind reminded her heart that true love did not exist, and her feelings were caused by a chemical reaction.

“Here you go, love. Be careful, the cone is a bit messy.” He mumbled, handing her their order. While reaching for the cone, her fingers brushed against his soft hands, sending her heart into a frenzy. What did her brain know about love?

Before Harry could ring up the two scoops, two teenagers shouted their orders at him. He appeared hesitant, stuck between helping these new customers and continuing his conversation with them. However, he chose the former in an attempt to ease the customers’ scowls. Another cheerful staff member informed Y/N that he could finish where his boss left off, and although she doubted that, she followed him to the register.

“What does the flavor remind you of?” She asked, processing the tangy yet fruity flavors dancing along her tongue. Did she taste blueberry or blackberry? When was the last time she ate a blackberry?

Her daughter hummed, tapping the spoon’s handle against her chin. “Christmas.”

Confusion halted all other thoughts about the flavor. Instead, she chuckled lightly, raising an eyebrow. “Christmas? Why?”

The little girl shrugged, delving into her well-thought-out response, “Every Christmas morning, Grandma surprises us with blueberry muffins, and when I taste this, I miss Christmas and Grandma.”

In parenthood, there were many moments when a child might say something sweet, which not only made the parent proud of the small person they were raising but also brought tears to their eyes. She rubbed the corners of her eyes, catching any stray tears from rolling down her cheeks. When she missed her parents, she would replay memories of Christmas mornings in her mind because they radiated love and happiness, and now, she learned that her daughter also cherished those moments.

“Well, we should suggest the name, Christmas morning.” A gleeful giggle bubbled past Daphne's lips as she watched her mom write down the name on the slip of paper. “Should we leave? Your father should be at the apartment soon.”

Daphne nodded, sliding off the chair. “I can’t wait to see Daddy. Do you think he’ll take me to the zoo?”

While her daughter bombarded her with questions about the weekend, Y/N glanced over at Harry, wondering whether she should say goodbye; however, his furrowed brows and the crowded counter convinced her to walk away. Dropping the paper slip into the box by the door, she answered a few of her daughter’s twenty questions. She ignored the painful tug in her heart caused by the thought that she wouldn’t see Harry until next Friday.

Reigning in her emotions, she reminded herself that she did not have time to date. Also, why would Harry want to date a single mother? She pictured him dating a beautiful, up-and-coming model who spent her free time ending world hunger. He belonged with someone as wonderful as he was and who did not have as much baggage as she did. Thankfully, Daphne pulled her mother from another spiral with a hilarious joke about cows and movies. Laughter dissolved her stress as she wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, bringing her ball of sunshine closer so that her gray clouds might float away. * * * * *

Neon-pink lights illuminated the dark room while trendy music blared from a nearby speaker. Draping a feathery boa around her shoulders, an optimistic university student discussed her dreams about the future. She imagined exploring unknown locations, tasting world cuisine, meeting new people, and falling in love with strangers. She might even find her soulmate on a beach in Greece. While the camera captured the young woman's beauty, Y/N listened intently as if this girl were her daughter. Through a warm smile, she showed her support for the young woman and her aspirations because they reminded her of the goals she made before meeting Tyler. However, she hoped no one derailed this woman from achieving her dreams.

“Scrolling through the photos, the woman gasped. “Wow, you made me look beautiful.” She whispered in awe, selecting the perfect one for her birthday Instagram post.

Y/N chuckled, returning the extra props to the storage room. Since her next appointment was after lunch, she would reorganize the items once the customer left. Easy days, like today, were great because they allowed her to catch up on simple tasks she kept putting off. If she bribed her assistant, Kira, into helping, they might be able to leave earlier for lunch.

“Remember, the camera captures the art. You were always beautiful. I hope you have an excellent birthday.”

The young woman pouted her lips and cupped her chest. “Thank you. Can I give you a hug?”

The woman briefly hugged Y/N, then spun around and walked out as if she were on her next mission, but not without almost bumping into Kira at the door.

“She’s in a hurry,” Kira mumbled, glancing back at the young woman getting into her Uber ride.

Y/N grinned. "It's her birthday, so she scheduled a self-love day. What did you bring me?" She asked, eyeing the two plastic cups filled with iced coffee.

Growing up, she despised coffee and coffee-flavored products. However, once she gave birth to Daphne, her body craved the extra energy, juggling between university classes and a newborn baby. As long as she flavored the drink with creams and syrups, she could find the strength within to swallow the liquid. Now, her body could not function without an ounce of coffee coursing through her veins.

“I ordered two brown sugar coffees with oat milk. Have we tried that one?” Her assistant asked, handing her the cold drink.

Every week, they ordered a drink they hadn’t tried before, but she also didn’t remember trying this drink, so it had to be new. She shook her head, sipping the caffeinated beverage, immediately tasting the harsh, bitter coffee notes rather than the sugary sweetness she was used to. She couldn’t disappoint her assistant, who appeared to love the drink by the speed at which she was drinking it, so she hummed and nodded her head as if the drink impressed her.

“Thank you. It's delicious, but I miss my usual order." She lied partially because she did miss her favorite caramel-flavored coffee, but she did not enjoy the new drink.

“I'm glad we tried something new,” Kira admitted before glancing at the crowded storage room. “Do you need help reorganizing the props?”

She nodded. “If we finish early enough, we can have a long lunch.”

“Sure thing.” Kira followed her toward the room, pausing the moment she remembered the last-minute appointment she had not added to her boss's calendar. “Wait, I scheduled an eleven o’clock appointment. The client’s name is Gemma Styles. She and her brother want to surprise their mother with a sibling portrait.”

“Okay, that sounds easy enough.” She mumbled, loading a few props into her arms. “Will you stay at the front desk and wait for them?”

While tidying the storage room, Y/N thought about Daphne and the weekend. Tyler's parenting skills surprised her. He planned a zoo visit, sent her photos of Daphne with the flamingos, and called her every night so their daughter could say goodnight. He hadn’t been a present parent for two years, but she couldn’t be happier that something or someone finally woke that side of him up.

Her only complaint involved the lack of information about yesterday’s dinner with his parents. When she asked about his parents, he avoided the subject, which meant they either criticized his parenting skills or hers, but curiosity bubbled within. What did they say? If it was about her, did he stand up for her? Was it about Joanna? She hoped Daphne could answer these questions when she picked her up from school.

“Welcome to Artistic Lens. My name is Kira. How may I help you?” Kira’s question announced the arrival of her afternoon clients. “Hello, I’m Harry. This is my sister Gemma.” Her ears perked up the moment she heard his angelic voice.

Her hands paused their movements while her mind raised questions. Was Harry actually in her studio? Did he know she owned this space? Is that why he chose this location? Wiping the sweat from her palms onto her jeans, she ignored the questions distracting her from moving. She cleared her throat, reminding herself to remain professional because he was her client first and potential crush second. She could not afford another slip-up like the last time they spoke.

She spotted his curly locks first, then his floral sweater, which featured an array of bright colors like turquoise and sunflower yellow. Gemma, his sister, wore a floral dress that contained similar colors to her brother's outfit. The siblings shared characteristics, such as their astounding beauty and cheek dimples. She wondered if they had tried modeling. She could picture them walking the runway in Gucci, Bode, and other big-name designers.

“Hello, I'm Y/N, and I'm the photographer.” She plastered her best customer service grin onto her face to appear unbothered.

When he heard her voice, Harry experienced four distinct emotions: confusion, realization, happiness, and lastly, embarrassment. A sheepish grin unraveled across his face while his eyes met hers once before glancing around the room. She smiled at his sister, chalking up his shy behavior as his reaction to seeing her outside the ice cream parlor, like a student seeing their teacher out in the wild. However, Kira and Gemma witnessed the interaction, leading his sister to embarrass him further.

“It’s lovely to meet you. Harry, didn’t you just tell me about a woman named Y/N, who you found very—” Harry’s eyes widened, and his hands covered his sister’s mouth before she could finish her sentence.

While Gemma shoved her brother away, Kira and Y/N shared an amused look. He huffed, fixing his posture and rolling his eyes. Y/N giggled, finding the entire situation sweet and flattering because, according to his sister, Harry talked about her.

“Harry and I have met. My daughter and I love his ice cream shop. Now, tell me about your vision.”

She moved the conversation forward and away from their flirty friendship, watching his shoulders deflate and his dimpled grin return as if he could finally relax.

“Our mom always complains that we never take pictures together anymore, so we planned on surprising her with photos of us.” Gemma explained, obviously taking charge of the surprise.

Y/N nodded, motioning toward her camera and the backdrops. “Great, we can get started over there. Kira, will you bring us the wooden bench from the storage room?” While her assistant disappeared to the storage room, she positioned the Styles siblings in front of the gray backdrop.

Before beginning the photoshoot, she checked the lighting, flipped through the camera settings, and examined their outfits. Harry paired his bright sweater with beige pants, and Gemma tied a pink scarf around her neck to match the peonies on her brother's top. She feared the light colors might wash out the siblings; however, the camera captured their beauty and radiating glow.

“You both look amazing. I selected your first pose, but feel free to move and pose as you like. I want the photos to look natural rather than two perfectly still models.” She explained, snapping a few test shots.

Kira returned shortly with the bench, placing the item beside the backdrop. "Should I turn on your playlist?"

She nodded, “Sure, unless Gemma or Harry, do you want to play a certain playlist?” Lifting her head from the camera, she saw Harry shaking his head.

“No, you should play your music. People find my music taste—” He paused, rummaging through his mind for the correct word to describe his music, but Gemma responded for her brother before he could even stop her, “Eclectic.”

“Yes, so please, play whatever you like.” His eager smile contained a level of excitement that she found endearing, almost as if he truly wanted to learn what music she loved.

Shuffling the playlist, she smiled when her favorite singer crooned through the speaker.

“I love this song,” Harry confessed, bopping his head to the beat.

“Me too. Don't you want to sing along?” She asked, humming with the love-sick singer.

She pictured a life where she and her spouse would listen to this music while cooking dinner. A life where they would sing along, off-key, of course, while chopping vegetables. Her spouse would grab Daphne's hands and dance with her around the kitchen. She would capture these important moments with her camera. A room overflowing with love and laughter.

Lately, these daydreams featured a curly-haired, green-eyed man. His hands would grip her hips, spinning her around and away from the cutting board while he hummed some romantic song. They would waltz around the kitchen, discussing their days in hushed whispers. Eventually, he would let her finish dinner while he helped Daphne with schoolwork. During these moments, she believed someone as handsome as Harry could love her.

Gemma chuckled, shaking her head while finding a new pose. “You don’t want me to sing. Unlike Harry, some of us weren’t born with an amazing voice. Did you know he was in a band?”

Her head shot up from the camera as she blinked the shock away. Harry, feeling sheepish again, twiddled his thumbs while she stared at him in awe. “First, who cares if we suck at singing? We should sing along anyway. Second, you were in a band? Please tell me more.”

While dragging his fingers through his hair, a nervous chuckle fumbled past his rosy lips. “When I was fourteen, me and my mates decided to start a band. Our parents and friends hired us for local events, but the band barely survived two years.”

“During his university years, he performed solo at pubs.” Gemma added, smiling proudly at her brother.

Y/N smiled through her shock. During their university years, she and Tyler spent many weekends at pubs, and now, she wondered if she and Harry were ever in the same room. However, she thinks she would have remembered his angelic voice and alluring presence.

“Well, I think that’s amazing. You are quite the catch, Harry.” She winked, bringing back his dimpled grin.

Continuing the photoshoot, Y/N focused on backdrops, props, and poses. Everyone fell into a comfortable silence, only speaking when Gemma mentioned a topic she planned on discussing on her podcast. During these moments, Y/N agreed with her positive attitudes and views. She could see Gemma joining her and Christie for Sunday brunch, where they could gossip and laugh over mimosas. Should she befriend the sister of the man she was crushing on? Her eyes washed over him, admiring the sparkle in his green eyes and the two tattooed swallows on his chest. She paused. When did this gentle, shy man get two tattoos? Were there more?

“You have a tattoo.” What should have been a question came out as a statement, one that made Harry scan his body as if searching for which tattoo might be on display, which only answered her question that there must be more than the two on his chest, then with a furrowed brow and worried eyes, he made eye contact with her intrigued ones.

He cleared his throat before speaking up. “Yeah, I have multiple tattoos. During uni, my mate bought a tattoo gun, which resulted in many stupid tattoos, but I don’t regret them. They remind me of a different time.”

While listening to his explanation, her heart fluttered. “That’s incredibly sweet. I want a tattoo, but I’m terrified of needles. I nearly fainted when the nurses gave me the epidural for Daphne’s birth.” Her confession made the siblings chuckle.

“I was like that during my first tattoo, but now, I'm a pro. If you really want one, I could come with you to keep you company." He stuttered through the end of the sentence as if his mind processed what his mouth said. “Unless you want to bring anyone else who isn’t a complete stranger to you.” He rambled, trying to fix his earlier statement.

She shook her head with an amused giggle. “Harry, you aren’t a complete stranger. I’m very touched by your offer, and if I ever decide to get a tattoo, you will be the first person I call.”

He sighed with relief, dropping his shoulders down from his ears. Gemma observed the interaction, noting her brother's unusual behavior. Throughout her life, she witnessed Harry's confidence first-hand. From the moment he could talk, he loved being the center of attention, and his charming attitude introduced him to more relationships than she could remember. She recalled a time when he tripped over a rug, ripped his pants, and still received a phone number from the person he was chatting up. His confidence carried him through life, and she had never seen it falter until she watched her brother flirt with the photographer.

“Okay, we are all done. I think your mother will love these.” Y/N bragged because although she captured the magic, she couldn’t have done it without Gemma and Harry’s natural beauty and warmth.

“Thank you so much.” Gemma giggled with excitement, wrapping her arms around the photographer’s body.

Y/N chuckled, returning the comforting hug. She spotted Harry’s warm smile over Gemma’s shoulder, which served as his “thank you” for the photographs and for entertaining his sister. The smile resembled that of a loving boyfriend, happy that his girlfriend impressed his family. Her stomach clenched with butterflies at the idea of Harry as her boyfriend.

She pulled away from the hug, dropping her gaze from him. “Once I edit the photos, I’ll send them to you. Should I have any questions, is the number on file a good one to reach you at?”

Gemma nodded, then hummed as if a thought just struck her. “Well, I probably won’t answer if I’m in an interview.” She turned toward her brother with a mischievous grin, revealing her intentions. “You should give her your number too. You answer the phone more than I do.”

He nodded once, scribbling his number onto the contact sheet Kira provided them. Y/N could sense his annoyance with Gemma's constant embarrassing comments, so she planned to make the rest of the interaction fast and painless. She handed Kira the sheet, which they would file later, and then faced the siblings.

“Great, I hope you two have an excellent day.” Y/N smiled.

Harry mumbled a “you too” under his breath, shuffling toward the glass door, unlike his sister, who had one more plan up her sleeves. “Wait, have you eaten lunch? Harry and I would love to treat you to lunch as a thank you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat, her mind racing with every reason why she should not accept the invitation. Harry noticed the hesitation in her eyes, which landed on his, and searched for any sign that he did not want her to join them, but all she found was a warm welcome.

“You should come. I’d love to get to know you more.” He spoke up, running a hand through his hair.

Y/N nodded, matching his dazed grin. “Well, I’m never one to turn down a free lunch. I would love to join you.”

#mine #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #new series

189 notes · View notes

blue-babygirl · 9 months

Text

Energy Drink

Pairing: Derek Morgan x college student! Reader

Type: Fluff/Sweet (I think?)

Description: You know you are not supposed to be drinking energy drinks. Derek restricts them for a reason. But it's not like he is around to find out at the moment.

Warnings: stern but loving Derek, somewhat dominant Derek and that's pretty much it. Let me know if I need to add anything.

You stare at the energy drinks in the vending machine near your lecture hall, contemplating whether to actually get one or not. You can practically feel the single-eyebrow-raised stare that Derek would give you if he were there.

Actually, if he were here, you wouldn't even be standing here contemplating this decision. After all, there is a reason Derek doesn't approve of you drinking energy drinks.

But as you hear your friends entering the hallway, you make up your mind and make quick work of getting your previously favorite flavor from the drinks available, checking to see how much time you have before the professor locks the door as your friends get to you and you make your way to into the hall, taking your seats in the middle.

Before you know it, you have emptied the can, recycled it, got done with work, hyper-fixated on cleaning the kitchen, cleaned the kitchen, and are distractedly working on 3 essays at the same time when Derek gets home. You run over to him before practically throwing yourself in his arms, eternally thankful for how strong he is as you realize that you could have both fallen and gotten hurt.

“Someone’s happy?” Derek looks at you questioningly as you cling to him, making you nod into your hiding spot, his neck.

You can feel him chuckle as he holds you while putting away his things near the entrance. The keys into the bowl, his wallet near the bowl, his shoes near the rack, and his briefcase under the table. You can tell everything he is doing as he does it without even looking up from your hiding spot. It’s probably the energy drink.

“How was your day gorgeous? And why are you up so late? Don’t you have work in the morning?” He questions as he walks into the living room and sees the mess of snacks at the kitchen counter surrounding your laptop in stark contrast to the surprisingly squeaky clean kitchen.

But instead of getting answers like he expected, he looks down to see you staring at him with wide eyes before asking what time it was. That’s when it clicks to him.

He carries you around as he closes your laptop against your protests before carrying your pouty butt to your bedroom.

“I was still working on that essay. You can’t just close my laptop like that!”

Your complaints fall on deaf ears as he finally puts you down on the counter of your ensuite bathroom.

“Those essays, not that essay. And I saved them before closing your laptop sweet cheeks. Now, care to tell me about that energy drink you had?” Derek folds his arms as he gives you the look. You know, the look. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, you are bad at lying when it comes to him. Or honestly, the BAU in general. But in this case, that doesn’t even matter because you don’t think before you answer.

“How did you know?” You look at him with big eyes and a pout as you realize that you just told him that you had one.

“Because, sweetheart,” Derek smiles despite knowing he should be scolding you before nuzzling your nose with his, “I know you.”

You pout but give him a quick peck before he pulls away. “I was tired before a 4-hour lecture with the bitc- witchy professor.” You quickly correct yourself, not wanting to remember the task you had given him as he tried to stop his smirk at your almost mistake.

“You have to help me stop swearing! Please, Derek!!” You pleaded, but he still seemed unsure. “How exactly will I be helping you?” He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow suggestively, making you blush but nod. This took him a little by surprise. “You have to use your words Y/N, you know I won’t agree to anything unless you clarify yourself and what you want.” You blush as you confirmed verbally to what you had both talked about with just your eyes not even minutes ago.

“Anyways, I was exhausted so I thought, why not.” You shrug.

“You know why not.” Derek gives you that look. “You get way too hyper for way too long sweeetie. You usually can’t even keep track of time, like today. I got home at around 3:25 a.m. Y/N. You have to wake up at 7 for work and now you are gonna have a migraine. Did you even eat dinner? Or lunch? Anything other than those snacks?”

You are honestly surprised about how late it is, you didn’t even feel the time passing. You try to remember if you ate anything for lunch or dinner but you don’t even remember getting or eating the snacks Derek mentioned. You cringe at the thought of the migraine you are going to have along with the fact that you definitely disappointed Derek and that you are not even sleepy.

Derek sighs after staring at you thinking for a few minutes, making you realize he is still there. At this point, you at least have the courtesy to look ashamed.

“Here is what we are going to do now. You are going to get out of these clothes and get in the shower while I get a few things done. Okay baby?” You nod quickly before making grabby hands at him. He obliges and comes closer for you to give him a hug. He gives you one last kiss on your forehead before leaving you in the bathroom.

“Wet your hair too!” You hear Derek yell from somewhere in the house as you make your way into the shower after undressing and getting it set up.

Not long after you get your hair wet thoroughly, Derek comes into the bathroom and joins you in the shower. After giving you a head massage as he washed your hair and helped you clean up with you returning the favor, you step out of the shower together. You let him cover you in his towel while he uses yours.

After getting changed into some pajamas and having him partially dry your hair with a towel, you get in bed together, finally tired and ready to fall asleep.

“I emailed your manager that you won’t be able to get to work until noon tomorrow.” Derek mumbles tiredly as he pulls you flush to him and snuggles you close.

You turn around in his arms before pecking his lips softly and mumbling out a thank you before you snuggle yourself as close to him as you can. You feel him kiss your forehead making you smile softly.

The last thing he hears before your breathing evens out is a sleepily mumbled, “No more energy drinks.”

#criminal minds #derek morgan #derek morgan x y/n #derek morgan x you #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan x gn!reader #derek morgan x fem!reader #derek morgan fanfic #derek morgan fanfiction #derek morgan fluff #platonic dom derek #fluff

770 notes · View notes

slttygeto · 2 months

Text

༉‧₊˚. PLAYLIST

༉‧₊˚. episode 04: lonely star

preview: ". . .He knows a part of him is right, what he said wasn’t wrong. Perhaps, he could’ve said it in a different way—whenever he remembers the dejected expression across your features, the attempt at covering up the hurt behind your eyes by pulling away from him as though he was fire—his heart sits heavy.

And then the two of you didn’t talk again. He didn’t bother to try to text you, and you would never text him first."

content warning: cursing, hanma owns a strip club, oral s.ex, unprotected s.ex, choking, hair pulling, no aftercare.

word count: 7k

➜ ┊: @softshuji @mitsuwuyaa @kariatenoh @reiners-milkbiddies @citrusteaa @bejeweled-night-33

➜ MASTERLIST

༉‧₊˚. reblog + comment!

Tokyo was a bustling city. People escape from the mundane using any source of entertainment allowed. From going shopping to partying, the city provides numerous remedies for any challenging moment a person might experience. There, in the depths and labyrinth streets of Tokyo and its lively nightlife, exists a world that only unravels to those who dare seek it. Hidden between tall buildings and colorful signs, paradise on earth stands proudly.

A black car pulls up in the alleyway, parking right outside the back entrance of a disheveled looking building. The door opens and cigarette hits the dirty floor. A foot crashes the bud, adorned in squeaky clean shoes that do not fit the vibe of the creepy alleyway. Golden Glow reads in bright neon light right above the back door. The man’s slender fingers push the wooden door open, stepping into a vibrating world of sensuality and allure where reality and fantasy blur for hours on end at night.

The air is thick with perfume and anticipation, a line of rich men of all backgrounds sitting on the deep red plush seating facing the focal point of the strip club. Murmurs of who will be performing next fill the room and the tall man makes his way towards the VIP table.

“You’re late.” Kisaki doesn’t pull his eyes away from the curtains waiting to unravel tonight’s star, more or less used to this kind of behavior from his right hand.

“I had to take care of something.” Announces Hanma as he pulls his seat back and grabs a cigarette. The relationship he had with smoking was more of a toxic affair—a continuous tag of war between depending on the small bud and desiring a whiff of the substance when things get a bit too hectic. With each inhale, he feels a momentary release from existing. He’s never enjoyed it, not fully at least. Existing meant he had to abide by rules, which he never did. Breakups were nasty, women lashing out insults towards the man they called a God only a few nights prior—they should’ve known better, is what he tells them every time. He never claimed to be a good person, just a good—no, an amazing fuck.

Hanma’s dick serves as a distraction from his violent nature, he momentarily hypnotizes those women with each sharp and angled thrust from his hips. Deliciously dragging out moans, whines and profanities, proclaims of how godly he feels and how they’ve never had better. He is good at using and not giving much in return, he shows it through prioritizing his orgasm, only speaking when the dirty talk tips him over the edge. Shuji doesn’t budge as a pillow is thrown his way, ‘asshole!’ sounds from behind the door he’s just closed and he swears he could feels his fingers twitch. He’ll spare the cleaning staff of the hotel a blood bath tonight.

“You took too long,” Nahoya adds his two cents as usual, and the tall man wonders what the orange haired even provides for him to remain alive and attending special nights like these.

“It’s your club, you’re supposed to get here first.” Kisaki presses and the lights dim as the curtains open, revealing tonight’s a woman clad in a gorgeous set of deep red lingerie. She commands attention with the way her body carries her across the stage, each step is like a soft whisper, beckoning more people to look at her—admire her. She embraces the power she holds over the spectators, feeling a surge of dopamine push her to do better.

“You’re not my fucking dad. I’ll get here when I want to.” His fingers tremble as he drags the cigarette away from his lips, resting his wrist on the table as his whole hand shakes. You would think that years of smoking would get the man used to the motion, familiarized with the aftermath of each whiff—somehow, it doesn’t. Through furrowed eyebrows and behind framed glasses, Kisaki notes the unusual behavior from the man. He is far too moody, perhaps more than usual. Hanma took pleasure into killing, coming back from missions was almost as euphoric as an orgasm after being denied for so long. As far as his report went, the mission was done and Toman’s men were able to discard of the dead body rather easily. So what was wrong?

The younger man doesn’t say anything, he waits until the show wraps up and for people’s attention to drift elsewhere to speak to the taller man. As Hanma, not so quietly, slips away from the table and onto one of the VIP rooms upstairs, Kisaki soon joins him.

“So, wanna talk about what’s up your ass lately?”

“What do you mean?” Hanma’s voice is devoid of any emotion, but he still looks unimpressed as he casts half a glare towards Kisaki.

“You know what I mean. Something’s up your ass, you need to fucking pull it out and do your job. I don’t need a moody bitch as my first in command.”

Hanma’s heard worse over the years, he knows what it meant to be involved with someone as nasty and as disgusting as Kisaki. However, he was having a bad week and Kisaki came to him at the wrong moment.

“This moody bitch will blow holes into your brain and make it seem like it was a pathetic attempt to kill yourself. Don’t fuck with me.” The tension rises between the two men, silence engulfs the room that’s hidden to the rest of the audience. They’ve had to fight before, the scars littering Hanma’s arms a reminder of Kisaki’s knife slashing the man’s skin. The shorter man’s own scarred hands a grim testament to what Shuji was capable of doing. The two of them don’t speak another word.

Kisaki sits on one of the soft chairs facing Hanma, placing his gun on the tiny glass table. The other man does the same, and it feels like a silent agreement that neither of them was going to harm the other.

“I went to her place.” There’s no question about who he is referring to. Kisaki knows all too well who you are. He’s seen you from afar when you were all young, unknowingly grasping the heart of a delinquent who’s never known what the feelings he had for you even meant. His face twitches as he remembers the conversation he had with the man a couple of weeks ago.

“You found her?”

“She’s back in Shinjuku.” Kisaki doesn’t miss the way Chifuyu’s body tenses up when the two men mention your name. He’s managed to keep you away from this mess for years now, his plan was coming crashing down from a single interaction with Hanma Shuji. Like domino pieces lined up, the tattooed man blows on them and watches them tumble just for fun. He was after you just for fun, Chifuyu fears.

“And? What do you wanna do now?” Kisaki’s busy rummaging through papers in his drawers, he doesn’t lift his gaze as he continues. “Do you want the men to take her away or?”

Sensing his silence, Tetta raises his eyes and notices the deadly look on Hanma’s face. Had it not been Kisaki, a man who’s known him for years and was desensitized to his glares, he would’ve most likely fallen from his chair. His eyes became storm clouds, hiding their usual golden color and crackling with the threat of lightning. Hanma’s never cast him a look similar to this before, usually blessed with an emotionless face.

“No. I don’t want any of them near her.”

Kisaki leans back against his seat. He’s seen Hanma get riled up over things like missions going wrong, people pissing him off, testing his patience—this was a different kind of negative emotion he was displaying. Dare Kisaki say that it was fun to witness? Perhaps even unexpected from the tall man? But he doesn’t say a thing, only gives a curt nod and proceeds to finish the task at hand.

“Why is that?” he asks, curious to know what lead the man to end up in your place.

He glances towards his fingers which had long ago healed, he could still feel your fingertips against his skin, warm breath fanning over his wrist as you tended to his wounds with so much care, as though you were stitching a tiny tear in a delicate fabric.

“She cleaned me up.” Kisaki has to blink a couple of times, but he notices how Shuji keeps his gaze fixated on his fingers. He chews on his bottom lip out of habit. The band aid wrapped around them is unfamiliar, the man’s never taken care of himself this way—oddly enough, Kisaki feels that Hanma had a strange attachment to the adhesive strip keeping his healed cuts safe. It has been days since that incident, he most definitely did not need to cover his hands that way.

“Cleaned you up?” Kisaki pours himself and the other man a glass of whisky, pushing one of the glasses towards Hanma.

“Saw my hands and thought that I was in pain.” The taller man mumbles as he brings the glass of whisky up to his swollen lips. Downing the liquid like rapid fire, he slams the glass on the table and leans in his chair, head thrown back as he grunts.

“I think I fucked up.” Hanma admits, his hand covering his eyes. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you or your touch since that night. So soft, offering him what he has deprived himself of for years—you were so gentle with his hands, treating him as though he was made of glass. Your beautiful eyes witnessed the harm he is capable of causing to others, yet your soul set that aside to make sure he was okay.

Only for him to mess it up.

He knows a part of him is right, what he said wasn’t wrong. Perhaps, he could’ve said it in a different way—whenever he remembers the dejected expression across your features, the attempt at covering up the hurt behind your eyes by pulling away from him as though he was fire—his heart sits heavy.

And then the two of you didn’t talk again. He didn’t bother to try to text you, and you would never text him first.

He was growing impatient with each passing second. He wasn’t an expert at solving this kind of problems, let alone when it involved him in the equation. However, one thing was for certain; his insatiable need to feel you again made every moment apart from you feel like he’s been cursed with damnation.

October comes to an end, you start to accept the atmosphere of loneliness that settles like a heavy cloak over the landscape. The days grow shorter and the nights longer, there are Halloween decorations displayed along the entrance of every apartment door. It’s adorable. Pumpkins, bats, and your most favorite—cats are all over the fronts of every store. You look up and find paper lanterns with spooky designs, themed displays in shopping malls, and themed merchandise in stores. You find yourself yearning for the celebration to linger a bit longer.

As the days turn into weeks, Hanma’s absence becomes palpable. You cannot ignore that the lack of his pestering feels strange and foreign, when you had only started speaking to the man again for a couple of days only. Like a shadow retreating to darkness, it feels like he never existed in your life. You’re back to living life the same way that you did before he suddenly reappeared in your life—you don’t know why you’re disappointed. After witnessing murder with your two eyes, you thought that Shuji would scare you. He should. Such an unpredictable man with a history of violence that remains unknown to you should instill a deep fear in you. Then why do you find yourself craving the presence of a man whose ruthlessness carves a path of destruction? A man whose words made it feel like walking through a field of thorns?

You pay your feelings no mind as you drown yourself in chores, making sure there was no speck of dust left on each furniture of your apartment. A shower soothes your nerves afterwards, the motion of scrubbing the dirt off of your skin a subliminal attempt at getting Hanma’s aura off of you. You make yourself a cup of hot chocolate, top it off with some marshmallows as you settle on the comfortable couch with a soft yet heavy blanket draped over your shoulders. The movie you picked for the night is nowhere near comforting, but you brush it off for the sake of Halloween vibes.

However, those feelings melt away as soon as ears pick up on the sound of footsteps near your door. It was pretty late for anyone to be visiting you, let alone on Halloween night. You set your hot chocolate down and walk towards the door in quiet footsteps, praying that you don’t make a noise by accidentally breathing too hard.

Behind the door, Hanma stands looking almost apologetic. His head hangs low not out of shame, but because he sees your shadow from under the door. He holds back a chuckle.

“It’s me.”

When he hears no reply, he pushes himself off of the wall and walks away from the door. An uncomfortable feeling gnawed at his chest, but he refuses to acknowledge any of it as his hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He lets one dangle between his lips as he reaches for the lighter. Until he hears the creaking sound echoing in the hallway.

Glancing back, he sees that your door was no longer closed, but he couldn’t see you either. His feet slowly drag him towards your doorstep once again and the moment he attempts to peek inside, your face pops from behind the door. The both of you pull away at the same time, you almost close the door in his face but his foot stops it before you could close it shut.

“I had to hide my cat. He likes to escape when I open the door.” You announce with a tone that appears to be protective, very used to your fur companion’s habits. Hanma nods, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. It wasn’t until you break eye contact that he realizes he’s been staring at you without uttering a single word.

“Are you alone?” He can see inside your apartment, he towers over you with so much ease. You shift your weight from one foot to another, eyes avoiding his as you stare back at the TV screen and the obviously empty living room.

“Yeah,” you pause, glancing back towards him. “Why?”

“I was thinking you could—“ he wiggles his fingers. “See if they’re okay.” You stare down at the band aids wrapped sloppily around the skin and have to fight back the urge to smile. “I tried to do it myself but I don’t think I did as much of a good job as you did,” which was true and very apparent.

You take a moment to consider your options, chewing on your bottom lip as you fixate your stare on his hands. It was relatively late at night, you were wearing a light sleep dress—this could either go right or horribly wrong. For now, you don’t mind taking the risk.

Pushing the door wide, you see the way his eyes glimmer as they scan your entire body from head to toe. He doesn’t hide that he is checking you out, even as he steps inside your place, he chooses to stare at you instead of scanning his surroundings like last time. You refuse to crumble under his gaze nor change what you were wearing, you close the door and make your way to the kitchen without uttering a single word.

Hanma suddenly thinks of something and he bites back the urge to smirk as he makes his way towards the kitchen as well. This is the farthest he’s been in your place, your kitchen is rather small compared to the one he has in his apartment, but he appreciates how full it is. From the fruit sitting on the counter, the coffee machine, the magazines, the small board where you have what looks like a to-do list written there—it feels homey. It feels like you.

You glance behind you, noticing the pair of shoes in your kitchen and don’t bother to look back, but you feel a tad bit annoyed.

“No shoes in my house,” no response. Surely, he wasn’t going to ignore you when you were about to take care of him.

“I said—“ your stomach flutters and your breath catches when you feel something land on your shoulder, hot breath fanning the tiny bit of skin exposed from your sleep dress falling to the side. You hold your breath for what feels like an eternity, body frozen in place.

“No shoes in the house?” his deep voice sends chills down your spine, his hands resting against the fridge instead of gripping your hips.

His fingers twitch when the smell of sweet vanilla and coconut hits his nostrils, your scent is intoxicating and he struggles with himself. Every instinct urges him to break free and surrender to the intoxicating allure, yet the tether of restraint holds Hanma firmly and keeps his impulse in check. He doesn’t want to upset you again, but he thoroughly enjoys seeing you like this. So flustered.

As he pulls away from you, you turn to face him and use the first aid kit to put space between the two of you, like a shield. If you were trying to appear intimidating with the scowl on your face, Hanma’s smirk tells you that you were failing miserably.

“What the hell is your problem?” you don’t even sound mad, just completely and utterly embarrassed. You were fighting a war between your brain and your needs—the warmth of his body lingered on your skin for far too long, and although his breath reeked of cigarette and something minty, it made you feel dizzy.

“You’re red in the face, doll.” He purrs, making his way towards the couch. This time, you were certainly not going to get down to your knees and treat his cuts. Not after the stunt he pulled.

“Shut up.” You groan, sitting on the couch.

“You’re like, totally vermillion in the face—“

“I will kill you!”

He snorts and comfortably settles on the couch right beside you. One glance at his hands and you can tell that it really isn’t that serious. You bring his hands close to your face, inspecting them as soon as you take off the adhesive strips. There are a few faint scars, but they’re all healed and he only needs to apply ointment to them for extra measure. You put them back in his lap for a few seconds, leaning forward to grab the ointment you placed on the small coffee table in front of the both of you. You don’t realize that you had both gone awfully quiet after that moment, for a few seconds you almost forget what his touch felt like until you feel a pair of eyes burning holes in your face.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” you blurt out, never meeting his eyes. You want to appear unbothered by all of this, by his intense way of giving you attention. But god knows how loudly your heart was thumping in your chest.

“Would you let me do it?” oh my god.

You don’t respond, you want to focus on the task at hand and step away from him as quickly as you can. The longer you felt him near you, the harder it was to contain yourself from matching his energy, his flirtatious comments. You were supposed to be mad at him, why did you cave into his request of having his minor cuts treated once again when the man ruined your mood the other night?

“No, I wouldn’t.” You say firmly, although your touch against his skin is very soft. Hanma can tell that you’re fighting an inner battle, you’re not good at hiding it. Your furrowed eyebrows make his own skin burn, his thumb craves to smoothen the skin of your forehead, get you to relax that jaw and melt against him the same way he does when the tip of your finger grazes his skin. He snaps out of his thoughts when he sees that you were already putting everything back in the white box, golden eyes staring between your hands and face.

“We’re done?”

“Yeah, you should be fine now.” You get up and head back to the kitchen, leaving Hanma alone with his thoughts once again. He notices that the movie you were watching was paused only 20 minutes in and the hot chocolate sitting on your coffee table was starting to go cold. It seems as though your night was just getting started and him showing up put it on hold.

However, Hanma doesn’t want to leave just yet. He can’t put his finger on why he feels the need to stay, perhaps the idea of going back into his car, driving to his empty place made him feel a little bit sick to his stomach. It was an unspoken rule for Hanma to never visit his place unless he really needed something. Clothes, money—he always packed those in a bag and left it in his car. His place—located in the heart of the city's shadows, is nestled within a towering skyscraper, its imposing structure casting long, foreboding shadows over the streets below. Whenever Shuji inserts the key card, he is greeted by an atmosphere steeped in mystery and menace. Dark, rich tones dominate the décor. Nothing about the 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms apartment made it feel homey. So Hanma avoided it like the plague.

He thinks he can find an excuse to stay a little longer with you. Should he take you out? He can’t. You were far too comfortable in your sleep dress to change into something else. The movie seemed interesting, perhaps a few sweet words would convince you to let him stay a little longer before he has to depart—

“Have you had dinner yet?” You break his chain of thoughts so easily, Hanma is a little taken aback at first. Glancing back towards you, he sees you holding two white ceramic plates in one hand. The pot, which he assumed had warm, homemade food in it, is sitting on the stove with a ladle inside. Were you offering him a meal?

“Not yet,”

“I figured you skip meals,” you say with a frown. You forget the grudge you’re supposed to hold against him, it nestles itself somewhere in the back of your head the moment you see Hanma lost in his thoughts. You glance at his face—not as full as it was when the two of you were kids. He’s never had chubby cheeks, but you could tell when the man had a good meal and when he hadn’t eaten properly in a while. You naturally find yourself reheating the food you made for yourself, grateful you decided to cook more than a singular portion.

“I don’t do it on purpose,” he clarifies, as though he needs you to understand where he is coming from but then his lips are sealed shut. He’s never had to explain himself to anyone, it’s a little foreign for him to be doing it with you.

“You forget?” you guess, your back facing him as you serve him a good portion of the katsu curry you’ve made. You make sure to give him a bigger portion than yours, assuming that the man has probably skipped lunch as well.

“Mhm.” With the way he engulfed you in his arms previously, you shouldn’t trust him so blindly and have your back facing him again. But you don’t seem to care as much, maybe even wishing he does it again. Instead, you hear a chair creak from behind you and see that the man has made himself comfortable in your kitchen. You hand him his food before sitting across from him, then the two of you dig into the food.

Hanma hasn’t tasted something this good in—14 years. Ever since his mother stopped cooking him a decent meal. You made a dish that’s such a delightful harmony of textures and flavors, engulfing him with a warm velvety blanket he would never throw over his own shoulders. He glances towards you and you’re focused on your food—at least, you look like you’re trying to focus. He sees that some habits never really left you. You ate fast, way too fast, never truly savored your food. You still had a habit of bringing the food close to your nose and inhaling the scent (he never understood why you did it). He can remember the last time you tried to smell something he was about to eat—a sandwich he had bought that had a weird mixture of ingredients, you leaned down to inhale its scent and Shuji swears he hasn’t laughed as hard ever since. The face you made was of pure disgust, pushing the bread back into his hands and away from you. You’ve always had such an expressive face—either that, or Shuji stares at you a bit too much.

The present situation mirrors your date at the ramen shop in sad ways. It is obvious that the two of you have grown apart, no longer needing to be so close to one another at any given moment. The person who sits across of Shuji Hanma is someone he recognizes but doesn’t fully know—he recognizes certain habits that even time couldn’t tear away from you. But your touch, your body and soul feel different. On them lingers this love and care you still held for the man along the years, but never to a full extent. It seemed as though even whilst with him, you were thinking of something else—somebody else. He could be mistaken and you’re just trying to push him away, but Hanma’s gut feeling never betrayed him.

His stomach twists in knots when he sees you reach for the jewelry adorning your neck—a necklace with a golden heart pendent. You hold onto it with so much care, cautious not to break the fragile accessory.

He is reading too much into it.

He pulls his eyes away from you once he’s done with his curry, polite enough to put his plate in the sink and wash it off for you. You stare at his large back in silence, contemplating your next words.

“Tonight’s Halloween.”

Hanma turns to look at you, his raised eyebrow an indication that he didn’t know where you were going with this.

“Yeah? You got a costume you want to show me?” he teases, bracing himself against your kitchen counter. You have to pull your eyes away from his hands and arms, ignoring the way your pussy throbs at how large he looks in your tiny kitchen. You realize what he says and make an offended face, standing up with your own plate and utensils and walking towards the sink.

“Over my dead body.” You nudge his side with your elbow, he moves away from the sink but still stands next to you.

“Okay then?” he questions as you turn on the water.

“You could stay and watch the movie.” You offer without looking at him. You were scared that your face would betray you, you almost slipped and said ‘with me’ and that would give him the upper hand, another thing to tease you about.

“Like a date night?” you halt your movements, quickly turning off the faucet and turning to stare at him. Your breath hitches when you see his face so close to yours. He isn’t trying to intimidate you, the playful glint in his eyes give away his true intentions. However, you can’t deny that having him so close to you was starting to be challenging for your self-control.

“I… I don’t know.” your voice is barely above a whisper. You try to build a wall between the two of you, put some distance, but it’s useless. Hanma stares at you with golden orbs that mimic lanterns lit up in the night, evoking a sense of nostalgia that felt so strange to you—

Up until now, Hanma was a mere teenage crush you had parted ways with on less-than-great terms. There wasn’t a single time during those twelve years where your heart yearned for the man, remembered the way he would make your stomach leap and be like a light at the end of the tunnel—why let such silly feelings resurface so unexpectedly? You could blame it on your celibacy, not having been out on a proper date for a couple of months now—but even as you look at it, you haven’t been this interested in anyone for a while.

What was Hanma Shuji doing to you? What was so different about him? Could it be that the man’s touch messed you up?

He steps closer to you, tall figure looming over your smaller frame in an attempt at caging you between him and the sink. He’s got a million things to say and yet, his lips remain frozen. Yearning to feel the warmth of your own softer, plushier ones. As you confess shakily, although your hands far too comfortable holding onto his shirt for it to sound convincing, he chuckles and you smell his minty breath.

Everything about him looks…inviting. You cannot look away from his neck, or his jaw or his lips. You’re lost in a trance, on this terrifying journey where you wish to be able to hear something other than your own heartbeat. Deafening, muting the world around you for a split second as Hanma leans down and captures your lips in a fiery kiss.

It’s different than the one shared at the ramen shop—there was no waiting, no longing for your touch for twelve long years. You were at hand reach, so close to him like a dream. Hanma needed you like the moon needs the stars, promised himself to tattoo the feeling of your lips against his for years to come—they fit perfectly against his, like a mold made specifically for his body. It’s surreal. The initial kiss is short, gently easing you into the sea of his passionate and intense loving, because when his lips reattach to yours, you’re being pinned to the wall.

His hands grab your face, they hold you in place like he’s been craving to breathe again for an eternity. You can smell him, feel him on you everywhere even with layers of clothes stuck to your skin, set ablaze like a furnace. His electrifying touch leave goosebumps in their wake, trailing from your cheek down to the back of your neck. There, his hand grips your nape before his fingers dig into your scalp.

When you gasp at his touch, Hanma’s heart leaps. Like a ticking bomb, it was only a matter of time before he unleashed a side of him he wasn’t sure he wanted to offer so early on. You’re such a tease, he thinks. Why were you giving him those eyes as he pulls away from the kiss? Why are you biting your already swollen lips if you didn’t want him to bury himself so deep inside you?

“Ask me to leave.” He says, voice firm as he tries to catch his breath.

“Shuji—“ you go for his face but he grabs your wrist mid-air.

“Ask me to leave, doll.”

“No.”

“This is your chance,” he leans down, close to your face and brushes his lips against yours. “—won’t stop if I start.”

“If I touch this,” his hand gropes your boob over your dress. “If I kiss this,” he yanks your head back, brushing his lips against your throat. “I promise you. I won’t be able to stop.”

At this point, you’re more than fed up with his teasing and crash your lips against his. You push yourself off the wall as get on your tiptoes to reach for his lips, and he decides to end your struggle and picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. You kiss him harder, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip as he marches towards your room.

“Didn’t take you for a biter,” his words are muffled against the skin of your neck as he kisses there. You throw your head back, allowing him more room to work with and you feel your back hitting the familiar soft mattress. The bed was made, but the blankets are quickly discarded to the floor as Hanma’s mess of limbs loom over your figure and plant hungry kisses on the skin that’s showing.

Thanks to your choice in outfit, Hanma finds it easy to strip you naked. Skilled fingers undo your bra to reveal your breasts in full display, but his hands are busy groping at your mound. You gasp at how rough he is handling your body, but the wet patch forming in your underwear indicated just how much you’ve been craving this kind of attention. His lips attach to your hardened nipple, whilst his left hand twists and fiddles with the other one. It feels like he is attempting to nurse on you with how hard he sucks, golden eyes staring deeply at your fucked out face. Messy hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, and your eyes barely able to stay open as he gives your erogenous zones the right amount of attention.

“Mmm you’re so soft,” he teases the nipple with his teeth and chuckles when he feels you try to squeeze your thighs together from under him.

“Shuji,” you breathe out, as soft as a silken thread.

Pulling away from your breasts, he admires the hickeys he’s painted across your skin—branding you as his on your very first night together. Sure, he’s done this before but never this passionately. He wants those bruises to never go away, glued to your skin like a tattoo and a constant reminder that this is what being his meant. He attaches his lips to your skin again, this time on your torso—he travels down to your stomach, passes your belly button before kissing right above your panties. He notices how drenched they are and hisses.

“Fuck, you’re fucking dripping.” He says as he moves them to the side and his mouth falls open, drool threatening to spill. “All for me, doll?” his thumb teases at your engorged clit and you whimper.

“Don’t tease, fuck—!”

You react almost immediately as he attaches his lips to your clit. Your legs try to close around his head but he is having none of it as he grips your thighs and forces them open, continuing his assault on your pussy.

“Shit, shit!” you gasp as he lays his tongue flat against the bud before moving his head from side to side while watching intently as you writhed and twitched under his touch. There was no way you could escape his mouth, tongue moving down to lap at your folds while his fingers pinched your clit. Hanma craves to exist between your thighs for the rest of eternity, a place so warm and so wet, offering him the best of both worlds.

He pushes two fingers past your folds, grinning from ear to ear when he sees the way your body tenses up. Curling them upwards, the combination of his rough finger fucking and his mouth’s continuous assault on your clit makes you cum hard. You’re writhing, crying desperately for the man’s head to leave your thighs. Soft “I can’t—I can’t!” resonate through the room, but soon die down when he spares your pussy and instead, litters soft kisses over the inner of your thighs.

“You did so well, took me like a champ,” it seems as though the only time Hanma shows any emotion beside boredom, is when he has you under his mercy like this. It’s when he makes you blush, flustered, angry or in this case, cum so hard that you have to take a moment to remember your name—that’s when he feels alive, as though life is worth living again.

Your heart thumps loudly when you hear him fumble with his belt. A sound that makes your ears perk up, eager with anticipation. You push yourself up with your elbows, licking your lips when you see the obvious bulge in his pants. It makes your mouth water, and your hand reaches down to palm him through his pants. A rough hand grabs your wrist, you look up at the man hovering over you with lustful eyes. You stare at him through your lashes, neither of you uttering a single word—he is telling you not to touch, not right now, and you are craving his body like earth needs the sun.

You squeeze the bulge, lips parting when he closes his eyes and leans down towards you. You hear a soft groan emitting from the back of his throat, and it’s your sign to do it again and even go further. Hanma puts a halt to your attempt with a rough kiss against your lips, pushing you back against the soft mattress until you are whining against his lips.

“Oh what is it?” he says, almost mocking your sounds. “Do you need something?”

“Shuji—“ you are way too embarrassed by how he is speaking to you, staring to the side. But he doesn’t seem to mind your bashfulness, rather indulging it by kissing your cheek and then your pulse. The kiss on the cheek is a stark contrast to how roughly he finger fucked you, and when he finally releases his cock and you see the way it jumps—your stomach twists in knots.

That thing will reach spots your own fingers haven’t been able to.

You panic when he starts to tease your folds, hands pushing at his shoulders to remind him to use protection. You did not want to have a kid running around anytime soon.

“I’m clean,” he says and a part of you can’t help but not fully trust him. He sees the expression on your face and chuckles, leaning down to kiss your neck as you melt back on the mattress.

“I get tested frequently.”

“I’m not on the pill—“

“Don’t worry, I can’t get you pregnant.”

You don’t have time to question what that could possibly mean, lips forming an ‘O’. You are forced to lay back and take it as Hanma’s cock keeps going deeper and deeper—you feel full of him. A sob erupts from your chest as you feel him pull his hips back and then—thrust.

He repeats the motion a few times, piercing eyes scanning your face like a hawk. He wants to memorize your body like the back of his hand, wants to tattoo the feeling of your warm and soft cunt at the forefront of his mind—you are so soft and pliable, making sweet noises that he easily swallows by kissing you deeply.

“Fuck you’re so sweet,”

You moan into his mouth when he angles his hips a certain way, Hanma grins victoriously against your lips and uses his hands to grab the back of your knees. Pushing them to your chest, he enjoys the sight of you taking his cock like a sweet girl. You’re so cock hungry, practically begging him to fuck you silly with those glossy eyes staring deeply into his.

“Yeah? You like that?” he purrs, his deep voice sending chills down your spine. He removes one of his hands from the back of your knee and wraps it around your neck in a possessive grip, watching as the early signs of your orgasm start to creep in on you like a shadow in the dusk.

“Such a nasty fucking girl—“ filth continues to spew out of his mouth at the same rate as your loud whines. Your eyes can barely stay open as he quickens his pace, jaw going slack when his thumb brushes over your sensitive bundle of nerves. He shamelessly leans back to stare at your pussy as he continues to fuck it, watching as his cock slides in and out of you. The room is filled with wet noises, the sound of skin slapping against each other reaching Hanma’s ears as he takes in the sight before him.

You were so pliant beneath him, no longer putting up walls in his presence. He loved it. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as the tip of his cock keeps nudging at that one spot that makes you dizzy. Your hand wraps around his wrist as he continues to pin you to the mattress by the neck, you stare up at him with glossy eyes, thighs twitching and your back arching off as you finally cum.

Hanma swears he has never seen something as magical. You feel like a magnetic force, pulling him closer with an irresistible allure that ignites a fire in his stomach and sets his senses ablaze. It tips him over the edge, he empties himself inside you with a loud groan as he lets go of your neck and holds onto your boobs as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

Now what? It’s not like he’s never had sex before, he was in fact very good at it—but usually, he gets up and leaves the moment he empties his balls inside. Now, he worries that you would get the wrong idea, that you’d think he’s using you—does he want to use you?

Isn’t this what he wanted all along? To fuck you senseless the moment he saw you run towards the metro station in your tight skirt. His mind was reeling with all the possibilities of what could be underneath the fabric—perhaps a matching set, or if you wanted to be a tease, nothing.

He starts to wonder what his intentions were with you—he wanted to be your friend without getting too close to you. He couldn’t afford having you near him at all times, that came with a cost he wasn’t sure you could afford. In your arms, he didn’t feel as though he needed to prove anything to you—not his existence, nor his power. And for a man who lives his life in pure chaos, a house that didn’t have a mess isn’t one where he belongs.

His hands pull away from your body, his eyes scanning your face only to find that you were fast asleep. He could wake you up and tell you to go pee, but like a puppet, his own fears pulled on the strings as they desired—his feet carry him towards your door in speed record. Glancing one last time at the pot you left outside, he closes the door.

Even as he drives back to his place, Hanma can’t brush off the burning sensation sitting heavy on his chest.

#moon's works #tokyo revengers #hanma x reader #hanma shuji #hanma smut #hanma x reader smut #hanma shuji x reader smut #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #fem! reader

178 notes · View notes