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#and it is still tuesday in some parts of the world
ladykailitha · 3 days
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The Harrington Pattern Part 12
Hey all, this story will wrap up today, so next week it will go back to just one chapter a day on Tuesdays and Thursdays and when Glitters wraps up, Sundays will go back to one a day as well.
A short chapter for the first of two, because this chapter got too long and needed to be cut down a tad and the next part fits better as a whole.
Eddie and Steve finally kiss and just giving Steve the loving crafting circle he needs.
TAG LIST IS CLOSED
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11
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Steve got to see where the cast ate their meals, where some of the cast stayed in large tents (for those that had traveled from out of state but couldn’t afford a hotel), he got to meet the people who sold the food to the tourists, and the people who cleaned up every night.
It was marvelous.
“So was the two events they were trying to schedule at the same time, the joust and your trick riding?” Steve asked after they left the cleaners.
Eddie grinned. “Close, the sword fighting and my trick riding. I told them that I would happily run over those bastards, but I didn’t think the horses would appreciate it.”
“I bet that got them to change their tune,” Steve said with a laugh.
“It sure did, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured.
Suddenly they found themselves utterly alone.
“Steve–” Eddie began, but Steve placed his fingers on his lips.
“Just wait,” he said softly. “There’s something I want to give you first.”
Eddie blinked at him. “You bought me a present?” he asked. Well technically he said, “Ym brut me apresemnt?” since Steve still had his fingers over his mouth.
Steve laughed and dug it out of his pocket. “It’s been on a little journey, one that nearly gave me a heart attack,” he murmured, “but Jeff was able to get it back to me in time.”
He handed the small pouch over to Eddie.
Eddie took it gingerly and rubbed it between his fingers as he looked at the small thing that Steve had made for him. But as small as the item itself was the giving of it, was massive.
“I remembered you telling me that your dice bag broke,” Steve mumbled, “and I really wanted to thank you for all your help this weekend. I don’t think I could of done it without you.”
Eddie looked up at Steve with glossy eyes. “It’s perfect, Stevie.”
“I plan on giving a bunch to Katie for her to sell while I make the bigger pieces,” Steve continued, “and Robin said that I should give the first one to you, because it’s special. And you deserve something really special, Eds. Because you’re special to me and I–”
Whatever else Steve was going to say got swallowed up by Eddie kissing him firmly on the lips.
He had just grabbed Steve by the face and locked their lips together.
Steve was stocked into stillness, but that didn’t last long as he pulled Eddie close to him and deepened the kiss.
Eddie let out a happy sigh as they parted for breath. “Wow, baby. You kiss like it might be your last.”
“Eh...” Steve said with a half shrug and a lopsided smile, “when you’ve faced more then one ends of the world, it very well could be.”
Eddie chuckled, pressing their heads together. “You’ve got me there, big boy.”
“Mhmm,” Steve said softly. “And I’ve got you here, too.” His arms tightened around Eddie’s waist, drawing them flush against each other.
Eddie swatted at him. “Sap.”
Steve kissed him again. “If I’m a sap, then you’re my tree.”
“That was corny even for you, honey,” he murmured, swatting at him at playfully.
Steve just laughed.
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The end of the Renaissance Fair had come at last. There had been more then a few bumpy moments, but looking out at all the happy faces being lit up by fireworks, Steve was pleased with the results.
And next year was going to be even better, he had plans for helping the kids have quality costumes like Corroded Coffin boys had.
He might still have to do some altering instead of full on sewing all of the costumes, but he was really looking forward to it.
Katie had told him that he had several people offer her crazy money for the pouch he had accidentally dropped, so he promised her a dozen by the end of next week for her next Fair. In different sizes too.
Eddie had been the one to suggest that. Little coin purses, dice bags, and even handbag sized ones. Eddie was even going to help him find the right materials for it, ones that weren’t as expensive as the little dice bag Steve gave him.
Steve was really looking forward to it.
They hadn’t told the kids yet about their change in relationship. Not yet. They wanted to hold onto it for themselves a little longer.
Though, judging from the look that Will and Mike had sent him, Steve was pretty sure most of them had figured it out anyway.
So what started out with longing gazing into each others’ eyes, ended with holding hands under the cover of darkness as fireworks exploded overhead.
Steve had never been happier and he just knew more happiness was coming his way.
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Steve was proven right when Claudia called him up the next morning.
“Good morning, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve murmured sleepily.
“I’m sorry, dear,” she said, “did I wake you?”
Steve looked blearily at the clock on the microwave. It was after ten in the morning.
“It’s fine,” he muttered, “I don’t usually sleep this late.”
“While that is certainly true,” Claudia agreed, “you also don’t normally spend three full days at a fair. Too much sun, too much fun, and too little sleep makes for a tired Steve. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Steve blushed. “Thanks, Mrs. Henderson. Was there something you needed?”
“Oh, yes!” she said brightly. “Are you free this afternoon, from around two to four?”
Steve looked over at his calendar and squinted. “Looks like it, unless the nuggets call for rides to wherever.”
Claudia chuckled. “I think they’re going to be just as tired as you and not want to go anywhere today.”
He laughed. “Yeah, probably.”
“So, me and couple of the other moms have a sewing circle every Sunday,” she explained. “And we were all wondering if you wanted to come and join us. We have punch and little treats and spend two hours working on whatever project we have going on while we fill each other in on what’s happening in our lives.”
“You gossip,” Steve accused, teasingly.
She giggled. “Gossip is such tawdry word.”
“Like your every day language wouldn’t make a sailor blush,” Steve said dryly.
“And how would you know that?” she asked, curiosity coloring her tone.
“Ma’am, your son has the worst language I’ve ever seen on a teenager,” Steve said, “and I’m damn sure he didn’t get it from his dad. Even when he was alive.”
Claudia’s giggle turned into a full on laugh. “All right, you’ve got me there, Steve. So you’ll come?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“Fantastic!” she cried. “We meet at Joyce’s this week.”
“This week?” Steve asked, already plotting what to bring as a treat and which project he wanted to start.
“Yes,” Claudia explained. “We rotate every week so that one person isn’t stuck hosting every time. And if you come often enough, we’ll have it your place once in a while, as well.”
Steve frowned appreciatively. “Sounds good. I’ll see you later then.”
Claudia squealed in excitement. “I can’t wait. We’re going to teach you how to use a sewing machine!”
That really piqued Steve’s interest. “Oh yeah?”
“It was Karen Wheeler’s idea,” she explained. “Karen doesn’t sew like the rest of us, but she does cross-stitch while we all chat. Apparently Mike was telling her about all the sewing you did for him and his friends and that it was all by hand.”
Steve nodded, forgetting she couldn’t see him. “Yeah, my parents thought sewing was for girls, so I learned by hand.”
“Make sure to bring some examples of your work,” she said. “I want to blow Olive Peterson’s mind. She’s of the same mind as your parents, even though what she does, the knitting, was originally only for men.”
“I have these pouches I’ve decided to make and sell,” Steve said with a grin, “so I can bring those to work on and bring some of the work I did for the kids to show off.”
“That’s brilliant!” Claudia said. “I see you later!”
Steve said goodbye and hung up.
This just might be the thing he needed.
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Part 13
Don't quote me on the knitting originally being for men thing, it was something I learned when I read a 12 Dancing Princesses retelling years and years ago. The soldier in the story knitted to keep awake at night.
Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03
@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @carlyv @gregre369
@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach
@danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @wonderland-girl143-blog
@justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690
@anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon
@cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt
@useless-nb-bisexual @thespaceantwhowrites @paintgonewrong @mogami13 @beelze-the-bubkiss
@croatoan-like-its-hot @retro-vagabond @sani-86 @pansexuality-activated @y4r3luv
@dauntlessdiva @vampire-eddie-brain-rot @lololol-1234 @nightmareglitter @cryptid-system CLOSED
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scoops-aboy86 · 3 days
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I guess this... is the end! With an epilogue to follow, probably, that's a little more soft feedism related, but for those who aren't into that it's totally optional. Thanks to everyone who came along for the ride, and I'll put this up on ao3 sometime soon. 😊
Part 1, part 1.5, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10 of the love spell no go au
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The world didn’t end, so life goes on. Eddie, who is the king of casting teeny little spells so he heals fast but not too fast, gets out of the hospital and moves into a one-story little place with Wayne that’s miles from the trailer park. It’s on the same street as Robin’s house so he sees her all the time—but still not as often as he sees Steve. 
And they tell Wayne what really happened, NDAs be damned. It’s a Tuesday night and Steve and Robin have brought a couple Western tapes from their latest shift at the miraculously still standing Family Video; they put one on in the background and a flick of Eddie’s fingers make sure that’s all the government bugs scattered throughout the house can hear. 
Afterwards, when they’re about to head over to the bigger record shop in the next town over to replenish Eddie’s music collection but pulling up at a gas station first, Steve complains that the whole thing was a little anticlimactic. 
“We told him there’s a whole other dimension under Hawkins that there’s this huge government cover-up about it and he didn’t even blink.”
“Well,” Eddie starts, then abruptly reaches for Steve’s ear and produces a quarter from it. He leans over from the passenger seat and holds it up in Steve’s line of vision with a smirk. “It takes a lot to startle us Munson men, sweetheart.”
“Really?” Robin interjects dryly while Steve pulls up to the pump and cuts the engine. “Because the other day Steve asked you to get a sponge from under the kitchen sink and something touched your hand and you shrieked because you thought it was a spider.”
Steve eyes the quarter critically. “Did you… really just magic a coin out of my ear?”
“When it was, in fact, the sponge in question,” Robin finishes. 
Eddie sticks his tongue out at her. “Of course not, baby, that was slight of hand,” he tells Steve, repocketing the coin and glancing around to make sure the gas station is deserted before planting a little kiss on his cheek. 
“Oh, okay.”
“I actually magicked it from your gas money jar into my pocket.”
Steve laughs, and that Eddie wants to bottle and hoard like one of those stupid rich old men with their dusty old French wines. “Good thing I’m not just about to get gas or anything, or I might need that back.”
“I’ll get you something from the convenience store?” Eddie offers, batting his eyelashes and tilting his head in a way that he knows makes his eyes look bigger. Knows because Steve has told him, and seems as susceptible to it as cats to catnip. 
“Strawberry slurpee,” Steve says immediately. “But if they only have cherry, I want a blue one. Wait, Robs—that’s what the screaming was about?”
Eddie flails with both arms, waving at them both to get out of the car as all three of their doors pop open. “Alright, nothing to see here, some of us have snacks to buy and one of us has a car to gas up, let’s go!”
So they all pile out, and Steve points at Eddie over the car while unscrewing the gas cap. “You’re going to use that on the gremlins, right?
“Just who do you take me for?” Eddie scoffs, hooking an arm through Robin’s and dragging her towards the store. “Of course I am, Harrington.”
Robin snorts but keeps up with him, breaking into a frankly jarring skip that causes them to almost trip over the curb right in front of the doors. Once inside, they break into their customary shop-till-you-drop game of trying to grab everything they want, beat the other to the register, and get to the car before Steve finishes filling the tank. They both almost always lose, but it does help make stops like this more efficient. 
(It has been Steve’s idea.)
“You know,” Robin starts conversationally while he’s filling two slurpee cups at once and she’s flipping rapidly through a nearby magazine rack, “I’ve never witnessed the dingus in an actual relationship before.”
Eddie flicks his eyes in her direction, then to the bored-looking cashier, but the statement was vague enough and Robin isn’t stupid. He returns his attention to the slurpee machine. “I find that hard to believe.”
“No, I’m serious. He’s dated a lot, and I mean a lot, but—ah ha!” Snatching the magazine she was looking for, she moves on to the soft pretzel heater and grabs the tongs to fish a couple off the slowly rotating rack. “But no one he’s ever really gotten serious about. He used to complain to me about his dates at length… Kinda relieved that’s over. He’s literally the happiest I’ve ever seen him these days.”
As she turns away to grab a couple Cokes, Eddie hides a giddy smile behind his hair—and then beats her to the register with a slurpee in each hand and a flimsy but full little shopping basket dangling from one arm. 
Because Robin wouldn’t lie, not about Steve. She’d already threatened him over Steve’s welfare back in the hospital (and people thought he was scary, Jesus); it’s obvious that she wouldn’t encourage him if she didn’t think it was in Steve’s best interest. And, against all laws of probability and magic, Eddie seems to make him happy. 
The happiest his platonic soulmate has ever seen him, even. 
“I win,” Steve crows when Eddie is still a few feet from the car. He lifts the nozzle, blows on it like it’s a smoking gun, and pumps his fist in victory. “In your face, Munson!” 
Eddie doesn’t care though. His prize is in Steve’s beaming smile, in the energy that rolls off him that crackles across Eddie’s senses like a kind of magic all his own. “Yeah yeah, big boy, you’re a champ.” He holds up the slurpees and the flimsy plastic bag crammed with a tube of Pringles, a bag of pretzel sticks, Doritos, and various snack cakes. “Are we ready to hit the road or what?”
Robin jogs up behind him, bagless because she keeps insisting that they’re bad for the environment but barely hanging onto her sodas, pretzels, magazines, and a few odd candy bars. “Aw man, did we lose to the dingus again?”
“Yes,” Eddie tells her faux mournfully as he crowds past Steve to the front passenger door, bumping against him way more than necessary but meeting no complaints. “Almost makes me reconsider giving you the change, Steve-o.”
He does anyway, though. Drops a nice, shiny quarter into the gas money jar after getting himself situated, slurpees nestled in their cup holders and a Twinkie already unwrapped to shove suggestively in his boyfriend’s mouth as soon as the wonder twins are both in the car. Robin heckles from the back seat; Steve takes it with the ease of practice and a smirk as he chews and swallows and licks escaping cream filling from the corners of his mouth. 
It’s a beautiful summer’s day and Eddie feels like the luckiest guy in the entire world.
Tag list (comment to be added/removed): @hotluncheddie @8em-em-em8 @anaibis @connected-dots @lawrencebshoggoth @zombiethingy
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fexicoded · 5 months
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zvaigzdelasas · 4 months
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For five days, the Israeli military had been drawing closer to the hospital, where hundreds of patients, including newborn babies, have gone without electricity and with little food as fighting raged around them. Witnesses told Reuters that tanks entered the complex at 3am and that one parked in front of the emergency department. Mohammed Zaqout, the director of hospitals in the territory, said Israeli soldiers entered the emergency department and the surgery building, which also contains intensive care units. An official at the Hamas-run health ministry told AFP he could see “dozens of soldiers and commandos inside the emergency and reception buildings”. Witnesses who spoke to the BBC and AFP said Israeli soldiers used loudspeakers to demand that all males aged between 16 and 40 leave every part of the hospital complex other than the surgical and emergency wings and enter the hospital courtyard.
“All men 16 years and above, raise your hands,” a soldier shouted in accented Arabic, according to a journalist speaking to AFP. “Exit the building towards the courtyard and surrender,” the soldier ordered. About 1,000 Palestinian males, their hands above their heads, were soon led into the vast hospital courtyard, some of them stripped naked by Israeli soldiers checking them for weapons or explosives, the journalist said.[...]
The Israeli army released video showing soldiers carrying boxes labelled “baby food” and “medical supplies”.
A spokesperson for the Palestinian ministry of health in Gaza, Ashraf al-Qudra, told Al Jazeera Arabic that “only doctors, patients and displaced people” were present when Israeli forces entered the hospital’s emergency department. “We have nothing to be afraid of or hide,” he said. Omar Zaqout, who works in the emergency room at al-Shifa, told Al Jazeera that Israeli soldiers had detained and assaulted some men who had taken refuge there. “[They] did not bring any aid or supplies, they only brought terror and death,” he said.[...]
The Israeli authorities have long maintained that Hamas uses the area below the hospital as a command centre. Hamas and hospital staff deny this. The IDF said in a briefing that soldiers found “weapons and other terror infrastructure,” at al-Shifa, and that they had seen “concrete evidence that Hamas terrorists used the Shifa hospital as a terror headquarters,” which they intended to publish later.
Hamas said the IDF’s claims were “nothing but a continuation of the lies and cheap propaganda, through which [Israel] is trying to give justification for its crime aimed at destroying the health sector in Gaza”.
The raid continued well into the afternoon, though details were scant due to a widespread telecommunications blackout[...]
The head of the World Health Organization, Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus, said his organisation had lost contact with medics inside al-Shifa. In the late afternoon, Boursh told Al Jazeera that Israeli troops were still present in the hospital. “They are still here … patients, women and children are terrified,” he said. He said the medical staff had vowed to stay with their patients “till the end.”[...]
Boursh told the Guardian that some who attempted to flee al-Shifa earlier this week were surrounded by gunfire as they left the hospital grounds, and turned back.
The Palestinian health ministry said 40 patients died on Tuesday, after five days without the fuel needed to power generators that fed dialysis machines and other vital medical equipment. The hospital had also run out of clean water, and doctors said they were subsisting on dates to survive as food supplies dwindled to nothing.
Corpses were piled in front of the hospital, with staff too terrified to move between buildings. The UN’s office for humanitarian affairs said staff at al-Shifa, for decades the linchpin of Gaza’s medical system, had begun preparations for a mass grave to entomb 180 bodies in front of the facility, as there was no way for them to leave in order to bury the dead.
15 Nov 23
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masalateaaa · 8 months
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3 is a Family!
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Female! Reader
Summary: How Max, his son and you make a perfect family. Single dad Max.
A/N: Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated. I love them. Not proof read. This is part 1 and if y'all like it I have further parts planned like a mini series.
Max Masterlist
--❤️--
The first time you met Max Verstappen was in a grocery store on a quiet Tuesday afternoon. You had planned a barbeque the next evening just to enjoy a good summer season with your family and their friends, hoping to make some friends of your own. You recently shifted to Monaco from your home country and were living with your sister to help her and her partner to raise their two young kids, a 4 and a 2-year-old. As you worked remotely, your sister suggested moving to Monaco and so far, you weren’t complaining. It was a tiny Mediterranean country with endless summer, pristine beaches, picturesque streets, and loads of fancy cars which was a wonder in itself. Sometimes you thought Monaco had more cars and yachts than people. You were still in the process of learning about Monaco and exploring every nook and corner of the tiny but beautiful country.
You adjusted your toddler niece’s head in the baby sling, allowing the child to sleep more comfortably while you opened the notes app on your phone and started going through the list of ingredients. You had barely started when a shrill cry shattered the calm of the store. It startled your niece who began squirming but you quickly placed a pacifier in her mouth and she went back to sleep but you rushed to the aisle where the cries could be heard from.
As soon as you reached the aisle where cookies and candies were stored on one side and chips and savories on the other. There was a boy approximately 3 years old laying on the floor as a male, most probably his father standing there not knowing what to do. The boy must have been throwing a fit. You have seen your 4-year-old nephew throw enough fits.
“Dan please bubba,” the man sighed hopelessly while the boy continued to cry.
Watching the scene, you felt really bad for the man and decided to help him. You walked up to him and gently tapped his shoulder. The man jumped slightly, probably he was not expecting anyone. He turned around and soon started apologizing but you let out a loud gasp.
The man standing in front of you was two-time formula one world champion, Max Verstappen, and the child crying on the floor was his son Aadyn.
“I am so sorry,” Max’s apologetic words broke your trance. He was red with embarrassment and kept rubbing the back of his neck with his palm as he kept glancing at the crying child.
“He is usually not that fussy. But I don’t know what happened today. He wants more candy even when we have jars of it stacked at home,” he explained.
All you could do was smile and nod in understanding. You cleared your throat and whispered, “Can I tell you something?” He nodded asking you to go ahead.
“Pick up the kid and leave. Drop everything. You can come back and shop later on when he is calm. Right now, he is throwing a fit and it will only increase until you give in, but if you give in now, he will know he can get away with it and this will become a habit. So just leave everything and take him home.”
Max looked at you and the sleeping baby in your arms as he pondered over your words. The next moment, he left his shopping cart, turned back, and picked up the crying kid in his arms who was now kicking his legs in protest. Max mouthed a silent “Thank you” and breezed past you towards the exit. You kept looking at the way he went until the sound of his car revving broke your trance and you sighed at the task at hand. You sighed and opened the notes app once more and glanced at the cart that Max had left behind. Your eyes kept shifting between the items in that cart and your list only for you to realize he was shopping for the exact same things that you were shopping for. You quickly transferred the items into your cart and made a beeline for the checkout feeling like a superhero for saving the day for Max Verstappen and finishing shopping without much effort.
The second time you met Max was after almost a month at the beach where most kids played. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon and you had no work so you took your 4-year-old nephew for playtime at the beach to give his parents a breather from him. You walked to the beach enjoying the cool breeze with gelato in one hand and your nephew's tiny hand in the other hand. You took a deep breath to soak in the salt air when someone’s cries drew your attention.
“Not again,” you whispered as saw Max and his son in a precarious situation again. The little boy had probably scraped his knee and was an inconsolable mess while Max kept apologizing to him for not being able to help. Max looked in distress watching his son in pain and you couldn’t help but drag yourself and your nephew to help them.
“Need help?” You stood covering the father-son duo from the sun.
Max and his son diverted their attention from the current crisis toward the voice. While Aadyn’s attention immediately went to the ice cream cone in your nephew’s hand, Max took a couple of moments to recollect and exclaimed, “Grocery store girl.”
You winced at that and decided to introduce yourself, “Y/n”, spoke as you sat down and dragged your nephew to sit with you much to his protests.
“Seems like I am always rescuing you,” you giggled as you gently took Aadyn’s leg and placed it on your thigh. “May I take away your boo-boo?” You addressed the little boy and he eagerly nodded before focusing back on the ice cream.
“You don’t have to,” Max rubbed his face feeling embarrassed all over again.
“It’s okay to get help. Especially with a child,” you assured him as you took out the small first aid kit from your bag. You glanced at the injured child and whispered to Max, “Why don’t you bring him an ice cream till I fix this?”
Max didn’t question you but simply got up and kissed his son’s forehead whispering, “Be good. I will be back with a surprise,” before he dashed away.
While Max was getting ice creams for everyone you gently wiped the wound with an antiseptic and neatly out an Avengers band-aid after asking who was his favorite Avenger.
“Papa look,” Aadyn screamed as Max returned with the ice creams.
“Wow! Your favorite superhero,” Max exclaimed as he kissed his son’s forehead before giving him the ice cream. He gave one to your nephew too who looked at you for approval. You nodded not wanting to create a meltdown and the boy quickly grabbed the cone making Max and you chuckle. The boys quickly finished the ice cream before running off to play while Max and you sat on the beach chairs watching over them.
“Where is your daughter?” Max complimented after a brief moment of silence between you two.
“My who?”
“Your other child?” he spoke referring to the grocery store.
“Oh,” you blinked at the realization. “They are not my kids. They are my sisters. I just babysit them and be cool aunt.” You giggled making him smile. The rest of the afternoon you both spent knowing more about each other, well you oversharing how you got a remote job and moved to Monaco to help your sister and her partner. Max too shared his life about racing and how his race weekends are frenzied. While you almost shared your whole life since there’s nothing much to hide about; you could feel Max holding back information. He never pulled up the topic of his son. It was public knowledge that his previous girlfriend was the mother, they even made a social media announcement and she would walk everywhere flaunting her bump. No one knew what changed between them three months after the birthday when she disappeared and Max released a statement saying he has the sole custody of his son. She resurfaced a few weeks before her son’s second birthday with a much older and much wealthier husband.
The ring of the phone made you both realize how much time had passed as you kept chatting about everything and nothing in between. With Max, it didn’t feel like this was your second meeting. You felt you knew Max ever since.
“Before I forget, keep this,” you handed the small first aid box that you carried with you everywhere.
“I can’t. I…”
“Max, it’s just a first aid box. Please take it. I’ll get another one tomorrow.” You insisted and called your nephew to go back home.
As he trudged unwillingly followed by Aadyn, Max gathered all the courage to ask, “can I get your number?”
“For?”
Your question made him nervous and before he even knew what was happening, “For… For babysitting.”
“What?”
“No. I mean. I want to get to know you more,” he finally formed a coherent sentence but quickly added, “As a friend.”
“I’d like that,” you whispered with a smile looking at his blushy nervous face before giving him your phone to feed in his number. You gave him a ring and Max quickly saved your number. You both parted ways with a promise to keep in touch although you weren’t much sure given his busy schedule and high-profile lifestyle.
Max surprised you when he followed up on his words and made every attempt to know you as your friend. Once you let go of the initial hesitation about him being a celebrity you discovered a Max that the world probably didn’t know much about. Behind the façade of the tough and aggressive guy on track, Max was the sweetest person off track. He was shy, he was sensitive, he was attentive, he was funny and very romantic.
He was the guy anyone would fall in love with and that’s exactly what happened with you.
Between the chats, phone calls, face time calls, and play dates you fell for him and you fell hard. You’d often find it hard to keep eye contact with him without your insides turning upside down. A sudden heat would creep up your face making your whole face burn when he’d listen to your rambling attentively and you lost the count number of times you wanted to kiss him when he was in the middle of explaining something about cars or races. You know that even Max liked you because you caught him staring at you when you are playing with his son and your nephew. He would give that blushy smile that made his eyes crinkle and his face turns pink. You knew he liked you by the way he’d be all protective about you when you were out with friends, yes now his friends were your friends. The way he’d place his hand on your lower back made you feel special. But you also knew there was something that was holding him back from expressing his feelings and you were ready to wait for him to shed even the last wall that he built around his heart.
It was right after the summer break when Max invited you and your sister’s family to spend a day on his yacht before he would jet off to Italy with his family and you to your home country. It was at this party you met his mother, Sophie. She was as magnetic and as soft as Max. She welcomed you and your family with open arms and it wasn’t long before you were friends with her too.
The day was going well with your sister, her partner, and Max entertaining the kids in the water. You took a deep sigh watching Max play with kids in the water, he looked cute as well as hot. It was a scene you’d never get bored off. Realizing you have been staring at him for too long, you decided to divert your attention to the book you brought with you.
You had just started when Sophie walked in with some drinks in hand.
“This will keep you refreshed even in the sun,” she occupied the lounger next to you after handing over the drink to you.
“Thank you.”
A brief moment of silence passed and you could anticipate she wanted to talk to you and she didn’t disappoint.
“My son likes you. I have never seen him this happy after Aadyn was born. He can’t stop talking about you.”
“I like your son too. He is an amazing human being and it's my privilege to know him and be with him. And he is a great dad”
“He is being a father to his son that deserved,” Sophie sighed. She turned toward you and removed her sunglasses before speaking, “Can I ask what’s stopping you from making the move? The way Max’s eyes shine for you, they never held the same expressions for Aadyn’s mother. Even when he claimed he was in love with her.”
You looked at Max and turned to look at you at the same time. He gave you a dazzling smile until Aadyn threw a ball at him and shouted, “Y/n join us.”
“In some time, Aadyn,” you replied and the kid went back to play with his father.
You turned towards Sophie and spoke, “I like your son very much but I also know something is holding him back. I want him to trust me with his and Aadyn’s heart. And I will wait for the day when he will trust me and ask me out. The ball is not in my court Sophie.”
The entire summer Max and you kept in touch with each other via chats and face time calls where Aadyn hogged most of the time saying how much he missed you and your nephew and how he wished you were there. You had to promise him unlimited beach time once you both were back. But one thing you couldn’t shake off was how flirty Max was. He often left you speechless and shy.
It has been two days since you were back from your break and even Max was back. You were lounging on a fine Friday afternoon getting some final summer naps before you started your work back on Monday when your phone rang and it was Max.
“Wow you look tanned,” you complimented him.
“Thank you and you look beautiful as ever,” he dished out the compliment making you shy.
“I wanted to ask you something.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“So, my mom told me about the conversation you both had on the yacht. She likes you a lot.”
“I like her too.”
“So, I wanted to ask if you wanted to go out for dinner with me?”
“Because your mom likes me?”
“Yes. No… No god no. Not just my mom, even I like you. I am sorry I skipped that part,” Max became all blushy and embarrassed all over again, just like that day at the beach.
“Pick me up at 8 pm tomorrow,” you winked at him. He made the first move and now you won’t back down.
--❤️--
1K notes · View notes
hisunshiine · 8 months
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Seven Days Masterlist | JJK | complete
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🗓️ pairing: nurse!jungkook x teacher!reader 🗓️ au/genre: non-idol au, brother's friend au, fwb, age-gap(reader is older), f2l, fluff, angst, smut 🗓️ series rating: M 🗓️ total wc: 34,413 🗓️ series warnings: emotionally constipated pairing, reader is older, adult worries, growing older, dating younger, time passing and not hitting milestones everyone else is, biological clock ticking woes, angsty argument, feeling like being emotionally cheated on despite being single, parents with toxic viewpoints, judgemental people, self doubt, explicit sexual content: each chapter will provide specifics, but in general, there will be sex in every part, each one showcasing jungkook and reader in various types of sexual situations including sleepy sex, oral sex (m & f receiving), light bondage sex, quickie sex with one partner not breaking off another night, drunk sex (dubious consent but neither feels taken advantage of), make up sex, and semi-public sex.    🗓️ an: please, please, please, blame @colormepurplex2 for this. It was not something I planned to do, but she talked me into it (she did not have to try hard, let’s be honest) and she is 100% right. This story needed to be told. Leah also helped me create the banners, so if you like them, it’s because of her creative input!  @downbad4yoongi also deserves blame now, but in the best way, for helping to expand the characters depth, and @heathfritillary-blog for her writing knowledge helping me find the motivators and reasons for the characters, challenging me to be a better writer. @mrsparkjimin18, @peachiilovesot7, and @abitjess, thank you for all that you do, hyping me up and helping me to piece together this story! 🗓️ an 2: reader being a teacher plays no real role in the story other than to help link the characters, it is summer break, so school is not in session! 🗓️ series summary: “Leave you with that afterglow, show you what devotion is, deeper than the ocean is…” Jungkook has been your best friend since you met him when he was still in college thanks to your younger brother, Yoongi. Despite your age gap, he easily fell into your world, your life, and your bed. Forced to confront the growing feelings as the pressure to meet adult milestones like your friends grow stronger, you struggle to be honest with yourself. “What you waiting for, better come and hit ya goals.”
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Monday - wind it back, i’ll take it slow
wc: 1,741 summary: “Wind it back, I’ll take it slow, Leave you with that afterglow…” Jungkook has been your best friend since you met him when he was still in college thanks to your brother, Yoongi. Despite your age gap, he easily fell into your world, your life, and your bed… 
posted: Monday 7-24-23 @ 9 am
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Tuesday - “lemme swallow your pride”
wc: 3,629 summary: “Open up say ahhh, Come here, baby, let me swallow your pride…” Jungkook comes over for an impromptu movie night that triggers some internal angst. You share a little, and he shares a lot... and your angst turns a little green. To change the topic when it gets a little too deep, you deepthroat him.
posted: Tuesday 8-1-2023 @ 12 am
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Wednesday - “it’s the way that you can ride”
wc: 4,622 summary: “It’s the way that you can ride, it’s the way that you can ride…” Picking an outfit for a wedding is hard enough without your friends with benefits turning you on. Especially when he makes a tie look so sexy, you can’t help but use it to get him right where you need him to be. Ties make great reigns, and Jungkook is willing for you to be the leading lady, in more ways than one.
posted: Wednesday 8-2-2023 @ 12 am
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Thursday - “so break me off another night”
wc: 3,596 + text messages summary: “So break me off another night” might be what he says, but after a day full of meddling parents, a quickie, and meddling friends, some things come to light, and there might not be another night for you to break him off...
posted: Thirstday 8-10-2023 @ 12 am
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Friday - “i must be favored to know ya”
wc: 5,665 + text messages summary: “I must be favored to know ya.” Having Jungkook in your life is so much sweeter than you ever thought. It would be great if you could just tell him, but showing him is as good as it gets for now…until you slip up and let the cat out of the bag. But it turns out, you aren’t the only one who has feelings for him, and you definitely aren’t the only one who wants to ride him. When your biggest fears come to light, knowing Jungkook the way that you do might become a thing of the past. 
posted: Friday 8-18-2023 @ 12 pm
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Saturday - “i kiss your waist and ease your mind”
wc: 6,323 + text message summary: “i kiss your waist and ease your mind.” The only thing that could make you feel better is the same thing that made you feel worse. You and Jungkook are both confused with your emotions, but two different stories help you both see a bit more clearly. The only problem is that when the two of you get around each other, clarity goes bye-bye. don’t let these soft lyrics fool you; make up sex doesn’t actually solve any issues if sex is the only communication that happens.  
posted: Monday 9-4-2023 @ 10:57 am
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Sunday - “i'll be loving you right, seven days a week”
wc: 8,837 + text message summary: “i’ll be loving you right, seven days a week.” Yoongi's wedding has brought up a lot of feelings, but with so many things left unsaid, it's hard to know where you and Jungkook stand. Can the two of you wrap around each other and bring life to a relationship?
posted: Sunday 10-8-2023 @ 10:01 pm
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↣ all rights reserved © hisunshiine 2023. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed.
2K notes · View notes
savingcrxws · 9 months
Text
EYES ON FIRE | maybe someday
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[ prev chap ] [ next chap ]
synopsis. you and carmen just keep bumping into each other.
word count. 4.3k (gah damn)
warnings. language, hardly proofread again i'm sorry its an addiction
authors note. thank u guys so much for the support in these previous chapters! it’s really amazing to me that u guys enjoyed it so much! i would recommend listening to maybe someday by the cure for this chapter!
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“Yeah, Sugar. The appointment is booked for Thursday, the reps will probably be coming in at like…three o’clock,” you mutter, flipping through the manila folder absolutely stuffed with documents and sticky notes. 
You pursue your lips at all you had to get done within this week alone–sign installation permit, permit to replace the hot water heater, permit to fix the ventilation systems, reapply for occupancy capacity signs because of the restaurants lack of other permits, and holy shit…
You completely forgot to schedule the follow-up appointment with the BACP consultant. 
You groan, slamming the thick folder into your forehead, the papers thwacking against your skull. Natalie sounds startled on the other end of the phone, no doubt hearing the sound on her end of the call. She questions if you’re okay, and you only respond with a gentle hum before tossing the folder back down on the office table. 
“Hey, Suge, do you think I can call you back later? I need to schedule a follow-up consultation with Raquel before another rep hops on my ass about the boiler replacement.” 
“Of course, hun, call me back whenever you can,” Sugar starts and you can hear some papers flicking in her side of the call as well.
You had managed to convince her to work from home more often, worried that all the stress from the demolition inside would affect her pregnancy and her overall wellbeing. After some back and forth, she had begrudgingly agreed to spend two days working on the project from the comfort of her own couch. 
And even though she complains still, you know she appreciates she has a little bit more time off of her feet. 
“Don’t work yourself too hard, okay, Bug?” 
You nod, even though you know she can’t see you. “Same for you, Bear.” Sugar hums once again before you both give your goodbyes and end the call. 
You expel all of the air out of your chest in a large puff as you slide down the office chair.
After signing onto Team Bear, your new home-away-from-home had been this tiny office in the back of the restaurant. For the most part, no one came in and disrupted your work, which allowed you to have your head shoved into piles of paperwork, be stuck on phone calls, and be forced to reread legal jargon for hours on end with little interruption. 
Well, as little interruption as there could be with the restaurant quite literally falling apart around you. 
Thankfully, everyone was very respectful of your work in helping the developing business. You were practically putting every ounce of knowledge that you learned from both college and the real-world experience (including connections within the industry) to help push the restaurant closer to the deadline. All the while still dealing with your other commitments to other businesses that you had prior to signing on to this project.
Staying at The Bear for eight hours a day had its benefits, though.
For example, there was always something entertaining going on in the background. Like last Tuesday, when Fak had decided to send a sledgehammer directly into the only remaining wall of the office–sending bits and pieces of drywall onto your clothes.
Another benefit of being stuck in that office chair is that you had an excuse to ignore everyone around you. And by everyone, you really mean Carmen.
After the awkward office run-in last week, the two of you hardly spoke to each other. Sure, there was the ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes’ that you threw to each other and the words you exchanged when you caught him up on the status of licensing, but you two had yet to have an actual conversation.
It was clear that the both of you were still walking on eggshells around each other—and everyone could see it. But you had an inkling feeling that Carmen had been wanting to say something, judging by the short glances you sometimes catch him throwing in your direction.
Kinda similar to the one that he’s giving you right now.
You feel the heat of his stare on your face before you see it. He’d been staring at you for a couple moments now, long enough for you to no longer consider it an inquisitive glance.
You peek up from the folder and make solid eye contact with Carmen through the hole in the wall. The man flushes almost immediately, the red color sinking past his collar. You purse your lips and give a small nod of acknowledgment and he stutters in his spot.
And then he’s turning away.
Like he wasn’t the one just staring at you a moment ago.
You roll your eyes and turn back to your original position in the seat. Picking the folder up again, you flick to the papers listing the requirements for the next fire suppression test.
“Men,” you mutter, before picking up your phone and making a phone call.
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Three days later, the office is completely demolished and your work revolving around The Bear has been moved to a family-owned coffee shop two blocks over.
In the short span of time, all of the walls in the store had been busted down and the restaurant had practically turned into a hazardous wasteland. And since construction was too far out of your pay grade, you decided to leave the heavy lifting up to everyone else.
“Alright, permit done!” You throw your hands up in the air, your theatrics catching the attention of a couple next to you. You could hardly care for the stares, though, you had been working on getting that permit for the past four days straight. Slamming your laptop shut, you pack up your bags and head off to the cash register to buy another coffee before you go.
While you wait for your drink, you decide to scroll aimlessly through your phone to kill some time.
“Oh shit,” you hear a voice utter behind you, and you barely have time to process the word before something ice cold is running down your back. “Fuck, I’m fucking sorry, I didn’t even see you—“
You gasp on reflex, taking a step forward and shivering. The person who spilled their drink on you is stuttering out apologies. The liquid seeps into the jacket you were wearing and you pull it off immediately.
“Yo, what the fuck, dude,” you curse, watching the large stain of coffee spread even farther across your jacket. “Watch where the hell you’re walking—”
In the middle of trying to give the perpetrator a piece of your mind, you failed to recognize the familiar sound of the voice that was spewing apology out of apology. But in a second, your eyes met a recognizable set of blue and you halted your words.
In front of you stands Carmen Berzatto. In his signature colored sweater and a half-spilled cup of coffee in his hand.
And he looks petrified.
It seems he didn’t realize just who was the unlucky victim to his americano attack either until you turned around. His mouth agape, he utters out a jumbled apology, glancing back at you, your stained jacket, and the cup in his hand like his brain was still trying to understand what just happened.
“Uh-uh, fuck, sorry, I swear this wasn’t on purpose,” he rambles, placing his cup on the counter behind you and grabbing some napkins right after. He steps back towards you and shoves his hand of napkins to you. “Here, shit, I’m so sorry.”
You sigh, taking the napkins from him, noting the slight tremor that persisted in his hands as you did so. Taking in a slow breath, you close your eyes and count to ten before responding. “It’s okay, Carmen. Don’t worry about it.”
And even though you tried to maintain your peace, you can hear the annoyance seeping out of your words. Carmen glances around the counter before looking back at you and your soaked jacket. You know he probably wants to apologize some more, but honestly, one more apology might land him with a punch to the gut. 
Just as he opens his mouth, you raise your free hand, silencing him immediately. You shake your head in dismissal before taking the napkins offered to you and blotting the coffee out of the fabric of your jacket. Carmen simply stood in his place, watching you, seeing if he could do anything to redeem himself in this situation. 
However, after they called your name for your drink order, you dumped the used napkins in the trash, took your drink and hightailed it out of the café without one more word to the man. 
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After the coffee shop incident, you swear that you started to see Carmen everywhere. 
You needed a quiet place to plan outside of your house so you went to one of the local libraries. Guess who’s walking outside the building?
You need a late night snack and decide to hit up the corner store. Guess who’s in the refrigerated section?
Hell, you decide to stay late at The Bear for some last minute checkups? Guess who forgot to grab a few things before leaving that night?
You swear that before you hopped on The Bear train, you never even saw a glimpse of the man. Sure, you lived relatively near the restaurant, but Chicago is fucking huge, there’s no way you would run into one of the few people that you’re trying to avoid. 
Absolutely not, apparently. 
Finally finishing up the weekly budget report and estimate for the following weeks till open, you decide to take a step away from work for a second and give your brain some time to breath. 
“Hey, Syd, if anyone needs me, I’m outside taking a smoke break, ‘kay,” you yell across the restaurant, receiving a thumbs up from her from the other side of the room. “Be back in 15!”
Reaching into your bag, you pull out a pack of cigs and a lighter before heading to the back entrance of the restaurant. You place the cigarette between your lips and head to the backdoor. Stepping out and around the alley to the designated smoke corner, you fiddle with the lighter switch, hearing the light sizzle but seeing no flames emerge. 
You groan, flicking the lighter again and again and still no lig–
“Umm, uh, you need a light?”
You scream, your heart almost skipping a beat and falling out on the concrete below you. In your alarm, both your cigarette and the lighter drop on to the ground. "Shit," you mutter and throw a glance over at whoever had scared the living shit out of you and, surprise suprise . . .
There was Carmen, standing in the alley a few feet away from the door. One leg was kicked up to rest his foot against the wall behind him and a cigarette hung loosely between his fingers. His eyes trailed across you for a second, then he glanced at the cigarette on the ground before taking another draw from his own and staring out the wall in front of him.
If you had half of the energy, you would tell him off for scaring the shit out of you and book it out of the enclosed space.
Lucky for Carmen, however, you really needed that cigarette.
Reaching back into your bag once more, you pull out another cig and walk slowly over to the man. Your steps gain his attention once again and when your eyes met you gestured to the lighter hanging out of his cooking apron.
He grabs the lighter and hands it to you. As you reach out to grab it, your fingers brush against his knuckles. Some quick thought in the back of your head wishes that that physical interaction lasted a little longer, but you're quick to shoo that away into the deep recesses of your mind.
Lighting your cigarette, you hand the lighter back to him before taking a drag. Blowing the smoke out, you slid down the wall until you could lean back into a squat against it.
The two of you just stand there, in complete silence aside from the occasional cough from an improper pull. This quiet isn't nearly as awkward as the first run-in the two of you had. Maybe it's because of the nicotine or maybe it's because continuously running into Carmen over these past days had subconsciously made you a little more comfortable with his presence.
. . .
Nah, it definitely had to be the nicotine.
You glance up at Carmen, who continues to smoke even though his stick had turned into a bud a while ago. You make note of the new tattoos that run down his arms and hands, eyes stopping at the rose flower tattoo on his left hand.
You remember when he got that one done with you at the parlor for his eighteenth birthday.
Subconsciously, you rub at the matching rose on your thigh before sighing and focusing back on your cigarette. Young, dumb decisions, you think.
Above you, Carmen watches your focus retreat back and purses his lips. In all honesty, Carmen usually never finishes a whole cigarette, but he really needed an excuse to stay out here longer with you.
These past couple of days had been tormenting him just as much as it had been you, albeit for different reasons. Everytime Carmen ran into you, whether it be in that cafe or that random grocery store that one early morning, he was plagued with memories of everything that he had fucked up.
Not just the relationship that he had fucked, but the happiness that he had stolen from the both of you.
And he had so desperately been trying to apologize, but every time you saw his face, you would get that look on your own. That dread, the anxiousness, that annoyance. That anger.
Whenever he saw that expression on your face, he would get too choked up to say anything of significance. A simple 'hey" would be all that would leave his mouth. Either that or he would stutter like he was a fucking kid again and embarrass himself in front of you like he seems to be doing constantly lately.
Carmen sighs, taking a final hit from his cigarette before stomping it out on the ground. By all previous experience, Carmen would book it out of the area by now, but something in his gut was telling him to stay this time.
Glancing down at you once more, he sees that you have taken to scrolling through your phone to kill the time. He bites the corner of his lip and decides to sit against the wall like you.
Instinctively, you toss him a questioning glance but when he didn't make any move to speak or gesture towards you, you shook your head and went back to whatever video had popped up on your feed.
Fuck it, he thought.
"I'm sorry."
You halt in the middle of your smoke, nearly coughing on the fumes but managing to swallow it. You look over at Carmen inquisitively, wondering where the hell that apology came from. The dirty blonde was wringing his hands, mouth opening and shutting as if he was trying to get the words out.
"Sorry for the, uh," he mutters, casting a quick glance in your direction to assure himself that you were listening. "Sorry for the, for uh-You know I didn't-I don't know how-"
"Yo, Carmen," you interrupt the world vomit that he was spewing, tossing your cigarette down before snuffing out the light with your shoe. You center your focus back on the man next to you, who seemed to only have you in his attention. "Just say what you want to say. No bullshit."
Your blunt words seem to ground Carmen long enough for him to gather his thoughts. He nods his head rapidly in that way he does when he's clearly overwhelmed before he clears his throat. He takes in a large inhale and clears his throat, ready to speak again.
"I want to apologize. For everything. For how much of an jackoff I was back then, and for how much I am right now," Carmen stars, eyes staring solidly into yours to show just how serious he is. "I didn't deserve you, and you did nothing to deserve the way that we ended."
You feel something burn the back of your throat at the mention of the end of your relationship. The total radio silence from him for the days prior, and just when you had managed to gather the courage to ask the question of just what the hell are we doing, Carmy, you were cast aside like nothing.
He was right, you didn’t deserve that.
Pushing back the feelings bubbling up in your chest, you nod your head to signal that you were listening.
"I-I, it's no excuse, but I was really going through some serious shit. And I really felt that if I cut everyone out of my life, I could actually get a second to breathe you know," Carmen pauses and you open your mouth to speak, but he continues. "I-I just know you deserved-you deserve better. But seeing you in this restaurant day-in and day-out, working away to help my sister, my crew--help me? I just felt even more like a piece of shit."
He turns fully towards you now and you can see his eyes turning red from the emotion he was clearly holding behind his words. "You didn't deserve what I did, and you definitely don't deserve to be cleaning up my messes now."
"You deserved the world, and I'm sorry I couldn't give it to you."
His last words send a sharp pang into your chest. Here you two sat, sitting next to each other, the distance between you two seemed to be filled with words unsaid. You stare into his eyes a little longer, at a loss for what to say completely.
On one hand, you wanted to reject his apology, tell him to fuck off and leave him alone in this alleyway. He would deserve it after everything.
But he has that familiar kicked puppy-dog look in his eyes and he's chewed his lip red, and he's actually sorry.
You sigh, leaning your head back to rest against the wall behind you. Staring up at the sky, you trace the shapes of the clouds above as you collect your thoughts.
"Yeah," you start, nodding your head to yourself. Carmen tenses up at the ambiguity behind both your words and your tone. He would have to have his own head shoved up his ass if he didn't realize that you had every right to refuse his plea for forgiveness. Frankly, that's exactly what he was expecting you to do.
"Yeah, okay. I can forgive you, Berzatto."
Carmen's heart sinks into his guts, mouth slightly agape in pure shock. "You-you can?"
You give a small smile, turning your head to face the man. "Yeah, Carmen, I accept your apology."
The dirty blonde opens his mouth again but you put a hand up in the space between you, effectively shutting him up for a second.
"But," you trail, "I'm gonna forward you that dry cleaning bill from that cafe, asshat. I've been trying to get that shit out for days now."
Carmen flushes a bright red at the mention of the coffee shop run-in you two had, a broken chuckle leaving his mouth at the obvious teasing tone in your voice. You were joking with him, for the first time in years, you two had managed to glimpse at the level of comfortability that you once shared.
Carmen chuckles again, running a hand through his curls. "Yeah, well, can I raincheck that until after the restaurant starts making money? I'm kinda flat fucking broke right now."
You giggle at the honesty behind his words. "Yeah, I ran those calculations by the way. Have fun being flat broke for at least three months after The Bear opens."
"Shit," Carmen mutters, a grin still on his face.
"Yeah, shit." You nod in his direction before pushing yourself off your crouched position on the ground. "Anyway, I'm gonna head inside to get back on that shit. Fak's fucking electric guy keeps flaking on us."
Carmen's eyes follow your form as you stand, holding eye contact with you when you glance back down at him. "Yeah, yeah, I should probably meet up with Syd for the chaos menu anyway."
He hurriedly stands up, wiping his hands on his work pants. After he finishes, he looks at you once again, noting the small smile on your face. For a second, he swears his heart skips a beat.
"For the record, Carmy," you play with the nickname on your tongue, having not said it in quite some time. Carmen flushes before nodding for you to continue. The small on your face falls for a second as you look at him. "You pull that shit with me again, I'm sicking the dogs on your ass. Seriously."
Carmen clears his throat, straightening up at the more serious tone of your voice. Although you were not nearly as angry looking at him as before, he knew that you were serious. There were no more apologies after this, no more fuckups.
You look at him expectantly, waiting for some form of acknowledgment.
He nods. "Yes, chef."
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After the conversation outside The Bear, you and Carmen seemed to flow together much easier than before. Granted there was the occasional stray glance casted in your direction from the man, but overall, the two of you were on much more agreeable terms.
The rest of the crew seemed to notice the absence of uncertain tension between the two of you. You explained to Tina, Richie, and Sugar that you two had simply talked it out and were no longer on "spiteful ex" terms.
Richie, being the annoying man that he is, insisted that something else must've happened--to which you responded with a firm shoulder check and yet another middle finger.
Overall, the two of you seemed to only talk about business stuff, which made it easier for conversations to flow. Less personal, more concrete talks.
"Alright, Carmy, we got that certificate of occupancy, right?" You question, running down the legal checklist once again. When you heard no response, you asked again, only to be ignored again. Finally looking up from your screen, you glance up at the man, trying to figure out what could have possibly distracted him this time.
He's glancing, moreso glaring, down at his phone, watching it ring but making no moves to pick it up. He's spaced out almost, like he's lost in his thoughts.
You clear your throat and decide to try his name again. "Carmen!"
He shoots up a little and looks at you, muttering an apology out as he clicks his phone off and slides it into his back pocket. "What were you asking?"
"Umm, I was trying to see if you got that certificate of occupancy from Cicero mailed in," you raise an eyebrow at him. "You know, the one we need to get that other big, shiny certificate that shows that we can legal conduct business in the state of Illinois? That certificate?"
"Uhh, yeah, yeah. Mailed it in the other day, yeah."
You squint at his weird responses before shaking your head and diving back into your work. "Well, on another note, I've been speaking with a liason down at the office and he said we can have our second fire suppression test in two weeks instead of the project four."
Carmen walks up to the foldable chair you were sitting in, peering over your shoulder to look at your screen. He rests his hand against the back of your chair unconsciously and you can feel the heat of his body radiating off of him. You clear your throat and lean forward a little to get some distance between the two of you.
"Who's that going to?" The man points to an email that you are in the middle of drafting. Your eyes follow and land on the email you were writing to one of your school buddies. "Oh that? I'm just messaging one of my old classmates from college about an idea I had about our issues with that retail food license thing."
Carmen humms, peeking down at you as you explained the process you were thinking of going through. Though your eyes were stuck on the screen, clicking through different documents as you continued your explanation, Carmen's eyes were glued to your face.
To him, this all felt like some weird dream that he was having. His former high school sweetheart, sitting in his restaurant, talking all kinds of smart talk that he could barely understand, practically pressed against him. Although he didn't move over to your chair with the intent to press against you, he definitely noticed the proximity that you two shared.
Life had been a whirlwind these past weeks, but he felt that when he was near you that a lot of those anxieties he often has screaming in his head quieted down a little. He tried to chalk it up to the confidence that he had in your skills, but even though you are incredibly talented in your work, he knew that it was something more than that.
Something that he had to swallow down.
"Carmy, you motherfucker, are you even listening to me?" You call out, turning more in your chair and fixing him with an annoyed glare. Carmen swallows before nodding his head. "Ye-yeah, you have a plan to get that retail food license and alcohol seller's license at once right?"
You hum, giving him a once over again before turning in your seat. "Exactly. I think that my buddy Stephen can help us with that fire suppression test, he knows a thing or two--"
Carmen's eyes trace down your eyes, nose, and lips, noting the signature bite marks you left on your bottom one. He runs a tongue across his own before carding a hand through his hair to collect himself.
He was so fucked.
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ghostsvacuumcleaner · 8 months
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You came — you called. II (+18) | Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader
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✦ PART I ✦ Word count: 2.2k ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader ✦ Summary: After having a little non-friendly chat with your abuser, Simon comes back home to find you asleep in his bed. ✦ TW and general warnings: +18 NSFW, SMUT, lots of porn, p in v unprotected, some dirty talk, size difference implications, he's got a big cock, fluff, open ending sorta ✦ AO3 | Masterlist
A/N: well, since you guys liked part I and I was so fucking inspired I decided to write part 2; honestly thinking of writing a part III I seriously need to stop 😭 I hope you guys enjoy it! x
taglist: @abbiesxox
2am - world was on fire and no one could save me but you
“Y’know,” Simon starts, his legs spread across the armchair. His chin rests on his hand, nothing on his face but an indifference fashion, almost like the blood dripping from that guy’s mouth was another Tuesday to him. “You’re quite lucky, mate.” He stretches and leans his body forward. His elbows rest on his knees and he bends low enough to stare eye to eye into the face of the man who dared laying hands on you. “Know why?”
Your abuser flinches, and doesn’t answer; he couldn’t even if he wanted to. 
His body doesn't move more than inches without feeling pain. He had lost count of how many kicks it took Simon to take him to that state - when you said your ex boyfriend was in the military, he didn't imagine that kind of military. There wasn't even a report he could possibly make. It didn't have a face, it didn't have a name - all he knew was that this man, your punisher in the skull mask, coded himself as Ghost.
And he knew that this man - this living ghost, this new alive fear of his, had made him spit blood for every slap, every squeeze, every bruise he left on your body. It would be too much for your tired, melancholic head to notice that whenever he contoured one in your back as he gave you a bath, he was counting. To each one, he’d punch him twice. Face, legs, stomach. He wanted to see blood.
“No?” He asked, licking his lips. “You fuckin’ pussy…” He scoffs, his voice ever so low, almost a whisper - almost like he could wake you up in his house, from this distance, by talking loud. “Because if it wasn’t for my girl, you’d be dead now.”
To your abuser’s silence, Ghost stands up and steps off avoiding the bleeding fucker in front of him. “And let it be known, I am not one to make noise. If you come after her again, you won’t know where the shot came from.” He states over his shoulder, before opening the door and leaving it open for the ambulance that’s yet to come - because, especially after you, he’s not a monster. Just a ghost.
4am - strange what desire will make foolish people do
The shower is on. You don’t hear it, blame it on your tough sleep; can barely hear your own alarms when it’s morning. 
It is almost morning. In a few hours, the sun will rise in the horizon of the simple window by Simon’s bed side and invade the room - equally humble - annoying you. Right now, although the sky is still dark blue, the only light source poorly illuminating the room is the dim, yellow light that comes from the bathroom while Simon finishes his much deserved bath. 
The bloodstained hoodie and his mask are thrown aside in the laundry basket and now quietly replaced for a pair of sweatpants - his pajamas. He walks towards you in mute steps, the mattress sinking from the pressure of his two hands against it, on either side of your waist. You feel the warmth of his freshly bathed body against your skin as he shelters you from the night cold breeze with his own body. It covers you entirely, and you mumble in your sleep, “Mmm, Simon.”. 
“Hm…” His raspy voice asks, against your ear; your body, still drunk in sleep, shivers at the contact. You move slightly, while his nose brushes against your cheek, and continues down to your neck. Simon takes your smell in like a drug, shit, how painfully hard he misses you.
“You’re back…? Hm- what time is it?” You ask in a drunken voice.
His hand caresses your bare thigh under your shirt, his thick palm scraping up your skin till he reaches your belly; it covers, almost entirely. You mewl, “Simon…”
“Late.” He replies simply, warmly, against your ear. His dog tag swings in the short space between the two of you, and brushes against your chest. You turn a little, now awake enough to be able to speak at least, and your eyes meet his staring at you, drinking in the details as if all that time away from you has made him forget how beautiful you look when you just woke up.
“You smell good.” You admit in a mutter, feeling his hand sliding up from your belly to your waist in explicit desire. Though the two of you reluctantly tried to withdraw from each other, you couldn't deny it - it was mutual. “Are you calm now?” You ask, your hand takes hold of his dog tag and your index finger wraps around the chain; slowly, you wrap yourself around his neck, and before he can answer you, your lips take his in a quick kiss.
“No…” He replies against your mouth, in a breath. The sound of fabric moving fills the room as he repositions himself over you, and his hand moves up, tracing your curves to the top of your breast and cupping it; “Needin’ you right now.” He whispers in between slow, passionate kisses you both share. 
Your leg curls around his waist as you kiss him desperately, like he could vanish from
your hands any second. “Ask me.” you whisper against his lips and your hand grasps his dirty blond strands as his hand tightens around your breast. “I like it when you ask…”
He closes his eyes feeling a chill rise in his belly hearing you moan, and smirks in both pleasure and pride knowing he was the one to cause it. 
“Can I fuck you?” He complies, pushing his hips against you almost unconsciously, and you feel your body burn, feeling the big bulge in his pants press into your core through the fabrics that separate the two of you.
In one deft movement, Simon lifts your shirt up to your face level and you obediently offer to hold it between your teeth as his mouth proceeds to feast on one of your breasts while his hand massages the other.
“Simon- ah…” You groan, as your body uncontrollably squirms a bit and your lower half pushes up against him, begging him for some more.
Your body relaxes as your soft spots tighten, and after minutes of satisfying your needy breasts, sharing his tongue's attention between the two of them, Simon finally starts to run his wet kisses down your belly - calm as a sea breeze, hot as hellfire, different than it usually is when the two of you meet on an empty night, still enraged by the last time you left each other, fueled by hate, no - this time it's something different. 
“I still think about you everytime, y’know, kitten?” He admits with a faint smirk as his hands pull your panties down your legs and quickly get rid of them, exposing now your needy and soggy core to his own view. “Nobody tastes sweet like you.” 
His hand cups your ankle and he spreads your legs; his other hand cups your pussy, his fingers parting your folds as his middle finger rubs you slowly, torturously in that sweet spot of pleasure. 
“S-Shut up…” You try to say, but your voice is caught in your throat by a sudden moan as his tongue takes place between your legs. In circular, slow and skillful movements, he sucks on your swollen clit - whatever you wanted to say is now replaced by heavy gasps and low, muffled moans as you bite down on your hand trying to hold it back. He disapproves, almost instantly, with a tight squeeze on your thigh and you can’t hold back a loud groan in response.
When he feels you're getting too close to your climax, Simon swaps the intense, slow strokes for even slower ones, his tongue barely touching your clit yet - that tiny tip of contact causing all you get is the intense desire and the twitching of your legs in a near-orgasm that's thwarted so many times, it gets you insane. 
“Simon, p-please for fuck sakes…” You cry, your eyebrows furrowed in lust. His cock almost pierces the sweatshirt at this point, his veins visible on every possible part of his body - his arms, his temples, his crotch that shows when he straightens up over you as his pants lower to his waist, with that small clump of hair showing. “Don’t fucking make me beg…” You curse once again.
His tattooed arm grabs your waist and moves you over him; his hand grips your ass and moves you against his lap, your hands look for support around his shoulders and your hips instinctively continue the movements he started.
“Take it, c’mon.” He teases you. “It’s fuckin’ ripping my pants already, baby.” He grunts in your ear, his breath gets heavier when he pulls down his pants only enough so he can pull off his rock-hard large twitching cock; he stares into your face as his hips press forward, running his length against your slit, slowly. 
“Ah, fuck.” You curse under your breath as you lift your hips until his tip is against your entrance, and slowly start lowering yourself. Simon holds back a growl as your tight walls begin to swallow his cock, inch by inch, slowly. It's almost too much for you, like you lost practice by fucking guys that were smaller than him; it’s not a hard deal - he’s really too big. His fingers dig onto the skin of your waist trying to restrain himself as he holds you steady and gives you some time to get used to his length filling your whole cunt. 
His low groans flood your ears as after a few painful seconds, you begin to move up and down, slowly at first but quickly getting faster, deeper - the excruciating pain of feeling him stretching you up entirely as if it was your first time again, gives in to the deep pleasure of having him hitting your spot each time you thrust against him.
Simon is a groaning, gasping mess beneath you; his hips move uncontrollably against yours, he grabs a handful of your hair and pulls it back exposing your cleavage to him, so he can suckle onto your soft skin - leaving marks all over you.
“Mine, aren’t you.” He groans while fucking you hard, kissing all over you like a dog who crawls back to its owner. “You feel so fuckin’ good- ah-” he takes you in a sloppy kiss, your hands digging his back in raw flesh; 
“Y-Yours.” You reply in a gasping voice, almost out of air yourself. 
Without much time to tell beforehand, your eyes roll up and his movements grow faster. You grab his shoulders, feeling your own climax start to flood through your body intensely, your legs tighten and your walls tighten against him; your clit throbs, and you grunt.
“Simon- I love you-” You moan, and your inability to keep moving now, with all your muscles suddenly relaxed and your cunt painfully overstimulated by his continuing thrusts, causes him to grab your waist from both sides and lift you without further difficulty - like you’re lightweight. He fucks you through your orgasm with his thrusts getting stronger - feral, animalistic, as his stomach tightens and his muscles jump even more defined than they already are, a few beads of sweat trickle down his chest as he grunts in pleasure. 
Simon pulls out the instant he feels that crossing of lines where his consciousness loses itself to pleasure and surrenders completely to you - fast enough to spend himself on your thighs, partially, in a mess of grunts and gasps. 
Your body collapses onto his and he holds you, both of you still trying to recover from so much intensity in so little time. Little by little, he regains consciousness as he smells your hair against his nostrils; vanilla ice cream. And then, the feeling of your body against his, your thin arms seeking support around his neck - your voice, saying you love him.
Minutes later, after taking care of your needs - water, a hot shower, another clean pair of clothes, you finally find yourself snuggled in his arms. Simon’s eyes are fixed on your face, and he looks tired, but not willing to fall asleep anytime soon.
The tip of his finger caresses your arm, and the morning sun starts to come through the window.
“Do you think we’ll ever work together?” You break silence, gazing through his eyes with uncontrollable love. He sighs tired, and after a couple seconds, replies.
“I’ll break your heart once or twice; you’ll break mine. Isn't that how every relationship is supposed to work?” 
“Yes, but if so, why didn’t it work before then?” You close your eyes. He caresses your scalp, your beautiful hair, and closes his eyes as well.
“You look beautiful in the morning.” He mutters. “Not only in the morning, of course.”
“Simon…”
“Come back to me.” He asks, and it sounds like begging. Like crawling. 
You open your eyes, but his are still closed. You smile.
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sameschmidtdiffname · 2 months
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Princess
Mike Schmidt x Female! Reader
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Summary: You detest having a roommate. You enjoy cheap rent. One of these things is going to have to change at some point, and with the week you're having? There's only so long before people reach a breaking point.
Tags: Smut. Filthy smut. (This is the first smut I've published too, so enjoy that.) Enemies to lovers, mocking, Mike is so OoC at some parts you could really shove anyone into this role, I'm going to be so extremely for real. (I'm honestly just feral for the actor. Sorry.) Hate fucking, dirty talk, cursing, cucking(??), listening in, masturbating, dumbification, slight dacrophillia(??), Abby's out of the equation for this scenario. Imagine like, early 20s Mike, he's not caretaker yet. Praising, pet names (good girl, princess, whore, pretty girl), no use of Y/N. Dom! Mike, teasing Reader, Brat (??) Reader, phone sex, walking in on masturbation, walking in on sex, possessive! Mike, hickies/bite marks, finger sucking, hair pulling, slut shaming, probably missing some things imma be honest. Just assume this is depraved.
Notes: I'd like to apologize to God and Josh Hutcherson. This is filth and I recognize my eternal soul is indeed damned. Anyways, bone apple teet.
▪︎◇{¤♧■♧¤}◇▪︎
I didn't mind Mike when I met him, you know.
He's quiet. Shy. Keeps to himself. Those traits should make for a good roommate. If he'd kept his mess confined to his room, maybe the music that he blares just a little too loudly wouldn't be so headache inducing.
My fingers rap on the thin door, demanding his attention which is never given to me unless I make a production out of it. We both know that.
"Michael," I say.
Silence.
"Mike."
Nothing.
I open the door and there he is, peacefully asleep on his bed as the bass shakes the water in his glass. I sigh and click off the stereo, then turn to leave. It's incredible how quickly I hear him shift on the bed, scrambling to stand.
"The fuck?" He croaks, wiping sleep from his eyes.
"Your music was blaring. I already heard it from Mrs. Jones upstairs about you waking her kid up, I'm not dealing with that again," I say raising my hands up in the air defensively.
"I don't sleep well," he says.
"Neither does the baby," I say.
Mike rolls his eyes, turning the music back on and turning his back to me.
"Michael-"
"Don't call me that," he interrupts.
It's my turn to roll my eyes. "Schmidt, can you at least turn it down? I'm asking nicely," I say. He stands there for a moment and though I can't see his face, I know he's thinking.
Finally, with a sigh he says "Fine, princess."
"Don't call me that," I say. I hear a small huff of laughter from him and he turns to look at me.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hit a nerve?" He asks with false sympathy.
"It's a simple request," I say. My eyes narrow at him in irritation.
"Which one?"
"Both."
We stand there for a moment, both of us sizing the other up, taking each other in.
"Fine."
"Fine."
"Fine."
With the agreement having been made, I turn to leave, shutting the door behind me.
Year long lease. Joy.
-Tuesday-
"Hurry up!" Yells Mike, pounding on the bathroom door.
"I'm fucken hurrying!" I yell back, my hands working as fast as they can to wash off my body. Late alarm, fever dreams causing me to wake in a pool of stinking sweat, and one bathroom make for a horrendous cocktail of repeated 'fuck you's through the cheap door.
"I'm gonna be late!" Mike yells.
"So am I, I'm sorry!"
There's a moment of long silence and I think maybe Mike has finally found a spot of pity, realizing that maybe we aren't enemies but simply humans who unfortunately have to coexist in this world together. Then the water turns freezing, and I realize I hate him.
"Michael!" I practically scream. Traces of soap still reside on my body, but the cold and my alarm both force me out. Angered and not thinking clearly, I wrap the towel around my dripping waist and swing the door open.
"Are you fucking happy?" I sneer, face inches from his.
His expression is initially satisfied, but as his eyes flicker downwards he and I both realize my mistake. His eyes widen, lingering for a moment on my bare chest as he processed what he was seeing, then returning to meet my glare.
"What?" I ask sharply. "You've never seen a pair before?"
He stammers. "I-I have."
"Don't act like it," I say. "Take a fucken photo, be the only pair you'll probably ever see in your life, dicksmack."
As though he remembers himself, his eyes narrow. "Move, princess."
I slam past him, walking quickly towards my room and slamming the door behind me.
"Don't wake the baby!" Mike mocks down the hall.
Oh, motherfucker. It is on.
-Wednesday-
It's hard to break a lease. It's harder when nothing as cheap exists in the area. This is a problem for both Mike and I. I know it's true for him because apparently even his bills are too troublesome to keep on the floor of his room. But despite his mess, it's him that comes barreling down the hall, bursting into my room with no warning.
"Jesus, Michael!" I start, spinning around in my chair. "Have you ever heard of knocking?"
"Have you ever heard of washing a dish?" He sneers. "It's not hard. My baby sister could do it."
"Oh, is she available? I'd love to see how she'd handle your laundry situation," I retort.
"Why is it impossible for you to actually wash something? You'll put water in it, let it soak. I respect that, but then you never come back to it. Do you enjoy flies? I think you enjoy flies," he says with hate dripping off of his words. I roll my eyes, but he's not entirely wrong either.
"Fine," I mutter. "I'll do the dishes. Sorry."
"See? Look at how hard that was, princess." He begins to turn away.
"Will you quit fucking calling me that?" I snap.
"I'm following our bargin. You're the one who slips first, princess," he says while laughing, raising his hands in defense.
A long moment passes, neither of us willing to back down.
"Do the dishes yourself," I say finally, turning back to the computer.
"Not my mess," he says.
"Too bad. I'm too delicate," I say with a faux breathiness to my voice. The door slams behind him, which has me instantly rising from my chair to race after him.
"Don't slam my door!" I say.
"You did it the other day!" He says, spinning around to face me and almost slipping on one of his shirts littering the hall. I can't help but smile at that.
"Problems?" I ask.
"Yeah, they exist in whatever demon spawned you," he hisses. His eyes catch on something though, narrowing as he leans slightly closer. "The fuck is on your neck?" He asks.
"The fuck you mean 'the fuck is on my neck?'" I ask.
"I mean you've got something on your neck," he says.
"No I don't," I say. "Move." I shove past him to enter the bathroom beside us, flicking on the light and feeling my irritation rise as he reaches to do the same thing simultaneously.
"See?" He says, pointing at a small, dark mark on my neck.
Fuck.
"I don't fucken know what that is," I lie, covering it with my hand.
"You liar, that's a hickey!" He says still pointing at it.
"Is not!"
"Is too. What, are you fucking some high-schooler?" He scoffs.
"Adults leave hickies too, Mike. It can be enjoyable. You'd know this if someone ever wanted to fuck you," I spit back.
"Who on earth would enjoy having sex with you?" He asks. "The only loads you leave attract flies I don't want to have to deal with come summer."
My jaw drops in shock.
"And the only loads you leave smell like menthols and depression!" I retort.
Staring. Always staring with this guy. Jaws clentched, eyes narrowed.
"Just don't bring this guy around here," he finally says. His voice is quieter but the edge is still there.
I blink. "What?"
"You heard me," he says. "I don't need to hear your shrill voice like that."
Am I imagining things or is he blushing? No, I'm definitely imagining things. It's the florescents.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I taunt. The fuck kind of response was that?
His eyes widen slightly. "No," he says a little too quickly.
"What, you get one look at my tits and now you're thinking about that degenerate shit?" I press, stepping closer.
"I don't- this-" He's blundering. I've got him now, I've found his weak spot.
Without a word, I slip out of the bathroom and return to my room, shutting the door and beginning a plan that will guarantee I won't have to worry about being the roommate that breaks lease and looks for a new apartment.
-Thursday-
"Are you close, baby?" The sweet voice on the phone asks me. The battery on my toy is flashing, showing one of us needs to finish soon. And while I like Nick, there was just something lacking in him that kept me on this irritating edge, hiding my release from me.
"I'm close," I confirm, switching hands to try and hit a new angle. The video on the computer is doing nothing to help with this at all, and I'm so bored I'm tempted to just fake it and seal the deal.
The plan was simple. Establish dominance over my roommate via fucking a guy I'd met at some party the week before. Nick was an easy target, too busy thinking with his dick to question why I was suddenly insistent on him coming over. And to guarantee his presence at the apartment, I would have to put in work. Not that I wasn't fully uninterested. He was alright, I was single. Beneficial for everyone involved.
The vibrator finally found that sweet spot, the one that made me cry out softly into the receiver as my wrist pumped with newfound vigor.
"Close," I told Nick. "Isn't as good as you though."
Nick chuckles softly. "You're sweet," he says. Then he's prattling sweet praises, whimpering into the phone breathily along with me as I finally begin to tip over the edge, moaning loudly and clearly. It's my luck that Mike should be at work at this moment.
Should be.
Wasn't.
The door opens as Mike walks in, his mind obviously focused on something else but immediately taken aback at the sight of me sprawled upon the bed, legs open, toy in hand, Nick on phone, porn on computer. Shit.
"Jesus!" Mike shouts. "It's the middle of the day!"
"Get the fuck out!" I shout back, my voice less vicious than I'd like given that I was mid-ruined orgasm. Mike covers his eyes, trying to stumble out of the door without looking, muttering a dozen apologies a second before finally reaching and slamming the door shut behind him.
Nick and I are both silent for a long while, neither of us sure what to say.
"So... I'll see you tomorrow?" I ask finally.
"...yeah." He says. And with the click of my phone, the plan is solidified.
-
I don't see Mike that evening until about three hours later when he finally emerges from his room with pink cheeks and clothed in a large hoodie he seems to wish would swallow him whole.
"Hey," I say to him. I chew on my cheap food slowly, flipping through my novel at the cluttered table.
"Hi," he says quietly, not really making eye contact with me. He crosses to the cabinets, taking out a glass and filling it with water. We listen to the tap for a moment before I finally say "I didn't mean for you to see that."
His eyebrows scrunch in confusion. "I got that."
More silence. The tap shuts off and he leans against the sink, taking a long sip.
"So... hickey guy?" He finally asks. And I can't help the snort that escapes me.
"Nick," I say.
"And he's...?" Mike is testing the waters, that much is obvious.
"Canadian," I say.
Mike nods. Sip. Silence.
"Nick, from Canada," he says slowly.
"Yep," I say, popping the 'p.'
Mike looks at his drink in thought.
"So you're into Canadians," he finally says. I think for a moment.
"No," I say. I mark my book and close it. "Just bored."
"Just bored?" Mike asks.
"Just bored," I confirm.
Sip. Silence. Thinking.
"You... do that regularly?" He asks.
"I mean... I like sex," I say.
His cheeks redden at that, and he takes another sip as though to hide that.
"He's coming over tomorrow," I say casually. Mike's eyes dart to mine, dark and wide.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Another sip. He finishes his glass.
"Should I find plans for tomorrow?" He asks finally.
"No," I say a bit too quickly. Both of our cheeks redden at that. "I mean, we won't... shouldn't...." I don't know what I mean.
Mike stares at me thoughtfully for a moment then looks back to the glass in his hand.
"You're pretty loud, princess," he finally says quietly.
There's a new tension in the air. One that isn't brought on by hate or dirty dishes. One that I don't mind strangely.
"You could join us, if you'd like," I offer. Mike's grip on the glass tightens so suddenly I'm almost surprised it doesn't burst.
"I- I'm pretty sure I'd get in the way," he stammers. Then his eyes darken, a strange look in them. "Besides, I don't like being a whore."
This comment stings. Deeply.
"I'm not a whore," I say defensively.
"Oh?" Mike asks.
"He's the only guy I've fucked in months, so yeah," I say.
"Oh, is that why I hear you moaning late at night all the fucking time?" Mike says. "Seriously, you're fucking loud."
"And you're a fucking virgin," I snap.
"Says who?" He asks.
"Forget it," I say. I gather my things and rise from my chair. "Don't fucking talk to me."
"Fine," he scoffs. "I'll wash this dish too, princess," he calls after me.
I spin around. "You would be so much more fuckable if you were easy to swallow," I snapped, stomping my foot like a child.
Both of us stare at each other in a bit of shock at what I just said.
"Most girls swallow just fine, thank you," he retorts.
"Who's the whore now?" I say. I don't wait for him to respond, slamming the door shut behind me.
Fine. Let him hate me. That's the whole point of this anyways. Then it'll be me and someone else in this terrible fucking apartment. Maybe it'll be Nick. Anyone would be better, I tell myself.
...
...how easy is Mike to swallow?
-Friday-
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't struggling to remember the correct name right now.
Nick is underneath me, pumping his cock in and out like no tomorrow as I grind against him. My jaw is slack, my hands buried in the blankets fabric underneath of us. I'm staring at the thin door though, the thin door that I know leaks every little noise whether there's a towel under the enormous crack or not. And the shadows of footsteps that I see make it all the easier for Nick to continue his shallow rhythm, edging me closer and closer.
"Mi-Nick," I moan loudly. It sounds endearing, thankfully. But my heart races at how close I've come to fucking things up in a few different ways. "Fuck, you're thick," I moan. It's not particularly true, but his size is fine, so what's an ego boost to help him along the way?
Nick is sweet underneath of me, moaning that I'm his, that we're each others. That's great and all, but God. There is this missing edge. And it isn't until I hear pounding on the bedroom door that I finally feel real excitement begin to flow through me.
"We need to talk," Mike's voice says firmly.
Nick looks guilty, his eyes wide and asking for silent guidance. I don't respond, simply continuing to slide up and down Nick's cock and moaning while doing so.
"Hey, princess," Mike says firmer, pounding on the door again. "Think you can stop Oh-ing Canada and come talk to me like a fucking adult?"
I don't stop, grinding harder against Nick's base. My hands find my clit, rubbing it as I respond.
"I told you you were welcome to join us," I moan. Nick looks at me like I've gone utterly insane, and maybe I have. Maybe I'm completely delusional about all of this, but I couldn't care less as I feel my dripping cunt tighten to the point even Nick doesn't care what happens so long as he comes inside of me.
"Mi-Nick," I moan. "Mi-ne, mi-ne." Come on, Schmidt. Catch the fucking hint.
All night I had been plauged with dreams about Michael fucking Schmidt. I'd noticed when we met he was attractive to me. I liked his hands, his stubble. God, his shoulders made me think things that will probably send me straight to Hell. But hate usually kept these thoughts at bay. Last night however, the dreams wouldn't stop coming. Over and over, a new fantasy of him emerged in my head. Him underneath of me as a writing mess, him begging for more, my tits in his mouth as he finished inside me. It was depraved. I wanted it.
The door bursts open just as Nick is finishing inside of me. It's the look in Mike's eyes that causes me to finish, all while keeping eye contact with him as well.
Nick is quick to flip me on my back, covering my body haphazardly with a blanket prattling excuse after excuse. Apparently we're sorry. Apparently we had gotten too wrapped up in the moment because apparently, you know how it is, right man?
But it doesn't matter. Mike isn't looking at Nick, who's pulling on his shirt above me. Mike's looking at me, watching my fingers that trail gently along my areolas, flicking lightly at my hardened nipples and clearly longing for more.
"Mike wouldn't know the first thing about pleasing a woman," I say with little thought.
"Oh?" Both of them ask me.
"I think you should leave, Nick. Mike and I are going to have a little talk, and I don't want you to see how ugly this may get," I say without breaking eye contact with Mike.
The sudden shift in the air is not subtle, so maybe that's why Nick doesn't really hesitate to listen to me.
"I'll call you later," he says as he stumbles past Mike.
"Don't bother," Mike calls after him. Mike slams the bedroom door shut, locking it before turning to me and raising an eyebrow.
"Is there something you'd like to say to me?" Mike asks, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms as his stands tall.
My hand dips to between my thighs where Nick and I's cum pools out, coating me in the thick stuff.
"Sorry," I say in a spoiled tone, smiling.
Mike's eyes scan my entire body. From the hickies coating my neck, to my breasts and even my thighs, I can see a new wave of anger washes over him. At least, it looks like anger. There's something else mixed with it too, something I desperately want to play with.
"You're not sorry for shit," he says. He's correct.
"I told you last night, I like fucking people," I say as my fingers circle my clit.
Mike's jaw tightens. "You like fucking people," he repeats.
I can see him grind his teeth. He's silent for another moment. "And do you like... him?"
I giggle. "You tell me," I say with a soft and low voice.
His eyebrows twitch. "You're still... going?" He asks with an unsure edge to his voice.
"Yes, Michael. This is what a woman looks like when she's turned on," I say in a mocking tone, batting my lashes as my fingers dip into my entrance. "Would you like to try?"
He steps closer, bending down ever so slightly to stand over me.
"Don't call me that," he says in a low growl.
"Make me," I taunt.
He blinks.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
A startled yelp escapes me as Mike grabs my hips, dragging me roughly to the edge of the bed. He spreads my legs, stepping between them and slips his rough thumb inside of me with no hesitation.
"Fuck. You do like him," he groans, his other hand fiddling with his belt. I can see how hard he is underneath his jeans, his fingers clumsy but working quickly at the items covering him.
"He's oka-ay," I say quickly, my voice trailing off into a soft moan. His thumb explores the inside of my cunt, probing the wet muscle and massaging inside of me spots a man had never taken time to look for before. "Your finger's thick," I moan.
Mike chuckles, freeing himself and pumping into his hand slowly as he presses his thumb deeper inside of me.
"You told Nick he was thick too," he says. "That just your line with guys?"
It is, but this time I actually mean it. So I shake my head. "No," I say quietly.
"I don't believe you," Mike says. He slips his thumb out of me, making me clench around nothing. I open my mouth to protest only for Mike to quickly shove his thumb into my mouth, touching the back of my throat while he sinks his cock into me.
"Go on, pretty girl," he moans. "Take it like the proud whore you are."
I gag around his thumb, both from the sudden intrusion and from the taste. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't like this, if I said that his actions didn't make me even more wet and that I didn't suck his thumb greedily, wrapping my tongue around it and sucking it clean until I can only taste his rough flesh. I swear it makes his dick twitch.
His cock slides in and out of me with ease, taking his time to feel how I wrap around him.
"Fuck," he drawls. "It's been awhile."
I moan around his thumb, running my tongue along the underside and trying to rock my hips against him to tell him to speed up. Instead, he presses a hand down on my lower stomach, pinning me down as he sinks in fully. At first glance his size is average, but inside of me it's overstimulating how he fills me just a little too much.
His thumb presses further into my throat, making me gag as he tilts his head back in pleasure.
"You are just demanding. Do you know that?" He asks. I try to respond, but he simply presses his thumb against a spot that makes me gag once more.
"Nothing's good enough for you. Not even Nick. You didn't even cum until I came in here," he laughed cruelly, looking down at where we connect. His other thumb trails down to rub my clit slowly, making me writhe underneath him and clench around his still cock.
"Never shutting up. Till now. I like it when you're quiet, princess. Makes you easier to swallow." He presses deeper inside of me, making me whine in overstimulation.
"You're mine now," he says, slowly pulling out. "You can call Nick all you want. Call him, fuck him. But we both know he's not gonna make you cum like I will." Just his tip remains in me, barely staying in before he slams back into me so hard I scream.
"So what's the point?" Mike asks, slowly slipping out once more. "Do you like pitting men against each other like that?" He slams back into me. My eyes water, but I don't protest.
This time when he pulls back, he stays there. I wait for him, trying to he patient. But then he removes his thumb and wraps his hand around his length instead.
"What?" I ask, my voice raw.
"Say it," Mike says as he jerks himself off slowly.
"Say what?" I ask.
"I'm not gonna fuck you like you want unless you say you're mine," he says casually. His tip is bright red and leaking precum, his length coated in Nick and I's milky cum.
"Fuck you," I say. Mike just laughs.
"You're the one laying here crying over some dick," he taunts. "I just want to make sure we're on the same page here, princess."
I try to hold strong, I really do. It'd be more fun if I did. But fuck. The way he stands over me, his shoulders broad. I could never deny I liked the sight of his hands either, and seeing them tug as his pulsing cock while he stared down at me with that stupid fucking smile?
It's not fair.
"I'm yours," I say quietly.
"Hmm?" Mike asks, pumping his dick quicker now. I can see how hard his veins are, and the sounds of him fucking his own hand make me want him more.
"Yours," I repeat slightly louder.
"Use proper English," he says. His face has this stupid blissful look on it, his mouth slightly open as he pants, fucking himself and watching me as he does.
"I am yours," I hiss through gritted teeth. It doesn't even take a full second before he's buried in me once more, his hands pinning my knees to my shoulders and fucking me with enough speed I'm genuinely scared he'll hurt me. And I love it.
"I'm going to make you mine," he grins, his voice suddenly turning feral.
"I'm going to make you mine so much that you won't even be able to remember what Nick's name is, let alone what he looks like. Or what he feels like."
"Uh huh," I whine. My voice is so unusually high and ragged, my mouth slack and eyes rolling back in pleasure. I rock against his hips, trying to find my second edge. I'm babbling, whether I'm asking for mercy or more is anyone's guess.
He laughs at me, and it's a harsh and cruel laugh - not at all like the usual sarcasm and mockery he displays. Instead, his laugh comes from a place that is raw and angry and vicious, the kind of laugh a wolf makes when he's about to go for the kill.
"What's the matter?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm and mocking. "Not quite the big, bad man that he's made you think he was, is he? How disappointing," he continues, his hips thrusting into me repeatedly.
I cry loudly with each new thrust. His movements are cruel, borderline abusive. Christ, I love it.
"Bigger," I whine. "Bigger."
He teeth nip at my throat, sinking in hard enough I'll be wearing sweaters and scarves for weeks. Makeup won't touch the color.
"Bigger?" He asks in a mocking voice. "What's bigger?"
"You're bigger," I moan. My voice is broken, and there's no way the neighbors don't hear the degeneracy occurring around them. Sorry, Mrs. Jones.
"What are you going for?" he snaps, his eyes narrowing and his voice growing more and more vicious. "Big bad Mike?" he giggles, his grip tightening on my ankles as he continues plunging into me.
A loud scream escapes me as Mike finds my g spot. He doesn't relent, focusing on the spot and abusing it while I sob and try to wiggle away, completely overstimulated from pleasure and unable to handle it.
His hands pin me against him, trapping me where I am and forcing me to take him however he wants me to.
"You want more?" he asks, taking one hand away from my ankles, grabbing and pulling my hair harshly, forcing me to stare into his eyes. His pupils are so blown out I can't even see his pretty hazel irises. They're dark and predatory, his breath hot and heavy with rage.
"Is that what you want?" he asks, pulling back and plunging into my aching cunt again.
"Yes!" It's a violent scream that escapes me, feeling myself begin to tip over the edge. His eyes sparkle, his lips in a smile that shows he knows he's won.
"And what would Nick say if he could see you like this? All mine, all mine..." he taunts.
"Huh?" I'm completely stupid, my body coming undone so suddenly around his dick with cries, screams, whimpers and everything inbetween. Nick was foreplay and I've no mental energy to remember any detail that isn't Mike's.
"Don't even know his name?" Mike laughs. "You can't even remember his name, can you?" he grins, his eyes narrow again as he tugs my hair and shoves himself in further.
"Uh uh," I pant in a high voice. My body shakes terribly, his pounding length already edging me once more as he continues abusing my spot. How on earth am I supposed to walk after this?
"Then let me help you remember his name," he says. "Say his name."
"Mike," I moan pathetically. I'm right back on that edge, crying and feeling as though I'll burst from overstimulation.
"Louder," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm and mocking. "Say it louder. Say his name loud enough for him to hear you."
"Mike!" I scream it religiously as I come undone a second time, gripping him to the point I can feel how close he is too. I hear him laugh above me, his other hand now wrapping around my throat and choking me slightly.
"That's my name," he says with mocking gentleness. "Say his name or I won't finish."
"I don't remember," I sob. Jesus Christ, do I have problems? "Just want you!"
His face glows, his lips split into a wide grin of satisfaction.
"So you want me, do you, princess?"
I nod pathetically. He's throbbing, slamming into me hard enough it may draw a third climax in a row.
His laugh is cruel above me, his lips landing on top of mine in a wet, possessive kiss. His tongue fills my mouth, forcing me to take him as the sounds of him fucking me like a depraved animal makes me whine in desperation.
He pulls away, a long string of spit between us connecting our lips.
"Then I'll give you what you want, princess," he says. "But there's a price."
"Uh huh," I agree. My eyes roll back as my body twitches, barely able to focus as he thrusts into me.
"Look at me," he says patiently, tugging my hair once more. When I manage to remember how, he let's out a long 'aw,' smiling down at me with false sweetness as I stare dumbly into his eyes. I suppose I'm staring into his eyes. God, I'm stupid.
His thumb grazes my jaw, tutting as he examines my face closely.
"Your eyes are pretty...*" he says, his voice sweet and tender, almost like I've made him soft and vulnerable, but his cock pounding into me causes the beginning of a headache that won't let me forget how much we hate each other. "Your eyes are pretty, your mouth is pretty..."
I lick my lips and nod lightly.
"You are just such a pretty girl, aren't you?" He asks. I nod, my body twitching uselessly as my third climax washes over me.
"Good girl," he praises. "All fucked out over me. That's good."
Suddenly and without warning, he pulls out quickly and shoves my face down close to his cock, coming all over my face. It's thick and everywhere. In my hair, my mouth. I can't even open my eyes.
"Stay like that," Mike commands as he lays me on my back. His softening cock reenters me and pumps lazily, his purpose to make sure he's fully emptied.
"Any new thoughts?" He asks me in a strange tone, light and amused. I simply moan, relishing the moment. He chuckles and spreads my legs so he can better see what is happening between us. It isn't until I hear the chime of his camera confirming a recording that I realize what he's done.
"Mike?" I ask, barely able to think straight.
A low laugh escapes him, cruel but warm.
"I want to show your new boyfriend the real you," he says. "Make sure we're all on the same page here, right?
...Fuck me, I have problems.
¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤
Thanks for reading, pookies. See y'all in hell.
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whorekneecentral · 3 months
Text
Family's Growing
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Kylian Mbappe x Fem!Reader
Warnings: kylian has baby fever, dirty thoughts, baby talk, breeding, oral (f!receiving), fingering, penetrative sex (p in v), breeding/pregnancy kink goes burrrr, daddy used in a sexual context, begging, creampies, finger fucking and sucking lol, cum play.
Word Count: 1,615
Author's Note: okay I'm finally back on track with these - yes I know Tuesday is over but please look past that lol.
merry smutmas series
--
Kylian finds himself swooning over how good you are with his niece and nephew, the thought of having a family with you spins around his head. 
Christmas was a time for family and that seemed to be the only thing on your boyfriend's mind.
The two of you had gone over to his parents' place for Christmas dinner, all of his cousins were there as well as their kids. Kylian was not the favourite uncle for no reason, all of them knew they were getting good gifts in bountiful amounts too.
The tree in the living room that was once full with presents were now opened, the floor covered in wrapping paper. It was only two kids, his cousin's son and daughter, and Ethan if you counted him as well; and yet, it seemed like Kylian had bought the entirety of Paris for them.
Kylian watches as you lay on the floor with his niece and nephew, the three of you putting together a tower made of legos, whispering and giggling as you built the tower.
He smiles to himself as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. A part of him isn't sure what he did to be so lucky, to have a career as great as his and to have a girlfriend who's so loving and kind and supportive. You loved his family like your own, right now was a prime example.
Seeing you with kids always did something for him, you had a maternal nature about you, anyone who met you could see that.
The thought crossed his mind many times, how nice it would be to start a family with you. You two had spoken about it ages ago, when you began dating. You both decided that you'd revisit the idea when you were more stable in life and that you were now. Both you and Kylian were stable in careers, you two lived together, you had been together for a while and you had the means to raise a child.
He couldn't see where it would be a no.
As much as he wanted a kid with you, the idea of making a kid was much more appealing.
Clothes on the floor, hands all over each other, watching as you begged him to cu- "You okay?" Ethan asks his older brother, breaking his thought.
Kylian clears his throat. "Yeah," he nods, a smile on his face as you glance over your shoulder at him.
"They love her," Ethan nods towards you with the kids, "y/n's always been good with them."
"She was good with you too," Kylian teased his brother. You two had begun dating just before his World Cup win, the two of you barely 18 years old and Ethan was 12 - still a child in his brother's eyes and he always will be.
Ethan rolls his eyes at his brother's comment.
After some time, the kids started to get tired which was their parents' signal to head out. You and Kylian left not too shortly after that as well.
Your boyfriend finds you in the kitchen after he changes for bed, his arms wrapped around you from behind whilst your elbows propped on the counter as you waited for the kettle to boil.
"Something on your mind, baby?" You asked him, twirling the string attached to your tea bag.
"Just thinking."
"About?"
Kylian hums. "Kids."
His answer catches you off guard, you turn to face the man with a confused look on your face. "Kids?"
He shrugs, smiling. "Seeing you with the little ones today, I don't know - it got me thinking. It'd be nice to have our own, don't you think?" His hand rests on your hip, thumb disappearing under the hem of your shirt.
A glance at your boyfriend's hand, your eyebrows raised. "Do you really mean having kids or making kids?"
You can't help the laugh, kissing your boyfriend. The man wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him. Kylian picks you up, holding you tightly as he kisses you and carries you over to the couch.
Kylian puts you down, sitting on the couch for a moment as he looks at you. You take that as your sign to undress.
The silk shorts sliding down your smooth legs, pooling by your ankles before you step out of them, you pull off the tank top and that leaves you in the blue set he loves. You reach behind to unhook your bra but Kylian stops you, “leave it on.” 
He pulls you by your waist back to him, his hand slipping down to rest on your ass before giving it a smack. You’re quiet, looking down at your boyfriend on the couch. 
He puts you to lay on the couch, he’s sat between your legs with one on either side of him. You’ve propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him and Kylian drags his fingers up your thigh, moving to your clothed pussy. 
“I like this,” he tells you, fingers rubbing over the blue lace. 
You smile, “I know.” 
He pulls the panties to the side, his eyes fixed on your pussy. He gives you no warning, pushing his fingers into you. The sound leaving your mouth was like heaven on earth to him. 
Kylian's fingers curl upwards, your back arching at the feeling. 
“Keeks, please.” your hand reaches down to wrap on his wrist but he swats your hand away, managing to pull both to rest on your stomach and his free hand over your hands, pinning them to your stomach. 
You try to wiggle your hands away from him, trying to grab on something. “Behave.” He tells you, adding another finger. 
Your face twists, pleasure all across it and our hands stop wiggling, he smiles, satisfied. 
Kylian can feel it; he knows you’re close, you’re squeezing on his fingers, your thighs trying to close, trying to squirm away from the pleasure. 
He can feel your eyes on him, he reaches for the blue lace you’re wrapped up in and tugs it down your legs, letting it fall to the floor with the rest of your clothes. He shifts to lay on his stomach between your legs, leaving a trail of kisses as he works his way up to your cunt. 
Your eyes meet his, he knows you’re looking. He wants you to look at him. 
Your hips buck when you feel his tongue against your clit, your hand gripping on his hair. 
Kylian knew you like the back of his hand, gripping your thighs to keep them in place as his tongue lapped your clit. Your hips buck, your way of saying you want more, he gives in. 
"Please," you whimpered.
"What, mon ange ? Tell me."
You look at the man between your legs. "Fuck me."
There was no hidden meaning behind it; no scolding, no need to hurry him up - you wanted him and that was it. 
“Gonna let me fill you up princess? Hm?” He asks, shifting to line himself up with your cunt. You nodded eagerly, your leg hitching on his hip.
At this point, you can’t do much except lay there and take it; not that you don’t want to because you do, you really do. 
The tip of his cock brushing over your clit before moving to push into you. Your back arches, hips jutting forward to meet his.
Hard and rough, not enough to hurt you but enough to tell you that he's in charge.
Kylian wanted to hear you.
His hand now on your chin. “C’mon amour, let me hear all those pretty sounds you make.” He says, the angle you were at puts him deeper than before.
The slightest movements and you can feel it in your stomach. It’s like he can hear your thoughts because his hand moves from your chin to your stomach. His big hand spread over your stomach, “you’d look so pretty with a baby in you, hm?”
Kylian lets you fall back onto the couch, both of his hands on your hips. “Maybe I should fuck one into you.”
His name falls from your lips like a prayer, he could listen to you say it over and over again. You were close enough that you could taste it.
“So good for me, you take it so well.” He whispers to you, kissing under your ear.
“Uh huh,” you breathe, leaning back against him, your legs felt like jello under you. Your head drops back onto the couch, begging him to let you cum.
He lets you drop back, back arched for him once again. He feels you cum around him, the wetness covering his cock. It’s not long after, followed by a few sloppy thrusts, that Kylian cums too.
The tip of his cock brushing between your folds, spreading his cum all over your pussy.
He pulls away, smiling at the whimper he gets from you. His fingers replacing his cock, covered in his cum when you roll over, he sticks his fingers in your mouth and he doesn’t have to tell you what to do.
“Good girl,” he hums, watching as your tongue laps over his fingers. Kylian pulls his fingers away, leaning down to kiss you. A mess of the two of you, not sure where one of you starts and the other ends.
You lay there for a while, Kylian on top of you, your leg tossed on his hip as his head rests on your sternum. Your fingers drag over his shoulders, the man humming quietly.
"We should do that again," he whispers.
You laughed, "keep it up and we'll end up with a baby by next Christmas."
Kylian nods, kissing you. "Let's try again then."
--
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Text
when i think about you, i touch myself
pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader
summary: you & eddie have been friends forever. when he arrives early to your house one day to hang out, he encounters something unexpected.  part 1 of 2.
word count: 2.6k 
warnings: smut, obviously. basically reader touches herself and eddie watches, unbeknownst to her. 
a/n: i don’t know if anything like this has been done yet, so i’m sorry if it has! i have no time to read or see every single fic out there. if you want added to the taglist, let me know! also, this should go without saying, but minors DNI. 
_________________________________
Hanging out with y/n had always been a major highlight for Eddie. The two had been friends since her arrival in Hawkins during Eddie’s second senior year, when she herself had entered her first & only senior cycle. She chose to remain in Hawkins after she graduated, a fact that left Eddie completely baffled. She was smart, she was driven, she could grab the world by the ass if she wanted, so why stay in a shitty town like Hawkins? In any case, though, Eddie was glad that she was still there; it gave him something to look forward to, aside from Hellfire Club and shows with his band.
Weekends belonged mostly to them, unless they had other obligations. She also never missed one of his Tuesday shows, and they always hung out together afterward. They would go to one of their homes–usually hers–where they listened to music, smoked weed, drank beer, and just enjoyed each other’s company. Not only did they have fun every time they were together, but they were each other’s rock. Eddie didn’t have a best friend–hell, he barely had a handful of real friends–but y/n was as close as it got for him. When something good happened, she was the first he went to so they could celebrate together. When he needed to vent, or was angry, or frustrated, she was the first he came to so that she could calm him down; it was something she was damn good at doing. They knew everything about each other–or at least, almost everything. Eddie had a secret, one that he would never dare speak aloud. 
He was in love with her. 
He could even pinpoint the exact moment it happened. It was close to the end of the 1984-85 school year, and that particular day had been terribly rainy. Neither of them had an umbrella or raincoat, and by the time Eddie had driven them to her place, it was coming down like a damn waterfall. Both had become soaked in the short distance from Eddie’s van to her front door, and they had to change into drier clothes right away. She’d put on a long shirt with shorts beneath, and she gave him some oversized clothes that she believed would fit until his own were dry. Once they were toweled off and changed, they sat on the couch to watch a movie before her parents got home. Eddie didn’t even know what the film was, nor could he tell anyone if he tried to remember. y/n had taken to lying against him, cuddling close as he held her in turn. The warmth of her body, the sound of her laughter at the film, feeling her just existing against him as her focus remained on the television…it had been the most beautifully simple thing in the world. It had opened an absolute Pandora’s box of emotions for him, and he fell fucking hard for her.
He could never tell her, though. He knew that someone as beautiful as y/n would never love him in return, nor would she ever want to. How could she, when she was a goddess and he was Eddie Munson? He was a freak, an outcast who drank too much, did too many drugs and dealt even more, was a high school senior at the age of twenty, and played D&D with a group of teenagers. Not only that, but she was always dating someone–in school and out–or gushed over this person or that person, so the feelings were likely unreciprocated. Eddie felt as if he deserved an award for not losing his shit and revealing his true feelings in the process, every damn time someone new entered her picture.
But, little did he know, things would soon change with the most unexpected turn of events.
***
One day, when Eddie and y/n were set to hang out, Eddie was supposed to practice with his band first. To his equal delight and dismay, however, the session was moved to the following day, due to another obligation of a bandmate. So, instead of waiting several hours to go see y/n, he decided to go over a little early and surprise her. He had a pack of beer and a bag of weed with their names written all over it, and was ready to unwind with her. Metallica blasted from the van’s speakers, jazzing him up as he drummed on the steering wheel and sang along. He was having a blast, and by the time he reached y/n’s, he was bursting at the seams with excitement. He wanted to get stoned off his ass, kick his feet up with a beer, and find ways to make her laugh. To him, her laughter was the best music, and he was so happy that he could bring it out of her the way he did.
Eddie pulled in behind her vehicle, killing the engine and getting out with his goods. He discovered that the front door was locked, and found the key in the hiding spot she’d once shown him. He let himself in, looking around at the empty place upon entering. It was eerily quiet, which was confusing to him. She had to be home; her vehicle was parked outside, but it appeared as if no one were there. Worry soon stole over him, and he hastily placed the beer & weed on the nearest surface before frantically searching for her. He was paranoid that something could be terribly wrong, and he knew that he would never relax until he was certain that she was alright. 
He found out where she was soon enough. As he was turning a corner to walk into another room, he heard moaning coming from upstairs. It wasn’t a painful, distressed sound; it was pleasurable, and loud enough that he heard it downstairs. Eddie stopped in his tracks, listening closely to see if he’d been correct. It was silent for what seemed like forever, and Eddie began to doubt what he heard. But then it came again, a little louder than before, and he knew that he was right in the first place. He assumed that the sound was coming from her bedroom, and Eddie couldn’t help but feel jealous at the thought of her with someone else. She wasn’t even his girlfriend, but goddammit, he was desperately in love with the girl. How much longer could he endure seeing her with other people, before it finally broke him or drove him to confess his feelings? The universe was always playing some kind of sick joke on him, but dangling y/n in front of him & then yanking her away had to be the cruelest, by far. 
Eddie listened again, inching up the stairs to get closer to her room. He heard no other voices, and no sounds that indicated she was having sex with someone. He was perplexed, but kept moving, being careful not to make any noise that would alert her. He wanted to see what was going on, and whether she was with someone else or not; he wouldn’t be able to let it go until he knew. He was aware that, while his curiosity would eat him alive if he didn’t investigate, he may not like the answer that he received. He needed it, anyway, and mentally prepared himself for what he could potentially find.
Eddie followed the sounds of her moans to her bedroom door, already feeling like a creep. Her door was open a sizable crack, and he could see through it well enough without having to open it any further and possibly giving himself away. He was relieved to see no one else in the room with her, but y/n was still moaning as she lay upon her bed. A thin blanket covered her lower half, one arm thrown above her head as the other was hidden by the covering. It clicked for Eddie what was going on, and he swallowed thickly as he watched her hand moving under the blanket. She had a shirt on, but no bra, because he could see her nipples clearly poking through the fabric as they hardened. 
While Eddie was completely stunned by the sight, he knew that it was wrong to stay. To do so would not only be such a perverted move, but it would be a complete invasion of her privacy. He reluctantly forced himself to look away, feeling flustered as he turned to leave. He would just have to come back later, at the original time he was supposed to; a few hours wasn’t too bad to wait. But damn, did he really want to stay and watch her, no matter where the hands on his morality compass sat. He had an obligation as a good friend and a decent human being to leave her to her own devices, but seeing her like that? The very girl that he’d thought about in the same way, many times, was touching herself right in front of him; to say that he was torn was a serious understatement. 
Eddie cursed under his breath, and took two steps toward the stairs. That was as far as he got, because he’d frozen dead in his tracks by what he heard next. His big brown eyes only widened, and if he’d still had hold of the stuff he brought with him, it would have dropped to the floor. The same sound came again, and Eddie swivelled on the spot to assure that it wasn’t wishful thinking. But no; it had been clear as day that second time, and then it came a third.
“Eddie!”
His name, coming in the form of a hot moan from inside of her bedroom. The first time, he’d wondered if she had seen him before he had walked away and was simply calling for him. He was in utter disbelief that she would be fantasizing over him to begin with, because why on Earth would she? Eddie did ponder the notion that it could be another Eddie, but did she even know anyone else with that name? His mind turned over every conceivable reason, but y/n did not stop saying the name. Eddie forced himself to walk back to her door, peeking in to see what she was doing. What he saw caused his breath to catch in his throat, and his gaze was immediately glued only to her. 
The blanket was down a little further, barely covering y/n’s lower half. Her fingers were working faster, and Eddie could tell from the placement of her hand that she was most likely rubbing her clit with her middle finger. The arm that was previously above her head was now grabbing at her throat, rubbing her neck before dipping inside of her shirt to grab her breast. Her back arched and her eyes squeezed shut, and she cried out as she began pulling on her nipple. The hand below the blanket slid down further as she toyed with her breast, and she gasped loudly at the sensation. A filthy string of moans escaped her, and Eddie could only assume that she was fingering herself at this point due to her new hand placement. 
Eddie could feel blood rushing to his cock, and he stood rooted in place as he continued to watch. He felt like some sort of disgusting creep, and he didn’t know how he could look her in the eye ever again. At the moment, however, the most rational part of his brain had gone out the window. His jeans were growing tighter by the second due to everything she was doing to herself in there, and his mind was now clouded with lustful judgment. Every stroke of her fingers, every pinch of her nipple, every sound she made, it was driving him absolutely wild. He didn’t think he could ever be more attracted to her, but this whole situation was proving him completely wrong.
“Eddie,” she breathed, her eyes still closed as she massaged her breast. Eddie could see her rolling the hardened bud of her nipple between her fingers, and her head snapped back as she fucked herself even deeper and more rapidly. Her breath quickened, and a lazy smile formed on her lips as she mewled. “Eddie, fuck…”
y/n’s hand shifted to the opposite breast, and he noticed the hitch of her breath when she made contact. Her legs were shaking under the blanket, and her back lifted slightly from the mattress once more. Her hand moved upward after a few minutes, rubbing quick circles on her clit as she began to grow louder & more desperate in volume. It was the hottest fucking thing that Eddie had ever seen, and he felt so dirty for even thinking it. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, and yet there he stood, spying on his best friend while she had a personal moment. It felt like such a violation, but his goddamn never-ending curiosity had forced him to remain there. Not only did he want to watch her masturbate to him, but he had a nagging desire to know what she was thinking. What had gotten her so worked up in the first place? What was she fantasizing about at the moment that had turned her on so much, that she had to get herself off to it? The line he was walking with the whole circumstances was a fine, risky one, but the painful erection he had was demanding he stay until she finished. After that, maybe he could–
No. No, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t make himself known and tell her that he’d heard everything. Jesus jumping Christ, what was wrong with him? If he wanted to potentially damage the friendship beyond repair, then of course he could go in there and reveal what he’d done. While the only remaining shred of sense he had was telling him that it was a stupid idea, the horny part of him needed it to happen the other way. Fuck, he wanted her so badly that he ached, and if she rejected him or never spoke to him again, then he would absolutely deserve it. But she was moaning his name; something told him that, while she may be surprised, she would most likely welcome him. Either way, he was prepared, and with a shaky sigh, he turned his full attention back to her. 
“Mmm,” she hummed, her mewls turning more heated as her breathing grew heavier. Her hands worked fast, the quickest that Eddie had seen them so far. “Shit, you feel so fucking good.”
Eddie was unable to stop the grin that formed on his face. He could tell that she was close, and sure enough, it didn’t take her long to cum. The sounds she made as she reached her orgasm were like music to Eddie’s ears, and his cock throbbed in his pants because of it. His name fell repeatedly from her lips, her face twisted in ecstasy as she arched her back, her legs pushing the thin covering further down to expose her mound. Eddie bit the corner of his lip, unzipping his fly to alleviate some of the pressure on his erection. He watched as she came down from her high, blissed out with sweat shining on her skin, her nipples still erect beneath her shirt. Her hands came into view from where they’d been, and Eddie could see the fingers that she’d used on her pussy were glistening. Eddie knew, right then and there, that he was beyond fucked. How could he not go in there, after seeing that? He was ready for anything–rejection, acceptance, anger, surprise, whatever may come. If he didn’t work up the nerve now, after everything that he’d just seen, then he never would. He knew himself well enough to know that much. 
Taking a deep breath and shelving his nerves, Eddie gave y/n a few minutes to regain herself, and then stepped inside of her room.
________________________
itty bitty taglist: @littledemondani @korescomaactuallyaactually @rriverrgrace @dumpsterfireoflove
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astraystayyh · 1 year
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skz and how they would say 'i love you' for the first time
genre : fluff. pre-established relationship.
warnings : mention of anxiety in Han's part.
this is my first ever writing here so i hope you enjoy, feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments/reblogs it will be much appreciated <33
Chan
You were in the studio, lying down on the couch while Chan worked some more on a new track. It was past 2 am, and you were trying so hard to stay awake so that you'd be able to walk home with him. Still, the day's tiredness caught up to you and you felt your eyes close slowly. The soft hums coming from Chan, the repetitive clicks on his keyboard, the stillness in the studio- it all came together like a gentle symphony that lulled you right to sleep.
Sometime later, Chan turns around stretching out a little. A smile graces his face when he looks at your sleeping figure; your cheek was squished against your arm, your hair messily sprawled around you. He slowly gets up and kneels in front of you, careful not to wake you up- he just wanted to admire you.
His finger softly grazes your brows, your nose, your cheeks and lips, as if trying to commit every single one of your features to memory. He felt guilty that he kept you up for so long, but ultimately, he was grateful that he had you with him. Your presence alone made him feel at home, because home is wherever you are.
Looking at you, a panorama of lovely memories starring you started playing in his mind. He saw you smiling at him, placing a gentle kiss on his temple. He saw you sat on his lap, your head fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck. He saw you preparing him a homemade meal and making sure he ate it.
He had found a safe haven in you, a place to rest amid the chaos that was his life. He cared for you so much that it scared him at times. He wouldn't be able to cope with losing you.
That's when it hits him; he was in love. He was in love with you. The realization didn't come like tidal waves lapping softly at the shore, instead, it crashed down on him, drowning him in everything that is you. He loves you, he's loved you for a long time and he can't imagine ever not loving you.
Chest slightly heaving, he whispers it, the softest "I love you" he's ever said. You didn't hear him since you were asleep, but he had to confess, he couldn't keep this surge of emotions inside. But don't fret, he'll tell you when you wake up. He loves you and he needs you to know it too.
Minho
Minho has known that he loved you for a while, yet the words seemed to be stuck in his throat. See, he didn't know if it was too soon to say it, would you reciprocate it? Would you be put off by his declaration? He couldn't risk you so instead he settled on doing what he does best, showing it to you.
But those pending three words plagued his mind, and he found himself longing to say them at the most random times. He'd wake up next to you and you'd smile at him, I love you, he wanted to confess. You'd prepare him breakfast while he got ready, I love you. You'd hug him goodbye, I love you. You'd remind him to drink water, I love you. The sun would cast a golden glow on your eyes, I love you. He wanted to tell you, he wanted to get this beautiful feeling off his chest. But he kept it in, and soon, it choked him, he had to say it.
On a random Tuesday, he had kissed you goodbye, your mouths meeting in the gentlest kiss as if you both had all the time in the world to love each other. And then, another kiss placed on your neck, a promise of something more. He was already at the end of the street when he stopped in his tracks. You were calling out his name, running towards him, chest heaving from the effort. He chuckled lowly to himself, you were still wearing your pajamas and the bunny slippers he bought for you, to match his own.
"What's wrong kitten?", he asks and you grab his arm, to steady yourself. Taking deep breaths, you explain, "they said it will rain and you didn't take an umbrella with you, so I brought it for you".
You hand him the umbrella and he stares at it, eyes wide. His heart was beating erratically in his chest, the small attention setting off a swarm of butterflies in his stomach. He couldn't believe that you were his and that you were this thoughtful, for him.
That's when he blurts it out, the "I love you" that was begging to be freed from the confines of his mouth. It was a relief to finally say it, it was never a secret meant for him only, he should have told you from the start. He smiles and says it again, this time much slower, savoring the way the words rolled out of the tip of his tongue "I love you, yn". He liked saying it, he realized, and he liked it more when you giggled, cradling his face between your hands, "I love you, Minho."
Changbin
This was your first-time meeting Changbin's family, and you were very nervous. You had been dating him for 5 months now, and he has finally found the perfect time for his favorite people to meet. You knew how much he cared for his family, so you needed to make a good impression on them. You wanted them to see you as family too.
Thankfully, the dinner went amazingly well. You were a little shy at first, but with Changbin's help- that came in the form of his sense of humor, you came out of your shell quickly. The conversation flowed easily between you, his parents and his sister. And you were more than happy to answer all of their questions. His mom even insisted on showing you Changbin's baby pictures, despite his begging to not "embarrass him" anymore.
You were now helping Changbin's sister in the kitchen while she plated the dessert, laughing about Binnie's childhood stories. That's when his mom leaned into his ear, whispering "I really like her, she's a good one." To that, Changbin smiled fondly, whispering a "I like her too."
Shortly after, the dinner was over and you both bid your farewells to his family, promising to come back again. As soon as you were out of the door, Changbin brings you into his arms and spins you around. You giggle, confused by his sudden outburst. When he stops, you raise a brow inquisitively at him, as he stares at you with twinkles in his eyes. "You fit right there, with my family," he explains, a soft smile on his face.
"You think that went well?" you ask, fidgeting a bit with the hem of your shirt.
"Well?! Yn, they loved you!" he whisper-shouts excitedly, before his expression turns serious. He takes in a deep breath, grabbing both of your hands in his, as if to make sure you were there and not a dream. His eyes stay on the ground for a couple for seconds before they finally meet yours, "and I love you."
"You... You love me?" you repeat, eyes wide staring into his.
"Yeah baby, I love you so much," he grins, bringing one of your hands to his mouth and brushing his lips against your knuckles.
"Binnie... I love you too," you smile, unshed tears pooling into your eyes.
"Say it again," he smiles cheekily and you laugh.
"I love you."
"Is this the happiest day of my life?" he yells at the sky and you chuckle, pulling him in for a hug.
His strong arms encircling yours, your sweet scent surrounding him, that's when a second realization hits him. He will marry you one day. But for now, that's a thought he keeps to himself.
Han
You had a date night planned with Han, a reservation in a fancy restaurant you've been dying to try out. You dressed up accordingly for the occasion and Han couldn't take his eyes off of you. "You are really pretty", he tells you for the fifth time since you picked him up and you smile "You are pretty handsome yourself", to which he winks at you.
You've finally parked in front of the restaurant when you notice that Han has gone eerily quiet. His leg is bouncing up and down anxiously, and you signal to the valet that you are not coming out yet. You angle your body towards Han, grabbing his hand in yours and rubbing soothing circles on it. "What's wrong?", you ask softly and he shakes his head, "Nothing, let's just go inside". He attempts to smile but it only comes off as a grimace, worrying you even more.
"Han, sweetheart talk to me, please. What's wrong?".
"It's nothing, I'm just... feeling anxious, I guess", he whispers and your heart constricts in your chest at how small his voice sounds. You were familiar with anxiety as well, and you've learned to notice when it sprang up inside Han. And right now, he needed to be home.
You drop his hand, put the car in reverse, and leave the parking lot. You can feel Han's eyes on you, so you turn towards him with a smile, "how about we watch a movie at home, hum? Order takeout?"
"But... The reservation? You wanted to go to the restaurant".
"We can always go another time, and besides, I just want to spend time with you. Anywhere will do", you shoot him a quick smile, before turning your attention toward the road. He is quiet for the rest of the ride, but he squeezes your hand three times; his silent "thank you". He has never appreciated you as much as he did now.
When you arrive to your apartment, you are quick to change into your pajamas, giving Han some spare clothes he left at your place. You place an order of Han's favorite comfort meal, before laying down on the couch, making grabby hands at Han for him to join you. He chuckles, then he lays between your legs, his head on top of your stomach. You play with his hair for a little while, stopping to ask him a "feeling better?", to which he nods yes.
A comfortable silence settles between the two of you, both of you enjoying the peace that you found in each other's presence. That's when Han calls out your name, "yn?"
"Yes, baby?"
"I think I love you", he says softly, his words muffled by his mouth squished against you.
Your hands pause their movement in his hair, taken aback by his sudden declaration. You could feel him hug your middle tighter so you resume your touches. It's quiet for a while when Han speaks again, "yn?"
"Yes, honey?"
"I know I love you", he says, standing up to sit on the couch and pulling you up with him. He places a soft kiss on your forehead, and you smile when he automatically lowers his forehead for you to kiss him too. That was a cute habit he had developed and it made you melt every time.
"Han?"
"Yes pretty?"
"I know I love you too", you whisper back, this time kissing him on his lips. The kiss was sweet and gentle, it was Han's way of saying "as long as you're here, as long as you love me, I'll be okay."
Hyunjin
Hyunjin was a hopeless romantic, he knew it, you knew it, and you loved him for it. He first realized he loved you when he woke up next to you for the first time. You were still asleep, the sun rays seeping through your curtains and illuminating your face in the most angelic way. You had nuzzled closer to him, whispering his name in your sleep, and his heart skipped a beat in his chest. That's when he knew, this is the sight he wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life. That's when he knew he loved you.
He wanted to take you to the beach at night, walk with you near the shore hand in hand. And then he'd tell you, he'd tell you he loved you and he'd make sure that the sea, the moon, the stars were all there to witness your blooming love.
What he didn't plan on was you heading to his dorm and picking him up with no previous announcement. You put a blindfold over his eyes and drove him to a location only you knew. You didn't budge, even when he pouted asking you countless times about where you were taking him. "You are so cute", you cooed and he smiled, before frowning again.
You took him out of your car, his hand strongly holding onto your arm. He almost tripped and you giggled, grateful that he could not see the amused expression on your face. "You are smiling right now aren't you", he accused and you laughed, "Yes, I am". He knew you too well.
When you finally entered the building, you stepped behind a bit, before telling him "You can remove the blindfold".
He does it very quickly and ends up struggling a bit, which makes you laugh even more. He playfully glares at you but his expression morphs into shock when he realizes where he is. This is an art exposition that he was dying to see, but that was going to end very soon. He couldn't go during the day, since he was very busy. And the art gallery was supposed to be closed at night, yet here they were at 10 pm.
"How did you do it?", he asks incredulously, his eyes darting around as if he couldn't settle on one piece of art to look at. Finally, he looks at you.
"Well, I knew you wanted to come, and turns out a friend of a friend knows the owner and they agreed to have it open just for us", you smile, moving closer to him and encircling his waist with your hands.
"You did this for me?", he asks, a wave of emotion swirling inside of him. This was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for him.
"Of course, I did this for you. You deserve it, angel", you grin and he grins back, cradling your face between his hands.
"I really love you", he says gently, but then he slaps a hand on his mouth as if he wasn't supposed to blurt it out.
"What did you just say?".
"I said, I like you. Anyways let's move-"
"Hyunjin Hwang, did you just tell me you love me and then tried to play it off?".
"Whaaat no", you give him a blank stare, "Maybe...? Yes", he sighs defeated, and you chuckle.
"I love you too, my idiot".
"Who are you calling an idiot also- wait? You love me?", he asks a lovestruck expression on his face. He was looking at you as if you loving him was the greatest gift the universe had to offer, it made your cheeks turn a crimson red.
"I love you, Hyunjin", you repeat and he beams at you, pulling you in for a long kiss that leaves you both breathless afterward.
"I'm in love with you, yn", he says and you giggle, "Then why did you try to take it back?".
"Because I had this whole thing planned to confess", he huffs and your heart swells inside of you.
"You know, you don't always have to do grand gestures for me, I appreciate every moment with you, even the simple ones".
"I know, my love. But I love you and I want to make every moment perfect for you", he mumbles the last part and you smile fondly at him, standing on your tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his cheek.
"Should we check this out then?", you offer and he nods eagerly, "Yes please. Also, I love you", he says again and you laugh, "I love you too".
You spend the rest of the night wandering around the art gallery. Hyunjin thought that the pictures he saw didn't do the paintings justice, or maybe it was your exchanged I love you’s that lingered in the air, seeped into every painting, and made the exposition full of the love you had for each other.
And although he loved the paintings displayed, he loved you much more. That's why, in a room full of beautiful art, he still spends most of the night looking at you.
Felix
You've never really liked the color yellow, that is until you started dating Felix. You saw him as your sun; vibrant, full of life and warm. Being with him was like finding reasons to be alive over and over again. Being with him felt like yellow.
And for Felix, you were the moon. Gentle, safe, illuminating even his darkest tunnels. Being with you felt like finding a safe haven, a place where he can rest and feel loved.
He was a happy person, you noticed. Or at least, he tried to be as happy as one could be. He liked smiling, and he loved making you smile the most. But he was human after all, and he had days where he felt tired, and off. And tonight, it was one of those days, where he came over to your apartment after a particularly long day of practice. He didn't talk much, only hugging you as soon as he set foot into your place. He absently ate the dinner you made for him, took a shower, and joined you in bed.
"Long day?", you asked him, your hand running up and down his bare arm.
"Mm, just need you", he whispered and you place a kiss on his head in response, your hand moving up into his hair to play with it. You hum a lullaby under your breath, and he nuzzles closer to you.  Your sweet voice lulling him into sleep.
Sometime later, when you were sure he fell into a deep slumber, you gently peeled yourself away from him. He grumbled in his sleep, grabbing the pillow to hug it to his chest, thinking it was you. You chuckle softly, before tiptoeing towards the kitchen.
There, you decide to bake cookies for him to have in the morning. You knew it would make him happy, and he'd get a boost of energy from it. You just hoped it would compensate for the bad day he had.
You tried to be as quiet as possible, mixing in the ingredients in the utmost silence. And when your cookies are finally in the oven, you sigh, happy that you managed to do it without waking him up. Or so you thought, because as soon as you sit down on a stool, Felix emerges into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
"What are you doing?", he asks in a small voice, his eyes still half closed.
"Baking cookies".
"At... 3 am?", he asks and you giggle, "Yes! So that you'd take them with you tomorrow".
"You made them for me?", he asks, much more awake now.
"Of course, silly. Wanted to cheer you up", you whisper softly, heat creeping up your cheeks.
He's quick to come to your side, pulling you in for a bone-crushing hug. When he pulls away, his eyes are shining brightly, like a million tiny stars found refuge inside of them. "You are so healing to my soul", he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and you lean into his touch.
"I love you. You know that, right?", he pecks your cheek, your forehead, your temple, and then your nose. Words and featherlight kisses that made you feel like you are on cloud nine.
"I love you my lixie", you say back, bopping his nose with yours, an Eskimo kiss.
"I'm the luckiest man alive to have you", his lips finally find yours and you sigh contently into the kiss.
"I should bake you cookies more", you tease and he laughs, "I really love you".
"I love you more", you grin and he smiles back. There you were, in the middle of the kitchen at 3 am, a sun and a moon meeting each other in a tender embrace.
Seungmin
Seungmin is strong, composed and calm. You liked that about him, he was like your anchor in a disturbed sea. He always grounded you back to safety, to him. He was also hard-working, going the extra mile to perfect his singing, staying up late into the night to practice, and you were always there to cheer him on.
He opened up to you, slowly but surely. But even in those moments of vulnerability, he still seemed strong to you. His body never betrayed him save for a shake of a hand, a shudder, a chest that rose up and down slightly faster than normal.
Imagine your surprise when one day you came home, to find him curled up on your couch. You gave him a spare key, so it wasn't his presence that shocked you. It was more of the soft whimpers that came from him, so muffled you had to strain to hear them. He was crying, for the first time in front of you.
You froze in your steps, unsure about how to proceed. But then, you quickly step forwards toward him, placing a soft kiss on his shoulder blade, then his head. His back was still facing you, so you kneel in front of him, your arm draped across his body.
"Seungmin, love?"
"Mm?".
"What do you need me to do?".
"Just hold me", he whispers and you nod, although he couldn't see you. You quickly climb onto the couch, spooning him from behind. Your arms encircle him, and you peck his neck softly. Your way of telling him 'I’m here whenever you are ready'.
It's silent for a while, save for his cries that subsidize as time goes by. You are not sure how long you stay in that position, but you don't mind. You'd do anything to help him.
"Thank you", he finally speaks up and you smile softly.
"Don't worry, baby. I got you".
He turns around, pulling you instantly towards his chest. You can hear his heart beating widely and you frown, that was unusual, your touch normally calmed him down.
But then, you feel it, rhythmic taps on your back. One tap, four consecutive taps, then three. Again, and again. Softly at first, but then more persistent. He was telling you something, you realized. 1-4-3, he was telling you I love you.
You smile into his chest, your cheeks tinting pink. And then, you pull away from him, kissing his mouth softly, "I love you too, Minnie".
He smiles, rolling his eyes playfully, "aren't you clever?".
"Can't help being this smart", you tease and he chuckles.
"I love you, baby", he enunciates this time and you giggle, "See it wasn't that hard".
"Shut up", he pinches your side slowly and you put your tongue out childishly at him, "You love me".
"You are annoying", he complains but the smile on his face says otherwise, "And you love me", you repeat, giggling.
"And I love you".
Jeongin
You were laying down on the floor of the practice room, while Jeongin repeated the new choreography time and time again. Everyone was long gone, but he wanted it to be perfect, and you were there to serve as emotional support. As he laid down on the floor next to you every now and then, placing a quick peck on your mouth before standing up yet again.
You were scrolling mindlessly on your phone when Jeongin lays down, on top of you this time. "You are sweaty", you scrunch your nose jokingly and he rolls his eyes at you. He still smelled nice but you loved teasing him. "You are my lover so you will endure this", he wiggles his brows at you and you laugh.
"Are you done?", you ask him, your hands pushing away the strands of hair that stuck to his forehead.
"Mm, I'm so tired", he closes his eyes for a second, and you smile at how pretty he looks.
"Ler's go for a drive!", you yell and he startles awake. "You need to stop hanging out with Changbin".
"Whatever, let's go!", you stand up, pulling him up with you.
"I need a shower", he pouts and you pause, thinking for a second, "Okay, go shower and i'll meet you at the dorm".
"And where will you go?"
"You'll see", you smile mischievously and he chuckles, "Yes ma'am".
Truth is, you haven't spent a lot of time with your boyfriend lately. So, you took it upon yourself to turn this small time you had together into a proper date.
15 minutes later, Jeongin hops into your car, freshly showered. You give him a quick hug, basking in the scent of his cologne; a hint of spices, and wood. "You smell good", you compliment and he smiles mischievously, "I know".
He puts some music on, and you both bop your head to 'Cheese', screaming the lyrics at the top of your lungs. 'Gone away' comes in next, and you sing it together, your voice is tone-deaf, and he chuckles at your desperate attempts to hit the high notes.
"Idols are lucky you aren't a singer", he jokes and you laugh, swatting his arm.
Those late-night drives were a common occurrence between the two of you. You'd pick him up and drive around, no particular destination in mind. You'd roll the windows down, the night breeze ruffling your hair and his, but it felt nice and freeing. During those short drives, you'd both forget about the hardships of the day, savoring the presence of each other.
But this time, you had a destination in mind. You park in front of the beach, taking out a blanket from the back of your car, and some ice cream you bought while he was showering. You grab his hand in yours, running towards the sea. "Run faster", you yell to him and he laughs, "I'm tryingggg".
You collapse on the sand, and he collapses on top of you, giggling. "Am I your favorite pillow?".
"Mm, you are more comfortable than my bed".
"Get up, I'm getting sand all over my hair", you push him away laughing, and he pouts, "You don't love me anymore?".
Your breath hitches in your throat; love was an unknown territory you haven't breached yet with Jeongin. He has never muttered the word before and now he was joking with it nonchalantly as if your heart isn't threatening to fall out of your chest.
You decide to play it off, plastering a smirk on your face while you lay the blanket down, "Who says I love you?".
His hand on your wrist stops you in your tracks. His brown eyes staring expectantly into yours, an unknown emotion dancing in his pupils. "Do you? Love me, I mean", he asks in a quiet voice.
Hope, you realize, that was what he felt looking at you.
"I do", you admit softly, you've known for a while, but you didn't want to confess it in case he didn't feel the same.
"Say it", he says breathlessly, as if the words coming out of your mouth is the oxygen he needs to survive.
"I love you, Innie".
His smile is the widest you've ever seen on his face, it's dazzling and it knocks the breath out of you even more. At that moment, you didn't care if he said it back, as long as he smiled at you this way.
"I love you too, ynnie", he whispers, as if it's a secret meant for the two of you alone. He was always private with his love, wanting those moments to be witnessed by you two alone. It made it all the more special to him.
You pull him in for a kiss, his hand finding your jaw and tugging you to him softly. You both smile into the kiss, laughing when you pull away at how happy you both look.
"Here, before it melts", you hand him the ice cream and he takes it, opening the packet and giving it to you first. You then lay your head on his shoulder as he drapes his arm around you. You both eat the vanilla ice cream, the sound of the waves crashing softly surrounding you in an intimate bubble.
Jeongin closes his eyes, a peace he's never felt before washing over him. He then looks at you, at the stars, at the sea, at the sand, at the ice cream in his hand.
He wanted to commit every detail of this night to his mind so that he could revisit it again when you weren't around. 
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Text
Rigor Mortis (part 7)
College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader
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(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,
Part 6, Part 8
summary: You spend some time with Miguel.
warnings: smut. f receiving oral, fingering, grinding, switchy behaviour from both sides, angst. 18+ Minors DNI
a/n: this chapter beat my ass icl
Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3
Join my taglists here
wc: 6.3k
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all-consuming grief,
It’s going to be a warm night. It's ushered in by the kind of dawn that bleeds red and gold, tawny and autumnal in the waning light. Like the washy colours of a Renoir, and he doesn’t even notice that he’s doing the thing he swore black-and-blue he wouldn’t. Reminiscing and romanticising; for the first time in a while, Miguel is able to see the sun set, legs splayed on the brick of his front steps. 
Sitting by worn metal railing, he’s still in his work clothes. He chucked his rucksack on the step above, leaning long legs onto the ones below. They don’t ache as much as they used to, well-trained by a couple months of running and spending more time in the gym. There’s a shake in the fridge, labelled ‘Tuesday, PM’ that he’ll gulp down before bed, and one labelled ‘Wednesday, AM’ that he’ll take before setting off in the morning. In the morning, with cloudy skies and street cars to keep him company. There’s too much pollution, light or otherwise, for him to see some stars. He hasn’t seen stars in a while, now.
Long days seem to have turned into just days somewhere along the way. He can’t quite pinpoint when, and doesn’t really care to, but he thinks his brother would call it “progress”. There’s a grimace on his face as he thinks about it; a word that tastes like mud and feels like swirling cement in his mouth. It’s all bullshit, really. Gabi’s paltry attempt at therapising him, one which he would usually nip in the bud - taking metaphorical shears to slash at weeds and dense conversation. Catch-up calls about how he feels, how he’s doing – when he’s fine, he always is – as if Gabi is waiting for a shoe to drop. 
He’s waiting for Miguel to have an epiphany, a breakdown the size of a collapsing star. It’s not coming, he keeps telling his brother, and the sooner the younger O’Hara realises – without the wide eyes and the pity – the better for the both of them. After all, Gabriel is his baby brother, and he’s spent his whole life worrying on his behalf: playing hide-and-seek in little closets and putting back together broken toys. Trying to drown out the sound of shouting and broken plates. They’re too old for all that, the worrying and gulping back tears, walking its well-travelled paths – and it doesn’t feel right that Gabi should do the same for him.
He sighs, deep and heavy and rolling down that quiet street. After what feels like forever, he’s tempted to lie down, to rest his head on the stone, close his eyes and think of something else. Of someone else - lots of someones, at this point in the day. He’s not the weepy type, but he is tired; shaking off the wear and tear, and fighting off sleep. 
Then he sees it; a figure walking towards him, all sandals and khaki shorts and smiles. Mr Estevez, donned in his year-round attire of a polo shirt, a little tight around the middle, and cargos cut off below the knee – finally appropriate, considering the weather. He’s strolling closer like he’s got all the time in the world. If Miguel wasn’t so exhausted; the bone-deep kind, the kind that seeps into skin and lines a casket; he would’ve been annoyed. Instead, he hisses, furrows quickly deepening. 
“Buenas, Miguelito!” Mr Estevez beams, scratching at scraggly facial hair. 
Miguel frowns, but greets him nonetheless: that politeness drilled into him during childhood rearing its head.
“Buenas tardes, tío.” He grits his teeth as he gets up from his seat, creaky joints and all.
His landlord, the building’s handyman, owner of half a dozen shops all over the city, and Miguel’s uncle-that’s-not-really-his-uncle; Mr Estevez wears many hats, staying bright and informal regardless. He’s known the older man since he was 6, so he can’t be too disappointed; his tío has been late for weddings, funerals, and his little boy’s birth – it’s not much of a surprise that he’d be late now, too. Miguel stretches out a rough palm, and the man stops just shy of his hand, completely ignoring it. Before he knows it, Miguelito is engulfed in a great big bear hug, with wet kisses pressed to the apples of his cheeks. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, as usual, so they hang limply; arms flailing to his sides like a t-rex.
They separate, and he coughs at the great big hand that slaps his back. Grumbling, he walks up to the door, bag over his back, and stands expectantly. Mr Estevez doesn’t follow, instead dusting himself down to sit on the steps.
“I just need to get into the building.” Miguel starts. “Forgot my keys, and I've been here for hours. M’tired, and I–”
“Let’s sit, Miguel.” He scoots over, making space. “Look at the stars.”
It’s clear the older man isn’t moving. Begrudgingly, he obliges.  “We’re in the middle of the city. You only see “stars” in the river – beer bottles and tinned crap reflecting the lights.” 
“Language.” He gets a sharp nudge to his ribs.
“Discúlpame, tío.”
They stew for a moment, bathing in the silence that follows. The man besides him is the first to speak.
“I spoke to your mother.”
He’s scoffing and moving to get up, before feeling a firm hand on his shoulder.
“She’s worried, Miguel. Says you haven’t called in a while.”
“She hasn’t called me either."
“She’s stubborn.” The man besides him chuckles, bringing gentle eyes to meet his own. "Pig-headed. Remind you of someone?"
Miguel rolls his eyes, he just can't help it. 
"She’s also the one that moved back home, so either way–”
"You know it's all been hard on her." 
" –on her? It's been hard for her, surrounded by family, after she abandoned me? A-After…" His voice gets dangerously hoarse, threatening to crack under the weight of those words. 
He can't stand the pitiful look sent his way: brows drawn, lips pressed into a thin line.
"Sorry. It's… It's nothing. I'm fine. Just fine."
"I didn't ask if you were fine, Miguel."
–even though you're definitely not okay. That part is left unsaid, spat onto the pavement like bitter backwash. 
Mr Estévez sighs, ruffling a hand through Miguel's hair. It makes him hiss and dart away from the hand, pouting like he's a little kid again. He doesn't like it; the way he feels like all this life he's lived has been for naught. Trials and tribulations, and yet he doesn't feel that ache of growth; still stuck in the shoes of an awkward teenager. 
"You think too much, Miguelito. Always have." He smiles, the kind that deepens the wrinkles around his mouth. It twists Miguel into knots, mouth dry as he tries to untangle himself from that feeling. "I'm worried about you, kid."
He sniffs, eyes trained towards the pavement. There it is again, worry; complicating and unravelling what was meant to be just another day. 
"It's today, isn't it?" 
All Miguel does is nod, shakily. It's been 2 years since his heart was ripped out of his chest. It heaves now, an erratic rise and fall he’s doing his best to control. Breathe, deeply and calmly; try not to think about his little girl in that hospital bed, and those blank eyes staring back. 
“M’fine.” It comes out more desperate than he intends it, and he curses under his breath. If Mr Estevez hears the crude language, he doesn’t react.
Miguel is tense, hunched over the bag on his lap and curled into himself like prey – spitting and prickly and clearly uncomfortable. He’s never been the weepy kind, but the older man can’t help but think it’s a shame; so much love, and nowhere to keep it but inside. Miguel's bottled it up; the memories of precious Gabriella, all that warmth she brought out in her father; and he's turned them to poison pills to keep himself sick. 
Miguel would never admit it, of course. He’s too stubborn. Pig-headed.
His tío sighs, moving to get up. He groans, in that dramatic sort of way he knows Miguel can’t stand, but still, there's a rush to help him up. Producing the door keys with a flourish, he pulls from the depths of cargo pockets, and unlocks the main door. Ushering in the younger man, who has grown so tall he needs to duck as he climbs the narrow stairs, there’s a finger prodded into the back of that cotton button-up.
“Miguel?” He starts, revving up a conversation he’s been meaning to have for a while now.
“Hmm?” 
They both wait by the entrance of the apartment. The keys jingle in Mr Estevez’s hand.
“If I open the door, will I find out that you’ve driven away another one of my tenants?”
Conveniently, there seems to be a rather interesting spot in the hardwood that Miguel pokes with a dress shoe. 
“...depends on your definition of 'driven out', tío.”
“That’s the third one this year! Not even 2 months– I knew there was something up. Not a single one of those little smiley faces to my messages, and–"
“I’ll make up for his side of the rent, you know I will.”
“I don’t like it. You should be saving up, to go get a house and settle down somewhere."
“I like living here, and I’ve said multiple times I’d pay the extra to live alone–”
“And then what? You rot in your room for the rest of your life?”
“I don’t– rot feels a little–”
“Nonsense. You’re lonely, Miguelito. If you don’t like it, you move out.”
They both know he won’t. It’s not really an option; the apartment is affordable and he likes living so close to his old neighbourhood, his old haunts. It’s like he’s tethered to that place with a bungee cord wrapped under his ribs, always snapping back.
“No promises, tío.”
“Doesn’t matter, Miguelito.” He sighs, scratching at stubble. “It’s been hard to find other tenants, with half the neighbourhood drying up. But as soon as I do–”
He points an accusatory finger at Miguel, and the sentence is finished for him.
“...best behaviour, I know.”
“Best behaviour.” Mr Estevez repeats, and starts to fumble with the keys. He throws a little comment over his shoulder. “I liked your lady friend, ages ago… the scary one, with the blue hair. She was–”
“Xina’s not scary, when you get to know her.”
“She was funny. Very pretty. Always paid rent on time, gave me food when I came to fix the heating…”
“It's out again, by the way.” Miguel chews his lip, with a strange expression. “And yeah, she was.”
The door swings open. Mr Estevez doesn’t let him off the hook, though, engulfing him in a warm hug. This time, in the doorway of his apartment, eyes screwed shut; he doesn’t try to wriggle out of it, melting into his tío’s arms. It feels different now that he’s not a kid: angry and hurting with a different sort of ache, but he leans into it, all the same.
~~~
There's a pressure released from the apartment, lately. Miguel feels… well, first of all, he feels ; thinks with his heart and not his head, sometimes. It's lighter, coming home with that weight on his shoulders and with someone there to distract him from it. Living life, he thinks, for the first time in a while. Vivid and vibrant and awake ; relishing the autumnal weather. It's always been his favourite season, despite how childish he thinks having a favourite season is; something you had asked him on a whim one morning. 
Normally, he wouldn't entertain it, and with all the shit Pete spews, sometimes, he's had plenty of practice ignoring it. A well-timed dirty look, and then he'd get his head down and work; occupy himself with something less frivolous. But when you say it, with half a piece of toast sticking out of your mouth, it doesn't feel like a chore to answer. It doesn't feel like a stupid question, and he finds his face growing warm at the thought of you caring about these little things – wanting to know him , however that comes. 
And so, his answer is Autumn. It's a little stilted; but catching him off guard after a run will do that to him. It's purely practical , he says, eyes tracing the slopes of your body in that shirt and shorts that stops at your thighs; high enough that he feels like a perv for looking. Autumn has temperate, even weather. Perfect for sweaters and hoodies. Warm enough that you don't need a jacket. Just right. You snort, nudging him. Bullshit, Mig. You flutter your eyelashes mockingly, your tone light. You just think it's the prettiest. 
And he hums, catching you off guard. You're both drawn towards that little window over the sink, the one that overlooks a fire escape and the street. He's had that view for three years, now. Sleeves always rolled to his elbows as he does his washing up, but never quite looking. The street just below is framed in its windowpane, quite the pretty picture. Crisp leaves scattered on the sidewalk, carpeted in red and honeyed amber. And he can feel it from the other side of the glass; smell it, touch it, taste it. Autumn: hot chocolate and giggles, the crunch of leaves underfoot, and cupping tiny palms to warm them up. Sunsets seen for the first time, watched through bus windows on the way back from school – he misses those the most. 
"You don't think it's beautiful?" You say, leaning your head towards the half-open window. 
You don't notice, but he looks over to you, swallowing roughly. He says it with a small voice.
"I…I do."
You're darting to the bathroom not too long after, breaking the spell. Frustrated, he resists the urge to curl up into a ball and scream into his palms. He's got what he wanted; a good fuck, a pretty face, a warm smile. Friends, at the most, who happen to get the other off after a long day. A welcome distraction, at the least. He's got what his body has been telling him he needs for the past few months. It makes him feel weird, so oddly settled; but, all things considered… 
Miguel is doing okay.
“...and I wouldn’t normally ask, but I swear , I left him…o-on read and he won’t stop texting me.”
Really, actually; he’s doing fine.
“It feels weird– mmffuck– but I can’t ignore him any longer.”
Maybe even… good. Better than okay.
“I still have a bunch of my stuff over there. At least half of it is clothes and books, a-and I’ve put it off for as long as I can…”
He hums in response, pulling quiet curses from you, above. Pressing the flat of his tongue onto your clit, your hips jump up and he purrs ; rearing up to dive even deeper into your pussy. Too quick for him, you catch on, hand in his hair to pull him up.
Sitting up on your haunches, he rests his head on your bare thigh – licking the taste of you off of his lips.
You tilt your head, looking at him with those eyes he can’t help but marvel at. A beat passes. 
“...so?” You start, expectantly. “Will you help me or not?”
His response comes in the form of teeth nipping at pillowy skin. You yelp, and swat him away whilst he chuckles.
“I’m serious , Mig. It’s too much to pick up by myself. And you’re the only person I know with a car…”
“ Ouch, hermosa. ” He frowns as you peter off. “Is that the only reason you’re fucking me? For my car?”
“If I say it’s because of your sparkling personality, will you help me?”
For a moment, it seems like he’s got his brows pressed together like he’s seriously considering it, but it ends up being just smoke and mirrors. He’s pretending , biding his time to hook a hand under your legs and force you to lie down onto the bed. Your head hits the covers with a gentle thump as he hikes up the lip of that big tee even further; squeezing your thighs around his head like earmuffs. 
It’s when he makes eye-contact, tongue circling your hole, that you realised you’re fucked. Up until now, he’s been toying with you – playing with his food, so to speak – lazily swirling his tongue around your clit and pressing buttons to see exactly where to push. And you'd welcomed it, a hand in his hair as you talked about your day – which he'd asked for, of course. 
Now, he's insatiable, eating you out like a man starved; all tongue and wet kisses to your swollen bud. You're slightly raised up on his shoulders, clamping around his tongue as he fucks into you fervently. Big palms spread you wider, and he hums into it, content.
"So pretty ," He sets you down, pupils blown as he studies the way your back arches and the way your legs shudder in the sheets. He slides upwards, sitting next to you, tracing a hand across the gentle curve of stomach that peeks out from your big t-shirt. 
Still coming down from your high, you're only just able to register it: he looks mesmerised, a dopey smile plastered on his face. 
"What?" You scoff when a moment passes, and his hand inches closer towards your lower lips. 
"M'just looking." He shrugs, with a little smile on his face. "I'm not allowed to look?" 
You scoff, but you're still shaky so it comes out a little more pathetic than you intend. Nevertheless, you start to sit up but he stops you with a gentle hand at your chest. 
"Call him." He says, pressing two fingers to your clit and then down to your gushing slit. 
Maybe it's the way he hunches over you, eyes flicking towards your lips, or the way he slips those fingers in; but your eyes go wide, and you're choking on your next words. 
"Call… Call who?" Playing dumb, dancing on a razor's edge, and Miguel only quirks up an eyebrow at the stupid question. 
"You know who." He says it low, smooth and dulcet as he curls his fingers at that sweet spot, experimenting. "I'll help you, fine. But I want you to call your ex, too. Let him know when to expect us. Is that okay, sweetheart ?" 
That last word comes with a twang, the lilting tone of what sounds like mockery. He twists the knife, nudging the flat of his palm onto your clit – still tender and throbbing from your last orgasm. 
Before you change your mind, you pick up the phone laid face down on the bedside table, pressing shaky fingers to its screen. You don't dare to look up, knowing Miguel is watching; dark eyes studying your every move. 
Flicking his wrist this way and that, he swallows roughly as your fingers stutter on the screen. Not completely satisfied, he still has the time to look smug, settling into a comfortable pace. Finally, your phone rings with a tell-tale dial tone. It rings once. It rings twice, and–
"Hello? " The voice is muffled as it says your name. Put it on speaker, Miguel mouths and you oblige.
"Hey, J-Jamie." The phone is shaky in your hands, so you lay it out next to you on the bed. 
"It's late, baby." You don't have time to be annoyed at his tone – or the unwarranted pet name – because Miguel speeds up, pumping in and out of you with a little more force. 
"I… I know. S-Sorry." You clamp down the moans that threaten to erupt, rocking your hips in time with the thrusts. 
Head lolling back into the sheets, you spend a good ten seconds in oblivious bliss, until Jamie breaks the silence. 
"You've been ignoring me for ages, baby… and then you call out of the blue. What is it?" He's tired, it sounds like. Irritated for sure. 
"Just w-wanted to–" Miguel presses his thumb to your clit and you jump. Once back down to earth he has to prompt you to answer. "-my stuff! Fuck , I just want to pick up my stuff."
"...now?" 
Tomorrow. Miguel mouths. 
"Tomorrow. " You repeat, wrapping a hand around his forearm to slow him down. It's too much, too fast; and he has the audacity to add another finger, scissoring out to stretch your cunt. 
"O-kay. " He clicks his tongue, with some things rustling in the background. "Okay. You're acting weird, but..."
You're conflicted. His tone makes you melt, reaching for your phone to answer when Miguel snakes a hand under your shirt, palming your tits. To your surprise, he presses shaky kisses to the skin, rolling around your nipple with the flat of his tongue. You keen, clamping a hand around your mouth to stop the noises that spill out. 
"...we still need to talk about what happened. About how we left things." 
Anger flares up at your chest; hot at the sheer gall. He wants to talk? Now, when you had been met with a brick wall of silence; begging and begging for even a simple explanation? 
What made it sting even more was that even after the breakup, everything happened on Jamie's terms. He broke up with you, providing little warning. He completely ghosted you, refusing to answer countless calls and messages. And now, he wants to talk; to make himself feel better and wank off his own ego, no doubt. It's not bitterness that makes you press Miguel closer, to revel in the pleasure that he gives you, you convince yourself. It's for you ; finally, unabashedly, just for you. 
You don't bother to answer, hanging up the call with a click. Tugging at his hair, you pull him off with a wet pop; slick-soaked fingers slipping out of your cunt.
He cradles your chin, angling you upwards. 
"You okay? Too much?" It barely registers; you're too focused on the tangle of curls framing his face, and the rosy pout of messy lips. 
You shake your head, writhing against the sheets. 
"More." You move his hand over to rest between your legs. "Please, Miguel."
His eyes flutter, tongue darting out to wet his lips. 
“Eyes on me, baby.” 
He says it with sobering clarity, bolstered by just how precisely he slots against your bare pussy. You can feel it, the full length of his cock; pressed up against you as he slips it out of his sweats. Head spinning, it slaps onto your stomach. Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. Oh fuck. He's big. 
"Just like that." He coos, spitting into his palm and pumping his cock. “Wanna see how pretty you look when I make you cum.”
~~~
When tomorrow comes, you’re still sore from the litany of bruises and hickeys littered. It’s a Saturday, and you’re up bright and early. Well, Miguel is up bright and early, clattering around in the kitchen as you wake up. 
He seems energised, mug of coffee in hand whilst you rub the sleep from your eyes.  You waltz into the kitchen through the open doorway, morning breath and all. 
"Morning," You say, soft and giggly at the way he jumps ten feet in the air, too wrapped up in himself to notice at first. 
"Morning." He breathes, melting when he sees you in the shirt he had picked out for you last night. He shakes himself out of it. "Hungry? I can make something."
"No, no. M'good." You sidle up to the counter, head clocked at the fancy machine on the heavy slab. There's a question on the tip of your tongue, one you roll between your teeth. "Could I have some coffee? I mean… could you show me how?" 
Where you expect laughter, mockery, or surprise that you've lived here for months and can't figure out the coffee machine; he nods, patient and calm. You ask him more questions; curious with every flick of a switch, and the way he lights up when talking about it. To your surprise, you want to know more – anyway that comes. 
He's talking about expensive beans, and his favourite roasts – and a place across town that sells the exact kind he likes, but it's too fucking gentrified for him to go there more than two or three times a year. That makes you giggle: his little pout, the press of brow; and he looks up in surprise before joining you in light laughter. 
You finish, pouring cream into his special mug with a flourish, and he steals a sip before you can. You elbow him away, angling for that stolen taste. When you do, it is deep and rich; sweet in a way that reminds you of Miguel, grounded and balanced and silky. In short, it's the perfect cup of coffee. More than content, you hum. 
"Is it good?" He asks because he's already making mental notes, planning to greet you with a hot flask of the stuff in the mornings – if it means he gets that smile, of course. 
"Very." Fervently you nod, lips curved to the ceramic as you blow; and Miguel is trying really hard not to stare. Maybe it's the fact that he's seen you in a way not everyone gets to; pretty and vulnerable and writhing on the tip of his cock; but it has him fending off vivid daydreams. Your lips wrapped around his length, his hand pressing you further down, feeling that warmth as you choke on his–
He blinks and you're gone, padding off to your room with that mug of coffee. You return not too long after, phone in hand and tapping away at the screen. Miguel ignores the way it makes him feel, having your attention and then losing it just as quickly. Like a kicked puppy, he resists the urge to beg for more – of your time, of your attention – turning away to clean up instead. 
"I spoke to Jamie," You start, leaning with your back to the counter as he rolls up the sleeves of a comfy sweater. "He said he'll be around later in the evening, after his shift. Around 10. Is that okay?" 
He shrugs, not caring either way. You're a friend, and he's helping you because that's what friends do. He can still taste you on his lips, but it doesn't mean anything. Not in a way you'd want, anyways. 
"Sure." He doesn't turn around, stealing glances at the open window whilst he clatters around. "I've got a session later on anyways."
He catches a flash of something on your face, and you're pushing it away; prickly and uncomfortable. In his defence, he's stopped bringing people over for faux chemistry tutoring and there's less banging coming from across the wall. Less , but not completely gone, because you've learnt he has a penchant for dropping shit and cursing like someone's Dad. 
But you can't help but think about Sarah , and Jia …. and how close he would get to Sita on the dining table. Fuck . 
You're sighing now, tracing the curve of his jaw as he settles in front of the window: jaw set, arms crossed, and distant. He does that sometimes, goes off somewhere else – all teeth and claws. Tense, brows drawn up in a way that makes you want to smooth them out.  
You put your phone down and mug away, sliding across linoleum to gently nudge his shoulder with your own. 
"Are we…" He starts, and you track his line of sight to a quiet street below. He hums, without looking away. "Are we good?" 
It makes you turn. You blink, as if out of all the nonsense you bicker about daily, that was the most ridiculous. Good? Good? Of course we are, of course we always will be. How could we be anything else? You shut it down before it spills out of your mouth, overzealous and desperate. 
He clarifies with a nervous cough. "Last night. Was it… good?" 
His frown deepens, and you wonder if it's just you that hears it in his tone. His real question, the one that makes you splinter and creak like a felled oak tree: Was I good? Am I good enough?
"Yeah. " You say it like the most obvious thing in the world – and to you, it is. For all his flaws; assholery and its trimmings aside; Miguel has never been a bad lay. You don't even think he has it in him; he couldn't half-ass it if he tried.
"It was–" Fucking amazing . The kind of thing you'll fuck yourself to for the foreseeable future. Cathartic and breath-taking and hot . All of the above. 
Miguel finishes your sentence with something a little less… horny. "It was a lot, wasn't it? I wasn't really thinking, how uncomfortable it could be for you, and–" 
Gently, you laugh and cut him off. "I've been having mediocre sex for basically the whole of my adult life, Mig. This is… exciting and new. I like it, I really do."
Exciting and new. It brings him crashing back down to earth. You're enjoying the way he makes you feel, the thrill . Not… him. Not really, anyways. That pang of disappointment feels different, for some reason. He's never liked the song and dance of flirting, but he cherishes its rewards: of being wanted, and someone wanting him . So that fiery flame of need; deep and heady; is unfamiliar under his skin. 
"We can slow down, if you'd like." You bring a hand to his arm, warm and gentle. "I don't mind. We can go back to just messing around on the couch…."
You've got a cheeky smile when you say it; a vague memory of a different time, when you had gotten a little too comfortable on the sofa, leading to hands stuffed in trousers and pressed up against one another. Quick and desperate, you had wanted to see him fall apart; like he did your first night together, and the next, and the next. 
He gets closer, sandwiching you between the counter and his body. With a gentle hand, he strokes your hip, bunching up the fabric to get a peek of thigh.
“What do you like?” He’s deadly serious, red-brown eyes searching your face for something he can’t quite place. And just like that, the air is thick with tension. All you can manage is a limp shrug. 
“I don’t know, really.” It comes out as a croak , as you’re much too occupied with the shrinking gap between you both. “I haven’t done the things you’ve done.”
You’re making assumptions, of course. Filling in the gaps of what you’ve learnt in the past few months; of alleged threesomes and a laundry list of women at his feet. He’s an asshole; pretty and gruff and sarcastic; but God , he knows how to touch you just right.
“I could show you.” He slots a knee between your thighs and your head spins. “Make you feel good. ”
Before you can think, you’re nodding; chewing at your lip to bite back moans when he rucks up your shirt. He nudges your legs apart, both hands on your waist as he slots himself between them. You can feel it; quickly hardening, loose underneath sweats. Miguel slides wide palms to your ass, kneading its globes. With one hand, he picks up your leg by the thigh, and snakes the other to your pussy. Bare, because you’re trying to kill him, of course, and he groans at the feeling of his hand at your cunt; already wet and pliant for him. 
After a few wet taps to your hole, obscene, he slips himself out and you heave; pussy fluttering at just the thought of him inside you. Gathering up your slick on his palm, Miguel pumps his weeping cock, pressing its tip to your hole. 
"Still sore, Miguel." You hiss, looking down at where you both meet with the prettiest pout he thinks he's ever seen. 
It has you clawing at his back for purchase as he finally sinks in, stretching you out in that wonderful way he did last night. Except this time, he's slow and careful; steeling himself with shaky breaths. 
"Oh, fuck. " He settles in about halfway, stopping to hike up your leg just a bit higher. "Want me to make you feel better?" 
He says it breathless and crooning, forehead comes to rest on yours. With that other hand flat on the counter, you're lifted up to only toes on the floor, and he angles himself to buck up; filling you deep, and cock sliding past that sweet spot inside. He sets a pace, grinding into you, rather than fucking. If last night was dirty ; taboo, quick and primal; then this morning feels different. Intimate and reverent, he rolls his hips perfectly ; sending flashes of that first night down your spine. 
With the moans that spill out of your mouth, it takes all of Miguel's willpower not to swallow them in a kiss. Impossibly close, he traces up your thigh with a large palm; eventually pressing into the small of your back. Arching into him, your lips barely brush together, and you're both panting into open mouths; drunk on pleasure. 
"Miguel." There's a warning somewhere in your tone; underneath the layers of lust, you remind him of your previous agreement. 
"I… I know. " He swallows, nose pressed to yours, eyes screwed shut. He thinks if he opens them, he might spill into you right then and there. 
He's trying, he really is, tracing your cheek with his nose and mouthing at your neck – light kisses against the skin. He smells like coffee, bittersweet and heady, and you groan, rocking into him in a way that rubs up against your clit – before finding an ounce of restraint and putting a hand to his neck. 
You apply a little pressure, intending to push him away, but he likes it: eyes fluttering open, and mouth curved into a little O. It's a pretty sight that has you drooling, tits pressed against him as he practically purrs . And so, you pull him closer; nails dancing underneath his shirt, whispering filth into the shell of his ear. You're close, grinding into him like the push and pull of waves, merely waiting for the crescendo of orgasm to take you out to sea. 
"I'm close, Miguel." All he can do is hum, pulling you closer. "Fuck, I feel so good. You make me feel so good."
"Yeah? " He asks, needy in a way you haven't quite seen before. 
"M'gonna cum," You nod. "...because of you, baby. You did good. So good. Shit, ohh –g-god–" 
You clamp down on him, gushing around him with shaky legs. And Miguel is good; patient as he watches you fuck yourself through the aftermath. When it finally slows, he slips out with an obscene squelch clamping a hand to the base of his cock and leaning heavily on the counter. 
"It's okay," As if on cue, you kneel in front of him as best you can, tugging down your shirt to expose collarbone and the swell of tits. 
Miguel growls, grunting as he splatters thick cum across your chest, pumping his poor cock through it. 
He wouldn't have lasted a second longer, not with that smile across your face; smug as you swipe fingers across your chest and lick up the mess he's made. 
He's sighing, tucking himself back into gray sweats and pulling you up with a hand in yours; grumbling as you absentmindedly follow him to the sofa. 
You're leaning back onto the arm of the tattered material, and he settles to sit so your legs lay in his lap. He's frowning, again, and it makes you giggle, still licking up what's left on your fingers. 
He rolls his eyes, tapping a spot on your chin. A fat glob of his cum, dripping from your jaw to your neck. You miss it on the first swipe, and he gets impatient on the second, grabbing your hands and clambering over you. He drags the flat of his tongue to your skin, licking it up for you – and your eyes go wide. That… that felt good. 
You giggle at the sensation, so attuned to your roommate that you can hear it: his eyes clattering into the back of his skull, as he rolls his eyes a second time. 
"Is that okay?" He says it into the skin, pausing over a particularly tender spot. "Not too far?" 
"Feels nice, Mig." You sigh, content. Sun streams in on a lazy morning, and you're sore in the kind of way that feels good; fucked out and blissful. 
You lean into it, and then he sucks , teeth clashing onto the skin as he gives you a hickey and the juncture of your jaw. You wriggle, and he pins you down with one big hand holding down your arm, nipping and kissing and soothing it with a flash of tongue. This time he smiles, wrapping around your middle, tugging down your shirt to decorate your chest with hickeys. You play with his hair, wrapping soft curls between your fingers. 
You spend a little too long like that; curved into him, spines moulded to the shape of each other. It feels nicer than either of you would care to admit; the pretense of sex wrapped around you both like a thin veil. Before he leaves, Miguel indulges himself just this once; head on your chest and sinking into those arms wrapped around him. You smell like coffee and sweat and Autumn, somehow. He presses kisses wherever he can reach, for a bit longer. 
Miguel is okay. He's doing just fine. 
_
_
-
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mitsies · 4 months
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SWEET NOTHINGS - gojo satoru . . this love, he thinks, might just be limitless.
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some days are harder than others. today is particularly hard.
it's a cold tuesday night. the sky outside is bluer than blue, like the ocean on a television screen. it's easy for gojo satoru to lose himself on occasions like this.
it's not quiet, but sound is dulled. he hears the traffic outside his all-too-big apartment's window, and he hears the cat next door on the balcony meowing to be let in. but it's all so muffled, like there's water in his ears. the blue skies are suffocating, muting everything that falls under them. the world is underwater. his head feels all wrong.
there's nothing to be done now. he's finished at work, and everything else is covered, too. there is nothing left to distract him from his thoughts tonight. tonight, there are a million things happening in his head, drowning everything else out. tonight, while he is safe at home, he has never felt more at risk. tonight, he is truly, horribly alone.
satoru doesn't remember stepping into the shower. he doesn't remember polishing off the bottle of alcohol that's sitting on the bathroom counter, and thank god he doesn't remember its bitter taste. he doesn't remember the showerhead turning on, either. but at some point, his eyes refocus, and he's sitting on the cold, wet tile of his guest bathroom's shower. it's undecorated. there are no traces of life. not a shampoo bottle or stray hair, or a shaving razor or soap stains. the shower water is freezing. it stings and nips at his skin, a sharp-toothed animal, biting and chilling. if he could focus enough, satoru is sure he'd feel the ice building on his bones, as the water pelts his bareness like a knife into skin.
there are certain things that haunt him. that will always haunt him, it seems. that will be at the back of his mind until he is alone, like they are waiting to catch him. satoru is a man made of sin. he's the epitome of a system made to kill the only people who could even begin to try and understand him. he is the crown jewel of an empire built on blood. and he has seen dozens of people he's loved slip out of his grasp, just like that. oh, of course it's the nights, the nights just like these, where they come back to whisper in his ear. to tell him it's his fault— he already knows. this is redundant. he knows it's all his fault. he can smell the blood on his hands; coppery, metallic, and staining his skin. of course he knows.
satoru, for all his hypervigilance, doesn't notice the footsteps approaching, gently sounding on the bathroom tile. no, he doesn't know you're there until you call his name.
he'd know your voice anywhere. it's a part of him. your voice, saying his name. he likes it when you say it. it makes him feel better, somehow. he thinks you know this too, which is why you say it again. it's less of a question and more of a quiet exclamation. he wonders how this looks to you. a grown man, sitting on the shower floor, trapped in his own head. probably as pathetic as he feels. he should be better. he's 22, and acting like a teenager. he needs to be better. so he plasters on a typical, brazen smile and tips his head to see you. you're difficult to make out through the running water, which runs down the glass. he hopes you don't hear the rasp in his voice when he greets you, "hey."
it's out of character. you know him well enough to know that. maybe satoru would be more embarrassed, and maybe he'd try harder to act like nothing was wrong. but again— you know him. better than anyone else, anymore. you know him and you love him regardless. this much he knows is true, although he questions how much he deserves it. you've seen him through it all before. his good days, his bad ones, too.
his mind is still fuzzy, but you're opening the shower door and turning the water off. you comment about how cold it is, before kneeling down in front of him. your shoes are still on, so he tells you: "your shoes are on."
you give him a look. he knows that look. it's the 'don't question me right now' look. you're so pretty, satoru thinks. you wrinkle your nose when he exhales— he wonders if you smell the drink on his breath. "i was worried."
your hands are warm, so warm, against his cold, damp skin. a gentle touch travels from his shoulder down his arm. you treat him like he's made of glass. it's nice, for a change. he leans into your touch. you frown. "are you drunk?"
"uh.. a few sips."
he likes that you smile. it's a sad smile, but it's still a smile. "such a lightweight, satoru."
there you go, saying his name again. he hopes you touch his arm some more; your hands are so warm. and his wishes are granted, when your gentle touch moves to lift him up off the floor of the shower. he lets himself lean on you, and his face falls to your hair. it still smells the same as it did back in school. kind of floral. he likes your shampoo. maybe he'd steal it later.
you guide him out the shower and he realises just how cold he was. so it's a good thing that you bring him to his bedroom. the pillows smell like your hair. the sheets are soft and warm.
it's by memory, how you navigate his bedroom with ease. you know it like it's your own home. and he supposes that much might be true— you sleep here more than you do your own place. satoru had known you for years now. and he'd loved you years, too. but a couple of years after school, you'd been stationed off in another country to help a struggling community. you were time zones away for far too long. only recently had you returned— half a year ago, now. he hadn't moved house since you left so you'd always have somewhere familiar. he didn't touch the things you'd left, either, anticipating the day you'd come back.
satoru wonders if this is what you'd expected going into a relationship with him. he seems confident, he seems vibrant. you fell in love with his good days. you fell in love with that 99%, who he was 364 days out of the year. did you see the 1%, the 1 day, the bad day, coming? regardless of if you did, you stayed. he feels fuzzy.
you're back by his side now. a towel in hand, you dry his hair with nimble, careful fingers. you treat him like something delicate. like he's important. like he's broken, and like he's allowed to be. you press a kiss to his scalp and say something he doesn't really hear.
"you're so pretty," he mumbles as you pull away. you give him a little smile, and suddenly, satoru is jealous of your bedsheets, and how they can cradle you whilst you sleep. he’s jealous of your nails that get to cling to your fingers. he’s jealous of the scar on your left shoulder, because he wasn’t the one who gave it to you. he is so in love with you it aches. he is so empty, and so full of this love. the paradox makes him sick.
so when your hand trails across his jaw and pulls away, he holds it in place, so you're cradling his face. the pressure of your hand feels nice— he is so drawn to your touch.
"so pretty," he mumbles again, and this time you laugh. with your free hand, you card through his hair, water droplets making your fingers come away wet. "thank you, satoru. thank you."
deftly, you pry his hand off yours so you're free, much to his grumbled protests. you bite your lip to hide the size of the grin that cuts across your cheeks. your lover has always been a funny drunk, when he's not a sad one. usually, the two go hand-in-hand. it makes you sad, seeing him like this. you want nothing but happiness for him forever. you suppose it comes with the territory. you have bad days too. but you're allowed to feel. satoru is the strongest. he's meant to be good always, to protect, to serve, to be everything but not okay forever and ever. so you've come to think of yourself as lucky, to be able to have and hold him through both the good, and the bad.
among the practices you'd picked up in your time abroad, you've learned how to put your love in your touch. grabbing a small jar from the bedside table, a palmful of oil finds itself in your palm. when you'd first shown this to satoru, he'd been delighted— he'd said something along the lines of you being his personal spa treatment, with a gauchely suggestive look. you'd rolled your eyes then. but now, you take your place sitting behind him by the pillows, and he clambers in front of you by instinct. he doesn't move in a straight line and you try not to laugh. his head and shoulders fall into your lap and his eyes flutter up to gaze at you. they're half-lidded, and exhausted. there's a weight behind them that is not visible most days.
hands beginning in his hair, you watch those eyes flutter shut. they squeeze closed for a moment before he lets himself relax into your touch. deftly, with ease, you work through his hair. it's made easy by how much he maintains it— satoru is relentless about his beauty regiments— so it doesn't take long before you shift to his shoulders and upper arms.
his skin is still cold, but you feel it grow warmer beneath your touch. he's tense and rigid, and you take immense pleasure in the way his body loosens like a wire uncoiling. eyes following your hands, you observe him. the freckles on his back and upper arms are like splatters of paint in a canvas. intentionally unintentional, like the speckled on a fawn’s flank. a scar decorates his shoulder blade, from a time before infinity. he is so beautiful, even when he isn't trying. you're sick and full of love.
at some point, his breathing grows even. he's asleep in your lap. you keep rotating between carding through his hair and running your palms across his upper body with the tenderness only a lover could hold. satoru looks peaceful when he sleeps. you wonder what he might be dreaming of. bad dreams, perhaps? you don't think so. not tonight. his brow remains still, and his eyes are shut lightly, not pulled together. you lean down and plant a kiss to his temple.
gojo satoru was only human. and just like any other human, he had his ups and he had his downs. there would always be bad days to chase the good. but he knows, and you know, that there will always be you, too, to help the bad days feel a little better. you are always there to understand, to hold him and help him up, to make everything a little more okay again.
you let him know that it's alright. that tomorrow is a new day. that tomorrow, he can try again. yes, tomorrow will be better, satoru believes, so long as he has you.
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this fic is rough, to say the least, but i wanted to celebrate the loml's bday so!! hi!! alternative title: gojo oiled up butt booty naked like the 4th of july
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ravenromanova · 5 months
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Come back to me Pt.1
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Pairings: 616 Wanda x Vision, 616 Wanda x female reader, 838 Wanda x female reader
Warnings: None really for this part.
Masterlist - Send me requests!!!
This fic came from this request!!! enjoy :) I also have no idea how many chapters i’m gonna write so just sit back and enjoy :)
~
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She was supposed to be with you not him. Watching her hands all over him was like a knife to the gut. You kept wondering how you got here, how he was better for her than you. The world felt so much darker as you watch them cuddle up together on the couch.
*Flashback to a few days ago*
You were laying in your bed when you heard a soft knock on the door. You called out for whoever it was to come in and when the door opened it revealed a distressed looking Wanda. She shut the door behind her before she sat on the edge of your bed.
“I uh need to tell you something” Her voice was soft but hoarse as she spoke which made you nervous.
“You can tell me anything Wands” Wanda smiled at your words but she still didn’t know how to tell you what she needed to.
“Well uh. Vision asked me to be his girlfriend” Your eyes went wide at her words. “And i said yes” That was the moment you felt your heart break and a lump form in your throat.
“That’s great Wands! I’m so happy for you!” You lie as you put on your best happy face. Wanda felt like you were upset but she wasn’t going to push you to talk.
Your mind was going a million miles an hour and your heart was racing. The two of you talked for another few minutes before she left your room and you broke down.
That night you skipped out on dinner which Wanda made and opted for a mental breakdown instead.
*End flashback*
And that brings us to a few days ago. Team movie night. Aka the night you dread the most because you had to watch Wanda and Vison be all lovey dovey. You thought that after a few days the feeling of hurt and rejection would go away but it didn’t. If anything your heart broke more anytime you saw her or them together.
So in the days after Wanda and Vision were official you took a major step back and distanced yourself from Wanda. It took her by surprise when you told her you weren’t in the mood for your weekly movie night on tuesday. She didn’t understand why you were being so distant so she decided to corner you in the training room for answers.
Wanda walked into the training room determined to get answers.
“Y/n” Her voice made you take a step back from the punching bag and make eye contact with her.
“Yea Wands?” Your voice was gravelly and hoarse causing a shiver to go down her spine.
“Why are you avoiding me” Your brows furrowed at her bluntness and you stood there confused.
“I-I’m not” You said trying to defend yourself. She scoffed a little a crossed her arms over her chest.
“Really? Because you’ve turned me down for our movie night, you started training with Nat instead of me, you don’t sit next to me at dinner anymore and we haven’t gone to lunch in days” Wanda said pouting a little and you felt your heart strings tug a little.
“I’ve just been busy” Was all the explanation you gave her and she huffed in annoyance.
“Y/n please!” She begged feeling her eyes well up with tears. “I miss you” Her words made you sigh as you grabbed your water bottle.
“Wanda please..It’s nothing to do with you i’ve just had a lot going on that’s all” You said softly looking into her soft green eyes.
“Okay…I’m sorry” Was all she said before she abruptly left you in the training room. You turned around to say something but the doors shut before you could.
You stood there as your thoughts ran wild and you felt a lump in your throat. It was all too much for you to handle so you just gathered your things and went back to your room hoping to sleep it off.
When you got to your room you were quick to turn the shower on and step into the warm water. The water cascaded down your skin melting away some of the tension in your muscles. You tried to shake the thoughts of Wanda out of your head as you washed your body then hair. You took your time with each step not wanting to leave the warmth and safety of the shower.
Once you were fully satisfied with your shower you stepped out and wrapped yourself in your fluffy robe. You changed into your favorite sweats and hoodie before slipping into bed just wanting to sleep away your problems. So that’s what’s you did you turned on The Vampire Diaries before you drifted off into unconsciousness state.
*Your dream*
The sun shined on your face causing you to groan a little before you slowly opened your eyes. You looked around and noticed that you weren’t in your room. You slowly uncovered yourself and walked around the room. There were small trinkets scattered around along with pretty paintings on the walls. But your heart stopped when you saw the picture on the nightstand. It was of you and Wanda with two baby boys smiling at the park.
Your heart started to beat faster and your hands started to sweat as you stared at the picture. After a minute of staring at it you put it back down and grabbed the robe on the door before walking to what you assume was the kitchen.
The sounds of giggling filled your ears as you approached the kitchen. And you couldn’t believe what you saw when you walked in. There Wanda was sitting at the kitchen table with two boys who looked around five and they were eating breakfast.
“Morning malysh” She greeted as she stood up from the table to grab the plate she made you. You walked up to her with a small smile on your face not really understanding what was going on but loving it nonetheless. Wanda handed you the plate with a small kiss on your cheek and you sat down next to one of the boys.
“Morning mommy” The little boy in a blue shirt said giving you a side hug when you sat down. Your eyes widened a little and you looked at Wanda who had a little smirk on her face.
“Uh morning honey” You said giving the boy a kiss on the head before you started eating along with them.
“How’d you sleep?” Wanda asked sitting back down at the table. She gave you a look as you asked making you wonder if she knew you were confused.
“I slept okay” You said tilting your head in confusion at the look she gave you. Wanda just nodded at your words and continued to eat her breakfast.
The four of you ate breakfast and you learned the boys names Billy and Tommy. You were still confused as to what was going on after you cleaned up from eating. Wanda had sent the boys to their room after you finished eating so she could talk to you for a moment.
“Malysh?” You felt a pair of hands wrap around your waist when you heard her voice. You turned around in her arms to face her making her smile a little.
“Yea?” You said in a soft voice making Wanda damn near melt.
“Are you okay?” She asked knowingly.
“Not really…I’m confused. One minute i fell asleep in my room at the compound and then the next i’m here with you and…and our kids?” As the words left your mouth you grew even more confused as to how this happened.
“Well if it makes it easier to understand this is a dream” Your eyes widened at her words.
“What?!” You said completely bewildered not comprehending what the fuck was going on.
“Well it’s a dream of our future” She said as she took you to the couch. The both of you sat on the couch and you waited for her to continue.
“I’m not the Wanda from your universe to start. In my universe i made the same mistake as the Wanda from your universe. I chose Vision in my universe just like yours did and i regretted it immediately but i felt stuck. And it wasn’t until…You uh died in my universe that i knew i made the biggest mistake of my life. I’ve spent the last two years trying to find a universe with you in it. Most universes have a you but you’re normally already with Wanda except in this universe…” You felt like you got whiplash from her words as you sat there and listened.
You sat there for a few minutes before you found the courage to speak. “So you’re not my Wanda and you’re from another universe? And i died in your universe? how? when? I-I and are the boys real? or are they just in the dream?” Wanda took your hand to stop you from having a panic attack.
“Breathe malysh breathe” She said calmly. “You died on a mission two years ago when we were taking down a hydra base and we got ambushed. We did everything we could to save you but it didn’t work. And yes in most universes the boys exist. We used a sperm donor to have them. You carried billy and i carried tommy.” Her words calmed you down a little.
Your thoughts were running rampant as you looked at the woman you loved. “I- Wow” Was all you were able to say making the witch laugh a little.
“I know this is a shot in the dark but w-would you come back to my universe with me? I-I can’t keep living without you” Wanda begged holding your hand a little tighter.
“But won’t that ruin the multiverse?” You asked a little nervous. It’s not that you didn’t wanna go it’s that you were scared and also thought that you were going crazy.
“No it won’t. I can make it to where you don’t exist in this universe. I can make it to where no one even knows your gone.” She said quickly to make sure that you didnt say no.
“Okay” You nodded your head. Wanda smiled and brought you in for a passionate kiss. And that’s when everything went blank.
*End of your dream*
You woke up and rubbed your eyes and looked around the room to make sure you were in your own room. It took you a few minutes to realize where you were and that you were okay. You shook off the dream assuming that it was just your brain playing games with you.
The clock read 12:02 when you saw a portal open in your room. You rubbed your eyes again as the portal opened and Wanda walked through.
“Wanda? What are you doing?” You asked still half asleep.
“I’m bringing you home Malysh”
~The end of part 1~
A/n Sorry not sorry for the cliff hanger 💋 I love yall and i’ll see you in the next part :)
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alwaysmicado · 1 month
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Sunshine
6.7k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 7
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Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, alcohol & painkillers, a little kiss, lots of sarcasm, angst, jealousy (reader would never!) Summary: A spontaneous meeting in a bar lays bare some uncomfortable truths. A/N: Why be sad when you can just turn off your feelings and not be sad anymore? It’s so easy. /s I can't tell you how much your messages about this series mean to me!! I love talking to you about it and I appreciate your enthusiasm and support soooo much!! Enjoy this part and let me know your thoughts! 🤍
→ previous part || joel masterlist || main masterlist || AO3
The Birds Don’t Sing, They Screech in Pain
– Werner Herzog
– – –
You don’t have feelings. You don’t have a heart. The world is a joke and nothing you do matters.
And you got a great ass. 
So fuck it.
You close the mirror cabinet and look at your reflection. The steam from your recent shower lingers in the air, creating a hazy atmosphere around you. With a determined gaze, you meet your own eyes, trying to convince yourself of what you so desperately want to believe. 
You. Don’t. Have. Feelings. 
Sighing exasperatedly, you leave the bathroom to go get dressed. You eye the empty space on the wall where the mirror used to hang in passing and can’t help but smile sardonically at the clean floor below. Who knew you had such a talent for cleaning blood? 
If your current job doesn’t work out in the long run, crime scene cleaner could be a viable alternative.
You rummage through your drawer for a fresh pair of panties, a soft bralette without any bothersome hooks, and a flowy dress you can easily pull over your head. Comfort is key today. Your morning shower proved tricky enough, but you managed somehow, maneuvering very ungracefully to keep your injured hand dry. 
Thankfully, you were smart enough to go to bed early last night and get up in time this morning, allowing you ample time to change the bandages and dress yourself with just one functional hand.
Exhaustion still lingers in every single one of your bones, but you’re determined to not let it get you down. Not again. So, you pour yourself a cup of strong coffee, sit outside on your balcony, pop the painkillers you got at the emergency clinic on Sunday, and browse the internet for a new mirror.
The sun kissing your skin feels nice, and the fresh air invigorates your senses. There’s even a flock of birds doing their choreographed dance in the sky. Just for you. You’re living in a goddamn dream, aren’t you? 
You scoff, down the rest of your coffee, cough when it goes down the wrong pipe, and go back inside once you don’t feel like you’re choking to death anymore. It’s time for work.
Your boss graciously let you work from home on Monday and Tuesday, but since there’s an important meeting scheduled this morning, she’s asked you to come to the office today. The meds should get you through the day, you’ll just have to figure out how to do your job effectively without the ability to type with your right hand.
You could try to push some of your workload onto the new intern who’s been unsuccessfully trying to flirt with you for the past month, but he strikes you as the type to show up with flowers and a teddy bear after you compliment his sneakers once — it’s probably not the best idea to entertain him.
An office romance sounds hot on paper, but your job is the only halfway stable thing in your life, so you don’t want to mess it up for some guy. Especially if said guy looks young enough to get carded in bars.
Why can’t you just not need money and not have to go to work at all? Is that really too much to ask? 
“Get your shit together,” you murmur to yourself as you grab your bag, your keys, and quickly check your appearance in the bathroom mirror. Eh, you look fine considering the messed-up past few days you had. The black wrist brace is kind of derpy—you can already see Kristen giggling at it and very much not believing any excuse you invent for it—but the smile you force onto your face looks virtually natural. 
What a little sunshine you are. 
Sandals on your feet, sunglasses sitting on your nose, wireless earbuds in your ears, your top three songs of the week on a blissful loop, you start your walk to the office. Nothing bad can touch you when the rhythm of your favorite beats courses through your veins, encapsulating you in an invincible cocoon.
For the first few minutes at least.
Your pulse quickens and your chest tightens as the gas station, where Joel could barely wait to pull out of you before gushing about his date, comes into view. And of course, Chris, the clerk, steps outside right as you pass it to inexplicably water the two withered plants next to the entrance.
You attempt to speed walk, hoping to avoid an embarrassing encounter, but where’s the fun in that, right? Sure enough, you hear him calling after you.
You roll your eyes behind your glasses and reluctantly stop, pulling out one of your earbuds as you turn to face him. His eyes fixate on the black brace around your wrist.
“What happened to your hand? Too much fun on the weekend?” he asks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.
You sigh, not in the mood for a detailed conversation, and also very much aware of what he’s probably insinuating. “Just a little accident at home,” you reply, keeping it vague. “Don’t do yoga if you’re drunk.”
He chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.” When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, he’s nice enough to not keep you any longer. “Well, I hope it heals soon. And let me know if you, uh, need anything. You know where to find me.”
You nod, offering a polite smile, and continue on your way, reinserting the earbud to drown out the world. You turn up the volume, lip-sync, and ignore Joel’s call without missing a beat.
– – –
“Please, tell me. Please, please, please. Come on…you know you’re gonna tell me eventually, so let’s just save us some time and get it over with. You know I can keep a secret.”
As expected, Kristen is very intrigued by your wrist brace. In fact, she has been switching between begging for you to tell her what happened and coming up with some outlandish theories since you sat down at your desk four hours ago. To nobody’s surprise, they all involve some sort of sex accident. 
It’s kind of funny, though, that none of the elaborate stories she imagines come close to capturing the absurdity of your reality. Oh well, you’re used to it by now. And yet, there’s no way in hell you’re going to divulge one of your most vulnerable and embarrassing moments to her. Not a chance. 
“I already told you,” you say without stopping your one-handed typing. “I got drunk watching The Bachelor and then my genius brain decided that was the perfect moment to try out some new yoga positions. It’s a miracle I only sprained my wrist and didn’t break my neck.” You put on your most convincing smile and look at her. “It’s embarrassing as shit, okay? I mean, look at this thing,” you point at your injured hand. “I look like a kid who fell off a swing on the playground.”
Kristen giggles and is about to say something, but right at that moment, she receives a phone call from a client. She sighs, narrows her eyes, and mouths, “This is not over.” You wink at her and go back to typing with your left hand, occasionally swearing under your breath when you hit the wrong keys. This is all so much fun. 
The rest of the day goes by in a blur of emails, phone calls, bad coffee, painkillers, Kristen putting a heart sticker on your wrist brace, another meeting, and your phone lighting up with new messages from Joel. 
By 5:30 p.m. your brain is about to explode, so you decide to call it a day and leave. There’s a frozen pizza waiting for you at home and you can hear your pajamas and sofa calling your name. Sweet, sweet solitude; it’s so close you can feel it. You just have to walk out fast eno–
“Drinks.”
“Did you seriously just hide behind that plant and jump out?” you chuckle, and Kristen’s grin tells you that is absolutely, one hundred percent what just happened. 
“Drinks,” she repeats. And when you open your mouth, she says it again, but this time she gives you her most adorable pout.
“Okay, okay,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes. “You can stop the puppy routine.”
“I love how easy you are,” she beams at you and plants a kiss on your cheek. “Let’s go!”
The warmth of the summer evening envelops you both as you step outside. The sun, still casting its golden hues across the city, paints the urban landscape with a vibrant palette. Kristen, with a fancy sun hat perched on her head that perfectly complements her black hair, looks for bars near you on her phone.
As you try to decide on a bar, the balmy air carries the distant sounds of the city’s summer symphony. The occasional laughter from a nearby cafe mingles with the hum of traffic, creating a lively backdrop to your anticipation.
Amidst the ambient noise, your phone buzzes with Tommy’s name flashing on the screen. You answer, bringing the phone to your ear.
“Hi Tommy.”
“Hi honey,” Tommy’s voice comes through, the background noise indicating he’s at a lively place. “Just calling to ask how you’re doing today.”
“You know you don’t need to call me every day to ask me that, right?” you chuckle, still unable to understand why he even cares. You don’t deserve him.
“Come on, it’s the highlight of my day,” he says in mock offense, and you can perfectly picture the grin on his face. 
“Well, if it’s that important to you…” you say, a smile on your lips. “I’m good. My friend and I are going for drinks. Just need to decide on a bar first.”
“What a perfect coincidence! I’m at this new place right now. They got great burgers and drinks, even non-alcoholic stuff,” he tells you excitedly. “Oh and Joel’s here, too.”
Your heart skips a beat at Tommy’s words. Joel is there, at the same place. The thought of seeing him again stirs a concoction of emotions within you — longing, uncertainty, and a subtle yearning for things to be okay. There’s an undeniable pull. You miss him.
As you take a moment to think of your answer, Kristen mouths, “Who’s that?”
“It’s my friend, and he’s inviting us to join him at a bar,” you explain to her.
Tommy’s voice perks up on the phone, “Come on, it’ll be a blast. The more, the merrier!”
You look at Kristen questioningly, and she gives you two thumbs up and a big smile. 
You sigh and look up at the sky. There’s a big bird chasing a smaller one. “Okay, we’re in,” you say to Tommy, and his excited shouts in your ear make you giggle. He sends you the location and you immediately order an Uber for you and Kristen. You don’t have to wait for long.
Sitting in the car, your initial, albeit reluctant, excitement has turned into annoyance as the hands of the clock seem to move at an agonizingly slow pace. What was supposed to be a ten-minute journey has stretched into an interminable thirty minutes, courtesy of the unrelenting rush hour traffic. 
The air inside the car feels stifling, even with the AC humming, and the incessant chatter about football between the driver and Kristen becomes an indistinct drone. Your lack of interest in the sport combines with the whirlwind in your head, making their conversation an incomprehensible blur.
As your stomach churns, a sense of queasiness settles over you, intensifying the already uncomfortable ride.
By the time you make it to the bar, you’re tired, cranky, and wish you had just gone home after work. You could be lying on your sofa right now, stuffing your face with pizza, watching Netflix, and testing your new vibrator before falling asleep in your soft bed. But no, you just had to be social, hm?
As you enter the crowded and lively bar, the buzz of upbeat chatter, clinking glasses, and the rhythmic thump of music surrounds you. Everyone’s loud and happy, and you’re just not in the right mood for it. Slowly making your way through the sea of faces with Kristen trailing behind, you spot Tommy seated in a cozy booth.
The mere sight of him puts you at ease — for about a second, that is.
Your eyes fall onto Joel and the woman who’s casually touching his shoulder, comfortably nestled against the plush cushioned seats. You’ve never seen her before, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist or even a sober brain to figure out who she is. What is she whispering into his ear now? He’s laughing. You can see his eye crinkles from where you’re standing.
The sight is like a punch to your gut.
For a moment, you’re frozen in place, and the urge to turn around and run away grips you. Unwelcome emotions and memories surge back, catching you off guard and leaving you breathless. Just as you contemplate an escape route, Tommy spots you from across the room, his face lighting up. 
“Sweetheart,” he shouts, rising from his seat and waving enthusiastically. His excited shout draws the attention of everyone around him, including Joel. Your eyes lock, and for a brief moment, the world around you fades. The corners of his lips instinctively turn upwards as he looks at you, but after spotting your wrist brace and the pained look on your face, he furrows his brow.
What the hell happened to you?
In the blink of an eye, you flip a switch in your brain, put on the most radiant smile you can muster, straighten your shoulders and cross the room. Joel’s concerned eyes don’t leave you for a second.
“There she is,” Tommy says, genuine warmth in his voice as he leans in to plant a kiss on your cheek, followed by a tight, comforting hug. “It’s so good to see you.” 
“You too, Tommy,” you murmur, a sense of momentary relief washing over you in the wake of his presence.
He pulls away from the hug, extending his greeting to Kristen, before introducing you both to the beautiful brunette sitting next to his brother. Draping his arm around your shoulders, he tells you with a smile that, “This is Jan, an old school friend of mine. We actually didn’t plan this whole meeting with everyone, somehow we just all ended up here. Funny coincidence,” he chuckles and you strain the muscles around your mouth so hard it hurts.  
“It’s nice to meet you, Jan,” you say, reaching out to shake her hand. She reciprocates your greeting and gives you a charming smile. 
“And I don’t need to introduce you to this guy, huh?” Tommy grins, squeezing your shoulder.
Your gaze shifts to Joel, who’s caught in the limbo of whether to remain seated or stand up, so he ends up awkwardly half-standing, caged in the narrow space between the bench and table.
“Hi, Joel,” you say, your eyes lacking their usual vivacity—a detail not lost on him.
He settles back into his seat, audibly clearing his throat. “Hi, darlin’.”
He studies your face as you settle down beside Tommy. You look as beautiful and glowing as always, but the longer he looks, the more cracks in the carefully put up facade he can see. Your smile isn’t genuine, your eyes look a bit swollen—like you’ve been crying or not sleeping well—and your body language screams unease.
The others may not notice, but he does. Because he knows you.
Kristen takes a seat beside Jan, seamlessly weaving herself into the ongoing conversation with Joel. Her ability to navigate social dynamics with such ease leaves you marveling – how is she so good at this? Her charm extends, connecting the trio in animated small talk.
Your body eases into a semblance of relaxation as Tommy pulls you closer and presses a kiss on the crown of your head. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispers into your hair, a tender reassurance that brings a sense of solace.
Sitting up straight, you return his smile, gratitude evident in your eyes. “Thanks to you.���
Tommy beams at you, momentarily lost in the exchange, before redirecting his attention to the group. “Are you guys ready for a first round of drinks?” he asks, the unison response from everyone echoing with enthusiasm, a collective “yes” that adds a burst of energy to the already vibrant atmosphere. 
– – –
After three rounds of drinks (you very responsibly decided to change to coke after one mojito), burgers, nachos, sharing the epic tale of how you managed to hurt your hand doing yoga, Jan gossiping about the guy her adult daughter brought home last week, Tommy sharing hilarious stories from his and Joel’s workplace, and everyone seemingly having loads of fun, you let yourself relax a bit.
It’s nice witnessing Joel’s laughter and enjoyment. A warmth spreads through your heart at the sight, a flicker of happiness for him. Yet, the subtle discomfort lingers as Jan’s touch becomes a constant presence on his arm. Rationalizing it as a casual gesture during conversation and under the influence of drinks doesn’t fully erase the twinge of unease settling within you.
But you can handle it, you convince yourself.
Until you can’t. 
You can’t handle it when Jan’s hand finds its way to Joel’s thigh and her lips brush the shell of his ear.
You glance at Joel, searching for a reaction, a flicker of discomfort perhaps, but his response is subtle. A shift in his seat, a movement so slight it could be mistaken for a casual adjustment, yet there’s a discernible change in his demeanor. It’s a momentary pause, a beat in the rhythm of the evening.
The weight of the scene bears down on you, and you feel a pang of vulnerability, a subtle ache in your chest. In that split second, a mix of emotions surges within you – a tinge of hurt, a brush of jealousy, and a sting of betrayal.
Emotions you haven’t felt in years. Emotions you have sworn to yourself you’d never feel again.
Why does it bother you so much? Is it because it reminds you of how you touched him, how you ran your hand further and further up his thigh when he was taking you home for the first time, teasing him until he couldn’t take it anymore, pulled his car over and fucked you in the driver’s seat? Has she done that with him? Is she as addictive as you are?
This close to a full-blown panic attack, you jump up from your seat to the surprise of everyone at your table. You make brief eye contact with Kristen, who shoots you a sympathetic look. 
Excusing yourself, you navigate through the bustling crowd towards the restrooms, located downstairs and accessible via a staircase. There are three separate spacious restrooms, and you choose the first one. Inside, you immediately head to the sink, running your left hand under cold water. The sensation helps to calm you down.
Closing your eyes, you take deep breaths, reassuring yourself that it’s not a big deal, and that it’s exactly what it was always meant to be—probably even for the best.
Then, as you try to find composure, a knock on the door interrupts your thoughts.
“Occupied!” you yell in response to the knock, and then you hear Joel’s deep voice saying, “It’s me.” 
Of course it is.
You sigh exasperatedly and shuffle to the door to let him in. Joel enters, swiftly locking the door behind him.
“There’s two other restrooms, you know,” you murmur as you walk back to the sink and divert your attention to your reflection in the mirror, concentrating on fixing your hair. 
“Yeah, well, I specifically want the one with you in it,” he says with a little smirk, his eyes searching for yours in the mirror. As your gaze meets his, he’s taken aback by the lack of the usual sparkle that used to light up your eyes at the sight of him. The absence of that adoration he’s grown accustomed to leaves a void, and a tinge of concern creeps into his expression.
“Hey,” he says tentatively, his voice softer than before. “Are you okay, darlin’?”
You look at him, and the weariness in your eyes doesn’t escape his attention. There’s a distant quality to your gaze, and it sends a pang of worry through him. The connection he once felt in your eyes seems to have dimmed, and he can’t help but feel a sense of loss.
It’s the same expression you had when he last saw you. He hates it.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you respond, putting on your fake smile again, but the lack of conviction in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed.
Joel’s concern deepens as he steps closer, the teasing smirk replaced by genuine worry. “I’ve been trying to reach you, but you haven’t responded to any of my texts or calls.” He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, his brow furrowed. “I was worried something happened, and—he points at your injured hand—my feeling was right.” He tilts his head and studies your face. “What happened?”
You turn around and lean against the sink, holding your right arm with your left hand, your eyes revealing a complex mixture of emotions. “I told you already,” you say nonchalantly. “Getting drunk and trying to do elaborate yoga poses is a dumb idea if you’re as clumsy as me.”
Joel raises his eyebrows, not believing a word you’re saying. “That’s not all, is it?”
“What do you mean?” you say, feigning ignorance.
“You don’t seem like yourself and I’m…worried about you.” Joel’s concern etches lines on his forehead as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes, usually warm and comforting, narrow slightly as he studies your seemingly cheerful facade.
“But this is myself.” You point at your smiley face with your left hand and tilt your head. “You don’t like it?”
He shakes his head, a subtle sigh escaping him. “That’s not what I said. I just feel like something’s off.”
“Is it because I’m happy?”
“It’s because I don’t believe you’re happy. I know you too well, baby.”
You scoff, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I’m happy? Do you want me to be miserable?”
“No, sweetheart. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be happy. But you’re lying to my face right now and I don’t appreciate that.”
You turn your head to avoid his gaze, your silence speaking volumes, your hand tightly gripping the flesh of your arm as if to contain the emotional turmoil threatening to spill over.
Stop it.
“Darlin’,” Joel says gently, closing the physical gap between you two, and reaching out to place his warm palms on your shoulders. “Look at me.”
A shiver runs down your spine and tiny goosebumps instantly form on your skin. You’ve missed his touch more than you care to admit — to yourself or to him. His touch is tender, a plea for connection, but you hesitate. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, revealing the deep sadness you tried to conceal.
What happened to you? Whatever it was, it breaks his heart that he wasn’t there to protect you.
“Why didn’t you call me?” he asks softly.
“Not everything’s about you, Joel.”
“I know that. I just…wish you would let me know what’s going on.” His touch becomes a subconscious reassurance as he absentmindedly rubs your arms, as if trying to make sure you’re really there in front of him.
“Why do I owe you that? Why do I owe you every shitty detail of my life while I know virtually nothing about you?” you say a little sharper than intended. 
Joel takes a deep breath. “You don’t owe me anything. I just thought–” he pauses, searching your eyes. “I miss seeing that spark in your eyes when you look at me,” he admits, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. “I never fully realized how much it meant to me until now.”
You take a moment to process his words and his touch as frustration bubbles up inside you. Your heart aches.
“Why are you doing this?” 
“Doing what? Caring about you?”
“Ruining the mood.” You shake your head, swallowing what you actually want to say, any traces of happiness erased from your face. “If you’re trying to make me feel bad, it’s starting to work.”
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m trying to understand what’s happened since the last time I saw you.” He tilts his head and studies your face, genuine concern in his eyes. 
All you can see, though, is disappointment. He’s disappointed in you, you can sense it. And how could he not be? You’re a liability, a mess. Looks like he’s finally seeing you for who you are, and that’s why he replaced you.
“And now’s the best time to do that?” you scoff, averting your gaze and looking around. 
“What am I supposed to do when you don’t respond to me for days on end and this is my only chance of talking to you?”
You look back into his eyes. “How about leaving it alone?”
“I can’t do that. Not when it comes to you,” he says, shaking his head and moving closer, his cologne filling your senses like a familiar embrace. His hands trace the contours of your neck, a gentle and deliberate touch that ignites a cascade of sensations. His thumbs brush your cheekbones with a tenderness that speaks of longing, his gaze dropping to your lips before finding your eyes again.
In that charged moment, the air between you thickens with unspoken desires before you both succumb to the magnetic pull drawing you together. Your heartbeat quickens, matching the rhythm of anticipation. Without breaking eye contact, he closes the remaining distance, his lips meeting yours in a soft yet passionate kiss. The familiar sensation of his lips on yours is both electric and comforting, and you allow yourself to get lost in it for a bit.
As he eases away, his fingers trail lightly down your neck and arms, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. There’s a soft smile on his lips as he breaks the silence. 
“I mean it when I say I care about you and want the best for you, darlin’,” he murmurs. “And you don’t have to tell me any details about what happened if you’re not ready yet, but I need to know what made you not want to call me. We’ve been there for each other in difficult situations before, so I just really don’t get it.”
You raise a skeptical eyebrow, frustration and anger intertwining with the lingering memory of his lips on yours.
“Why in the world would I ever call you while you’re on a date?” you say quietly, a steely edge in your voice, no trace of a smile to be found on your lips.
Oh. So it did bother you. 
Joel’s expression shifts from concern to a momentary realization, the lines on his forehead deepening. “I would always drop everything to be there for you. No matter where I am or what I’m doing.”
You laugh wryly. “Joel. Seriously. Are you really trying to tell me you were oh so worried about me while you were fucking someone else? And that you’re worried now even though she’s currently upstairs, desperately waiting for you to take her home? Come on, don’t insult my intelligence.”
He stares at you in utter disbelief and takes a step back, as if physically recoiling from the weight of your words. “That’s not what–”
“Look, Joel,” you push yourself off the sink, straighten up, and walk past him towards the door. “It doesn’t matter. You can fuck or date whoever you like. Jan seems nice and like a good match, so I’m very happy for you.”
“Sweetheart, I’m not doing any of that. You misunders–”
You turn around sharply to look at him. “I misunderstood the woman who’s had her hands all over you the whole evening?” 
“It’s not like that,” he insists, trying to get through to you. “She’s drunk as hell and probably doesn’t even realize what she’s doing. And I’m not interested anyway.”
“Sure. That’s why she’s here right now.”
“I had nothing to do with that. Tommy invited her without telling me,” he says, running his fingers through his hair as his stress is mounting. “Darlin’, please. This isn’t even about her; it’s about you and me. And maybe it’s time to stop pretending everything’s okay when it’s clearly not.”
You turn your head, deliberately avoiding the intensity of his gaze as the weight of his words settles in. His plea sends palpable waves of discomfort through your already wounded emotions, causing your chest to tighten further. Why is he doing this? Is this fun for him? 
“So you’d rather keep pretending everything’s fine?” he presses, his tone a mix of concern and urgency, the edges of his patience beginning to fray. 
Okay, now you’ve had it.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Joel. What do you want from me?” you hiss at him, frustration dripping from your words.
Joel is momentarily taken aback, but his own agitation prevents him from fully grasping your distress. A deep sigh escapes him as he props one hand on his hip, rubbing his eyes wearily with the other.
“Since when does it matter what I want?” he murmurs.
Ouch.
That hurt.
Your face falls, and you feel like he just slapped you across the face. The sting of his words cuts deep, causing tears to well up in your eyes.
Joel’s eyes widen in shock when he sees the look on your face. “Shit, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammers, realizing the impact of his words a moment too late. “I’m sorry, baby, I–” his voice trembles with regret, desperate to undo the damage he’s done.
“Is that how you really feel? That I don’t care about what you want?” you ask, your voice shaky.
“No, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m so–”
“But that’s how you feel? Deep down?”
Why are you acting so surprised? Were you really naive enough to believe him when he said he was happy with you? God, you’re dumb.
“Oh, sweetheart…” he reaches out to wipe away the tears that are making their way down your cheeks, but you push his hand away.
“I came here for you, Joel,” you blurt out, your raised voice startling him. “And I–I spent the last three hours making conversation with everyone, including the woman you’re fucking, because I care about you and want you to be happy, even though my hand is killing me and I’m so drained I have to force my eyes to stay open.”
You express yourself with animated hand gestures as you talk through your tears, your voice breaking. 
“I had a horrible weekend and needed some time to recover, but I was so fucking happy to see you tonight because I’ve missed you and I’ve–I’ve never hidden how much I like spending time with you. Why is that not enough? What more do you want from me?”
Your big, watery eyes pierce Joel’s, and the fact that he’s the reason for your tears pierces his heart.
“Darlin’, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t right what I said.”
He takes a step closer to you, the desperation in his eyes matching the pain in yours, intending to pull you into a comforting hug to calm you—and himself—down. However, you immediately take a step back, creating a physical distance between you two.
“Do you want me to cry ‘cause seeing you with another woman breaks my heart? Is that it?” 
Joel stares at you incredulously, your accusing tone making him wince. “No, of course no–”
Your heart is racing, and you can feel the tightness in your chest growing with every second you’re looking into Joel’s eyes. Eyes that—until now—have always made you feel so calm, so safe, so…loved. Your hands tremble slightly, and a lump forms in your throat, making it difficult to speak.
“Do you want me to make a scene in front of everyone ‘cause it physically pains me to think you’re touching her the same way you touch me?”
Joel opens his mouth to say something, a fleeting impulse to express himself and try to console you, but he catches himself, realizing that uttering those words might inflict more damage than repair right now. 
“Do you want me to beg you not to leave me ‘cause I can’t even imagine my life without you anymore? Is that what you want?”
“Sweetheart...” He takes a step towards you, his eyes pleading, but you cut him off.
“No, I’m fucking sick of this,” your words spill out between sobs as tears stream down your face. “It’s always the same. I’m good enough only as long as I act the way you want it, and the minute you get bored or realize I’m not as perfect as you imagined, you replace me with someone better. Everyone always fucking leaves and I’m so sick of it.”
“Darlin’, I swear that’s not what’s happening,” Joel implores, his whole body so tense and hot he’s sweating through his shirt. “I’m not leaving and I really didn’t mean to hurt you.” 
You sigh deeply, grab a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, blow your nose, and dry your tears.
“I knew this was gonna happen and I still let myself believe I could be enough for once,” you murmur more to yourself than him, your head pounding painfully.
Serves you right for having feelings.
Joel says your name gently, trying his best not to spook you. His words hang in the air like a lifeline, a desperate attempt to mend what is broken.
“You are enough. You’ve always been enough. I’m so sorry for making you feel otherwise.”
Your head is spinning, emotions tumultuous and unyielding. In dire need of fresh air and distance from Joel, you stagger towards the door. His voice follows you, pleading.
“Sweetheart, I promise I’m not going to leave you. And I’m so incredibly sorry for upsetting you, I just–” he exhales deeply and clears his throat. “I wanted you to be honest with me about your feelings, but this wasn’t the way to go about it. I’m sorry.”
The door swings open, and you turn around, the forced smile from before back on your lips. 
“Well, congratulations, Joel,” you say, your tone laced with a mix of bitterness and anguish. “You got what you wanted. I hope you’re fucking happy.”
The door slams shut behind you, leaving Joel stunned, alone with the haunting echoes of shattered trust and unspoken pain, the distant thump of music mirroring the beating of his remorseful heart.
As you make your way back upstairs, the residual heat of the argument lingers on your skin. Taking a deep breath, you enter the lively space once more. Tommy, who’s standing at the bar, notices you, concern etched across his face.
“Hey, is everything okay, honey?” he asks, his voice soft with genuine worry.
You manage a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. My hand’s just hurting really bad now and the meds make me dizzy, so I’ll head home.”
He furrows his brow. “Joel’s my designated driver, but I can take a cab, so he can drive you home.” He looks around, searching the bar for his brother. “Where is he anyway?”
“There’s a huge line in front of the restrooms, he’s probably still waiting. And it’s okay, Tommy, really.”
You wrap your arms around his neck, seeking solace, and bury your face in the crook of his neck. He responds by pulling you into a warm and reassuring embrace, a gesture that speaks volumes without the need for words. Luckily, he’s drunk enough not to smell his brother on you.
“I missed you,” you murmur, your eyes closed. 
Tommy strokes the back of your head and chuckles. “I missed you, too, sweetheart.”
He pulls away far enough to look into your eyes, giving you the brightest smile. “Tell you what. You come over for dinner on Friday — no ifs, ands, or buts. Maria’s been wanting to see you, and we just finished our patio, so it’s perfect.”
You pinch his cheek and shake your head at him. “It’s not fair that you’re this charming, you know? How could I ever say no?”
“Don’t say no, then,” he says playfully,  a hint of worry still in his eyes.
You sigh exaggeratedly. “Okay, okay, I won’t.”
“Attagirl. And you’re sure you don’t want Joel to drive you?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I always find my way home somehow.” You plant a kiss on Tommy’s cheek, and he finally agrees to release you from his embrace after securing a pinky promise that you ‘a hundred percent won’t flake out’.
You walk over to Kristen and Jan, who are still sitting at your table, engrossed in an animated conversation. Observing them for a moment, you find yourself captivated by Jan’s effortless charisma. She’s a real sunshine — and unlike you, she doesn’t have to fake it. Had you met her under different circumstances, you might have liked her. 
Kristen’s eyes meet yours, and her brow furrows slightly, registering the expression on your face for a fleeting moment. Swiftly, you put on a polite smile and step closer, masking the momentary vulnerability with practiced ease.
“Ladies,” you say, a touch of self-deprecating humor in your tone, “I know I’m lame, but I’m actually going home already. Just wanted to say goodbye.”
Jan answers first, surprising you with a warm smile. “Oh, that’s not lame at all! You’re just smarter than us.”
You hold up your injured hand and deadpan, “Yeah, I’m a real genius, aren’t I?”
Jan and Kristen giggle, and you join in, sharing a brief moment of camaraderie. You’re so good at this. Almost believable. 
As you look for your bag on the bench, contemplating the logistics of your departure, Kristen catches your eye and winks at you.
“I’ll come with you,” she says, giving you a reassuring look. “Our boss is gonna have a fit if I fall asleep at my desk again, so…I guess this is what being a responsible adult is,” she sighs. She hands you your bag, downs the rest of her drink, and the two of you say goodbye to Jan, who’s now getting up to search for the Miller brothers.
Kristen takes you by the hand, gently leading you outside. The cool breeze brushes against your face as the sun starts its descent, offering a much-needed breath of fresh air. Settling down down on the curb together, you find a comfortable spot, trying your best not to inadvertently flash someone as you adjust your dress. 
“I’ll call us an Uber,” Kristen says, her tone comforting. You appreciate the warmth of her presence as you wait for the ride, the fading sunlight casting a soft glow on both of you.
“Done.” She wraps her arm around you, providing a supportive shoulder for you to lean on. The two of you sit in silence, the ambient noise of traffic and distant chatter from the bar filling the air, serving as a backdrop to the racing thoughts in your mind. Eventually, Kristen succumbs to her curiosity. 
“So…” she starts, her voice carefully navigating the sensitive terrain. “That’s him?”
You chuckle faintly. “Yup. That’s him.”
“Hmm, I get it now. He’s hot as fuck,” she says, happy that she can make you laugh. “Do you think he’d be up for a threesome?”
“Oh, I’m sure he’d be up for it. I’m just not so sure about his heart being able to take it. Or his back. Or his knees.”
Kristen giggles and then looks at you for a moment, fascinated by this evening’s revelations. “It’s so interesting, I had no idea you were into older guys.”
“I, uh, didn’t know either before I met him.”
“I see,” she nods, a thoughtful expression on her face. Another minute of shared silence passes before she decides to just come out and ask you the one burning question on her mind.
“Do you love him?”
You don’t need a second to think about your answer.
– – –
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