#but i haven’t been able to get this out of my head so here it is now
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Quickies with the MHA Boys!
Everyone involved in this work of fiction is 18+/aged up — if that bothers you block me or scroll on.
Bakugou, Kirishima, Todoroki
How the MHA Boys Eat You Out Link
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Bakugou Katsuki
Katsuki doesn’t mind quickies per se. He just has to be in the right mood for it. He’d much rather take his sweet time. Not wanting to rush, being able to relax afterwards — otherwise he’d rather just not have sex at all.
But there are times when he’s frustrated. When your schedules haven’t lined up, when you haven’t had sex in weeks — he gets pent up.
Katsuki’s the kind of guy who will lounge on your bed in just his tight black boxer briefs. Arms folded behind his head as he lazily waits for you to get out of the shower.
He knows it gives you a view that you’re unable to resist of his unreasonably slim waist and toned arms — as the position allows his biceps to flex involuntarily.
And of course, he’s completely aware that you have to leave for work in less than 20 minutes. He just doesn’t give a single shit.
He’s been dreaming about your warm pussy sucking in his cock in all night and there’s not a chance in hell he’s letting you go until he fucks you silly.
Tilting his head, he leers at your naked body as you drop your towel onto the bed. He urges you in a low, rasping voice to “come here baby,” sporting a wolfish grin.
You already know what he wants. It makes your stomach burn pleasantly with arousal.
“Five minutes Katsuki, I’m serious.” You shoot him a pointed glare. He scoffs, rolling his eyes.
“As if I won’t have you cumming in less than two minutes.” The grin he levels you with is sharp around the edges.
Although, the man’s right to be confident.
Katsuki will push you onto the bed, cock already stiff and thick when he wiggles between your legs, yanking his briefs down to mid thigh.
You’re turned on enough that he slides in with relative ease, even if it burns a little, because let’s be real — he’s so hot you would take him any time, any place.
Katsuki will tug one of your legs up, hooking it over his shoulder. He’ll bend you in half and circle his fingers around your throat, applying pressure that’s just right.
With precision, he wholly makes this quickie worth it. Katsuki has your toes curling, cheeks flushed. Choking on your own moans as you cum.
He does exceptionally well with the time limit, pulling out and cumming all over your belly with a groan that leaks out between gritted teeth.
Almost exactly five minutes on the dot.
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Kirishima Eijirou
Eijirou has the spirit of a happy, care free, lovesick golden retriever. So naturally, he loves physical touch.
He’s addicted to constantly being in your space. Hugging you, holding your hand, pulling you to sit on his lap, kissing you.
And if we’re being honest, whenever he gets the chance, he’ll be inside you too. Stretching you out. Making you feel so good it melts your brain — if only because it makes him feel twice the amount of pleasure to you see come undone.
Needless to say, Eijirou enjoys quickies a fuck ton. He also is the sort of guy who gets literal heart eyes whenever you initiate one with him.
He’ll be relaxing on the couch, lost in some sort of video game when you snatch the controller out of his hands and place it out of his reach.
Eijirou sputters, glancing up at you in surprise. His startled expression turns to one of knowing when you straddle his lap. Your sundress bunching up and exposing the soft skin of your inner thighs in the process.
“I’ve got 10 minutes until I leave for my appointment. Wanna have sex Ei?” You ask teasingly, a coy smile playing on your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck, gently trailing your fingers up the nape of his neck.
You swear if Eijirou had a tail it would be wagging. He moans low in his throat. Your light touch and filthy words are all it takes to get him hard, stiff cock pressing eagerly into your thigh.
“How could I ever say no to you gorgeous?” He beams at you with his sharp teeth, resting his hands your hips. You snicker, raising up a little so he can slid his shorts down enough to free himself — just under his balls.
He sneaks your panties to the side, rubbing tight circles into your clit with his thumb. Your teeth sink into your lower lip, trying to hold in a whine.
He has mercy on you, gripping his shaft and parting your pussy with his cock until his head catches. You ease yourself down onto him until you’re fully seated in his lap.
You both simultaneously breathe out a sigh of relief.
After that, he lets you ride him until you’re sweaty and satiated. He praises you sweetly, holding your waist with a tight grip and helping you bounce.
“That’s it baby, take what you need. I’m right here, I’ve got you. Love it when you cum for me,” he coos, voice tender and adoring.
It’s effortless to cum like that, face buried in his shoulder while you rock back and forth in his lap. Letting him hug you tightly to his chest.
Once you come back down to earth, you check for the time, noticing you’ve only got two minutes left.
You taunt Eijirou with the time limit, telling him it’s his turn to cum before he has to take care of himself.
He chases his own pleasure desperately. Kissing you to keep himself from biting marks into your neck.
You’re only running a couple minutes late when you go, leaving Eijirou a sticky, gooey mess on the couch.
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Todoroki Shouto
Shouto, he’s, well — a mix of the two really. He enjoys taking his time, but he also cannot keep himself out of your bubble.
One of Shouto’s absolute favorite past times is cuddling with you.
The coziness of your body, the way you fit like a missing puzzle piece into his chest. The tender kisses he can trail across your neck and the ones you give him in return.
That’s why Shouto takes immense pleasure in those honey like, sweet and warm, limbs riddled with sleep morning quickies.
He can’t resist the temptation.
You’ll hear Shouto’s piercing alarm go off in the morning, jostling you from your dreams. The sheets rustle as Shouto maneuvers to turn off his alarm.
Your lids are droopy, and your limbs lag by a couple seconds when you turn over to cling to him.
You sprawl out half way on top of his chest and you slip your arms around his neck, nuzzling his shoulder.
“Sho,” you mumble in his ear, voice rasp and faint. He snakes an arm around your waist, tugging you closer.
“Mm?” The noise he makes rumbles in his chest
“I want you before you go, please,” you plead softly, kissing along his jawline. He squeezes you tighter briefly, responding without a trace of hesitation.
“Turn over baby, I’ll have to make it quick.”
So, you shift around until you’re on your side. Back facing Shouto as he scoots in close, wiggling down until his forehead rests at the back of your neck.
He shoves the large T-shirt you’re wearing up to your ribs. Smoothing his hand over your bare ass and squeezing until your breath hitches in your throat. Shouto smacks your ass playfully.
Automatically you lift your thigh and Shouto grips underneath it to keep it in that position, shifting his legs until he’s got the right angle.
The silky, warm skin of his full cock slides along your pussy and you jolt. He must’ve got rid of his briefs at some point.
Shouto shift his hips, pressing the head of his cock to your pussy, rocking his hips unhurriedly until he’s sliding in and out completely with each thrust.
You’re already crying out his name, gripping the sheets.
“Is this what you needed Angel?” Shouto pants hotly against your neck. “Your pussy feels so good,” he moans, tone pushing into a whine.
You can’t speak, still halfway asleep as Shouto takes you with slow and deliberate thrusts.
He repeatedly presses into your sweet spot as your climax builds gradually. It’s like a faucet sluggishly dripping warm water into a cup until it fills to the brim and overflows through your veins.
It doesn’t take long for Shouto to cum after your pussy clenches around him like a vice.
He presses in until his balls are flush against your skin. Biting into the back of your shoulder blade with a high pitched moan. That will definitely leave a mark.
“I love you,” Shouto murmurs, planting a kiss to your cheek after he helps you get clean enough to fall back asleep.
You’re out like a light before you hear the door shut, hoping Shouto makes it to the agency on time.
#bakugou smut#bakugou x reader#kirishima x reader#todoroki x reader#kirishima smut#shoto smut#todoroki smut#bakugou katsuki x reader#todoroki shoto smut#kirishima eijirou x reader#todoroki shouto x reader#kirishima eijirou smut#bakugou katsuki smut#mha smut
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Inked Daisies (Chapter 3)
Summary: For the past year, you've been running the flower shop that's next door to your friend, Matt's, tattoo studio. But what happens when the feelings start to get more than friendly?
Read Chapter 2 here
Pairing: Tattoo artist!Matt x floristfem!reader
Warnings: Drinking, sexual harassment and unwanted touch, protective!Matt, physical fighting/mentions of blood, suggestive comments, a few uses of y/n
Word Count: 2.3k
A/N: Save me protective!Matt...protective!Matt save me. In all seriousness though, this is a tad bit different than my usual fluffy stuff, so let me know what you think!! Enjoy 💐🌸🌹🌻
“We need to talk.”
You jumped, dropping your pink watering can in the process. You whirled around to see who the speaker was, placing a hand to your racing heart. “Nick, what the fuck? You can’t do that.”
“Where have you been all week?” Your friend asked, leaning against the brick wall of your shop as he spoke.
“What do you…mean?” You asked carefully, picking up your watering can and continuing to water the flowers in the planter boxes on the window. “I’ve been busy, Nick,” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”
“Oh, it’s not me I’m worried about,” he mumbled, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s Chris. He’s acting like a mopey puppy because you haven’t been over.”
You bit your lip, feeling rather guilty about the way you’d sort of ghosted your friends. You’d been responding to their messages, of course, but you hadn’t made any move to hang out or became seemingly ‘under the weather’ when they asked. You figured it was best to just keep your distance for a few days until you wiped the memory of Matt walking in on you showering from your mind. Not to mention the way you hadn’t even been embarrassed about it.
“I’m sorry…I’ve just had a lot on my mind,” You murmured, eyes sliding to the shop across the street subconciously. “Do you know what we should do?” You asked, still staring at the building across the street as you formulated an idea in your mind.
“Attach you and Chris at the hip so he’ll stop fucking whining? Make you two get married?” Nick suggested, a jokingly cynical look on his face.
“Okay, first of all, Chris is my best friend. We’re not getting married. We don’t even like each other like that.” You grumbled, finishing your task and walking towards the stained-glass door of your shop.
Nick followed after you, stepping inside the shop as well, despite your business technically not being open for the day. Petal Perfection was an almost magical place, if you did say so yourself. You had started converting the old antique shop as soon as you’d bought the place, turning it from old and dusty to vibrant and full of life. On one wall was your register and the glass case that displayed your latest offerings and arrangements, while the other two held a variety of small trinkets and gifts, and a self-serve bouquet station where customers could pick the flowers they wanted and arrange them in their unique way.
You started bustling around, straightening up and getting ready for the day, awaiting your employee’s arrival. Maybe it was the fact that you were consumed with guilt over how you’d treated the boys over the past few days, or maybe it was the implications about how Chris felt about you and marriage, but either way, the pale pink walls of your store felt like they were closing in on you.
“We should surprise Chris at work tonight!” You said brightly as you wiped the glass case with a soft cloth. “Besides, I could use a night out.”
“Huh,” Nick tilted his head sideways as he looked at you, feeling like there was something off about your behavior, but not being able to place what it was. “I mean I guess, but where did that idea come from?”
“Can a girl not just want to have drinks and go dancing?” You asked him, faking a confident, happy aire.
“God, you’re so ADHD. It’s not even funny.”
“Says you.”
Although Nick had been diagnosed with ADHD in childhood and you in high school, it had been a running joke between you two ever since you’d connected. Granted, your friend would always fight with people who tried to make fun of or discriminate against either of you, but that didn’t stop you from bullying each other.
“Do you think Matt will want to come?” Nick asked, fiddling with his phone.
At the mention of the middle triplet’s name, you froze, all memories of last Friday flooding back to you. “Uhhhh…he doesn’t really like…bars and stuff, y’know?”
If Nick seemed to catch onto your hesitation, he didn’t mention it. “You’re right. I’ll invite him anyway, though. He’s been hurled up in that shop like a fuckin’ hermit.” he said, jerking his thumb towards the street.
Sure enough, Matt’s car was already parked outside ThreeSixty Tattoo, despite the fact that it was only just after eight in the morning and the shop didn’t open until noon. The shades were still drawn so that you couldn’t see inside the store, but you knew that he was already hard at work, prepping for a long day of tattoos and piercings.
“You’re a good brother, Nick.” You smiled, setting up the register for the day as your first (and only) two employees filed into the shop.
You watched as Nick bid you his goodbyes and left the shop, crossing to the smaller, painted black brick one across the street. A part of you that you couldn’t explain was glad Matt had already pulled the shades up for the day, because then you could sneak a peek at your friends every now and then before the rush for the day started. In a way, you almost hoped Matt would say yes to Nick’s offer, despite your avoidance of the triplets for the past week. Maybe if you saw him in person again, you would realize that what had happened wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe.
✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚
“I don’t see why we have to do this,” Matt grumbled as you led him and Nick through the bar, his older brother tugging his wrist. “It’s work. Chris is literally just at work.”
“Because it’s a nice surprise!” You yelled over the thumping club music. “And it’s Friday night. Some of us like to do fun things with our weekends while we’re young, y’know?”
He knew you couldn’t see it due to the dim lighting, but Matt rolled his eyes as he was pulled through the crowd. Unlike his younger brother, Matt hated anything that had to do with bars, clubs, or party atmospheres. They were too chaotic and noisy, and drunk people were annoying. The brunette would’ve much rather sat and had a meaningful conversation with someone than go drinking. Sometimes though, when he was alone in his room at night, you were the first person that came to his mind when he wished he was someone else. Someone more outgoing, more friendly, more fun.
Like right now, for example. You were sliding in between bodies, laughing and talking as you made your way to the bar. All of the people you spoke to were complete and utter strangers, yet you talked like you’d known them your whole life, all while being completely sober. By definition, you were bubbly. Ever since Matt had known you, you’d had no trouble making friends. When he was alone, he thought about what it might be like to have that personality. People absolutely flocked to you, and to him, it was admirable. Without even noticing it, a small smile had crossed Matt’s face as he watched you, despite all the noise and the uncomfortable feeling of sweat against his skin as people continued to grind into each other.
The three of you found seats at the bar, with you sitting in the middle and chatting animatedly while you waited for Chris to notice you. Right now, the youngest was in his zone, yelling out instructions to the trainees and bustling around with cocktail shakers in both hands. The club he worked at was one of the most popular in Los Angeles, and despite the cold January evening, tonight’s turnout was nothing short of humongous. Finally, after about fifteen minutes of waiting, Chris turned to his right, wiping sweat from his brow.
“What the fuck? What are you guys doing here?” he asked, a smile growing on his face despite the tiredness that was clearly evident.
“We came to surprise you!” You stood up on the rungs of your chair, leaning across the bar and hugging Chris’ neck. “How’s the shift?”
“Busy as fuck. Do you know how many Manhattan’s I’ve made–” Chris was cut off when you were yanked back into your seat by Matt’s hands around your waist.
“What was that for?” You grumbled, adjusting your tiny, leather shorts.
“You’ll get hurt.” Matt said flatly, expression unmoving.
“How?” You cocked your head incredulously, staring at the brunette who sat unmoving with his arms folded over his chest.
“Yeah, Matt. How?” Chris challenged, never missing an opportunity to poke fun at one of his brothers.
“You could fall.”
“And Chris would catch her.” Nick added in, quite enjoying the way Matt was fidgeting at the questions.
“Would he?” Matt smirked when Chris was pulled away by another customer who was insistently ordering a margarita. “Cause it seems like he’s busy.”
“You’re no fun.” You groaned, finding yourself sliding back into the easy rhythm of friendship that you had always had with the boys. As the bass of whatever current EDM song was playing pounded in your heart, you found yourself thinking less and less about your little…encounter with Matt last week. “Come on, Nick,” You said, hopping off the stool and grabbing the oldest triplets’ hand. “Let’s dance.”
Matt watched as you and Nick were swept into the crowd. He heard Chris chatting his ear off on the side as he continued to make drinks for the people swarming the bar, but his eyes always found their way back to you. In the darkness of the club, you were like a little beacon of light. Your hips swayed to the music as you threw your head back laughing while Nick spun you around. Eventually, you started pulling other clubbers into your dance circle, and the boy found himself fighting the urge to join. He was a terrible dancer, but you made it look so effortlessly fun that he almost believed he could do it.
“You got a crush on Y/N, man?”
Matt painstakingly pulled his eyes off of you and the dance floor, turning towards Chris, who was beating the mint leaves for a mojito, a cold yet inquisitive look on his face. “No.”
“You sure are acting like it,” the younger brunette said coolly, sweeping the ingredients into a shaker. “Watching her like a German Shepard and shit.”
Matt rolled his eyes, not even denying it as he looked back over towards the dance floor. You had drifted away from Nick by this point, not wanting to cockblock the oldest triplet who was currently chatting with a much taller guy with dreads and a septum piercing. In the nicest way possible though, Matt didn’t give a fuck about his brother. He had become attuned to your movements now, watching as you said something to some overly drunk motherfucker.
The guy continued trying to talk to you, getting more heated as he spoke. A frown was growing on your face at his feeble attempts to get you somewhere more secluded, seemingly not understanding that you were here with your friends and wanted to be left alone. Matt told himself that he just wanted to keep an eye on you for your safety. He didn’t care who you did or didn’t talk to. You were just one of his friends, and he wanted you to be safe. The brunette halfheartedly listened to Chris rattle off random nonsense while he bustled around the bar, but when the awful idiot placed an unwanted hand on your ass, Matt was up and across the club in three quick strides.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Matt asked roughly, yanking the guy’s arm off of you.
“Chill, dude,” the guy slurred drunkenly, trying to wrest free from Matt’s grip. “She said she was single.”
“She’s not,” he lied easily, tightening his ironclad grip on the man’s arm. “And even if she was, that doesn’t give you a right to touch her without her permission.”
“Matt…” You said tentatively, not wanting this to escalate. “It’s fine, okay? Let’s just go.”
Your friend wasn’t hearing you as he grabbed the guy by the collar of his shirt, lifting him so that he was inches away from his own face. “Get the fuck out of here. Don’t touch her, don’t talk to her, don’t even fucking look at her. Got it?”
“Oh I’ll get out of here,” the guy sneered, alcohol hot on his breath. It was clear that in his drunken stupor he didn’t realize Matt was deadly serious. “And take that little pornstar body with me. I’ll fuck that bitch ‘til she can’t walk and make you watch. How about that, pretty boy?”
It all happened so fast. One second, the guy was taunting Matt, and the next, the brunette’s ring-clad knuckles had collided with his jaw. Matt continued to go at it on the guy’s face, landing blow after blow as clubbers yelped and yelled. Before any of you knew it, Chris had come from around the bar, pulling Matt back and making him drop the guy. Both men were still yelling, one clearly more drunk than the other as Chris pushed Matt into a corner.
“Matt. You need to chill.” the youngest triplet yelled over the music, assessing Matt’s bloody nose and already bruising eye and jaw where the man had hit back.
“He fucking grabbed Y/N’s ass!” Matt yelled, struggling against Chris’ hold.
“Matt,” Chris said firmly, pinning his brother to the wall. “No fighting. He shouldn’t have touched her, but you can’t get physical, man.”
In the chaos and confusion, Nick had swept you up and out of the club. Matt didn’t know this, though. All he knew was that some guy, some motherfucker, had touched you against your will, and he was going to pay for that. Whether or not you were his girlfriend, he was going to protect you until his very last breath.
tags ♡: @jake-and-johnnies-slut @chrissfavwh3re @suyqa @chrissturnswife @mbsbaby @herxysc-blog @lovingchrissposts @caffeinatedscorpio @spencereidenthusiast @crazychrisl0v3r @sturnioloxlver @whicked-hazlatwhore @blahbel668 @sturncakez @junnniiieee07 @biggesthat3r @sturniolowhore @patscorner @julesgrl @0strawberrysorbet0 @strombolilovr @matt444nixi @remussbitch @devthepoet1221 @mattyblover07 @loisnotaa @mollyquinnxoxo @graysturns @pepsicolapussy333 @ginswife @emmagirouard @athaliahxoxo @bitchydragonparadise @ilydeaky @soggyslugg169 @m00n-0n-paws @books0fever @stingerayyy2 @sunsetsturniolos @mimi-luvzyu @raysmayhem-72 @faygo-frog @oobleoob @billsslutt @aemrsy
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#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo fanfic#matthew sturniolo#matthew sturniolo x reader#matthew bernard sturniolo#matthew sturniolo imagine#matthew sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo imagines#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo fanfic#christopher sturniolo fulff#christopher owen sturniolo#christopher sturniolo fluff#christopher sturniolo#christopher sturniolo smut#nick sturniolo#nick sturniolo x reader#nick sturniolo x you#nick sturniolo fanfic#nick sturniolo edit#sturniolo triplets#inked daisies
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are you warm enough? ꨄ oscar piastri
oscar piastri x reader
warnings: reader has the flu, sad!reader over being sick [945 words]
request: Could I ask for a 💗 with Oscar and "Are you warm enough?" prompt?
note: oscar is def the type to take care of a sick partner?? i dont make the rules but it's true! this is part of my 1.5k celebration! feel free to request away!!
It was inevitable it was going to hit you. It had struck through your entire workplace, through all your study groups. One by one, person by person, they were taken down. By a measly thing like the flu. You knew it was going to take you out, and you were going to hate every second of it.
Selfishly, you were hoping it would strike you the week Oscar was gone, not wanting to waste any of the short time that you did have with him by being confined to bed with a sickness that wouldn’t go away. Unluckily, just hours before his plane was scheduled to touchdown in Melbourne, you felt the tickle begin to climb in the back of your throat.
By the time Oscar’s bags were tossed through the front door of your apartment, you were curled up on the couch, a heated blanket over you while a half-empty cup of tea remained on the coffee table in front of you. Your head was pounding, your nose was stuffed, your stomach was aching. You couldn’t keep any food down, and it felt like the apartment had hit negative temperatures in the few hours between waking up with a scratchy throat, and Oscar coming through the door.
“Honey, I’m home,” he singsonged, walking around the corner and stopping dead in his tracks when he observed your state.
You had told him about all the people who were getting sick at work, at school, about how you had been diligent about making sure you were washing your hands and keeping away from them. How you had told him how you didn’t want to ruin the little time the two of you were finally going to be able to spend together, so you were being extra careful.
Oscar felt the sympathy wash over him as he observed you peak out from underneath the blanket, a look of sadness etched around your face.
“Osc… you shouldn’t come close to me. I don’t want to get you sick, too,” you said.
Ignoring your words, Oscar moved closer to the couch before sitting down beside your sock-covered feet. He gently maneuvered them so they were placed over your lap, rubbing soothing circles on your now-exposed ankle.
“I’ll suffer if I have to. Can’t make you take care of yourself when you look like you might freeze to death if I even move this blanket.”
Just from the blanket simply touching his leg, he could feel the heat emitting off of it, the number ‘6’ displayed on the power screen, indicating it was at the highest level the blanket could reach.
“Do you want me to make you another tea? Maybe go pick up some soup? I can give my mum a call, see if she can make any and drop it off? Does that sound good?”
Your only response was a nod of your head at every question he threw at you, you weren’t one to ask for help when you were sick, always able to simply take care of yourself. But the idea of getting off the couch, moving from the warmth of the blanket to go and make yourself a tea, or dig through the cupboards to find a can of soup… it just didn’t sound worth it, at all.
“I don’t want to bug your mum, if you pass me my phone I’ll just order some soup here. I can get you something too, real food. But you may not want to eat near me, I haven’t really been able to keep anything down either,” the sniffles after every few words had Oscar grimacing.
“Oh hush, mum always has leftover soup. Someone’s always sick around there, she’d be more than happy to drop it off. Let me go make you a cup of tea, and I’ll be right back.”
It didn’t take him long to tinker around the kitchen, throwing your favourite teabag into the mug and heating up the kettle; texting his mum in the process to inquire about any recent soups she may have made. Unsurprisingly, dad had been sick just days before, excess of his favourite soup in a Tupperware container in the freezer. Nicole had promised to get it thawed up and dropped off before sunset, a message of ‘get well soon, honey’ likely to be written in black ink on the lid.
Holding the warm cup of tea in front of your face, he gestured for you to sit up, a groan emitting from your body as you did so. Gently placing the cup into your hands, he sat down next to you, a small frown marring his face.
“Are you warm enough, baby? I can go pull down a few more blankets from the cupboards? Or turn the heating up?”
Shaking your head, you placed the mug down on the coffee table in front of you, before snuggling up into his side.
“Can you just hold me? You’re always so warm, and I just want to be snuggled up with you, right now,” you said.
The arm that was pressed between your two bodies moved out of the grasp, wrapping an arm tightly around your shoulders before pulling you in closer to his body.
“I’ll hold you whenever you want me to, even if you’re going to have to be the one to explain to the team why I have the flu next week.”
The only response you gave him was a shrug of your shoulders. You had already grappled with the fact you were probably going to get him sick, if you had to explain to the team why one of their prized driver’s was now sick… then so be it.
y'all... i didnt realize how popular oscar was until this celebration i have SO many requests for him lol. i hope everyone loves this, and as always, thank you for celebrating with me!!
#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x reader#f1 x reader#f1 x you#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri fanfic#f1 one shot#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 one shot#formula 1 blurb#oscar piastri blurb#blurb#writing#fluff#pierregazly's 1.5k celebration
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Inevitable Things: chapter five
Aizawa x reader fic
cw: cisfem reader, no quirks, office au, miscommunications, slow burn. full tags available on AO3 (linked in masterlist)
previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter
Fridays are the only day you carve out time for lunch. Less than coincidentally, Fridays are also the only day lunch is catered.
“Here-” Izuku jams his bowl of take out into Katsuki’s face. “Does it smell like there’s peanuts in here?”
Bakugo Katsuki, Izuku’s fiance, is only half as ornery as he looks. A premature wrinkle has formed in between his brows, a sign of his almost constant annoyance. His straw colored hair is a sharp contrast to his deep red eyes, currently narrowed in disgust.
“Get this shit out of my fucking face,” he groans. “I’m not a fucking allergy alert dog-- I can’t smell peanuts.”
“To be fair-” Ochako interjects through a mouthful. She’s the opposite of Katsuki: dark hair, round eyes, a smile so sweet that it makes your teeth hurt. Her cheeks are always flushed, spots of broken blood vessels spattered like freckles. “Peanuts do have a smell.”
“Did you ask him to smell for penis?” Denki says, too loud to be genuine. “Kind of homophobic to ask a gay guy that.”
Both men give him identical deadpan stares.
“That’s just his fucking country-ass accent.” Katsuki brushes Denki off and turns back to the curly haired man. “Why would chicken have peanuts in it anyway?”
“The o’l.” Izuku stresses.
“The what?”
“Some places use peanut o’l.”
“Say oil.”
Izuku sneers a bit in return, smoothing out the curves of his accent. “Oy-I’ll.”
“Jesus christ, I’m marrying a hick.” Katsuki leans back in his chair and meets your eye with a jerk of his chin. “Can you believe this?”
You snap back into focus. Your own lunch is untouched, fork still in its little plastic wrapper. Hunger nips at your stomach, but nausea wins over today. The cafeteria isn’t very busy, but in the next couple minutes everyone will start pouring in. The lot of you arrived early to get the best seating-- a little couch and coffee table in the corner, a perfect place to eat and people watch.
“Oh, yeah, uh- Izuku, they have an allergen free option.”
“Well, yeah, but-” He tilts his head as he talks, watching you with those wide, green eyes, like he sees something just below the surface. “It doesn't have chicken-- are you good?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you.” Katsuki fingers a piece of Izuku’s food and pops it into his mouth, much to the man’s dismay. “You’ve been making that sad little face all day.”
You pout a bit harder at that. Shit-- you thought you were being subtle. You haven’t been able to walk this whole Aizawa thing off yet, despite all of your attempts. No amount of emails, meetings, and other petty office bullshit managed to distract you from the absolute shock and humiliation of… whatever that was.
Embarrassment.
Embarrassment? You’re certainly not the prettiest girl in the office, but embarrassing? That makes your gums ache, like a punch to the nose, and it makes you feel dirty, like the fall to the ground afterwards.
“You’re doing it again.” Ochako points to your face and it’s apparently sadness. “What’s going on?”
You hem a bit, before condensing it the best you can.
“I’m having issues with a guy.” What an understatement.
A collective glance is shared between the group.
“Touya again?”
Again, Touya haunts a room he’s never been in. You debate what to say. If you admit to it being someone new, they might start sniffing around and jump to conclusions-- though Aizawa would certainly be the last assumption they would make, you still can’t risk it. Besides, you don’t need a gaggle of 23 year olds dissecting your every move. They’re going to jump to some stupid conclusion, like you’re dating Toshinori, if you aren’t careful.
“Yeah, it’s Touya,” you lie, as sheepishly as you can. “Oops.”
“Jesus Fucking Christ.” Katsuki rolls his eyes so hard that you imagine his brain must hurt. “Again?”
“Shh, just tell us what happened,” Izuku urges, elbowing his partner rather sharply.
“I don't know where I stand with him. It's so-- Ugh, I thought things were going to start going well and then it was just ice cold.” You press your palms into your eyes and sigh. The pressure feels good and helps with the remnants of your hangover. You need an electrolyte drink, stat. Maybe another fucking drink too. “And I’m not even sure why I’m surprised because it’s ice cold a lot.”
When you look up, Ochako is offering a hand, palm up and open. When you take it, she giggles a bit, squeezing gently.
“I think you need to prioritize yourself.”
Denki nods in agreement, cheeks stuffed with food. He’s finished his meal and started stabbing bits of yours. You just push the whole bowl towards him in defeat and slump down into the couch.
“Stop giving men who treat you poorly the time of day.” Ochako says. “When you let them in again and again, you’re basically, like, giving them permission to do this stuff.”
“Yeah!” Denki says through a mouthful. “Cut that fucker off! Don’t even talk to him!”
“Oh, I dunno--” You glance between them. “I think that’d be mean.”
Conflict makes your head spin. It’s so much easier to roll over and take whatever people give you, negative or otherwise. It’s what made your relationship with Touya work-- and it’s what’s allowed you to stay in this job for so long.
“Good!” Denki says. “He deserves it.”
“You deserve to be a little mean and a little angry when people treat you poorly.” She smiles again, wider this time. “Grow some balls. Stand up for yourself.”
“Yeah! Balls!” Denki agrees.
You suck on your bottom lip and turn the idea over in your head. Are you even angry at Aizawa? Or just hurt and confused? Right now, those things may as well be the same thing-- they certainly burn the same in your chest. Cruelty isn’t your usual indulgence…
But it’s someone else’s.
“What do you think?” You turn to Katsuki, who’s been scrolling through twitter for a bit now. His face doesn’t change when he speaks, locked into a general annoyance.
“I think you should kill that fucker.”
You turn to Izuku, the rational one of the couple. He shrugs, straw in mouth and completely unamused.
“Oh, I also think you should kill him,” he says, tone matching Katsuki’s.
Not helpful.
“Listen--” Katsuki leans forward, elbows on his spread knees. He uses a fork to articulate as he speaks. “I’m the expert on being a cunt-”
“-we don’t use that word!” Ochako grimaces.
“And it’s the most freeing and addictive thing you can be.” The tongs of the fork point directly towards you, as sharp as his gaze. “More people should be cunts more often. The world would be a happier place.”
Ochako gasps. “I don’t agree with that at all!”
“Oh please, miss goody-goody,” Katsuki sneers. “You wouldn't need to go to kickboxing five times a week if you let your anger out day to day like a normal motherfucker.”
The girl of the group puffs out her cheeks, but does not argue back. Izuku pats her shoulder affectionately. His food is still untouched, but his free hand guards it from Denki.
“I'm telling you. Try it out. You’ll like it.” Katsuki leans back into his seat. “Or don't. Your life.”
“Question-” The other blonde pipes up. “Did you, like, do something?”
“Kaminari!”
“I mean, like, was there a catalyst?” “A fight or a date or-?”
You know exactly what drives Touya away everytime, but Aizawa is a new beast. Did you breathe wrong or--
“Oh, I uh,” A realization hits you. “I ignored a couple texts, I guess.”
Suddenly, you’re very aware of the outline of your phone and how it presses into your pocket. If there wasn’t a chance of you flashing the group pictures of their boss, you’d check it immediately, but you can’t mentally handle the risk.
“What an overreaction,” Ochako sighs. “Dump him forever and move on-- Mr. Hizashi and his wife-”
“We aren’t like that.” Ugh. You love Hizashi, but the trio relationship isn’t your speed. “Besides, I don’t like blondes.”
The two toe-heads of the group roll their eyes in a practiced synchrony. Ochako’s smile changes a little bit, something tighter and brighter; is she excited that you aren’t interested? Interesting and a bit gross: she’s too young for that. They’re more than ten years older than her-
(How old is Aizawa? He went to school with Hizashi, so he’s at least 38-- but you could have sworn there were whispers of his fortieth last year. You’ll have to snoop.)
“We’re in agreement. Be a cunt, move on. The end.” Katsuki turns away from you, done with this topic. “Izuku, just fucking eat it already.”
The boy takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his curly hair. “Well, alright, but if I get hives, you’re the one who has to deal with me.”
…
Be mean.
You’re written it on a sticky note and placed it under your computer monitor, like some sort of fucked up mantra. The mere idea of it feels antithetical to who you are at your core; you enjoy helping people, you love making the world better. That’s why you work like a dog for the company-- you know it’s improving the lives of its customers. If Toshinori wasn’t sick, you know he’d be doing even more too.
On the other hand, being nice has led to your own detriment many times. Touya has hurt you, your parents, and now even Aizawa. And you can’t even blame Aizawa, can you? Texting him was your mistake--
You rest your forehead against your desk. There’s still a sticky spot from when you spilled your coffee yesterday. God, yesterday feels so close and yet so far away. How does a man yoyo between yelling at you, sending you his weiner, then telling you that you’re embarrassing? The idea of ‘always wanted you’ goes flying out the window.
Just as you try and put yourself to work, you hear it. The familiar lopsided stomp. Fuck, it’s him, probably looking for his afternoon coffee. He’s been by much less than usual, a fact you’re very grateful for, so you haven’t even thought about the pot since before lunch. You glance over and see it’s empty. Crap.
As you start to get up, the sticky note catches your eye again. Be mean. That’s right. Why are you popping out of your chair for this, this, this--- total fucking cunt? Your chair squeaks with the force you sit down with. You try to embody Katsuki with your face - furrowing your brow and yet keeping your mouth unaffected-- and your worst nightmare turns the corner.
You keep typing and hope Aizawa doesn't notice that it's the same words over and over again, hit in the same rhythm. P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l. He waits a long moment, then clears his throat louder. You don't gift him your attention until he grumbles something under his breath, shifting his weight on to his other leg. Just as he begins to say something, you interject.
“I had more important things to focus on,” you lie. “You can figure out how to brew coffee, Mr.// Engineer.”
You throw in that last bit without thinking, but the bite rolls so easily off of your tongue. It’s nothing like your usual tone, but it feels so, so right. From the corner of your vision you can see his literally reel back, blinking hard,
“That’s how it’s going to be?”
You don’t respond. P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l. Your fingers shake from the adrenaline boost. Ochako was right; don't even give this man the time of day.
“It's going to be like that?” He yanks the pot from its stand. “Fine.”
You have to muster all of willpower not to grin as he starts slamming open the drawers and scrounging around for supplies. It takes a whole ten minutes before he presses brew, then another five before the pot is almost half full. The whole time he grumbles to himself, leaning his whole weight against the flimsy table.
This is good. Too good. The vindictive rush of power feels almost sexual in the way it satisfies. Teeth dig into your lip as you hold back a smile even harder.
Embarrassment? You'll show him what embarrassment really means.
Finally, he pours himself a cup. He doesn't fill his thermos nearly as much as he normally does, most likely trying to leave as quickly as possible. Just as he starts to turn, you get up out of your chair and walk over. You take one of the little disposable cups from the stack and take your time adding three sugars and two cream, each one at a time, as he lurks there. Then, you pour the coffee, thick and oddly gritty into your cup. You finally meet his eye when you take a swig.
Aizawa’s face is set hard, small eyes narrowed even tighter. His lips are screwed up with annoyance, wrinkling his low bridged nose. Pissed would be an understatement. Just as you brace for another yelling match, he turns away, marching down the hall.
“Enjoy the fucking coffee.”
Oh, Katsuki was right. Being mean tastes good.
….This coffee, however, does not.
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Crimson and Clover (Bucky Egan x OC)
Summary: Bucky expects a lot of things when he arrives at Thorpe Abbotts, but Holly Dean isn't one of them. He's not complaining, though.
Word count: 5.1k
Note: I wrote most of this in a notebook over the past 3 days so my hand hates me, but I hope y’all like this! This fic covers pretty much from when Holly and Bucky meet to about Damn Yankees (mid-May to mid-June). Title comes from the song (Joan Jett version, we're bisexuals here). Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.
Warnings: Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies (I’m playing a little fast and loose with who was at Thorpe Abbotts early with Bucky). Depictions of grief and depression. Period typical attitudes.
“Wait, what’s going on?” Bucky asked.
“Some of the Air Exec girls are having another typing contest,” Dye said.
“Who’s the favorite to win?”
“Dean’s won the past two, but Spinelli’s pretty good.”
He was glad to have caught Lieutenant Glenn Dye when he did. The guy had been making a beeline to the Air Exec office when Bucky joined him. His first night there, and already some kind of action—socially, at least. No one had been able to tell him when exactly he’d actually get to join McDaniels’ crew on a mission, but he was itching to get up there, even despite the weariness McDaniels carried with him.
He looked a lot more relaxed in the Air Exec office, standing toward the front of the bustling chaos with Duvall, his navigator. Bucky and Dye pushed their way through the people packed in like sardines to witness the typing contest. Dread fell over Bucky for a split second. What if that was the most exciting thing going on at Thorpe Abbotts?
A shout carried over the conversations. “Last chance to place your bets, ladies and gents!”
“Over here!” Duvall fished a quarter from his pocket. “I’m in on Pinkowsky.”
“You’re throwing your money away,” McDaniels said.
Bucky pulled a crumpled dollar bill out of his pocket and placed it in the outstretched hat next to Duvall. “Put a dollar on Dean for me.”
A young woman with blonde hair in messy twin braids and oil-stained coveralls rushed over, nearly knocking into Duvall. “Hey, did I miss it?”
“Just about to start. Hey Major, have you met Woody yet?” Duvall asked.
Bucky shook his head. “Don’t believe I have.”
“Private Woodward—Woody,” she said. “I’d shake your hand, Major, but I’d probably stain it.” She held up her right hand, covered in black grime that she made some effort to scrub out before arriving.
“Major John Egan, but everyone calls me Bucky,” he said, before gesturing to the women sitting around the office. “So who’s who in this thing?”
Of the Air Exec typists, three were competing in the typing contest that night. Nancy Pinkowsky, a Floridian, sat a little toward the back of the room, as she applied red lipstick in a small compact mirror. Leona Spinelli of Newark, New Jersey, had her heels—sleek black pumps, not regulation—kicked up on the desk of one Holly Dean, straight from the nation’s capital with the brightest smile and sparkling brown eyes Bucky had ever seen in his life.
“He bet a buck on Holly to win,” Dye said.
“You bet on Holly, and you haven’t even met her yet?” Woody asked.
Bucky grinned. “Intuition. I got a good feeling about her.”
“You’re right about that.” Woody smiled. “She’s my best friend.”
His eyes scanned the room as he tried to commit faces to memory, but his gaze kept drifting back to Holly until she caught him staring and responded with a smile that he couldn’t help but return. He moved to make his way over and say something to her, but his introduction was interrupted by the announcement for the competing Air Exec girls to get to their desks, and all spectators to shut the hell up.
Holly’s eyes met his again, only to fall to the blank page in front of her when he blinked. From the sound of just three typewriters clicking away incessantly, Bucky could tell he’d end up with a headache if he stayed stuck as Air Exec, and that would be on top of the inevitable hangovers.
Her fingers moved fluidly across the keys, her face calm and focused, no evidence of her smile to be seen.
He finally tore his gaze from her to glance at Woody at his side, the mechanic silently bouncing back and forth on her feet, bottom lip between her teeth. Her focus was fixed on Holly, too.
“Finished!” Holly shouted to a cacophony of cheers and groans.
Two guys walked over, one of whom had been collecting everyone's bets. Scanned the paper and muttered between themselves for an agonizing minute before one of them announced Holly had, in fact, won with no mistakes and an impressive word per minute count.
Woody bounced back and forth on her feet, excitedly grabbing Bucky’s arm. “Beat her own record!”
“Attagirl, Holly!” Bucky shouted.
Just as soon as the chaos began, it promptly ended with Holly’s win. No reason to stick around after hours any more. Don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here, as Bucky had heard many a bartender say at last call. People slowly filtered out of the office.
A few bills and some change were shoved into his hand. “Here’s your cut. $4.50.”
He raised his eyebrows, slipping the money into his pocket. Not bad for his first night in East Anglia.
Holly didn’t recognize the man standing next to Woody, but something about him seemed familiar, comforting without the ache that usually accompanied thoughts of home, of…she figured it best not to spoil the rush of her win before she even reached Woody and met the man smiling her way.
Woody threw her arms around Holly in congratulations, their embrace lasting a few seconds before remembering they weren’t alone.
“Oh, Holly! This is Major John Egan. Just landed a few hours ago,” Woody said, her arm around Holly. “Major, this is Sergeant Holly Dean, typing queen.”
“Quit it!” Holly laughed. “You’re the new Air Exec officer, aren’t you?” She extended her hand. “Good to meet you, Major.”
Bucky shook her hand. “Looks like you’re batting 300, Sarge. I gotta keep you on my roster.”
“Starting lineup?” she asked.
“You bet,” he said. “You’re from DC, aren’t you? You must be a Nats fan.”
“Sure am,” she said, with all the foolhardy pride of someone devoted to an ever-struggling team. “How about you?”
“Yankees.”
“So you’re from New York!”
He shook his head. “Manitowoc, Wisconsin.”
“How does a man from Wisconsin end up a Yankees fan, Major?”
“I know winners when I see ‘em,” he said with a wink. “And call me Bucky.”
“Alright, Bucky.”
The two women leaned into each other, sharing an expression Bucky couldn’t quite read. Their closeness palpable, he found himself missing Buck. Probably would’ve had something to say about his betting on a typing contest, and Bucky would astutely point out typing wasn’t a sport, receiving an eye roll accompanied by a movie star smile of amusement in return.
“I hate to be that person,” Woody said apologetically, “but we should be heading back now.”
He nodded. "Right, well it was nice meeting you, Woody. I’ll see you tomorrow, Holly.”
“Bright and early, Bucky.”
——
Despite being in East Anglia for less than 24 hours, Bucky knew Thorpe Abbotts wasn’t anything to write home about, even if he had someone to write home to. The Rip Van Winkle village was only woken up from its slumber by the arrival of the United States Army Air Force and Red Cross. Local farmers were forced to trade a rooster’s morning crow for the roar of bomber planes as their alarm clocks. The English and Irish laborers who worked around the base considered their American compatriots novel and exotic—or a nuisance, depending on who he was talking to.
Found out there was a pub in town. Headed over with some of the other pilots and local laborers the night before. Good drinks, fun company, and a pretty barmaid. At least he wouldn’t have to rely on typing contests and the officers’ club exclusively to get his kicks. Though, if the typing contests happened regularly enough, he’d be looking at a decent payday if he kept betting on Holly to win. A guy the previous night had argued that Spinelli would win often enough, but Bucky, in all of his misguided superstition, figured there must have been something to going into the damn thing blind and making the best bet.
When Bucky got to the office, he almost couldn’t believe it was the same place that had been bursting at the seams the night before. Nancy Pinkowsky’s lips bore no trace of the bold red she painted on them. Leona Spinelli wore WAAC-issued heels, clacking across the floor as she walked over to a file cabinet. And Holly Dean’s brown eyes were dull, framed by light purple crescents below them.
Bucky frowned, making his way over to her.
“Morning, Sergeant,” he said.
“Good morning, Major.”
“Rough night?”
She gave him a tired smile. “Something like that. Did you get a chance to meet Corporal Pinkowsky or Sergeant Spinelli last night, sir?”
“Afraid I didn’t,” he said, a charming smile spreading across his face. “I’m sure we’ll all get to know each other pretty well. Major John Egan, but you can call me Bucky.”
They all seemed more controlled, stifled in contrast to the night before as they introduced themselves. Women always had personas to shift in and out of, social chameleons depending on the situation. Bucky had gotten along just fine without watering himself down for anybody, but as an old paramour of his had pointed out to him, he had the distinct advantage of being a man, and the world was far more forgiving to men with character than women, who had to shrink themselves to fit into perfume bottles, lipstick tubes, or in the cases of Holly, Nancy, and Leona, ribbons of typewriter ink.
“Looking forward to working with you, Major,” Nancy said, her long, dark eyelashes fluttering. She desperately wanted to be a flirt, but lacked the nerve to follow through.
Always sharp, Leona hardly missed a thing. Her attention could be unsettling, too intimidating for some people unless they knew her well enough. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
Bucky shifted his weight on his feet, looking away from Leona.
“Oh, Colonel Huglin’s looking for you,” Holly said.
He sighed. “That sounds about right. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck, Major.”
As soon as the door to Huglin’s office shut behind him, Nancy and Leona’s focus turned squarely to Holly, their attention weighing her down. She knew exactly what they were going to ask, anticipating their disappointment at her answer that no, she didn’t know if the handsome Major was taken. She would have been surprised if he were.
“So, what’s his deal?” Nancy asked.
Leona leaned over her desk. “Yeah, I saw you talking with him last night.”
“Well, he’s from Wisconsin, but he’s a Yankees fan.”
Nancy groaned. “You know what baseball team he likes, but you didn’t find out if he has a girlfriend?”
“What, you wanna make your move after flopping last night?” Leona teased, her cat-like gaze drifting over to Holly. “Besides, he’s got his sights set on you, Holly Dean.”
Holly shook her head. “I’m not ready to even consider anything romantic. You know that. I’ll never say ‘no’ to making a friend, though.”
“He might,” Nancy said.
“Well then you ask him if he’s getting his dick wet, if you’re so curious,” Leona said, snickering at the way Nancy’s face paled. “See, you need someone more your speed. Hey Holly, he say when the other flyboys were getting in?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t mention it.”
“Geez, maybe Nancy’s got a point. Is baseball all you talked about with the guy?” Leona asked.
The women’s chattering fell to whispers when Bucky stepped out of Huglin’s office a few minutes later. Perhaps Holly hadn’t noticed it sooner, caught up in the throes of her own exhaustion following a near sleepless night, but Bucky was quite clearly hungover. He certainly hadn’t kept his aviators on inside for style, that much became abundantly clear as he rubbed his forehead. The three typists shared wordless side glances at the state of him. First day on the job and probably got chewed out already.
“Any of you know where a guy can get aspirin?” he asked.
“There’s a first aid kit in the cabinet over there. Should be some,” Holly said.
“Thanks.”
“Of course, sir.”
They went back to typing, silently, slowly, glancing up every now and then to watch Bucky rifle through the first aid kit and promptly dry swallow two aspirin pills. He haphazardly shoved the contents back inside the box and closed it, shoving the first aid kit back into the cabinet. He retreated into his own office, presumably to sleep off whatever ailed him.
“Forget him,” Nancy whispered, only loud enough for her compatriots to hear. “He hasn’t even been here a day and he’s hungover. That’s sick.”
Holly gave her a pointed look. “Don’t be rude, Nance.”
“And he made a mess of the first aid kit.”
“I got it,” Leona huffed, getting up from her desk. “You’re such a baby sometimes.”
Nancy stuck her tongue out at Leona as soon as her back was to them.
Holly liked them both well enough, at least more than some of the other women in the Air Exec office. Considered them friends, close enough to go out with, share some drinks and laughs, but she never quite clicked with them on the same level she did Woody. Some kind of disconnect emotionally, never quite able to meet her energy the way she needed.
The two had met in San Francisco a little over a year prior, the weekend Stan was being sent off to the Pacific. Holly went with him, glad she had in hindsight, and among the mischief they got up to their last weekend together, one of Stan’s Navy buddies, Frank, invited them to a party. Woody had been Frank’s date, and in a city bustling with women who'd signed up to help Navy or Marines, the two WAAC women bonded right away. Like the stars aligned. The best weekend of their lives. Nothing short of a relief when they were both stationed at Thorpe Abbotts.
She wasn’t quite sure how to describe her relationship with Woody. Friends didn’t encapsulate the complexity of how deeply she felt for her, the certainty with which she knew she could rely on her. She found herself hard pressed to find anyone who understood her the way Woody did.
Holly didn’t see Bucky for a few more hours, and wondered how he could possibly get shut-eye with all of the commotion. If it wasn’t the combined clicking of half a dozen typewriters, it was the talking, a whirlwind of new reports and telegrams and projects to be started and those subsequently scrapped near completion because something had changed, which then affected everything else and brought everyone back to square one.
Quite different from the law firm she worked for as a typist prior to the war. Typically kept up case files and typed up minutes and summaries for various meetings. Sometimes, the lawyers would bring her with them on the cases that went to trial instead of being settled out of court, needing a typist to sit in and record testimonies. While her knowledge of shorthand helped back then, learning the United States Army Air Force acronyms and jargon was like learning another language, not to mention the plethora of accents she had to interpret on top of that.
At least it was interesting work, important work. Kept her on her toes, like she figured Bucky would, as around noon, when she made her leave to get lunch, he emerged from his office and rushed over to her just as she was walking out the door.
“Mind if I join you? I’m still learning my way around,” he said.
“Isn’t half your job knowing where you’re going, Major?” she joked.
He grinned. “That’s the navigator’s job. I’m a pilot, doll.”
“Well, I’m no navigator, but I think I can get us to mess in one piece, as long as you don’t mind walking.”
“Not at all.”
“You won’t be saying that for long, believe me. It rains so much here, you’d think you’d need a rowboat to get around.”
“Know where I can find one of those?”
She shook her head. “What you need is a bike. They’re hard to get a hold of, but since you’re a Major and all, you can probably get your hands on one easier than most.”
“See? I’m learning from you already.”
On their walk over, it became clear Bucky’s fanaticism for the Yankees rivaled Holly’s feverish devotion to the Nationals, and when he made a joke at their expense, he almost thought she took it as a personal offense. She also made a passing remark about how if she had any doubts about city life, it had been snuffed out after a mere two weeks in Thorpe Abbotts, the countryside charm wearing off rather quickly for her. Bucky agreed, neglecting to mention he hadn’t experienced much of fast-paced, city living himself, but he knew he’d thrive in it given the opportunity.
“So, you writing to anyone back home?” he asked when they found a table to sit at.
“Just my parents and a few friends.”
“No boyfriend?”
Her lips pressed together in a thin line. “No.”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that. I mean, I don’t have a girlfriend or anything.”
“It’s not that. I was engaged but…he died.”
“Was he a pilot?”
She shook her head. “Navy. Was killed at Midway last year. His name was Stan.”
“Shit, yeah,” he said softly, “I remember watching the newsreels from that.”
“I could never bring myself to watch ‘em.”
Biggest naval battle in history. The headlines screamed it. Boisterous radio and newsreel announcers regaled the public on the heroic exploits of the members of the Navy and Marines who took on and triumphed over their formidable Japanese enemies. He remembered the restless envy that tore through his gut with each newspaper article, each newsreel—not over the coverage or accolades, but of the action. Lucky bastards got to give the enemy a taste of their own medicine while the 100th was still running practice missions. He hadn’t considered the losses very much. Didn’t have reason to until then.
“Jesus, I’m sorry, Holly. I feel like a real jerk.”
She shrugged, a weak smile spreading across her lips. “Don’t apologize, you couldn’t have known. Just make sure you hit ‘em where it hurts when you’re up there. Doesn’t matter what continent. It’s all the same.”
He nodded. “You got it, Sarge. I’m goin’ up in two days. We’ll give ‘em hell.”
“Good,” she said. Cleared her throat, tried to shake off the sadness that slithered through her like a snake. “So, where’s the rest of the 100th?”
“Got lost coming over here,” Bucky said, laughing when her eyes widened. “Hey, I’m kidding! They’re still training stateside. They’ll be here in a few weeks. June, probably.”
“Anyone single?” Holly asked, quickly adding, “Leona and Nancy wanted me to ask.”
“Off the top of my head? Crank, Douglass, Brady, DeMarco…” He grinned. “Hey, maybe you can type up a list for me.”
She laughed. “Sure I can.”
“You gotta meet Buck. I think you’d really like him.”
His best buddy. Second best pilot in the 100th, only following him, of course. The one of the greatest storytellers she would ever meet. Pretty much inseparable since they met at basic. Didn’t mention how being the focus of Buck’s attention felt like being on top of the world, could send him even higher than any of the forts did. Couldn’t think of a time he felt that way about anyone else.
“He sounds terrific.”
“Pretty square, though—“
“Square?”
“The guy doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t like sports, including baseball, and he’s been dating the same dame since high school.”
“You make the last one sound like a bad thing.”
“Well, it will be for Nancy and Leona’s list.”
“Are we seriously going to make one?”
Bucky snickered, increasingly amused with the idea the more he thought about it. “Why not?”
——
If Holly minded Bucky’s company, she never said anything about it. Didn’t bat an eye when he’d tag along to wherever she was headed to every now and then. Sometimes on her own, but she spent a lot of time with Woody, and the more he was around the two of them, the more he was itching for Buck to finally make it over.
The Wilhelmshaven mission rattled Bucky. His first. Poor Duvall caught the bad end of flak and was covered in blood and barely hanging on when the fort landed back at the air base. Woody’s voice wavered when she told Holly about it, the state of the navigator. Woody was friends or friendly enough with most of the bomber boys by virtue of working on their forts, their babies, really. Being ground crew meant she also had the unfortunate burden of witnessing firsthand the aftermath of the brutality the bomber crews faced in the skies.
Suddenly, Bucky carried the same weariness Holly had seen the other men wrestle with in their own ways. She was hardly surprised when Bucky drowned his in alcohol at the village pub, inviting her and Woody along to join him and some of his fellow pilots for a nightcap, a celebration of Bucky’s first mission.
“Mark my words, Holly,” Bucky said, well into his fourth beer. “If there’s gonna be two pilots left in the sky by the end of this war, it’s gonna be Buck and me. I’d bet anything on it.”
His certainty caught in his throat when her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
“That’s hopeful.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“It’s not,” she said softly. “Sometimes I think too much about what could go wrong. I’m sorry, Bucky.”
A stormy melancholy hung above Holly once in a while, and though it never poured, she withdrew within herself. Some mornings, she greeted him with a shadow of the smile he always looked for as soon as he walked into the office. On those days especially, he reached out, tried to bridge the gap between them with whatever story or one-sided conversation he could think of.
He had asked Woody about it, knowing she’d be able to explain it to him better than anyone else. Only started after Stan died. Unnerved some people, annoyed others who thought she was being too dramatic, moping for so long over the man. Her behavior could be erratic, mostly self-isolating, occasionally self-destructive, but that aspect hadn’t reared its ugly head for some time.
“I wish you knew her before,” Woody had told him quietly. “She wasn’t always like this.”
“I like her just fine now,” he’d answered, almost defensively.
“Good. She thinks the world of you, Bucky.”
His heart had jumped. Stopped himself from saying the same.
Now, however, sitting with Holly in the small pub, He smiled, smacking his palm against the table, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “I know what’ll cheer you up. How about a song?”
“You can sing?”
“Nope.”
But he did anyway. Blue Skies. Enthusiastic. Off-key. Loud. Ran around the place like someone lit a fire under his ass while the pub erupted in cheers and heckling at his performance.
“What the hell is he doing?” Woody asked, sitting down next to Holly, half-drunk glass of beer in hand.
“Trying to cheer me up."
Singing certainly wasn’t his forte, and adding dancing to the mix only served to make the performance worse. He crashed into a nearby table, sending glasses to the ground with shrill shatters that cut through his song. Holly’s hand flew to her mouth as she tried to stifle her laughter at the mess and the fact that he kept going. Pulled the exasperated barmaid in for a twirl, and she nearly hit him with her tray.
“He’s nuts,” Woody laughed.
Holly grinned, clapping enthusiastically when Bucky concluded the song, half out of breath, perspiration on his forehead. “Yeah, he is.”
“How about another round and an encore?” he asked when he returned to the table, pleased with himself at how big Holly’s smile was.
“Yes to another round!” Woody exclaimed. “Hold the encore.”
——
June didn’t offer a reprieve from the incessant English rain, but by the second week of the month, it brought Buck Cleven, and as far as Bucky was concerned, things were as right with the world as they could be, all things considered.
He tried not to think about the possibility of Buck not liking Holly. Knew he wouldn’t show it even if he somehow weren’t all that fond of her, ever the gentleman, good ol’ Buck. But Bucky had heard one too many guys make some snide remark about Holly and her odd behavior, her grief, to leave him with more than a few healthy grudges. Still, he wasn’t shocked at Buck’s incredulous attitude when he brought up Holly.
“Where are we going?” Buck asked from the passenger seat of the jeep.
“Quick pit stop to the Air Exec office,” Bucky said. “You gotta meet her—Sergeant Holly Dean, best typist you’ll ever see in your life.”
“Bucky—“
“C’mon, I talked you up to her! She’s keen to meet you.”
Buck shook his head. “You want me to humor your little girlfriend?”
“It’s not—Buck, come on.” Bucky scoffed. “What, I can’t have friends now?”
Buck hummed. “Sure. Friends.”
“She’s great, Buck. We should all go out sometime. You’ll see.”
“You know, Marge went to the trouble of introducing you to Peggy—”
“Holly’s fun! She makes the desk job less boring.”
“Whatever you say,” Buck said as the office came into view.
Holly swore she heard Nancy whisper “oh my god” when Bucky walked into the Air Exec office with whom she could only assume was Buck Cleven. She took in a deep breath in an attempt to even out her palpitating heartbeat. He almost looked like he walked off of a movie set.
Then he took off his cap and smiled at them, introduced himself to Nancy first, who managed a quiet “Hello Major,” and then to Leona, whose deep eyes almost bore a hole through the pilot. Holly swallowed roughly when he made his way over to her.
“You must be Holly, then,” he said. “Buck Cleven, it's nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too," she said, glancing between him and Bucky. "I already know I’m gonna get your names mixed up, so I’m sorry in advance, sir.”
Buck smiled. “My first name is Gale, if that helps.”
“Gale’s a great name. Why go by Buck?”
“On account of this one,” Buck said, gesturing to Bucky. “He doesn’t have any manners, if you haven’t noticed.”
“He’s swell,” Holly said. “Best Air Exec we’ve had yet.”
“Heard you’ve been keeping an eye on him for me.”
“Trying my best, sir.”
“Well, he’s in one piece, so you’re doin’ a pretty good job.”
Kind and handsome—and woefully taken. But not perfect. Didn’t like booze or baseball, pretty much non-negotiables as far as she was concerned. Nancy and Leona didn’t know that, though. Neither of them had Bucky’s insider knowledge the way she did. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered to them all that much, anyway. Most importantly, she wasn’t ready to date again. Ignored who came to mind when she thought of where she’d like to start, though. Probably ruin a damn good thing if she did.
“It was nice meeting you ladies. I’m sure we’ll see each other around,” Buck said kindly.
“Don’t be a stranger, Major,” Leona said.
Nancy nodded enthusiastically in agreement.
“You girls behave while I’m gone,” Bucky joked.
As soon as the door closed behind them, the three typists shared dazed expressions.
“Was he on that list you gave us?” Nancy asked.
“Not a chance,” Holly said. “Bucky says Buck is hopelessly devoted to his girl back home.”
Leona groaned. “That was the most gorgeously unavailable man I’ve ever seen in my life. I need to have a drink or four over it tonight.”
——
The day of Buck’s first mission, Bucky clung to Holly the way a child would a blanket during a bad thunderstorm. He felt ridiculous making the comparison between himself and her, but he knew she’d understand the uncertainty, the waiting. Didn’t say anything when he found lame excuses to keep her working in his office, unsure of how else to express that he didn’t want to be alone with himself, with his thoughts.
The practice missions were just that—practice. Though Buck took them on with all of the focus and skill of real missions, there wasn’t much risk involved. Death couldn’t reach out its cold hands and touch them quite yet, but on his first mission, Bucky swore he felt its frigid grip on his shoulder, trying to pull him away with it somehow. Learned how to ignore it by his second mission, not to see its face behind his eyes every time he blinked or hear it calling for him with each burst of flak. But he couldn’t tell Buck, no way for him to understand until he was up there and experienced it for himself. Maybe that was why Holly sometimes retreated into silence when it came to Stan.
Wondered how she felt before she got the news about Stan. Was she expecting it? Had a gut feeling that she hoped was indigestion? Blindsided and crushed? He couldn’t bring himself to ask. Wasn’t sure he could handle knowing her answer.
Instead, they talked baseball, as she’d given him a Lou Gehrig card she got from an old pack of Big League Chewing Gum, having inexplicably brought her modest collection of baseball cards over to England with her. Had a Yankee among her more treasured cards and didn’t think twice about giving it to him. So Lou found his home among Bucky’s two rosaries and various homegrown talismans that carried his hope and superstition. Took the place of his lucky deuce which he’d given to Buck that morning, not that he’d dream of biting a corner off of it.
He scratched the bridge of his nose, avoiding eye contact with her as he said, “Thanks for putting up with me.”
“What do you mean ‘putting up with you’?” she asked. “I like being with you.”
“Yeah, me too.”
He almost couldn’t believe how close they’d become in the weeks since they met. So close that every so often, they’d be asked if they were a couple, brushing off the assumptions with laughter and the answer that no, they weren’t. Hell, even Buck assumed it before he met Holly. But really, he couldn’t think of how much would change between them if they were. Didn’t matter. He knew things would be okay if he had Holly around, no matter how that looked.
“Hey, shouldn’t they be getting back soon?”
“Shit, you’re right. I’ll see you later, Holly.”
“See you, Bucky,” she said, taking his hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing it. “Take care.”
He nodded silently, slipping the hand she held into his jacket pocket when he turned to leave, wanting the warm, comforting feeling to last until he could see ‘Our Baby’ approaching and finally relax. A smile spread across his face, but there was no way for her to have seen it.
#bucky egan x oc#john egan x oc#masters of the air#bucky egan#john egan#masters of the air x oc#mota x oc#mota fanfic#masters of the air fanfic#mota#hbo war#hbo war fanfic#ch: holly
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INDIGO : Gojo Satoru
Pairing : Gojo Satoru x fem! reader
Warning(s) : Cursing
Summary : Gojo Satoru your roommate who turns out to surprisingly be your coworker! Will him being your roommate cause any issues at work?
-
My roommate Satoru Gojo, a very attractive, and charming man.
Though I barely ever interacted with him, he was still a mystery to me, well not completely.. From what Suguru has told me : he has a crazy ex-girlfriend, comes from a wealthy background, is quite smart when he wants to.. and. hm.
That's all I can remember!
I've only interacted with him a total of two times.. and that’s including when Suguru introduced him to me and our now shared apartment, the second time was when I asked him if he wanted anything from the market when he was watching a random horror movie in the living room.
Maybe I should put a little more effort into getting to know the guy… I mean we’ve been living together for nearly 7 months. Nah it isn’t worth it.
Getting ready to head out the door for work, I hear a small whisper of my name “Y/N, you heading out?” Satoru Gojo in the flesh, just barely able to keep his eyes open, “Yes, sorry if I woke you up.” silence followed just as i was opening the door ready to step out “Have a nice day Y/N” turning my head slightly to see him giving me a lazy smile “You too Gojo, you should get some more rest it’s quite early” reciprocating his smile, stepping out and closing the door behind me i felt chills run down my spine ‘what was that about?!?’
-
Walking into my place of work I was greeted by “Y/N!!” Utahime Lori, my assistant and close friend since college, “what’s got you in such a great mood Utahime?” nearly jumping off the walls from her excitement “Apparently Mr. Gojo will be hiring someone to help us with the workloads! That means no more overtime!! THE HEAVENS HAVE HEARD US THEY WILL BE SENDING AN ANGEL!!!!” letting out a small laugh “probably means the person has personal connections or is extremely wealthy..” “shhh let me have this moment Y/N” placing her finger to my lips
Knock knock
“Ms. L/N, Mr. Gojo has requested for you”
-
Walking down the unnecessary long hallway to get to Mr. Gojo's Office, he was always calm and collective. He was a man I have admired for a long time, without him I wouldn't be in the position I'm in.
“Sir Ms. L/N is here as you requested” bowing down slightly I followed suite “Good Morning Mr. Gojo” sitting behind his desk, his white hair trimmed and slicked back in place, suit tailored to perfection. Sitting in front of him back facing me was a messy mop of white hair reminding me of my roommate
‘holy shit it’s my roommate!!!???’
“ah! good morning Y/N please have a seat next to my son” sitting down next to my roommate, ‘wait my roommates father is my fucking boss WHAT THE FUCK!’ now internally panicking ‘okay okay calm down Y/N, you haven’t really done anything i mean your roommate barely knows you! most of your furniture is pretty basic, you barely have any pictures of your family, just one of your brother and sister-in-law.. calm down, calm down, he can’t possibly talk shit about you, can he?!??’
“I believe you were made aware of a new hire, correct Y/N?” responding calmly as possible “ Yes Mr. Gojo, I was made aware.” smiling “Good, my son here Satoru will be placed under your wing, i’ve told him already that he should start taking this job more seriously, he is heir of my throne after all-” cutting his father off “Father i’ve told you already-“ “Satoru, you will be under the supervision of Ms. Y/N L/N, I suggest you behave and learn a thing or two about discipline, instead of worrying about a future with a woman who only loves your money and your looks.” glancing between the two, the tension so suffocating “i’ve already told you that-“
Knock knock
Utahime walking in “Ms. L/N, your meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Fushiguro is in 20 minutes”
“If you’ll excuse me Mr. Gojo” bowing down slightly, turning towards the door “Ms. Y/N, please take Satoru and show him how these exchanges work” “Yes Mr. Gojo.” raising his voice slightly “Go on Satoru.”
‘I am so Screwed’
-
“I’m shocked Mr. Fushiguro was willing to work with us! how did you even manage to snag Y/N!” sighing “I didn’t ‘snag’ anyone, the team that was assigned to close the deal with Mr. Fushiguro failed, and called me in to fix it.” “that’s snagging! but he was quite stubborn; he only wanted you to meet with them, you must’ve done something to leave a good impression!!” looking out the window “yeah..” glancing towards my roommate through the reflection of the window ‘he’s been quiet the whole ride, wondering if his father knows we live together.. whatever, I don’t care as long as he doesn’t get in my way.’
-
“Ms. L/N! lovely to see you again!” Both of them smiling warmly at me embracing me in a hug “It nice to see you as well Mr. and Mrs. Fushiguro! How has your son been?” “Oh! That boy is quite energetic. It's exhausting to handle him” Giggling lightly “I'm glad he’s healthy.” “Oh! But what about your son! how has he been” Feeling two pairs of eyes behind me nearly burning a hole into my skull “Yuji has been good he’s staying with his grandparents, i’ll probably go see him this weekend.” “That's good, you shouldn’t tire yourself out now L/N!” “That’s right, don’t think we don’t know about all your late nights and countless meetings Y/N L/N” Scratching the back of my head nervously.
“And who might this be L/N” Turning to introduce my roommate and best friend/assistant “This is Gojo Satoru, a new hire who is here to observe and my assistant Utahime Lori, if it isn’t too much of an issue they will be joining us today.” Mr. Fushiguro ready to begin “Please have a seat, you three. Shall we discuss the deal then”
-
“Excellent. you Ms. L/N have a deal.” Holding his hand out “Thank you again Mr. Fushiguro.” Shaking hands sealing the deal. “As agreed on, we'll start the production by next month” “Perfect thank you again Mr. and Ms. Fushiguro!” “Don’t overwork yourself too much!!” “I won't. Thank you again”
-
“Good job Y/N! Mr. Gojo will be pleased!” Smiling at me brightly she’ll surely leave me blind “It was nothing really..” “But how do they know about Yuji?” Both Utahimes and Gojos' heads turn to me feeling a little nervous “it’s.. a long story.” “And how do they know about your work schedule and countless hours of overtime and-“
Ring Ring Ring
Of course it rings when it isn’t needed! “Y/N speaking.”
“Understood. Yes.”
Sigh ‘this day can’t get anymore stranger’
“Mei Mei flaked out again” Announcing the news i received through the phone “Seriously AGAIN?!?” anger laced in Utahimes voice “Ugh we should have a new contract with actual models, that will actually do their job!” “Calm down, I have a back up.” “BUT STILL! I wouldn’t care if she also wasn’t such a-“ being cut off by Gojo “Bitch.” Catching both Utahime and I off guard “Mr. Gojo.. I didn't know you had it in you to say that! WHOA!”
“Calm down you two, I have a back up. I'll discuss with Suguru and Kento about canceling the contract.”
Ring Ring Ring
“Y/N speaking” Laughing a little
“Of course you were just the person I needed”
“Understood i’ll be arriving shortly” Sigh
“Was it ‘Kento~’” Fluttering her lashes and puckering up her lips “Seriously you two should just runway get married have 10 kids and-“ Cutting her off “Enough of your blabbering how do you even come up with all of this!” Giving me a glare “Well You two have danced around each other since college, and now you two work at the same company of course I have enough information and sources to come up with your whole love story~!” Running a hand across my face “God damn it you’re a lunatic” Sigh “Hey! if you two didn’t work so much I could’ve had a niece and nephew running around already!” “You have yuji.” Pouting a little “You’re right but you and Kento-“ Cutting her off this time placing my hand on top of her mouth “That’s enough for today, It’s bad enough that i have an emergency meeting and countless paperwork to complete” “Hm Hmph MpM!” Removing my hand now covered in spit “We have Gojo! he can help you know”
Thank you for reading! honestly this was a second attempt at this concept don’t really like it but its better than the first attempt.
#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojou satoru x reader#gojo smut#jjk gojo#jujustsu kaisen x reader#gojo x y/n#jujutsu gojo#eventual smut
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Currently rotating the reunion scene from ep4 around in my head like a rotisserie chicken (as one does), and there’s one thing that’s really standing out to me.
Hunter didn’t immediately step outside when that stolen freighter landed.
He and Wrecker have crossed the galaxy 5 times in almost 6 months, dead end after dead end, disappointment after disappointment. It’s got to be soul crushing, and then out of fucking nowhere they get a transmission telling them to go to that moon where they dropped supplies for Ryloth that one time, something Omega surely remembers, so it can’t be a coincidence, right? But it’s just too good to be true. No planning a prison break? No Hemlock? She just made her way back? What are the odds they’re being tricked?
So Hunter waited because he couldn’t stand to face the disappointment himself. (And Wrecker goes out there because he’s still hopeful and excited.)
Imagine the two of them on the Marauder as that ship lands and the stairs come down. Wrecker goes to the door and notices that Hunter is still sitting and typing something, and asks, “Are ya coming, Hunter?” And Hunter just looks at him and says, “Yeah, in a minute.” Wrecker gets it and doesn’t push (emotionally intelligent Wrecker ftw).
Then Hunter listens as Wrecker shouts, “Now there’s a sight!” And with those enhanced senses (who knows, that’s been dodgy at best this season) he probably hears Omega say, “Wrecker! I knew you’d show up.”
And then, he takes yet another moment to collect himself because holy shit it’s real this time, she’s really here.
Finally, Hunter goes out there, skips a bunch of stairs, and gives his kid the biggest hug.
And I just aaahhhhhhhh it’s so good! So intentional! I’m going to be thinking (translation: crying) about this for a long time.
#yes yes i’m late. this happened weeks ago#but i haven’t been able to get this out of my head so here it is now#i am so normal about hunter and omega’s relationship btw if you can’t tell#brb i’m gonna go chew the drywall#the bad batch#tbb season 3#tbb spoilers#tbb season 3 spoilers#a different approach#tbb hunter#tbb wrecker#tbb omega#hunter and omega#the dad batch#my thoughts
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Sleep well, amour.
Parings: Alastor x reader
Summary: You’ve been very intrested in Alastor ever since you met him. He invites you to see his recording studio, which you accept. Then you ask if you can stay and listen to him host! While listening, you fall asleep. How does he react?
Word count: 2844
Warnings: Ummm not really much? Alastor being Alastor! One mention of not being able to sleep sometimes, mention of seeing people in hell doing dr*gs, k*lling eachother, and fighting, mention of reader having bad social skills (?)
part two
A/N: UM!! this is my first time writing for alastor, so apologies if it isn’t the best. Please give me any feedback you want, I’d love to hear it! Also sorry for any spelling mistakes. I hope you enjoy :’)
Alastor the radio demon. You know of the things he’s done, you know that people are quite literally terrified of him. But for some reason... you feel a certain way towards him that you can’t describe, but it’s surely not fear.
You’ve had a some-what odd admiration of him since you landed in hell, only a few months ago. You got spotted by Charlie when you first got to hell. She noticed you looking around nervously and lost, and put two and two together that you must be new. She very kindly introduced herself which was refreshing because.. well.. it’s hell. Everywhere you looked people were fighting, doing drugs, and even killing each other. You were glad there were kind people even down here.
“Hi, you! Uh, you lost?” Charlie smiled you and waved.
“Um yeah! I’m guessing this is hell, huh?” You awkwardly chuckle. Social skills weren’t ever your thing, it seems they haven’t got better after you died, either.
“Yep! This is hell! You must be new? I’m Charlie! Charlie Morningstar. It’s so nice to meet you.” She smiled and stuck out her hand for you to shake.
“Nice to meet you, Charlie! My names Y/n.” You politely smiled back and shook her hand.
After that meeting, Charlie showed you to the hotel in which you eagerly accepted to stay at, her being the only sane thing you’ve seen down here. It was a pretty nice place, no 5 star hotel like back on earth, but it was something you’re very grateful for. Who knows what would’ve happened to you if you haven’t met her.
While she was showing you around, someone caught your eye. He was a tall man, very polite and respectful looking. He was dressed head to toe in old fashioned attire, with a cane to suit his charming look. He was smiling in a way that made you look at him like he was something you wanted to inspect under a magnifying glass.
He glanced at you and smiled larger, stepping over to you and Charlie.
“My, my! What do we have here? Charlie! You didn’t tell me that we’ve got more guests? It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear! The names Alastor!” He spoke politely.
His voice was sort of.. Radio-like? You found it soothing.
“Haha yeah! I found them wandering around on the street this morning! They’re a newcomer, their name is Y/n.” She spoke back, excited to introduce you.
“Y/n! Well, my, my. That’s quite a lovely name!” He said. “Say.. do you listen to radio? I host a brilliant radio broadcast that’ll give you some real insight on this place!” He said enthusiastically.
“Oh.. haha thank you” You smile. “I do actually! I love radio shows.” You immediately feel drawn towads him. You cant tell if it’s just the new scenery or what.. but you want to just sit and chat with him for hours.
Alastor perks up at that. “Oh you do, do you?” He smiled more.
“Yeah! Back when I was.. uhm.. alive, I actually had a whole playlist of them! What do you do your show about?” You ask.
Alastor is delighted to have you take interest in his show. “Well, dear, I do all sorts of things on there! Yes, yes, you think of it and I’ve most probably done it! Most commonly known is the souls I entrap and prison, as I broadcast their screams of horror all over this horrible place and people get to hear the noises of their never-ending torture and demise. But! I also just made a wonderful segment on my mother’s Jambalaya recipe!” He stated.
While part of those sentences gave you chills, you still seemed to take interest in him.
“Well,” you chuckle. “I will certainly check it out!” You smile.
“Ah! Wonderful news, my dear.” He said while he twirled his cane.
Charlie was watching you interact with him and noticed how you looked at him, as if admiring. She smile and said, “well! We better finish the tour.”
She motions for you to follow her and you do, waving Alastor goodbye.
He waves back and yells, “goodbye, sweetheart! Lovely to have met you.”
After that, you wanted absolutely everything to do with him. You’ve also got to know the other people staying at the hotel. Angel, Vaggie, Husk, Niffty, and Sir Pentious. They were overall kind people. Husk found your interest in Alastor to be no good.
“Yeah, no. That, whatever thing you have created in your mind about him, isn’t true. He’s vile, Y/n. Trust me on that.” He grunts.
Angel thought you had some kind of kink towards “scary, creepy men.” Which wasn’t true because you didn’t even find him scary. You found him charming.
“Ah.. Alastor? Fucking sexy weirdo if I do say so myself. He’s got some reaaal problems but hey, if you’re into that-“ You cut him off by saying it wasn’t like that & that you don’t think anything sexual towards him.
One day, you were talking to Sir Pentious about his “crush” on Cherry Bomb. He completely denied it but you could tell from his blush and his nervous demeanour that he was very interested in her.
You were caught off guard when you heard that radio voice coming up from behind you.
“Y/n, my dear! I have a question for you.” Alastor came and stood beside you, looking down from where you’re sitting.
“Al! Hey, what’s up?” You ask, containing your excitement.
Sir Pentious excused himself quickly, seeing one of his “egg boys” were being played with by Niffty. She isn’t one to be gentle.
“So, I know how you’ve been listening to my radio show as of late, and I was wondering if you’d like to see where the magic happens!” He states.
“R-really? I’d be honoured!” You say, smiling.
“Ah! Lovely. Come now, this way.”
You get up and he locks arms with you and chats about his new microphone that he got.
Once you guys arrive, you’re shocked. It looks very professional and comfortable. It suits him heavily. There’s a big open window, a desk, some chairs and sofas, a bunch of technical stuff on the desk along with his new mic that you recognize from his descriptions, and a deer coat hanger?
“Wow, Alastor. This place is so actually so sick. I love it. And the new microphone suits you!” You say. “Thank you for showing me, really.”
Typically, Alastor would never show someone something personal of his, including his studio, but you are an exception. He isn’t sure what it is about you but he doesn’t seem to hate you as much as he does with anyone else. At first he was weirded out, but now he just embraces it. He also feels protective of you. He doesn’t know exactly why you’re even down here. For as far is he can tell, you’re an angel. Always being kind even to those who aren’t kind to you, always saying “please” and “thank you,” all that jazz. Jazz! You even like jazz music, his favourite. He told you that he lived on earth the time jazz music was popular. The 20’s and 30’s. That explains his vocabulary and how he dresses. You just find it more interesting and take time to ask questions about what it was like in that time.
“Why of course, my dear! If I’d want to show anyone here, it would be you.” He says, giving you his iconic smile.
You have a thought. “Hey, Al? Would it be alright if the next time you do a show, I could stay and listen?”
You hope he doesn’t think this is odd.
Alastor raises a brow. “Why would you want to do that?” He asks.
You panic, thinking you went too far by asking and now he’s going to cut you off or something.
“Ha! Kidding, sweetheart! Of course you can. I love when my broadcast is wanted to be listened to. Though I love it as well when they don’t want to.” He says.
You’re relieved, a bit scared, but still relieved.
“Say!” He says. “I was going to make one tonight talking about this silly technology box that thinks he is better than me! You know, expose all his lies and secrets to my listeners, and unwilling listeners. Maybe broadcast it all throughout hell!” He starts laughing manically. Then calms down and stares at you.
“Would you want to stay and listen, hm? I can do it now! I didn’t have any plans today going forward and well, getting it out sooner is better than later, I always say.” He asks.
You know he’s talking about Vox when he mentioned the technology box. Him and Vox have a sort of rivalry going on. Though Alastor seems to not care much about him, Vox is sure obsessed. He’s even gone so far as to making posters about him. Which areee.. not much of a resemblance.
This offer strikes you and you immediately perk up. “Yes! I’d love to.” You say.
You don’t think Alastor knows this but whenever you’re struggling to sleep, you put on his radio show and his voice comforts you to sleep. You’re sure if you told him, he would find it weird.
Little did you know, Alastor already knew. He walked past your room one night and heard static sounds coming from your quarters. He immediately was intrigued and put his ear close to your door to hear his voice. He was surprised, but not weirded out. He found it delightful that you found comfort in his voice. It’s not everyday someone does. Usually it invokes terror and anxiety on anyone who hears. This was new, and he didn’t hate it.
“Lovely! Let me get all set up. You can sit wherever you feel the most comfortable!” He says, adjusting his mic and pressing a buttons on his table.
You find a spot and sit down. Feeling honored to even be in the same room as him, let alone HIS room.
“Ahem! Welcome ladies and gentlemen-“ He goes off into his introduction, before winking at you and starting.
After about 20 minutes, you begin to feel tired and put your head on the side of the wall, still listening but with your eyes closed.
Alastor immediately notices and smirks, knowing how his voice effects you. He continues on and after about another 20 minutes, he finishes up. You’re asleep, slightly smiling.
He walks over to you and looks down.
“My, my. You really are an interesting one, aren’t you?” He whispers. He smiles more softly than he usually does and looks around to find a purple blanket hanging on his deer coat hanger, and gently places it on you.
He feels his heart fluttering while looking down at you and he immediately shrugs it off.
“Mm well, my dear.. I guess you can stay here. I’ll just be over there, transferring my broadcast to the other radios around town.” He says and points to his table.
“Sleep well, amour.” He speaks softly.
#:alastor#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor x reader#alastor the radio demon x reader#the radio demon x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor x reader hazbin hotel#hes so pookie bear guys UGUHG#i love him sm#my works#alastor imagine#hazbin hotel imagine#alastor x you
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.
#ignore me just here to vent#idk why but I’ve been in a super shit mood all day#it’s probably because I forgot my meds a few days recently#and stupid hormones#I just haven’t been able to chill out at all#but doing anything to try to chill is too much work#and I had to take apart my desk today for cleaning so no computer to play games or anything#wanna do something to get out of my head#it’s probably just gonna be weed or alcohol
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𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟑: 𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬
— 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
“Why?” Your boyfriend looked at you with a raised brow, two silicone toys in each of his hands.
You let out a shaky breath, the entire situation making it difficult for you to breath. You weren’t sure how Miguel was going to react when you brought using toys during sex—he’s always been the type to prefer using himself to make you cum, he took pride in it.
He straightens his back, “If I haven’t been making you feel good—“
“That’s not it,” you interrupt, taking one of the vibrators out of his hand, “I just thought it’d be fun to try,” suddenly you couldn’t look him in the eye, “a—and mj got it for us as a gift, it’d be rude to give it back after accepting it.”
You peek up at Miguel and find him looking at the sex toy in his hand. You hold your breath hoping that he’d—
“Alright. Are these the only ones?”
Without realizing it, your back straightens and your eyes have a sudden glow in them that was dulled by the previous nervousness, “For now, yeah.”
He chuckled at your wording, you planned on getting more?
“Great,” he sticks out his hand with the vibrator on his palm, “We can try these out after the dinner, yeah?”
Your body deflates at his words. After dinner? You can’t promise you’ll be able to wait that long, not with the other vibrator in your possession.
Well, that’s only if you stayed here.
He leans forward attempting to press a kiss on your forehead before his body falls against yours, his eyes fall down to your hand gripping onto his tie as he stops his tip with a hand against the wall.
His eyes flicker to yours seeping with confusion, “What was that for?”
You hum innocently, questioning his question.
Suddenly you release your grip on his tie, softly patting it against his chest as you smooth out the wrinkles. “You might be gone long—no—you will be gone long,” you rest your other hand on his chest, and start tracing circles with the vibrator on his left tit, “and the dinner will get rather boring pretty quickly.”
You lean up on your tippy toes, pressing a kiss against his jaw, “And the house gets lonely without you,” you press another kiss along his jaw, “And I’ll get bored—“
“Ok,” Miguel roughly breathes out, his large hands rest on your hips—the other vibrator still in his hand, “Do you want to come with me then?”
You smile. “I’d love too.”
;;
“I understand, Mr. O’Hara, but with the recent hit the industry took…”
You gripped onto Miguel’s hand as your vision went blurry, “Mig…Miguel,” you bite your tongue hoping the suppress the moan that nearly came out.
The coworker who was talking turned his head to you, “Oh, Mrs. O’Hara? Is everything alright?”
Your grip strengthened around your boyfriend’ hand as sweat started to trail down your throat and your pussy clenched around the toy.
“Mrs. O’Hara?”
You forced yourself to look up, to look at the coworker, and to speak. Your lips, both of them, trembled as they opened—a moan sitting prettily on the tip of your tongue.
“A—I—“
Your boyfriend was so sweet, so loving, and so attentive. He knew you were close, you just needed a little more, and he was more than happy to help you out. Especially when you were so obviously struggling to get any noise out of your mouth.
He played with the remote in his other hand under the table, pretending to look at you with worry in his eyes as a beautiful moan rips out your throat.
You pray that when you get up there won’t be a puddle of cum.
“Uh—uhm—Mrs. O’Hara—?”
“Pardon me,” Miguel heroically interrupts as his holds your close to his, “My wife isn’t feeling well, could you excuse us for a bit?”
“Oh—of course, yes.” The coworkers all move out of the way, making a clear path for the both of you to go through.
You cling onto him as you try to stand up, your legs tremble as you take your first step. “Miguel,” you breath out, “Ca—can we go, ah, home?”
You close your eyes, your over sensitive pussy is able to track every movement the little toy inside of you makes—it makes you pull away from Miguel, you’re body acting as it would whenever he’s in you.
Your heart breaks a little when you hear him laugh—and your legs nearly give out as the toy goes up to its next setting, “Miguel!”
He ignores your cry, maneuvering you around the tables until the bathrooms are right in front of you. He hums a tune, almost mockingly, as he opens the family bathroom, “Come on tesoro, get in.”
An almost heart wrenching whine leaves your throat as Miguel locks the door. You fall to the floor and your mouth opens, a silent moan comes out as you cum on your drenched underwear. Your back arches as the toy never stops it’s movement.
Miguel tsks as he kneels next to you, “What’s wrong cariño,” he feigns innocence, “Doesn’t it feel good?”
“Can’t,” you choke out, “Ca—can’t!”
He holds the remote out, purposely putting in the your line of sight. He twirls it around his fingers, “You said you wanted to go home? Thought you wanted to come with me, tesoro.”
You grind your pussy against the cold floor as you feel your body start to heat up.
“Miguel,” you cry, “Why are you being mean?”
You lean into his touch as his hand cups your cheek to make you look at him. He looks at you, eyes soft as he rubs your cheek.
You turn your head to press a kiss on his palm, stupidly taking this act from him as kindness.
Your head drops immediately, tighs pressing against each other as the vibrations in your pussy get more intense.
“F—fuck.”
Miguel presses a kiss to the top of your head as he watches you crumble underneath him, “Sorry tesoro, but you’re just so pretty like this.”
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara atsv#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara imagine#miguel o’hara across the spider verse#miguel smut#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o’hara#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara x you#miguel x reader#miguel x you#atsv miguel
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borrowed clothes
words: 800
warnings: 18+ only, smut, female receiving oral, unprotected p in v sex, mentions of male masturbation, friends to lovers
“rafe, can i borrow your panthers jersey?” you ask, walking into his closet without even waiting for permission.
“you know, you always steal my clothes and never give me any of yours in return.” rafe points out, following you in to the walk in, seeing you already looking through his shirts, trying to find the nfl jersey.
“its sports night, rafe.” you roll your eyes. your favorite bar does themed nights that allow discounted drinks if you come in theme. “you have a million sports things to wear, and i have none.” you remind your best friend.
“all im saying is its unfair.” rafe smiles at you as you find the jersey you were thinking of, knowing his closet better than he does. it’s just a part of being friends for your entire life, best friends.
“okay, here.” you tug your black tshirt off, having planned to wear it underneath rafes jersey, but you can deal with just your bra. rafe looks away from your chest, despite having seen you in just your underwear or swimsuit a million times.
you toss the material at him before tugging the oversized jersey over your head, tucking the front into your tiny miniskirt. “how do i look?” you ask rafe, who is now holding your discarded tshirt in his hand.
rafe nods. “good.” its all he can force himself to say. better than sexy, hot, so good that he wants to bend you over right in the closet and shove that little skirt up and bury his cock in your-
“great!” you smile. “now we gotta find something sporty for you.” you hum, turning back to his closet.
--
“rafey?” you call, entering tanneyhill without knocking. you haven’t asked permission to enter since you were a child, with rafes house being your second home.
“he’s in the shower.” wheezie calls out from the living room.
“thanks wheez!” you ruffle her hair as you walk past, teasing her like she was your own little sister.
you head up to rafes room, flopping onto the bed as you pull your phone out, waiting for rafe to finish up in the shower, hoping he won’t take too long.
you scroll through tiktok, letting out a yawn with a big stretch, readjusting and sliding your hand under rafes pillow. you frown when realize your fingers graze over a weird material, feeling oddly stiff and not something that belongs on rafes bed.
you sit up, moving the pillow to reveal your black tshirt, now covered in white stains. you frown and move it closer to inspect the fabric, eyes widening when you realize what you are holding in your hands.
your mind moves at a thousand miles a minute, realizing that rafe has been jacking off into your shirt. the implications are clear, the one piece of clothing item that he has of yours, and he uses it to get himself off?
you toss the piece of fabric back down, slamming the pillow back on top of it right as rafe opens the bathroom door, towel wrapped around his waist.
“i-i can explain.”
--
“f-fuck!” you shout out, rafes head buried in your cunt, tongue lapping over your pussy, finally tasting you like he's long awaited to. “why did it take us so long to do this?”
rafe just smiles against your cunt, glad that he didn't need to give a real explanation as you hopped off the bed and kissed him, realizing that your feelings echoed his after seeing your tshirt, suddenly feeling just as pent up.
“should have just fucked me instead of cumming all over my shirt.” you whine as his tongue flicks over your clit.
“ill buy you a new one.” rafe sucks your clit into his mouth, determined to make you cum. you let out a cry, your high building.
a shiver spreads throughout your body as rafes mouth brings you to orgasm, a scream being forced out of your body, not caring that there are other people in the house that could hear.
“fuck, you taste so good baby.” rafe moans into your cunt, tongue swiping out again until you gently push his head away, not able to take anymore on your sensitive clit.
rafe rises up, draping himself over your body. he gives you a deep kiss, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.
“i can't believe you were jacking off into my shirt thinking of me.” you giggle.
“oh god, you're never gonna let me forget that, are you?” rafe groans, moving lower to rub his cock between your folds, soaking it in your wetness.
you laugh before it's cut off by rafes lips.
“can i fuck you y/n?” rafe asks, lining himself up with your entrance.
“yeah.” you nod. “yeah, need you.”
“last chance to rethink this. because once i enter you, we can't just be friends anymore.”
“i know, i know.” you peck a kiss to rafes lips. “hurry up and fuck me already.”
rafe smiles down at you as he slowly presses forward, your walls giving way to his thick cock.
“i love you.” rafe admits with a gasp.
“i love you too.”
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#rafe smut#rafe cameron smut#obx smut#outer banks smut#rafe fluff#rafe cameron fluff#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron fic#rafe fic#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe x reader#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe fanfic#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe x you
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Since seeing the movie I can't stop thinking about Mike x Abbys babysitter reader 🫢
oh u guys are gonna KILL ME!!!
reader has female anatomy.
you’d been abby’s go to babysitter since you moved in next door. she was very young, probably five or four. her brother had seen you painting your fence and made his way over to you to try and make small talk.
“yeah, we’ve lived here since she was born,” he explained as you stood up, leaving your brush in the paint bucket. “been lookin’ for a babysitter since i started my new job.” he shrugged. you celebrated mentally, as you’d been waiting for a job to pop up around you. this is exactly what you needed.
fast forward a good four years, you’d been spending your days at the schmidt house. your pay slowly decreased as mike continued to find it hard to pay his bills, but you didn’t mind. you had your own job that would keep you afloat with your bills, and the extra money you received from mike would cover your clothes and food.
this day wasn’t any different from the previous three weeks. laid up on the couch with your own blanket you brung from home, awaiting mike’s arrival. the tv was buzzing quietly as your eyes became droopy.
the sound of the door opening startled you, pushing yourself onto your knees to greet mike. “hey.” you said softly as he kicked his shoes off and waddled towards the small couch, jumping onto it. “hi.” he greeted, closing his eyes for a second.
“abby ate a few bites of her dinner, breakfast is in the microwave. she’s been in bed since you left and i made sure she brushed her teeth and finished her homework,” you ran down, kicking the blanket off and standing up. “i should go.” you sigh.
mike stands up quickly, grabbing your shirt. “hold on,” he grunts, standing in front of you now. “i’m sorry i haven’t been able to pay you—“ he mutters.
“mike, we have this conversation every week. it’s okay, i swear.” you laugh, moving to hold his wrist. “i know you put a lot of effort into taking care of abby.” he mutters, moving closer to you.
“yeah..” you let out a breathy sigh, hands shaking as he moves his hand from you. “you deserve.. something.” he shrugs, hands coming up to hold your hips.
you gasped at the sudden movement, moving your hands down to grasp his wrists, your eyes scan his face. “is this okay?” he asks, moving his left hand to hold your back and press you closer to him.
you nod, hands moving up his arms and holding him tightly. he tilts his head and presses a kiss to your lips, making you melt. you whimper into his mouth, causing his grip on your hips to tighten.
he moves you towards his bedroom, lips never leaving your skin as he watches out behind you to make sure you don’t bump into anything.
he slams the door shut with his foot, and it almost alarms you at the fact that he could’ve easily woken up abby. he moves his hand from your hip to lock the door, continuing to gently push you towards the bed. “how long has it been since you started babysitting abby?” he asked as his lips made contact with your neck.
“i— i don’t know.. a few years, three or four?” you choke out, moving to hold the back of his head. “been wantin’ you for so long,” he mutters, sucking a bit harder on the base of your neck. “about time i get to have you.” he sighs.
his fingers move to the band of your sweatpants, grabbing them and pulling it down feverishly. his warm hands make contact with your thighs, pulling them apart and feeling at your cunt.
“mm, you like this more than i do.” he teases, pressing a kiss to your tummy and leaning further down into you. he wraps his arms around the base of your thighs and pulls your underwear to the side, licking his lips before pulling you into his mouth.
the initial feeling of his mouth made you gasp, hand moving down to hold his hair. the grip he had on your thighs made it impossible to scoot away from his tongue as he basically made out with your pussy.
to stabilize yourself, you grabbed at the sheets of his bed as his tongue made constant contact with your clit. you winced, moving to hold your shirt up and watch him eat you like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.
the closer you got to your orgasm, the harsher you got on his hair. you began to push his head away, squirm your hips, and bite into your hand. and everytime, he shook your hand away, held your tighter, and flicked his tongue faster.
he had no problem finishing you up. you shook gently as your orgasm passed through you, and mike happily pressed another kiss to your swollen clit.
he reached into his back pocket and took out a $20 bill, holding it out to you. “i thought you said.. you couldn’t?” you asked, grabbing the bill gently.
“i know. had to find a way to get you on my tongue.” he smiled and pat the side of your thigh, moving your sweatpants back into place just as abby’s room door opened up.
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Pillow Talk*
Summary: The one where you and Harry both have insomnia, and decide to spend one very strange night together.
Word Count: 7.2k
Content Warning: 18+, smut, daddy kink, mentions of drugs, angst (w/ happy ending!), not suitable for Ramadan!
“Oh, absolutely not.”
“Come on. Just one time.”
“No. Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“Probably. I haven’t slept in 32 hours.”
You huff as you hide yourself behind your door. You don’t even want to see him. Because you don’t want to have this conversation or entertain this idiotic idea. This is what Harry does. He plays games. He tricks and he ruins and if you open this door, you know you’ll regret it.
“Poppy, please,” he calls, and you hear his forehead land on the wood as though to brace himself. “I’ve tried everything else, okay? It always works with you. I just…I wanted to try. See if it still does.”
You frown. “You realize how wildly inappropriate this is, right? Asking if you can come in just so we can sleep together?”
“Yeah, but that’s all I want to do. Sleep,” he insists again. “Really. I’ll keep my hands to myself and I won’t even talk to you.”
You consider this. Truthfully, you haven’t slept all that well since the breakup, either. And sure, you’ve longed for the nights when the two of you would fall into such an easy, simple, and incredibly effective routine.
But he broke your heart. And now you’re both paying the price.
“Just one night,” he pleads again. “And if it doesn’t work, I swear I won’t bother you ever again.”
There’s a subtle ache in your chest. Just hearing his voice reminds you of the pain. Of the joy. Of every good moment and every bad one, all wrapped up in the same silky cadence.
You take a deep breath. Perhaps you’re curious, too. Even if you don’t want to be. Because maybe this will work. Maybe you’ll finally be able to rest and get on with your life.
Or maybe it won’t.
But at least if it doesn’t, maybe you can find some closure.
So, with that thought…you open the door.
He looks worse than you’ve ever seen him. Which makes you just a touch happy if you’re being honest with yourself. His usual curls are askew and unkept. The bags under his eyes are dark and his clothes are wildly wrinkled.
And you’re surprised. He’s been up for longer than 32 hours before and handled it much better. You wonder if his age is catching up with him or if there’s something else keeping him awake.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
But you don’t fight with him. He’s not here to fight and you accept his terms as you widen the door and allow him to step inside.
He nods gratefully as he slips into your living room, but his eyes linger on your face. Almost like he doesn’t recognize you, and it makes your insides turn as you shut the door and put a few feet between you.
“What?” you huff.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know, you look…different.”
“Okay…?”
“You changed your hair.”
“Yeah.”
“Hm. It’s nice.”
You cross your arms. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
Another pause, and the silence feels heavy.
“Well…do you wanna…?” you eventually say, and he nods.
“Right, yeah.”
“Okay.”
You turn to lead him to your room and it’s…unsettling how normal it feels. Like an old habit rearing its ugly head once again.
When you get there, his surprise returns. “You changed your room, too.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Why?”
Your eyes roll as you angrily toss your blankets back. “This is the one room I associated with you the most. And short of moving, I needed something you hadn’t touched or tainted. So I made the room mine again.”
He thinks about this, attention lingering on the new paint on the walls and the new furniture in each corner. “I like it.”
“I don’t care.”
He smiles. “I know.”
“Great. Can you get in the bed please so we can get this over with?”
Obliging, he slips off his shoes and joins you under the duvet. “Never thought I’d hear you say that again.”
“Never thought I’d have to say it.”
“Mm. You changed your mattress.”
“Obviously.”
“And the sheets and blankets, too.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Is there anything in here you didn’t change?”
“The carpet. But only because my landlord said I couldn’t.”
“Right.” He’s smiling again. “But you did get a rug.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s nice.”
“Bite me.”
He laughs now and you want to smack him. “I see you still get grumpy when you’re tired.”
“No, I get grumpy when my asshole of an ex shows up to my apartment at 3 in the morning demanding to be let in so he can sleep in my bed with me like a fucking child,” you argue. And you know you’re being snippy and maybe even rude, but he deserves it. After everything he’s put you through, you deserve to be in charge of your own emotions.
You turn the lamp off and the dark room grows incredibly quiet. You’re both stiff, unable to relax when you’re this close. You don’t want to touch—not the way you used to. And you don’t want to be close or let your guard down, although you suppose you’ll have to in order to sleep.
And then he says, “I really did try, you know. To find another way to sleep.”
You look up at the ceiling and release a soft exhale. “Okay.”
“Melatonin, light therapy, cut out coffee. Even drank those…sleep mocktail things everyone talks about.” He shifts. “I don’t know, I guess my brain just wouldn’t turn off.”
“Yeah. I know.”
More quiet.
“I haven’t done any since we broke up,” he finally says. Gentle, like he’s afraid to break the silence.
Your lashes flutter. He doesn’t have to say it for you to know what he means. “Great.”
“Yeah.” Another beat. “I thought it was work, I guess. Maybe the stress or something. I’ve been sleeping fine, but these past couple weeks…”
“Right.”
“And I just figured—”
“No, I got it. It’s fine, let’s just…let’s just try to sleep,” you say and he nods.
The bedroom settles and you try, you really do. But you can’t when he’s breathing so goddamn loud and shifting every two seconds and sighing like he’s in pain.
“What?” you eventually hiss.
“Are you dating someone?” he asks.
“What?”
“Are you dating someone?” he repeats. “Josie said you were.”
You hesitate. “I don’t know. Kind of. I guess.”
“You guess?”
“We’re…we’ve been on a few dates. It’s not official.”
“He hasn’t asked you to be his girlfriend?”
“Why does it matter?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t. I just figure you deserve someone that actually wants to date you.”
“Oh, do I?” You roll your head to look at him. “Funny, you didn’t seem to think so when you were dating me.”
“All right, touché,” he mumbles. “I could have been better, I know that. And I know I took advantage. You did a lot for me and I didn’t…I didn’t care.”
Surprised, you twist your fingers together. “Uh…yeah. Right. Thank you.”
His head rolls, too. And even with the dim-light, his eyes find yours. “I’m sorry, Poppy. You really did deserve better than me. And if you found it with this guy…I’ll be happy for you.”
You swallow before sighing to yourself. “I mean, I don’t know if I did. He’s…he’s really nice. But he’s so…he’s just…”
“Vanilla?”
Your eyes widen. “Yeah. How did you—”
“He was wearing Crocs with tube socks.”
You laugh—loud. “Oh my god, how did you know?”
“I might have looked him up,” he admits through a grin. “Wanted to make sure he was worth your time.”
“Yeah? And?”
“And he wears Crocs with tube socks. He can’t make you cum.”
Your features scrunch together as you gasp and look away. “Ew, Harry. It’s not about that—”
“It’s always about that. Come on, am I wrong?”
“You—yes. What he wears has nothing to do with what he’s like in bed—”
“So he’s not vanilla?”
“He’s…” You pause. “He…look, he really tries—”
“So, he is,” Harry finishes for you. “Well, at least you got some.”
“I…yeah. Uh-huh.”
Instantly, he turns onto his side, head resting in the palm of his hand as he studies you. “He couldn’t get it up, could he?”
“Harry,” you groan, and reach out to swat him. “Stop, it wasn’t that. We just…we were taking things slow. We did some stuff. Just not…all of it.”
“So what he’d do?”
“Harry—”
“Come on, we’re adults, just tell me.”
“Ew, no—”
“Listen, you used to get fucked good. I’m just trying to help you get back to that.”
You frown but do oblige. “I don’t know. He ate me out and I blew him. That’s it.”
“And…?”
“And…I don’t know. He was fine. He was good.”
“Sure.”
Your eyes roll. “Okay, he…he wasn’t really all that into it. He stopped after a few seconds and asked if I came. Then he said his jaw was tired and that maybe we should just switch.”
Now, Harry’s features scrunch, too. “Shit. What a fucking pussy. Ironically.”
“I guess. It could have been worse.”
“Really? Eating you out was always my favorite. What kind of asshole just stops if he doesn’t have to?”
You feel a rush of heat through your body as you look away. “I guess they can’t all be you.”
“Damn fucking right,” he scoffs. “Seriously, you still wanted to see him after that?”
“He’s cute,” you argue. “And nice. And yeah, maybe he’s not that adventurous but that’s okay. I don’t need wild sex all the time.”
He’s quiet. “How about just one time?”
You turn back. “What?”
“I—okay, I was just thinking…you know, one of the things we would do when we couldn’t sleep was…fuck, so—”
“Oh, absolutely not.” You sit up, as though to put some distance between you. “No. Forget it—”
“Poppy—”
“Don’t call me that,” you huff. “You don’t get to call me that ever again. Okay, I’m not gonna fuck you just so we can sleep—”
“It wouldn’t be just for that,” he argues, sitting up as well. “It would also help your mood, too—”
“Oh, my mood?” You glare at him. “My mood is just fine, actually. In fact, I’d say it’s pretty good if I agreed to let you in my apartment in the first place—”
“You didn’t have to. I’m just saying, if sex with him is gonna be bland, might as well get in one last good fuck before you commit to a lifetime of boring—”
“Oh, my god. It’s not a lifetime and you’re a fucking asshole—”
“Yeah. We’ve established that. Doesn’t change the fact that you need it.”
You stare at him. “Is that why you’re really here? To trick me into sleeping with you?”
He leans back. “What? No. I don’t trick people into having sex, it was just a suggestion—”
“Yeah, a pretty dumb one. Did you honestly think I’d say yes?”
“Yeah,” he admits haughtily. “Yeah, because we didn’t break up over the sex. We broke up because you’re an uptight—”
“What? Say it,” you sneer. “Say it. I’m an uptight bitch because I wouldn’t let you do cocaine.”
He scoffs again and looks off into the dark of your room. The argument lulls. “I could never do anything right.”
“That wasn’t the problem and you know it.” You pull your legs to your chest. “I wanted to move forward and you kept going back. You’re almost 30 and you still act like you’re 19.”
“Maybe I didn’t want to get married and do the whole white picket fence life,” he says. “Maybe I liked things the way they were—”
“No. No, you liked parties with your friends and doing drugs that kept you up for hours and getting fired and leaving me to pay all the bills—”
“You didn’t pay all the bills and I told you I would do what I could to help—”
“Yeah. But apparently that included getting fucked up and staying out all night just to crash the next day.” You study him closely. “You were never around anymore. I never saw you. We were on two different paths and the only time we ever talked was when you asked if I wanted to fuck.”
“So, that’s it, huh? I’m just a villain in your story. You were this perfect fucking princess, and I was a monster that ruined your life?”
“No, obviously not. I wasn’t perfect. I know that.”
“Do you?” His eyes flick between yours. “You didn’t want me to move forward with you. You liked your new job and your new friends because they didn’t remind you of me. Of who we both used to be.”
“So? I’m not proud of what I used to do. And sure, maybe I wanted to make a better impression on the people paying my salary and keeping me employed. Is that such a fucking crime?”
“No. But you didn’t want me to be a part of that impression and you know it.”
“Right. Because you were shit-faced all the time.”
He opens his mouth, ready to retort. But then he closes it. He closes it and he stares at you and then…he surges forward.
Even if you were given at least two seconds to prepare, you’re not prepared for the way his hands feel on your cheeks as he kisses you. As he presses his lips to yours and steals the labored breaths in your lungs.
But you don’t fight him. You know you should. Know you should push him off and berate him. Yet you let him kiss you. And you kiss him back. And it’s far too easy to slip back into this routine as his tongue slides against yours in such a teasing way.
Your stomach flips while your hands land on his lap. You’re desperate to be closer, to feel his body against yours. His skin, and the way it melts beneath your palms like butter. You dance this devious dance and before you know it, you’re stripping each other of the few clothes you have.
He starts with your shirt. Ripping it over your head before his mouth lands on your chest. Bare and beautiful to him. His kisses are wet and sloppy and you arch yourself closer as you drag your fingers down his scalp.
The only reason he stops is to let you peel his t-shirt off, too. And then his jeans and socks. And you move so fluidly, you’re nearly naked in under a minute. The only thing left between you now his underwear and yours.
He lays you down, gentle. Surprisingly gentle, given the anger that brought you here. And he gazes at you in a soft, unspoken way that says everything you don’t exactly know how to say.
His fingers brush down your cheek as his body settles atop yours. He still fits between your legs like he was always meant to and the weight of him almost feels good.
“Are you all right?” he finally whispers, and he doesn’t sound like the same man from before. He sounds like the man you fell in love with. “Is this okay?”
You nod quickly, scared that if you think about it, you’ll ruin it. “Yeah. Go.”
He doesn’t. “We don’t have to,” he says. “You were right, it’s probably a dumb idea—”
“Yeah, but…it always works.” You shift beneath him and reach for his briefs, rolling them down his hips. “And I’m tired. Tired of fighting with you, tired of not getting any sleep…tired of pretending I hate you. You were right, our sex is good. So let’s do it. And then we can sleep. And we can finally move on.”
Not the most romantic of speeches, but it works. At least right now. He kisses you again and drags your underwear aside in order to tease you with the tip of his cock.
He feels like you remember. And maybe you find just a touch of comfort in that. There are no awkward pauses or confusion about what to do next. You don’t have to find your rhythm or anticipate the next step. You know him. And he knows you.
Your rub your clit in order to stimulate yourself. You aren’t exactly wet enough for this to be enjoyable, but you don’t expect him to do what he did before. The foreplay is up to you now and you’re more than all right with that.
However, he’s not. And he instantly swats your hand away in order to do it himself. Allowing his fingers to drag up and down your pussy until you shiver before he slips the tip of his middle finger inside.
“Shit,” he whispers. His forehead drops to yours. “Fucking missed this.”
You bite the inside of your lip to keep from grinning. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He starts to pump, bending your body to his salacious intentions until the unmistakable sound of wetness echoes throughout the room. “I know you missed it, too.”
“Hm. Don’t push it.”
“Why not?” He presses a kiss to your cheek. Then to your jaw. Your lips. Your nose. Your neck. Everywhere you used to love. “Are you really gonna tell me you didn’t?”
“Maybe.”
“So Crocs with Tube Socks is better, huh?”
“…not exactly.”
“Right.” He adds a second finger and your eyes roll back. “Don’t worry, Poppy, I’ll fix it.”
“Don’t…call me that,” you pant again, and he chuckles.
“Don’t know what else to call you. You were always my pretty Poppy.”
“But now I’m not,” you say. “Now you call me nothing. Because I’m not yours to call.”
He sighs but does seem to obey, at least for now. And the faster he thrusts his hand, the needier this growing feeling becomes. Stronger and louder until you finally grab onto his shoulders and say, “Just put it in already.”
He smirks. “How romantic.”
“It’s not supposed to be. Just come on.”
So, he does. He takes hold of his cock and he slips it through the gathering arousal until he can push in. And you both reel.
Truthfully, you’ve missed the sounds he makes when he’s turned on. The way he groans and grits his teeth together. The way the muscles in his arms strain until you can see those beautiful veins you used to love to run your tongue over.
He’s stunning. Even now, in the soft light of the moon through your curtains. His silhouette is unholy as it hovers above you. Strong hips beginning to thrust as you both work in tandem to find release.
And it’s closer than you expected. There’s something about him that can get you there even without much effort. Something Crocs with Tube Socks could never seem to figure out.
Because he’s not Harry. And only Harry can play you like an instrument and make such symphonic music all with the flick of his finger and a thrust of his cock.
He kisses you again and you both feel anxious. Soft murmurings of praise and, “Keep going,” that have you arching from the bed and moaning into his mouth.
You’re sweating and gasping for air and clutching onto his back as you attempt to meet his rhythm with rolls of your own. You need this. You need to cum so you can find release and you need to cum so you can finally sleep and you need to cum because then you’ll finally be able to let him go. To close the door on the chapter of you and Harry and move the fuck on.
But how can you move on when you’re still under him? How can you insist that you’re fine and doing great if you’re so easily convinced to fuck him just so you can both get some sleep?
There are other remedies to insomnia that don’t involve his cock and maybe you should have tried that before you let him into your apartment.
Either way, you’re coming before you can think twice about it. Raking your nails down his back and whimpering his name as he pulls out and finishes on your thigh.
And just like that…
It’s over.
You find him in the kitchen about an hour later. You managed to sleep at least a few minutes before you felt the sadistic hand of insomnia pull you back out. But when you woke, Harry was gone. His clothes were still on the floor, so you knew he hadn’t left. But he wasn’t with you.
He’s staring out your kitchen window when you slip into the living room. You’re not sure if he hears you or not but if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he keeps himself braced against the sink, clad in nothing more than his briefs.
Curious, you call, “What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. Silent. Contemplative. “I used to love this window,” he eventually says. Soft, like he’s reminiscing. “The way the light looked in the morning. The way your little crystals would put rainbows on the wall and you’d get so excited. How you’d make me dance with you to some Elton John song while we were literally in the middle of cooking.”
You blink. “Um…okay.”
He turns and his eyes find yours. “I fucking loved this apartment. And this kitchen. And that couch. And your room. And even the hallway. I loved being here, all the time. I hated going back to my place because it never felt the same.”
The silence grows louder now as you look down at your feet and pull your robe just a bit tighter. “I know,” you finally whisper. “That’s why I changed it.”
“I know,” he whispers back. His expression falls. “You changed everything. This apartment, your life…us.”
“Because I had to,” you argue, glancing back up. “I had to, Harry. I couldn’t keep going in circles. I couldn’t drag you along behind me into the future when you clearly wanted to be anywhere else.”
“Because the future you always painted didn’t seem to have room for me,” he huffs. “Okay, with all these dinner parties and fancy houses and good school districts. You’d planned out the next 30 years and I didn’t see myself anywhere in your picture.”
“I didn’t fucking care about the parties or the school districts,” you nearly yell. “God, I—I didn’t want the white picket fence life. I didn’t want the 1950’s American Dream shit you keep thinking I did. I just wanted you. Yes, I wanted a good job with insurance and stability. But I wasn’t gonna trade what we had just for that—”
“But you did. You didn’t tell your parents we’d moved in together. You didn’t even tell half of our friends. You went on trips without me and you stopped telling me about your day and we never talked—”
“Because you were never around! You were either out with your friends getting drunk or high or you were in there playing video games because you’d had a ‘hard day.’ So, no. I didn’t want to talk to you when I knew you weren’t even listening in the first place.”
He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. Angry. Indignant. “You resented me. You resented the fact that we were together and you resented that I wasn’t perfect like your precious new friends—”
“Oh, that’s—” You pinch the bridge of your nose and force in a deep breath. “No. I didn’t want you to be like them. I didn’t want you to act pretentious and stuffy and talk about the stock market every goddamn second of the day. The only thing I resented…was the fact that you wouldn’t take care of yourself.”
“I was taking care of myself—”
“Bullshit. You were doing drugs—you were doing cocaine—and you weren’t eating, you weren’t sleeping, you nearly drunk yourself to death—”
“Right, but I wasn’t doing it all the time. It was just…it was occasionally, and it wasn’t a lot—”
“I don’t care. You shouldn’t have been doing it at all, Harry,” you finally shout. “You…you scared the shit out of me. Every time one of your friends would call and say you were passed out, I thought…I thought this was it. I thought I was gonna lose you. Do you know how many times I just sat on the floor and cried because I was so scared? Because you never wanted to listen when I told you to stop? Because you were so sure you were invincible?”
He seems pained by this, features wilting as he takes a tentative step forward. But he stops when you move back. “Poppy, I wasn’t trying to scare you, I…I didn’t know—”
“Yes, you did,” you scoff. “I told you, over and over that I didn’t want to lose you, but you thought I was being dramatic.”
He nods once. “I know, I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
“Yeah. I am.” He looks at you. “S’why I stopped after we broke up. You were right, I needed to get my shit together.”
You nod, too. “Good. I’m glad.”
His gaze dances around the kitchen. “I hate that you changed everything,” he says again, and your heart wrenches. “I hate that it doesn’t look like it used to. I hate that I hurt you so bad that you felt like you had to erase everything I ever touched.”
You step closer and wipe a tear from your cheek. “Yeah, I hate it, too. I hate that I had to. I hate that stupid mattress and I hate that my kitchen doesn’t look like a rainbow anymore and I really fucking hate that I have no one to dance with when I cook.”
His eyes soften as they find yours and in only a few seconds, he’s reaching for the belt on your robe and tugging you to him. Wrapping you in his arms as he presses you against his chest, the way he always used to when you were sad.
“No,” you argue weakly, although you do nothing to stop him. “No, you can’t…you can’t—”
“Yes, I can,” he retorts quietly. You feel his lips press to the top of your head. “You don’t get to cry over me anymore. You’re better than that now. You did what I couldn’t. You moved on. And I don’t get to ruin that for you.”
You sniffle as you run your hand down his stomach. “It wasn’t about moving on. I just needed to learn how to be strong enough for both of us.”
“Poppy,” he breathes and holds you tighter. “You shouldn’t have to be.”
And deep down…you know he’s right.
“Shit, just like that…a little closer. Good girl, hold yourself open for me, baby. Yeah.”
Doing your best to oblige, you slip your fingers between your folds as Harry nudges his nose closer. Kissing his way along your thighs before allowing his tongue to lick a very generous stripe up your pussy.
Round 2 is on the couch. Harry wanted the kitchen counter—nearly insisted on it, in fact—but you knew you didn’t want to ruin your favorite breakfast spot. And you weren’t about to just for him.
So, the couch it was. He complained about it as you got settled. He hates this new couch, too. The color, the lumpy cushions, the way it feels like you’re sinking when you sit.
You told him you didn’t care. You loved it and if it annoyed him, that was a bonus.
Thankfully, he swallowed his complaints in favor of swallowing you. He tossed your robe open and pulled your thighs apart. And then he buried himself between the warmth of your pussy the way he always used to.
And you decided that maybe you don’t mind insomnia so much if this is the remedy.
“Missed this, too,” he says now as he nips at your clit. “God, you’ve always tasted so fucking good. S’fucking crazy, baby. Can’t ever get enough.”
“Sure,” you snort, head dropping back. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls—”
“No.” He shakes his head and his nose nudges the sensitive nerves as you whine. “No, there’s no other girls. Come on, did you really think there could be?”
“With a mouth like that? Yeah,” you admit. He laughs. “That’s how we met. You were such—fuck—such a player.”
“Maybe,” he concedes before mouthing at you again. “But nobody else has ever made me feel the way you do.”
You snort. “Where’d you learn that line?”
“It’s not a line. It’s the truth.”
“Harry. Come on. I know you.”
“Then you should know I don’t say shit I don’t mean.” He smooths his palms down your thighs in order to spread you just a bit further and see the way your hole flutters. “Oh, pretty girl. S’just drenched, hm? All sensitive from the last one…need Daddy to make it better?”
You scrunch your nose. “You don’t get to call yourself that anymore.”
“No?” He grins. “Why not?”
“Because I hate you and Daddy is reserved for someone I like.”
He tsks. “I don’t know, kind of seems like you still like it. Keep clenching around my tongue like you wanna hear me say it again.”
You hesitate as you weave your fingers through his curls. “Never.”
He hums and the vibration against your cunt makes your thighs twitch. “Come on, baby. Don’t be mean to Daddy.”
You want to glare. Slap at him, refuse him. But he’s right—you have missed the moniker. If only just because of how good he sounds when he says it. So, you let him tease you and taunt you as he tastes you. You let him do whatever the hell he wants because your second orgasm feels stronger than the first and you don’t imagine you’ll survive this one.
He slips a finger in as well. Beckons your pleasure closer with every curl of the large digit. It’s practiced. He sucks and licks and nips and thrusts and curls and pumps all at the same time.
Then, he pulls back and brings his palm down in a sharp smack to your pussy.
“Stop squirming,” he instructs, then shoots you an obviously pleased frown. “Don’t be a brat.”
“M’not,” you whimper. “Not a brat…just wanna cum.”
“Do you, hm?” He licks you again then adds two fingers. “Should I let you?”
“Obviously.”
“Obviously?” He’s smirking now as he starts to go faster. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you do deserve it. Yeah? After being so nice as to let me in.”
You pout. “Mhm.”
He’s so happy. He’s always his happiest when he’s suffocating himself with your pussy. He does everything he knows you love. He leaves teasing kisses to the inside of your thighs. He slaps at your leg, your clit, your hip. He helps rock you against his tongue and even lifts you from the couch to find a deeper angle.
And he does all of this out of sheer enjoyment.
“Harry,” you whimper as you melt into the cushions. Your limbs feel like jello. The pleasure is everywhere, and he looks like a god. His face is covered in you, glistening about as bright as the stars.
“I know, Poppy,” he says. He kisses your pussy and then smiles at you. “I know.”
You like the way Harry’s chest feels. Warm and soft and painted in the tattoos you used to trace with your finger.
He’s gently scratching your back as you both lay in bed. The room is quiet—you haven’t spoken in minutes. Still, neither of you can seem to find sleep and you know you’ll desperately need it soon.
But this is nice. Even if it is the last time. You like getting to reminisce—pretend for even a moment that things are the way they used to be. When you were happy and safe and content to be together.
You weren’t sure you’d ever feel this kind of peace again.
“I missed you, too, you know,” he whispers after a moment.
You glance up.
“I didn’t just miss your apartment. I missed you.” He takes a breath and runs his palm along your spine. “I miss our Sunday mornings and I miss when we’d watch scary movies just so we could make out and I miss the way you used to dance around in your underwear to some stupid musical you were obsessed with.”
You swallow a lump in your throat. “Har…”
“And I don’t know what happened,” he says. “I felt like…I felt like I was watching you do all these amazing things and I just couldn’t keep up. You were getting promoted and moving up and I was still at the fucking bar serving drinks. And you knew what you wanted to do. I didn’t.”
“I didn’t know,” you argue gently. “Not really. I hate my job. I hate that I don’t enjoy it the way I used to. I mean, I like that it pays the bills, but maybe that shouldn’t be enough.”
He presses his cheek to the top of your head. “You should do what makes you happy.”
“You used to make me happy.”
The soft strokes against your spine slow.
“You did, Har,” you tell him. “So happy. That’s why I hated that we started fighting all of the time. I hated that you were gone or that I was gone or the fact that I was too ashamed to tell you that I missed you. And that I was scared we were losing each other.”
“Maybe we needed to lose each other,” he says and you feel sick. “Maybe we needed to be apart to see what we really wanted.”
You think about this. The idea sounds nice. Inviting. A happy end to a rather dreadful story.
But you both know better. Five months has taught you better.
“There’s a reason we broke up,” you finally murmur. “We didn’t…we didn’t like each other anymore. We were holding each other back—”
“I liked you,” he says softly. “I loved you. Yeah, I was mad, but I didn’t just stop loving you.”
“Maybe you should have. Maybe it would have been easier for us and we wouldn’t be…here.”
More silence. It stretches for what feels like hours.
And then, “I can’t sleep because of you.”
You suck in a quiet breath. “What?”
“When Josie told me that you were seeing someone, I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And she showed me a picture she took of you guys and you were so happy. Smiling at him like you used to smile at me and I just…I didn’t know what to do.”
Another pause. You don’t know what to say.
“I put my fist through a wall,” he tells you. “And somehow, that still didn’t hurt as much as knowing you’d moved on.”
You snake your arm around his middle and snuggle closer. “Harry, you knew we both had to move on eventually.”
“Did we?”
“Harry…”
“But so soon? It’s only been five months.”
“Yeah. Five months to grieve you and cry over you and realize I did this for you.” You close your eyes. Tight. “We’re better people now.”
“No, we’re tired people now,” he teases, and you smile. “And I think I’ll be losing sleep over you for the rest of my life.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I mean it. I’m always gonna think about you. Think about what I did wrong. What I could have done better.”
“I fucked up, too,” you argue. “I should have told my parents. And our friends. I should have talked to you more, asked you to do more things together. You’re right, I was ashamed of you. Of this…routine we’d fallen into. And I’m sorry.”
He says nothing. After all, there’s nothing more to say.
But he kisses the crown of your head and it speaks louder than any words.
“Fuck…fuck, Poppy, please—”
You grin as you lick your lips. He’s always sounded the most beautiful when he’s begging. And his best begging always tends to happen when his cock is down your throat.
“What, Daddy?” you ask innocently. “What do you need me to do?”
His eyes roll back and he grips the sheets in his fist. “Please…”
You reposition yourself over his legs as you dip back down to have another taste. You lick and you suck and you stroke until he’s making another strained noise that sounds like sex.
You hope your neighbors can hear. You bet they missed him.
“Good boy,” you purr, squeezing his thighs as you take him even further.
He sucks in a sharp breath through gritted teeth before his hand finds your hair and he squeezes. “Easy…easy, baby. S’been a while. Don’t hurt yourself—”
You respond to his instruction by inhaling through your nose and relaxing the muscles in your throat. Allowing him to hit the back the way he always used to.
His head drops into the pillows. “Shit—Poppy, I mean it. M’not gonna fuck your throat. It’s gonna hurt and I don’t wanna hurt you anymore.”
It’s an oddly thoughtful gesture but it does nothing for you now. Instead, you shake your head and pull off, a string of saliva dripping down his cock in your wake. “I’m fine, H. Trust me, I can take it.”
“Yeah?” He pushes up onto his elbows. “Is Crocs with Tube Socks hung or something?”
You grin. “No. But that dildo you got me last year is.”
He blinks. “You…fucking hell, you fuck your throat with that?”
“Mhm.” You swirl your tongue around his tip as he curses. “And then I fuck myself. And I pretend it’s you.”
He tightens his hold on your hair and forces your eyes back to his. “Are you serious?”
You nod, now feeling a touch shy as you wipe your mouth with your knuckles. “Yeah…I know that’s…probably weird, but…I mean, you got it for me, so I thought I’d be weirder to think about someone else—”
“No, it’s…” He stops. Struggles. “Shit, I really needed to hear that.”
“Oh, you did, huh?”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t want you to think about anyone else when you used it, either. It’s got my fucking initials on it.”
You laugh, louder than you mean to and it makes him grin. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it? It was a pretty good gift, I’ll admit.”
“S’a fucking perfect gift,” he retorts. “We had a lot of fun with that dildo.”
“We did indeed.”
“But apparently not as much fun as you’re having with it.”
“Fucking myself helps me sleep,” you remind him. “So sometimes it’s necessity.”
“Is that right?”
“Mhm.” You squeeze the base and he twitches. “You used to watch me. Remember?”
“I do.” His eyes get darker. “Do you fuck yourself a lot?”
“…these days, yeah. Apparently, I can’t sleep all that well, either.”
“And does it work?”
“Most of the time, yeah.” You turn your attention back to his cock in order to avoid his curiosity before you quietly admit, “Sometimes I pretend you’re here. Sleeping next to me. And…that helps, too.”
He reaches for your wrist and pulls your attention back. “Poppy—”
“No, don’t look at me like that, it’s dumb—”
“I imagine you, too.”
You blink. “You do?”
“Every night. Except the past couple weeks. Cause now I just think about you and him. And then I can’t fucking sleep.”
You turn your hand so your fingers brush through his. “Shit. We’re a mess.”
He smiles. “Yeah.”
The conversation falls away as you dip back down to resume your work. Squeezing his balls, moaning as you take him on your tongue, and milking him for every last drop.
Turns out, you missed the taste of him, too.
Morning comes before either of you find a moment of rest. But you can feel yourself growing tired. Your eyelids are beginning to droop, and your body feels incredibly spent.
Turns out, round 4 is where the magic happened. He brought out your favorite vibrator and teased your poor, swollen clit with it until you squirted. It was easy and quick and he seemed rather delighted to be bathed in you.
Until, of course, you insist on an actual bath to clean you both.
The shower felt good. The warm water washing away the sticky sweat on your skin. And the two of you fell back into a similar routine. He ran the soap down your arms and you washed his curls with your favorite shampoo. A shampoo he claimed he looked everywhere for after you broke up but could never find.
He said he missed the smell. The way it made his hair so soft. And the way it would make his pillowcase smell just like you.
You were grateful that the shower hid your tears.
You both crashed on the couch after you had dried off. The sheets still needed to be cleaned and neither of you could be bothered. But, as it turned out, the couch was growing on him. And he begrudgingly admitted it was rather comfy as the two of you curled up in your usual spot.
You know you’re both close to sleep. Finally, after all your efforts to get here. But you also know that once you wake up, Harry will leave.
And there’s a chance you won’t see him again.
You know that nothing has changed. The two of you still want different things, even if you want each other. And you hate that that’s not enough. That what you want and what you should want don’t align.
Instead, he’ll move on with his life and you’ll move on with yours.
But you don’t want to learn how to fall asleep without him.
“Make me a deal,” you whisper.
He hums. Lashes shut tight as the morning light slips in through the window. “What?”
“If I wake up, and you’re still here…we do this again. Not…as a couple. But as two broken humans that find rest with each other.”
His eyes open.
“But if you’re gone,” you continue, “then we don’t. We don’t do it again, we don’t see each other again, we don’t reach out again. We cut ties. Officially. Block and move on. For real.”
He seems saddened by this, and you hate that you’ve made him sad. But you both know it’s for the best. This won’t be sustainable in the long run. And maybe it’s a bad idea to continue at all, but maybe you want to hold on to him anyway. At least for a little while.
Even if it’s just as friends.
Exes.
Two broken humans that used to make each other whole.
His lips press together and he nods once. “Deal,” he agrees, and you can tell by the look on his face, he’s already made a decision.
You aren’t sure which way, but you suppose you’ll find out soon enough. So, you allow your eyes to fall shut and your dreams to take hold. Melting into his arms and into the sofa as you finally find sleep quicker than you have in months.
You’re not sure how long you’re out. It feels like hours. A heavy slumber that leaves you rather refreshed as your eyes eventually flutter open.
You don’t see Harry as you slowly adjust to your surroundings. And you don’t feel him, either. But you’re too afraid to really look. To sit up and realize that he’s gone. For good.
And then, just when you think you’ve lost him…you hear the most beautiful sound in the world.
“Good morning, Poppy.”
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Coming up with the idea to take Simon out so that he can pick out a couple pieces of lingerie he wants to see you in, his choices really surprise you.
Request from here.
The minute you brought up the idea, Simon was on board, ready to dish out whatever money he needed to spoil his princess. It seemed like a win-win: you get new lingerie and he gets the benefit of picking out a few items that only he would get to see you in. How could he ever say no to something like that?
The first day you were both off you headed out to the local mall, ready to go on a different kind of mission, one that already had Simon salivating and itching to finish so you both could get back with the items in hand. You did promise that as soon as you got home you’d model them for him and there was no doubt what would inevitably come next.
Walking into the Victoria’s Secret all 6’4” of Simon drew a few stares, but he didn’t care; he was focused on you just as he was any time you two went anywhere. Arms wrapped around your middle to hold your back against his chest as you both slowly made your way through the store.
“Remember, it’s what you want to see me in,” you reiterated the rules for this excursion.
“Best believe I remembered, luv,” he said, his gravely voice hitting you ear just right to make you shiver with anticipation. “Haven’t been able to think of fuck all else since you brought it up, but I think that was your fuckin’ plan.”
You passed by several things that you were sure he would have picked up, you did say anything so nothing was off limits and that included whatever string number he may want to strap you in. The point was to get him excited to chose the bit of wrapping he wanted around his present, not that he needed it. He’d take you in a trash bag and still think you were the hottest piece of tail around.
A severe lack of Simon around your body broke you out of your thoughts as he had let you go to walk over to a display off to the left of you. The way he locked on, it was clear something had caught his eye and you followed him over just as he picked up a bra and pantie set and handed them over to you.
Baby pink with a bit of delicate lace lining the top of the cups, a tiny silken bow in the middle along the rib band and the same matching bikini style panties that had a slightly larger bow on the back, that was his choice. It was very sweet and dainty, something a very soft girl would pick for herself.
“Really? This one?” you questioned, eyebrow raised curiously.
“You said to pick one I liked,” he said. “I like this one. Is that a problem, sweetheart?”
It wasn’t a bad choice at all, just surprising. Never would you have imagined Simon pick something so...quaint. In fact you were sure he would have gone straight for the string thongs or see-thru lace bras, so when he chose that one it caught you off guard.
“Not at all, just didn’t think you liked that sort of style,” you backpedaled, not wanting him to think he screwed up.
“I can like pretty shit too, luv. After all, I chose you, didn’t I?” he chuckled. “This is what I want to see coverin’ across that sweet arse of yours... well, until I get to admire it layin’ on my floor.”
Your cheeks flushed bright red. Fuck, how did he always do that? “I was the one that did the choosing,” you pushed the subject as you tried to dissipate the heat in your face.
“Oh, is that so?” he shot back coolly, moving back in close to take your chin in his firm grasp. “The one that still gets nervous probably wasn’t the one callin’ the fuckin’ the shots. Don’t force me to make that blush brighter just to prove my point, luv.”
Touche, he had won this round; you knew he would too, screw being in public. He wasn’t afraid of people staring as they had been staring at him his whole life, might well enjoy himself while he drew the eyes. You gave in and backed down, receiving a quick peck on your lips for your troubles.
“Now, let me finish my shoppin’ so that we can get outta here and get to the actual fun part,” he said with a smirk.
Lord, he was insatiable. That man could have your pussy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and still be hungry for more.
Going through the rest of the place another similar set he found after a bit more of searching, this one a pale yellow with a little silk flower in the same places the bow was on the first set. He handed over everything over to you so that you could double check the sizes and make sure it was correct before he took it back so that he could pay.
Always the gentleman to his girl.
That large palm was plastered to your inner thigh the entire drive back and every now and again he gave it a squeeze. His mind raced as his imagination ran wild with images of what you’d look like in his purchases: beautiful? Always, but these pieces were more delicate than the others you had and so he was curious to see just how pretty you’d look in them.
“You ready?” you asked through the door.
Once you got back, you left him sitting in his chair as you went off into the bathroom to get changed. He had chosen the yellow to go first, saving his real favorite for last. As you slipped everything around your curves, you had to admit that it was actually really cute and surprisingly not too uncomfortable as well.
Good job baby.
“Get out here now, beautiful girl,” he called back.
Opening the door slowly, you stepped out and sauntered your way to him, stopping just shy of the tips of his boots. Placing your hands behind your back, you stood twisting your body back and forth as you let him admire his choice.
Silently Simon eyed you up and down, taking you all in. “Well?” you asked after a moment.
Eyes came back up to meet your own. “Do a spin for me, darlin’,” he said, making a spinning motion with his index finger. “Slow like.”
Turning around smoothly at a steady pace, you came all the back around until you were facing him again. He was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, eyes locked to your body.
“What’s the verdict?” you asked again.
The corner of his mouth unturned. “I’ve got good taste,” he smirked. “Exactly what I fuckin’ wanted. You look amazing, sweetheart.”
His approval made you smile, excited that he liked it, even though you knew he would since he was the one to pick it out. That obsessive stare gave you new life; who wouldn’t want to be the object of Simon’s desire? “Should I try on the other one now?”
Simon nodded his head as he adjusted the crotch of his pants and you scurried back off to the bathroom to change, fueled by his intense interest in you.
The pink on slipped on just as easy and you actually enjoyed this one even more as it enhanced your skin tone to perfection and the little details were so sweet you knew why this one would be his favorite; you could hardly wait to go show him how good you looked.
Coming back out again you nearly ran straight into him as this time he was leaning against the door frame as if waiting for you. He didn’t say a word, but you swore you could hear his breath hitch in his chest as he gazed down at you in that soft little pink number. Calloused fingers came up to trace over the thin ribbon detail, following the curves of the mini bow in the center of your chest.
“This one I really fuckin’ like, sweetheart,” he purred in that gruff, low tone that set you alight.
You swallowed hard, your pulse racing in your veins already. “I have to admit you did really good baby,” you said. “Never thought you’d pick something so pretty.”
Fingers traced the line of the band under your breast along your ribcage before they came back up. “Like you in pretty, sweet things,” he said, slipping a thick finger into the top of the band between the cups. “Bows and flowers, light colors, that sort of shit. Suits you best, luv.”
“Aww,” you picked at him. “You going soft on me?”
That finger fully hooked itself into the fabric between your breasts and pulled you forward, making you take a step to bring you in closer until you were flush against his chest. Those amber eyes shimmered as he tilted his head down close to your neck. “All the shit I’ve to deal with at work, don’t ya wanna give this bastard somethin’ beautiful to touch?”
Well, when he put it like that…how could you deny him?
“My pretty little thing, so goddamn sweet,” he said with a groan, exploring hands releasing your bra so that they could run down the line of your back towards your hips before coming to a stop just under the curve of your ass. He cupped the cheeks one in each hand, massaging the meat in a circular motion.
Hungry lips embraced your neck, quick, burning kisses connecting with the skin to leave a trail of fire where he went. His arousal was already pressing up against your thigh as his hands on your ass squeezed harder; he had been worked up all day and seeing you all pretty for him it pushed him over the edge.
“Just wanna fuckin’ corrupt my little flower, ruin her pretty petals with my fat cock,” he breathed against the nape of your neck. His warm breath wafted down your collar bone to the tops of your breasts, making the skin pinprick with goose pimples while his words worked on your nerves to send you into a tailspin.
Were you supposed to stay sane after that? Because it just got really, really hard to think straight. “Yes,” was the only word your mind could form and you moaned it against the side of his head.
Fingers flitted around the waistband of your panties, outlining the band around your hips before it found the band descending between your legs; he followed that with his fingertips as well. “Mmmm, my beautiful girl, you know no one else even comes close?” he groaned. “Got the prettiest little thing around. Sets me on fuckin’ fire, how lucky I am to have such dainty thing at my disposal.”
Desperation gathered in his movements as he pawed at your body, causing you to respond to him as all your nerve ends across your skin began to ignite like he had just lit a match.
Without warning you were picked up and brought over to the bed where he set you down carefully along the edge. In an instant he had dropped down to his knees before you, one large hand gathered at the back of your head to pull you into his face so that he could press his lips desperately to yours. Wet, aggressive kisses he greedily stole from your mouth over and over again as he moved up into you.
“Lean back for me, darlin',” he said against your mouth.
Releasing you from his grasp you did as Simon said, laying back on your elbows so that you could still watch him. Hands on your parted thighs to steady himself, he swooped in. His face was at your pubic bone and he opened his mouth, collecting the waist of your panties in his teeth before he was pulling them down your legs, undressing you completely without the use of his hands.
Well damn, you had been curious to see how good they’d look on the floor since he had brought it up, but who could have predicted that they would look exquisite in between his teeth?
…Definitely a good choice indeed.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#call of duty#ghost cod#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost mw2#cod mw2#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut#simon ghost riley x reader#simin ghost riley#ghost simon riley#simon riley x you#simon ghost x you#simon ghost x reader#ghost call of duty#ghost smut
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watch and learn (part one)
pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x female reader
rating explicit 18+
content warning drug and alcohol use
summary it takes one conversation with your college dorm neighbor to know you won’t get along. rafe is loud, rude, and short-tempered. after he overhears you talking about a disappointing fling, he loses his confidence in his sexual abilities and suggests you start hooking up to both improve your skills in the bedroom. you can’t stand him, but it’s too good of an offer to turn down.
» masterlist
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At first, you cut your neighbor some slack. Over freshman welcome week, you figured it wouldn’t be reasonable to expect him to be quiet.
But it’s Thursday of week two, well past quiet hours, and the bass of his music is nearly making your bed shake.
You assumed the guy you’ve heard but haven’t seen yet would settle down once classes were underway. So much for that.
You have a lecture early tomorrow. It’s past midnight and his music and loud conversations are still drumming through your wall.
You’d call the resident advisor, but you’d rather talk to him yourself so not to risk any bad blood that could form from you snitching on him. You sigh, get out of bed, and decide to finally face him.
Rafe takes another hit of his joint, leaning back in his desk chair while three of his frat buddies talk about the past week of rushing.
He just got accepted into his top choice frat and he’s elated. And if he proves himself, he’ll be able to move into the Sigma Chi house next semester.
He probably will never get used to living in such a small room compared to the mansion he grew up in, but at least the frat house will be an upgrade.
“Dude, I think someone’s knocking,” Blake says, slapping Rafe’s knee.
“Oh, shit,” Rafe laughs, high out of his mind. He pauses the music and ambles out of the circle he’s been sitting in.
When he opens the door to see a girl in pajamas looking up at him, her arms crossed and her lips pinched, he’s taken aback for a second. Damn, you’re pretty.
“Hi,” you say, failing to force a smile at the man towering over you. The smell of weed hits you instantly. “I live next door. I wanted to ask if you could please keep it down?”
He grimaces as his unseen friends jeer behind him. You notice the Greek lettering on his t-shirt. A frat boy. Of course.
“You’re in trouble, Rafe!” one of them taunts.
He props a big arm against his doorframe, his blue eyes trailing down your body.
“Were we being loud?” he teases, purposely playing dumb. He’s obviously wasted. And is giving off strong fuckboy vibes.
“I have an early class tomorrow,” you try to explain. “Can you at least keep the music off?”
“What, you don’t like it?”
“Listen… Rafe, right?” you say. He nods, his grin still so fucking smug. You tell him your name. “I’m not trying to ruin anyone’s fun, but-”
“That’s kind of what you’re doing,” Rafe interrupts. The way your face screws up when you’re pissed off is too cute for him to stop fucking with you.
“Don’t you have a frat house you can do this at?” you finally snap, gesturing to his t-shirt.
“You telling me I can’t be in my own room?” Rafe says, annoyance starting to prick at his skin.
“Not if you’re gonna keep people up,” you say.
“Turn around.”
“What?” you snap.
“I wanna know if I can see the stick up your ass from here,” he says.
His friends explode in laughter and he looks back with a wide smile.
“I fucking hate frat boys,” you mutter more to yourself than to him. Rafe brings a hand up to his chest in mock offence. “And you’re not allowed to smoke in your room,” you add.
“You gonna tell on me?” He cocks his head, his hair falling over his forehead.
“Yeah, actually, I might.”
A man appears behind Rafe with a charming smile.
“Okay, okay,” he drawls to you, gesturing to dap Rafe up. “We should get going anyway.”
“Nah, man, you don’t have to,” Rafe says, immediately disappointed that his fun is ending.
“It’s late,” he says. The man nods at you with a smile.
“Blake,” he introduces himself to you. “Sorry about the noise.”
“Thank you,” you say through gritted teeth, wishing Rafe had half the manners his friend does. He shuffles past you, followed by two other guys who say their goodbyes to Rafe.
“Happy?” Rafe mutters, all the playfulness from his tone now gone.
“Thrilled,” you say, turning to get back to your room.
The next afternoon, you’re on the phone with your friend, Liv, as you make your way back to your dorm room after a full day of classes.
She’s trying to convince you to come to a party at a frat house tonight. You’re exhausted after a long day, but she’s right that you need some fun.
“I can’t be out long,” you say on the phone, pushing your key into the lock. “I’m tired. And honestly, already kind of stressed out over school.”
“Maybe you’ll meet a guy who’ll take your mind off things,” Liv suggests. You snort.
“The last guy I hooked up was such a disappointment,” you tell her. You try to twist your key. It won’t budge. “I almost faked my orgasm, then was like, it’s not even worth it.”
Liv laughs.
“They should know when they suck,” she says.
You wiggle your key, your fingers starting to hurt.
“Exactly,” you say. “Plus, he wanted to try this position and… I don’t know, I felt too nervous to do it. It was just a failure all around.”
Finally, your key twists and make it into your room, clueless to the fact that Rafe heard everything.
That night, you’re at the Sigma Chi house, two drinks in, when you spot your neighbor playing beer pong across the room. Shit. You’re sure this is his frat.
You already told Liv about your encounter with Rafe, so you nudge her and point him out.
“That’s my fuckboy neighbor,” you say.
“You didn’t mention how hot he is.”
“Wait until he opens his mouth,” you tell her, earning a laugh.
Honestly, Rafe does look good. He fills out his t-shirt so well, his backwards hat pushing his hair out of his handsome face.
Rafe glances around the crowded room and catches you staring at him. Even though you irritated him the first time you spoke last night, heat fills his body once he realizes your eyes are on him.
You quickly look away.
Despite how much of a tight-ass he thinks you are, he’s glad to see you tonight. What he overheard you say on the phone a few hours ago has been weighing on his mind. And his ego.
He finishes up his game of beer pong and the alcohol rushing through his system convinces him to find you and ask you what he’s been mulling over.
“Are you lost?” a voice says behind you.
You turn to look up at Rafe, who’s ducking down so you can hear him over the music. You glance back at Liv, who raises her eyebrows and turns away to give you privacy.
“Or do you actually know how to have fun?” he asks. You sigh as you glance back at him.
“I do, without the expense of people’s sleep,” you reply, a sarcastic smile on your face. “Crazy concept, right?”
“I figured it out,” he says. “Why you’re such a tight-ass.”
“I am not a tight-ass,” you reply.
“It’s ‘cause you can’t get off. I heard you,” he says. He sees embarrassment wash over your face. You know exactly what he’s referring to. “And I’m the loud one?”
You look away, regretting that you didn’t stop to think your voice would float into his dorm room. Fuck.
“Does that actually happen?” Rafe asks. “Girls fake orgasms?”
Your eyes dart up to meet his and you scoff a chuckle.
“Yes,” you say. “What, you didn’t know that?”
Rafe shakes his head. Admittedly, he’s been wondering if any girls faked cumming with him since he overheard you. It’s kind of a blow to his ego.
“Ouch,” you laugh, regaining your confidence. “Let me guess. You thought you had a perfect track record.”
“How can you tell that a girl’s faking it?”
You take a sip of your beer and he can’t help but notice the enticing way your lips look glossed with moisture.
“Every girl’s different,” you say. “But for the most part, you can… feel it. You know… down there.”
You’re glad you’re drunk for this conversation. You doubt you could have it sober.
“How?” he asks, genuinely curious.
“I’m not helping you with this,” you say. “Especially after you were such a dick to me.”
Rafe smirks, looking down. You notice he has really cute dimples. Shit. The fuckboy is charming you.
“Let’s start over,” he suggests. “I have an idea.”
“You can have those?” you ask.
“I heard you say you were nervous trying a new position,” Rafe says, ignoring your chide. You look down in unease again.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he says. You look at him again, speechless over how forward he is. “We can help each other. You show me how to make a girl cum and how to know I actually did it. And I’ll let you practice whatever you want with me until you feel confident.”
You freeze for a second. Is he seriously suggesting you two fuck… to get better at fucking?
“Oh, you’ll let me?” you say, his proposal admittedly making your stomach numb with anticipation. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” Rafe says with a shrug. You realize he’s being totally and unabashedly serious. “What? Do you need time to think about it?”
You take another sip of your drink, the cold beer spilling down your throat.
He is insane. But he’s also attractive. Charming. Confident. Would it be so crazy to start hooking up with him?
You’d have the guarantee of an orgasm, without wondering if the guy you’re with cares enough about getting you there, and you’d get practice so you don’t feel as insecure next time you’re with a guy you actually like.
“I’m in, only if you promise to actually respect quiet hours from now on,” you finally say.
“Great sex isn’t a good enough deal?”
“Who’s to say it’ll be great?”
“So, I have to tiptoe around my own room,” he says, his temper flaring.
“If you consider not blasting music at night tiptoeing, then yeah,” you retort.
If Rafe wasn’t sure of it before, he is now: you’re hot when you’re pissed off.
“Fine,” he relents. He’ll probably be moving out next semester anyway. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and opens a new conversation. “Text yourself so I have your number.“
You hand him your cup in exchange for his phone. You send an eggplant emoji to your number. He takes a sip of your drink and you scowl.
“Are you that selfish in bed, too?” you say.
“You can let me know,” he quips. You roll your eyes at him and take your drink, giving him his phone back. Rafe chuckles when he sees the emoji you sent yourself.
“I will,” you promise. “I’ll call you out on everything you do wrong. If you can take it.”
“Okay,” he says. “Tonight?”
Wow. He’s eager. It’s kind of thrilling that he wants you this badly.
“Maybe,” you say. “If I’m not too tired when I get home, I’ll text you.”
Rafe’s chest tightens with excitement. His hot, mouthy neighbor is actually doing this with him.
“Sure.” Rafe juts out his bottom lip, nodding, as if this conversation is completely normal. He’s so casual about it. This feels unreal.
You give him a small smile. Probably the first genuine one you’ve offered him. Okay. You can admit to yourself that you’re looking forward to hooking up with him.
You stay at the frat house for another hour, hanging out with Liv and a few other friends you made, before you make it to your dorm just before midnight.
After changing into pajamas, and the nicest set of bra and panties that you own, you text Rafe: i’m home if you want to come over.
About ten minutes later, you hear a knock at your door. You open it to see Rafe standing with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his gray sweatpants.
You’re sure he knows how good he looks when you notice the outline of his length. He did this on purpose.
“Eager,” you say. “Were you already home?”
“I was quiet, huh?” he boasts, stepping into your room. He takes a second to soak in your space, eyes travelling over the way you’ve decorated.
“What the fuck? Your room’s bigger than mine,” he says.
“They’re all the same size.” You settle on your bed, glad he’s so comfortable about this, not making it awkward at all. Truthfully, the beer has worn off, and you’re kind of freaked out.
But this is what you’re doing this for. So you can stop being so nervous about sex.
“I’ll show you my room and you’ll see for yourself,” Rafe says. You watch him pace across your space to study the photos on your wall.
His eyes travel over the snapshots of you with your family and friends, your smile bright and pretty in every image.
With Rafe’s back turned to you, you take in the way his broad shoulders stretch out his white t-shirt. By the slight curve in his back, you can tell he’s not just lean, but muscular, too.
“How long are you expecting this… arrangement to go on for?” you ask.
“Until we’re both satisfied,” he says confidently, turning to meet your eyes.
“So, you’re aware you won’t be coming out of this with a girlfriend, right?” you assert.
While Rafe is attractive and charming, he’s also rude and narcissistic. You don’t want him to think you’re interested in him in that way. This isn’t a romance.
“Oh, yeah,” he huffs. “I’m not gonna be in college tied down to one chick.”
You scoff. Yup. Definitely no romance here.
“Maybe don’t call a girl a chick,” you say. “At least not to her face.”
“Right,” Rafe says with an easy laugh. He slowly steps towards you, his eyelids heavy as he looks down at you. “You have nice tits.”
You feel your skin burn, looking down at your chest in your tank-top. Rafe hardens the longer he looks at you.
“How sweet,” you say flatly.
Rafe smirks and sits down next to you, getting right to business as he pulls you in for a kiss. His lips are warm and surprisingly soft. He tastes like cinnamon toothpaste and smells like aftershave.
He’s a good kisser. But you expected as much. By his confidence and the fact that he prepositioned you the way he did, you can tell he’s experienced with girls.
You feel his hand slide up your body and squeeze your breast. You sit back, disjointing your lips.
“Slow down,” you tell him. “Do you always go right into groping a girl like this?”
“Yeah?” His brows furrow.
“Okay, some might like it,” you say. “But most want foreplay. You have to give me some time to get turned on.”
“Aren’t you already?” he asks. “We’re kissing.”
“We’ve been at it for like, a second, Rafe. Just because you’re…” You look down at the tent in his sweatpants. “Ready, it doesn’t mean I am.”
“So, what should I do?” he asks.
“Just… don’t rush,” you say.
Rafe nods and leans into kiss you again, his hand cupping your waist this time. He doesn’t usually like kissing that much, typically wanting to jump right into sex, but the way your tongue runs over his is actually sort of nice.
A few moments later, his fingers dip to pull your top off. When Rafe sees you in your bra, he swallows hard. Why does he feel like this is his first time seeing a half-naked woman?
Probably because he’s being graded, he realizes.
“Wow,” he breathes. You look down, scratching your neck. “Damn, you do get nervous.”
“What?” you say.
“When a guy says wow, take the compliment,” he states.
You shyly shake your head and pull him in for another kiss to brush past the moment. He catches on, pushing you back.
“I’m teaching you shit, too, remember?” he mutters. “Don’t be shy. You’re hot.”
“Alright,” you groan, tugging at his shirt. “Take this off.”
He smirks and obeys, hoping he at least partly got through to you.
When your eyes roam Rafe’s bare torso, your heart pounds harder.
You continue making out, and he eventually slowly unhooks your bra. He peels it off and slowly cups your breast, fondling and gently squeezing.
“Is this too hard?” he asks.
“No, it’s - it’s good,” you sigh. You remind yourself this is supposed to be instructional. “You should… um…”
“What?” he asks against your lips. “Stop being shy.”
“Play with my nipples,” you say, cheeks burning. “Some girls like that.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” He looks down at your chest and softly pinches you, then rubs his thumb back and forth. “Good.”
Rafe is entirely hard now, your praise making him ache to be inside you. But he’s here to learn. He needs to go slower.
He dips to put his mouth on your chest, his lips locking around your nipple. You let out a shaky moan and he knows he’s doing something right.
Big hands gently press against your hips to push you onto your back. You settle on your firm bed, hands roaming over his smooth back.
He shifts to give your other breast the same amount of attention, coating your nipple in his warm spit. You bite your lip, feeling your stomach tighten in arousal.
“Can I go down on you?” he rasps.
You meet his eyes. Rafe realizes just how pleased you look already. It’s really gratifying.
“Yeah,” you whisper. He eagerly pulls down your bottoms and panties in one move, losing his breath when his eyes take you in.
“Goddamn.” His voice is strained. You’re already glistening and he wants to put his mouth on you immediately.
“Go slow there, too,” you say. “Kiss my thighs first.”
“Okay,” he says, nodding urgently. It’s satisfying seeing him listen to you like this, considering he doesn’t seem to care for rules.
Your thighs are so damn soft against his mouth. He peppers kisses up your skin. It’s taking all his willpower not to start eating you out right now.
Your breaths are shallow as he leaves languid, tender kisses on you. You feel his fingers stretch your lips apart and hear him sharply inhale.
“Now?” he asks impatiently.
“Yeah. Lick everywhere,” you say, “but pay the most attention to my clit. You know where it is, right?”
“I’m not that fucking helpless,” he mutters. You can’t help but laugh.
He lowers his mouth onto you and you tremble immediately. He laps at you for a few seconds, a groan escaping his lips.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “You taste really fucking good.”
“Do you always talk like that?” you ask.
“Yeah, is it okay?” Rafe says, suddenly tense.
“It’s amazing,” you admit. “Keep doing it.”
“Yeah?” he says with a smile. He points his tongue over your clit, wriggling it over your flesh.
“That’s good,” you tell him. “Make your tongue flat, too. Switch between the two.”
You feel him nod against you, avidly taking every tip.
“And suck a little,” you tell him. Rafe didn’t think he’d like being bossed around, but the way you’re telling him what feels good and making him better at eating pussy is rewarding.
He starts to suck at your clit and the way you moan tells him everything he needs to know. He sucks harder and your breath gets shaky.
Rafe is desperate to see how the inside of you feels, even if it’s just with his fingers. He shifts to slowly dip a finger in your cunt and glances up to look at you.
“Can I finger you?” he says.
“Yes,” you nod. “It’s good to ask. Start with one.”
He slowly sinks into you, stopping at his knuckle. You’re so tight.
“Shit, baby,” Rafe whispers. “I know you’re gonna squeeze my cock so good.”
Your head is spinning. You’ve never had a man talk to you like this before. This is what you’ve been missing out on, hooking up with guys who didn’t care about your pleasure? It feels unfair.
He adds a finger, curling into you and feeling you clench around him as he continues to work your clit. You look down to enjoy the sight of his head between your legs, the tips of soft dirty blonde hair tickling your skin.
It’s intoxicating, being taken care of the way you want to be.
Rafe’s jaw starts to get sore, but your noises give him the drive to keep going. Eventually, your thighs press against your ears.
“I’m gonna cum,” you mumble. “Don’t stop.” Rafe’s stomach twists with excitement, fully alert and eager to take mental notes.
Your breath stops, your muscles tense, and your walls flutter around him as you meet your peak. Sparks of pleasure fire throughout your body and you tug at the roots of his hair.
He keeps sucking and licking and pumping his fingers until you shuffle beneath him, overstimulated.
“Okay,” you sigh. “Good, that’s good.”
Rafe sits up, his lips wet with your arousal. You look happy, yet somehow kind of guilty. He makes a mental note to figure out how to make you unashamed for having a sex drive.
The way you’re panting is making him so fucking turned on that it hurts.
“I need to fuck you,” he says.
“Yeah,” you say breathlessly, hoping he’d say that. “Do you have something?”
He nods, pulling a condom wrapper out of his pocket. He takes his pants and boxers off at the same time and he springs out.
You never thought you’d think a cock could be perfect, but there’s no other way to describe it.
He leans over you, looking down as he lines himself up and slowly sinks into you. You watch him shut his eyes with pleasure, but when he opens them again, you look down at his body.
“So shy,” Rafe teases, his voice thick. “Make eye contact.”
You listen to him, meeting his eyes. It adds an entirely new level of pleasure and vulnerability, looking at each other while he starts to rock in and out of you.
He starts to thrust faster, revelling in the way your tits are bouncing with his force. His strokes are deep and powerful and you whimper over how nice it feels.
His balls feel tight already. He never cums this fast. There’s something about you that’s making his body react like this. But knowing you already orgasmed, he doesn’t let himself overthink it.
“Feels good?” Rafe asks with amusement in his tone. You moan in response. At least he doesn’t need to improve on this part.
He goes harder, losing his rhythm as he reaches his climax, trembling over you. The way he breathes through it is so unbelievably hot to you.
Once Rafe slows down, he collapses on top of you, his chest pressed against yours.
“How was that?” he mumbles.
“I don’t think your ego needs to get any bigger,” you say breathlessly. “But that was good.”
“Just good?”
You laugh. Okay, it was fucking mind-blowing. He doesn’t need to know that, though.
“Yup,” you say, patting his shoulder. “Let me up.”
“What - what could I have done better?” he asks, sitting up off of you, pulling out. “I listened to everything you said. I swear, I never cum that fast.”
You smirk. He’s desperate for the praise.
“Fine,” you say. “It was amazing, okay? Don’t let it get to your head, frat boy.”
It definitely gets to his head. You can tell by the way he’s smiling.
“What position did that guy want you to try? Wanna do it?” he asks. You shake your head in disbelief. He could probably go all night.
“Next time,” you say, exhausted, your muscles weak.
Rafe’s disappointed, but he doesn’t show it.
“Okay,” he agrees. “Next time.”
part two
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#if you saw me posting a new series in the middle of another one no you didn’t#ANOTHER COLLEGE AU BECAUSE THEY OWN ME#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron#rafe x reader#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#obx smut#rafe cameron fluff#rafe fanfic#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe imagine#rafe fic#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron and you#rafe cameron and reader#rafe cameron and y/n
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Text
No one wanted to ask. Someone had to. It was terrifying. But it made sense.
Of course humanity finally abandoned its planet. Everyone was surprised they hadn’t abandoned it sooner. Still, the concern was there.
What made humanity abandon their planet in a mass event? What thing was finally found to scare them off their favorite death world?
Of course not every last human abandoned the planet, but enough did that Earth was no longer considered ‘inhabited’. Humans flocked to other worlds, most choosing death worlds with similar biomes to the ones they preferred. (And there was a suspiciously armored ship heading towards Disney planet.)
The concerning thing was the humans kept going back. Never landing. Never breaking the atmosphere. Just driving by.
Finally, a delegate was chosen to ask the human council member. Poor Laeri was nervous, but they had been called friend by council member Daryl before. Surely this question wouldn’t be an offense.
“Daryl, may I speak with you a moment?”
Daryl paused, and nodded, careful not to smile. He was well practiced in the art of not offending. “Of course Laeri. What is the matter?”
“Humanity has recently applied for habitation permits for a dozen planets. As soon as the permits were awarded, humans left very quickly.”
“Well sure. The permits took three earth years to be approved. Most of the planet had been preparing for over five years at that point,” Daryl explained.
“Yes, that is not my question. The question is why?”
“Why were they ready?”
Laeri shook their head. “Why did they leave Earth? Humans have made it a point to ‘stick it out’ despite better options being available. Why leave now?”
“Oh, that. Well.” Daryl paused. He knew he didn’t have to report officially yet, but his friend wanted to know. “Will you keep it a secret from the council?”
Laeri paused. The answer being a secret did not occur to them. What could the humans possibly be hiding? Would they be able to hide it as well?
“I do not think I can keep any dangerous thing a secret,” Laeri finally admitted.
Daryl nodded. “Nor would I ask you to. It’s not dangerous, just a little experiment more like.”
“If it is an experiment, then you should speak with-“
“No Laeri.” Daryl interrupted calmly. “This isn’t something we want help with. That’s why we haven’t mentioned anything to the Viyon Academics. We just need time to see if it works.”
Their curiosity finally got the better of them.
“If what works?”
“A new society. A new civilized species.”
Laeri didn’t speak, but either from awe or concern, they weren’t sure. Daryl continued.
“We believe a species evolves when they start to take care of their injured and impaired. It means they have compassion. Well an intelligent species on earth has been observed showing compassion. We simply want to give them the space they require to evolve.”
Laeri considered the intelligent species that lived on earth. They were suddenly very concerned. Had the humans been duped?
“The dolphi are showing compassion?” Laeri asked.
Daryl almost laughed. “Not even close. No, we wouldn’t break the agreement we made. They’re not escaping earth anytime soon.”
Laeri felt immediate relief. “Then which species is it?”
Daryl smiled. He couldn’t help it. He liked birds. “Corvids.”
“But, but they’re so small.”
“We know. That’s why some humans are still there, zoologist types to help them grow, learn, and show them the way.”
“What if another species wipes them out before they get the chance?”
Daryl shrugged. “Well that’s why we left some warriors behind, to help keep the corvids alive while they grow. And of course to keep the dolphins contained. We do take that assignment very seriously.”
Laeri was excited now. Another avian species may be joining the galaxy soon. They wanted to tell everyone.
“Promise you’ll keep the secret?” Daryl asked.
Laeri felt their excitement dash upon the cruel rocks of reality. “I will.”
“Good. Here.” Daryl held out a small computer drive.
Laeri took the drive. “What is this?”
“The live feed of the experiment. You really think we wouldn’t watch? As soon as they reach civilized status, I have to report them. Until then, they’ve been completing some very complex puzzles and problem solving lately. You’ll want to start at the beginning but they post new information all the time.”
Laeri clutched the drive to their feathered tunic. Suddenly the small drive was priceless. “I, must go now.”
Laeri took off as fast as would be ignored by others. Daryl watched his friend, surprised by how excited they were. His watch gave him an alert.
“Ooh, a group puzzle. Wonder if they managed it this time.”
Daryl walked off to his own private quarters to watch the newest update on the corvids.
#humans are space orcs#humans are weird#humans are deathworlders#humans are space australians#humans are dumb#sorry I’ve been gone so long#the writing thing just wasn’t happening#no creative juices were flowing#but then this one hit me out of the blue#hope you enjoy
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