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plasticferal · 4 months

Note

can u plsss write a Matt smut where the reader is like obsessed with his teeth and then she kind of jokes ab licking his teeth but shes not actually joking and then u know the rest

take it or leave it | matt sturniolo.

authors note: this was so fun to write. here’s some kind of soft, lust filled bff!matt turned lovers.

warnings: fem reader, not obscene or 18+ but read at your own discretion. a lot of dialogue, light biting, mark leaving, explicit language.

you just can't stop staring at your best friend. all he's doing is chewing on a paper straw, swirling it around his soft drink. his eyes are glued to his screen, scrolling through his phone, both of his elbows planted on the dining table.

"i can feel you staring," matt talks with the straw still in his mouth, flashing his perfect teeth with a conceited smirk. you scoff, digging your fork back into the dessert that sits in front of you, to avoid the interrogation you feel coming your way.

"i didn't say stop," you feel his eyes burn holes into you, tone earnest and deep, just waiting for you to glance up at him again.

"wasn't even staring," you speak through a muffled mouthful of cake, not caring if he sees the food in your mouth. he's the closest person in your life, he's probably seen worse.

"real sexy, kid" he teases, staring at your mouth and chuckling as you cover it to swallow your food, flipping him off from across the table.

"no for real, what were you looking at? like be specific," he asks, placing his phone screen down on the table, shuffling in his chair and adjusting his posture. you raise an eyebrow at him, wondering what the hell he's on about.

"i can't just admire my best friend?" you sarcastically smile and bat your eyelashes at him, resting your chin into the palm of your hands.

"specifics, go." matt isn't having it, and you drop the act fast.

you ponder on your answer for a moment, or at least pretend to. you know exactly what you want to say but you don't need him getting a big head. well, bigger. he's a walking, talking, humble brag. especially around you.

"ah, okaaaay," you pout your lips with contemplation.

"your eyes i guess. they're pretty. you know that, though" you shrug, prodding at your dessert again, not having any intention on finishing it at this point. matt has you cornered with his new train of thought.

"boring, next." he deadpans, throwing his head back with an eye roll before looking at you again. he folds his arms over his chest, leaning back leisurely.

"fine. ah, your teeth. i'm like obsessed with them. is that a better answer?" you quip, grabbing your plate and pushing away from the table to make your way to the sink.

you hear matt behind you let out an audible "huh?" and can picture the confusion on his face. you don't know what it is about his teeth, or his smile in general. you just get stunned at how perfect they are, the way they just suit his face so much.

they just look like they could form the perfect bite in your skin. he's always chewing a new flavoured gum, flashing them subtly past his perfectly pink lips, and his breath always smells nice. it's weirdly inviting. all thoughts you absolutely shouldn't be having about matthew.

"hang on, rewind. my teeth?" there's an amused underlining to his response, and you just wish you could take back what you said, joke or not.

you rinse the plate off and immediately ignore him, drying your hands with paper towel before bee-lining for the bin in the small dark corner of the room.

"you got your answer, matthew. get over it," you exhale, tossing it into the black rubbish bag.

"no no, i'm not done with you yet," you hear his chair make a disturbing scratchy squeak against the vinyl floors with how fast he pushes his chair back, following where your body is moving.

you walk around the dining table in the opposite direction of him, but he changes directions to match yours. you collapse onto the couch, sitting cross legged and he falls into the spot right next to you, despite having the entire couch. your shoulders are touching and his knee his touching yours.

"you were staring at my teeth and now i need to know why," matt requests, leaning one elbow up on the back of the couch, facing you completely.

"i can't answer tha-"

"y/n" he cuts you off seriously.

"i don't know, okay? drop it, matthew." you push back with frustration, not understanding why he can't. it's either he's pushing your buttons on purpose or he can sense the subject easily taking a turn in a different direction.

"i'm not trying to piss you off. i just wanted know. sorry" his voice softens, and he shifts so he's facing the t.v.

you almost feel bad snapping at him, considering you instigated his reaction in the first place by not justifying it straight away.

you bite your nails, trying to avoid talking. it's so hard with matt. he just always brings it out of you. looking at him while he watches the screen ahead of you just makes you yearn to hear his voice again. he's so quiet for the most part that when you get him out of his shell you don't ever want him to stop.

"i've always liked your teeth. i don't know what it is. i wish i could explain it but i can't," you speak shyly, a very rare feeling around him.

you have literally shared every waking thought with this man. it just feels so different when it involves him personally. on a physical descriptive level. matt leans his head back on the massive couch cushion, giving you a lazy half grin, looking up at you through hooded eyes.

"do you just like staring at them or do you wanna like, touch them?" he flashes his teeth like a vampire, and you push his face away with a laugh, knowing he's teasing with good intention. he chuckles, pushing your own hand back into your body.

"you're never gonna let me live this down, are you?"

"not until i can wrap my head around it, no" he folds his arms over his chest, tucking his hands into his armpits and they disappear under his oversized hoodie, snickering at his own defence.

he looks you in the eyes, the same fiery stare he gives you when he's about to say something out of pocket, you can read him like a book.

"you wanna touch 'em?"

"matt," you scold, knowing whatever he has planned is just to keep this joke lingering. or what you think is a joke to him.

"i'm serious, let's see if we can get to the bottom of this little fetish of yours" he's so pleased with his words, grinning like an idiot as he nestles his face closer to yours.

"i'd get more pleasure out of it with my tongue," you chortle, then pause suddenly, not believing what you just said out loud.

you force your face to plaster a look on it that says 'i'm joking' but there's no part of what you just said that matt is taking comically.

"go on." matt replies.

"what's gotten into you, tonight?" you have a half simper half befuddled look as you lean back to make sure you're seeing him right.

making sure you're speaking to matt, not someone posing as him with how bold and absurd he's been acting for the past few minutes. he's always being flirtatious, in a bantering and unalloyed manner. this felt different, he's being a lot more direct. a lot less blithe.

"i am literally giving you one chance to do this and then i'm never bringing it up again. take it or leave it, y/n"

"open your mouth, then.” you say in a ‘i bet you won’t’ tone, not believing he actually will. you’re taken aback when he tilts his head up lightly, an innocent look on his face when he parts his mouth, creating a perfect oval.

“you’re seriously okay with this?” you ask, beginning to lean forward, tempting and just waiting for the moment he pulls away, or snaps his mouth closed. he nods, mouth still open.

you know him well enough by now to understand that when matt says he’ll never mention it again, he means it. he’s petty like that.

“fuck it, m’god” you mumble, cupping the side of his jaw, fingertips resting under his ear and being tickled by his hair, pulling him to you.

your breaths intertwine as you hover over his mouth, your lips don’t touch when you poke your tongue out and let it slide behind his top teeth and trail across the sharp edge, slowly, left to right. when you pull away, you observe him.

matt closes his mouth, sucking his teeth and plastering a thoughtful look on his face. you wait for his response.

“well?” you can only wait for so long before you’re trying to entice him to say something, anything.

he adjusts himself on the lounge, full body facing you at this point, if he was pushed up any closer he’d be on top of you.

“just like, out of curiosity. can you do it again?” he asks bashfully. he did say take it or leave it. so you take it, while he’s dangling it in front of you.

this time, you curve your hand gently around the back of his neck to guide his face. tilting your head slightly before pulling him in. you lick the back of the teeth again, even slower than the first time. you can feel matt holding his breath, and the taste of the root beer he just had still lingering.

matt takes a deep breath when you part from him again, flaring his nostrils slightly and sucking on the inside of his cheek. he looks confused, in a content way. but confused nonetheless.

you stare at him, memorising this look on his face. without breaking his stare with you, matt reaches for a pillow and throws it over his lower body, holding it in place. before he has a chance to set it onto his lap, you glance down to see the bulge forming under his black shorts.

“did you like my tongue in your mouth, matthew?” your words are jovial, but he turns away from you after you question him, looking quite literally anywhere else.

“no-i,i mean. fuck, i don't know. no." he rambles, response being faster than his brain can even register, not pulling out the best choice of words from his vocabulary.

“no? is that why you let me do it twice?” you tease, turning the table on him.

"you're right," he pauses.

"maybe we should make it three. for good luck." he looks back at you with a red hue on his cheeks, simpering smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he hugs the pillow on his lap.

"only if you ask nicely," you squint your eyes, and he rolls his.

"i'm not beggin' for it. no way." he shakes his head, boston accent coming through a lot thicker when he's defensive. it happens a lot, and that's how you know you have him cornered.

"your call, matty. take it or leave it." the front you're putting on for him is a fraud, having a gut feeling that it's the only cue he needs to surrender. he's silent for a solid minute.

"fuck, jesus, okay." he finishes, grabbing your face this time. he caresses your jaw, and his touch is so firm and so warm.

the pillow between your bodies is like a barrier, but he pushes up against it hard to bring you as close to his face as you can. you brace yourself for him to open his mouth again, but instead, your lips collide.

your eyes close instinctively and his soft, wet lips move with yours, taking your bottom lip between the kiss, and letting his tongue slide in and dance across your own. slowly he pulls away, fluttering inches over your mouth instead of distancing himself.

"i don't know, i don't know why i just-" matt is still touching your face through his panic-stricken words.

you don't even counter his sentence before grabbing the collar of his hoodie and pulling him back to your mouth. you shove the pillow off the lounge in-between your bodies with your knee while shifting your body weight onto his lap, an easy transition considering how close you've been the whole time.

matt grabs your waist immediately, securing you on top of him and deepening the kiss. you feel your throat shake with his small, desirous moan into your mouth. you sink all of your body weight onto him and can feel his dick underneath you growing harder, heat radiating from between his legs.

the kiss becomes heavier, more desperate and messy, missing each others mouths and clashing your teeth, taking breaths for a split second before attacking each other's lips again. your nails dig into his shoulders and matt's hands lower, stationing on your upper thigh.

you're in such a state of disbelief but ignore every doubt or worry you're forcing yourself to have. you've mentally convinced yourself this is a dream. you're not actually grinding into your bestfriend's groin, making out with him and having his thumbs get closer and closer to your heat, feeling wet already at the friction.

matt kisses the corner of your mouth, your cheek bone, the tip of your nose, then your jaw. he trails the kisses on your jaw lower and lower, grazing his teeth along your delicate skin until he reaches he crease of your neck just under your ear, and you lean into him as much as you possibly can.

"you like my teeth so much, wait until you see what they can do to your neck," he forces deeply against your skin, biting at your earlobe.

"god, matt," you exhale.

you feel a sharp, stinging suck to your neck, making you gasp. he pulls your skin into his mouth, tongue rubbing the area that he's suffocating in his bite. he pulls away, making a sharp sound when he lets go. he repeats the same thing just underneath his first bite, and your body is twisting and distorting in his arms. you tug at his hair with a warning.

"you’re gonna have to explain those marks." you tremble, yet not stopping him. he taunts a stifled laugh.

"don't care," he starts, pulling your shirt off your shoulder and sucking another deep purple mark on your collar bone.

"i'll spell my name out on your skin if i have to." it’s like he’s a trance, trailing his middle finger along the bites he just left before looking up at you with a dazed smile.

his chest is rising and falling prominently, both of you catching your breath after the intense session. matt gently presses his lips to yours again, and you lean your forehead against his. he grips at the bottom hem of your shirt, toying with the fabric.

"if i knew my teeth would get you on top of me, i would have let you lick em' sooner," he has a crooked, dopey grin on his face. you blush, flustered at his words.

"is this is insane? you don't think you're gonna regret it?" you're cautious with your words, voice gentle, head still leaning against his and your fingers playing with the hair creeping on the nape of his neck.

"i could never regret you." he shakes his head softly, making you smile and peck another gentle kiss on his lips. you know he means his words, and they make you want to melt into a puddle.

"smile for me quickly," you banter, holding onto his shoulders but pulling back to look at his face properly.

he covers his face with his big hands and you let out a hearty laugh, attempting to pry them off and begging him to stop hiding.

"matt! you'll let me shove my tongue down your throat but can't smile for me?" your stomach hurts with the laughter caused by the sheer fight he's putting up covering his face.

when you finally get him to drop his hands he has the biggest, cheesiest grin on his face. smiling ear to ear, and eyes closed shut, putting on a show for you. he drops his face quickly once you've had your time to look, and has those signature tired and heavy eyes make an appearance once again.

you lean in, slowly, so slow. your face is drawing him in like a magnet, him following your moves to meet in the middle. he flashes his teeth once again, and you run the tip of your tongue across his bottom lip, feeling his teeth too, budging his mouth open.

"now you're just taking advantage of it," his raspy voice speaks, pulling you back to his mouth by your neck and leading with his tongue, letting it slide in and moaning into your parted lips. they finally sink into each others after teasing each other, seeing who falls into the kiss first.

your tongues fight for dominance and matt grabs the back of your neck hard, forcing you to stay where you are. you're tilting left and he's tilting right as you focus on breathing through your nose to stay attached to each other as long as you can.

you can literally feel matt take his time to explore your mouth, circling every inch he possibly can. he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites hard, making you gasp before pulling back and letting go, both of your mouths wet and glistening with each others saliva.

matt wipes your mouth with his thumb, applying enough pressure but still being gentle. he's staring at your skin before his eyes fixate on those marks he left earlier.

"oh fuck, they're pretty bad" he giggles, and you roll off his lap with a groan, slapping your hand over your neck as if to hide them from him. your legs drape over his thighs and you can feel him looking at you.

you hide from him by sinking into the lounge for no good reason other than you think somehow it'll make the marks disappear, or manifest that it does.

"i didn't even bring makeup to cover it," you fake cry, seeing how bad it could make him feel, but he doesn't budge. matt slaps your thigh as if to say 'i'm not buying it' then rubs your legs soothingly.

"you're not covering them up. i won't let you leave the house if you do, no other option." matt is demanding but lighthearted in his words.

"oh no, i can't leave, what a shame," you dramatically flail your hand to your temple like an old school movie scene, and matt pokes your rib to get you to snap out of it.

"if you ever want to see my teeth again i'd watch the dramatics, honey" and those words coming from him alone make you cut the act, flushing red and sitting up properly.

you don't know how he's managed to whip you into line, usually being the other way around, but you're not risking it.

you've somehow taken more than you could ever ask for from him, and you're still anxious that you've bitten off more than you can chew. no pun intended.

regardless, you're in ignorant bliss. you'll take everything you can get from matt, and more, if he's willing to give it to you. which at this point, you're sure he is.

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff

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thesturniolos · 4 months

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guilty pleasures (part 1 )

m. sturniolo x reader

authors note: this picture is actually sickening, need him too bad 🤞

this is all creds to my bae @iheartchrissturniolo thanks for the idea hun < 3 (part 2 including your idea yet to come)

summary: matt has a bit of a crush on his best friend, he’s fantasising ;)

warnings: smut, swearing !!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

she looked heavenly by the pool today, irresistible to the point where my heart ached. i knew i couldn’t have her, i’ve only been reminding myself everyday for the past 6 years and it’s agonising.

the way the droplets of water fell off her golden skin, the bikini that accentuated her curves, oh so perfectly. and knowing i chose it for her was like the cherry on top of the cake. blue- my favourite colour - and hell she knew it when she bought it, she even told me. “i wonder why you picked this one” i remember her slight giggle after she said it, voice like silk, one that plays in my head at night.

she drags her hand through her hair, shaking it a little to get rid of the water, and boy do i wish it was me doing that. for me to be the one to look after her, to do the small things that weren’t so small to me. her eyes are closed and even though she’s been in the water, her makeup remained flawless - not that she needed it, she was absolutely gorgeous with and without.

she didn’t think this however, always telling me how she wishes she looked like anybody else. if she could only see what i see, just for a second, she’d never think that again. she’s better than any supermodel, the ‘prettiest of girls’ according to society weren’t a touch on her. plus, they didn’t come with her personality- she’s a real life angel and i’ve been blessed with even being in her presence.

i would spend every minute and every hour of my day telling her every little thing i love about her from the colour of her nails to the shape of her lips, i don’t care about the dents in her thighs or the stretch marks on her stomach, she’s perfect.

she’s walking closer to me with an arm outstretched, my eyes landing on the matching tattoo she has with me and i smile. i sometimes forget we had that done, which almost instantly brings me back to reality that she is and always will just be my best friend. i cannot afford to lose someone as special as her which is why i have to push those feelings to the side, as much as we want to be free.

her being so close to me and looking at me with those eyes, dark eyes that could mean so many things, made my cheeks blush the slightest red and i become desperate to hide this. what kind of friend blushes like a crazed guy in love when they look at them? it’s just a look, god.

“you got a towel?” there was that voice again, a voice i wish was in my ear forever. it wasn’t high - pitched nor was it deep, it was just in the middle, soothing. reminds me of the times where she held me whilst i cried, the bestest friend there is. reminds me of when she was so utterly drunk and slurring over her words, what was it again?

╭┈┈┈┈╮

“matt” she prods at my arm, waking me up.

“wassup” she frowns looking at my tired state, moving her hand to push hair out of my eyes.

“i’ve got a secret” i frown now, it’s 3am goddamn.

“what’s that”

“you promise you won’t tell anyone?” those little doe eyes drive me crazy, keep looking at me like that and i’ll have an accident.

“i promise” she leans in closer to my ear, her hot breath on my skin.

“i had a dream about you the other day” now i’ve piped up. i don’t care about the time or the sleep in my eyes, she fucking dreamt about me, i’m wide awake.

“oh yeah? good or bad?”

“depends”

“what’d you mean, depends?” once again, driving me crazy. she just knows how to do it.

“well, it depends how you take it.”

“go on.” i’m begging for this now, i need to know what the fuck happened, it’s killing me.

“well, we were doing something,” she twirls my hair in her hand, not looking me in the eyes yet all i can focus on is her and her words. “something best friends don’t do.”

“like what?”

“fucking.”

╰┈┈┈┈╯

held a chokehold over me. every night when i got in to bed i imagined her sleepy self, squirming about in her sheets to the idea of me pounding into her. suddenly i didn’t feel so bad about the hundreds of wet dreams i’ve had ‘bout her, we’re even.

but it only made me more delusional that we could actually be something. she was drunk and it was a dream, i was being dramatic if i thought it was actually something.

“yeah, it’s just there.” i say, pointing to the floor. she bends down to pick it up and i get the best sight of her boobs, pressed against the fabric of her bikini, pushed together ever so slightly. they looked so smooth, so pretty. something i just couldn’t take my eyes off..

“hello? matt?” she swipes her hand in front of my face and i’m so utterly embarrassed, knowing i’d been fixated on her tits. what an assy thing to do, how do i even begin to explain something like that?

“i- uh- i’m sorry! i wasn’t-“ she smiles at me and reaches out to scruff my hair, once again her boobs being directly in my face. is she doing this on purpose? because i’m about to cum in my pants.

“i take it you just really like your choice of bikini, hm?” she laughs, moving the towel to rest it on her hip as she turns around and struts off towards our house. she fucking knows what she does, not just to me but everyone.

i’ve been ignoring the poking in my pants for a while but it’s more prominent then ever now and i need to do something about it or i’m gonna come undone right here right now. it might be pervy but i quite literally cannot be around her when she’s close to naked, my mind travels to the dirtiest of places and to be honest, i’m careless.

if she’s going to act so calm about riling me up like that, then i’m gonna embrace the way she makes me feel. how she makes my cheeks hot and the wet patch that forms in my boxers when she whispers in my ear or now, shoving her boobs in my face.

praying that my jeans cover my painfully obvious hard-on, i quickly walk into the house, making a bee line for my bedroom, desperate to do something about what was happening in my pants.

“you okay, matt?” shes looking at me with a frown, the towel in her hair now as she begins to dry it, still wearing that flattering bikini that is just about to tip me over the edge.

“mhm, i- um, just need to do something.” i look around to see if my brothers are anywhere to be seen, something to distract me from this conversation, i so desperately need to get to that bedroom.

“oh? why’d you look so flustered?” she says with a smug, little smile.

“no reason. i just- i just need a second.” i go to walk away. as much as i would love to stay and talk, right now that is not what i need.

“need my help?”

tags: @strniohoeee @sturnsbaby @sturniolopepsi @malsturns @mattslolita @mattitties @mattsbratt @mattsturniolos @mattsturniolosgf @chrisdevora @christinarowie332 @chrisolivia4l @ilovemattsturn @sturniolossmut @sturnioloswife @sturniolosstar @freshlovehacker @kirby0strombolli @recklesssturniolo @lovingmattysposts @oversturn @ilovemattsturn @urfavstromboli @estelleswrld @strawberrysturniolo @dailysturniolo @deatthmatch @hoesformatt @justangelheree @klarasmith @kvtie444 @cabincorematt @caitifilms @bluesturniolo333 @mattsturnioloswattpad

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sturnsdoll · 5 days

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𝙂𝙄𝙍𝙇𝙔 𝙂𝙁 ˚୨୧⋆｡ - M.S

(headcannons!)

pairing: matt x girly/hyperfem!reader

warnings: hc's, sfw and nsfw but they are labelled as such.

nsfw warnings: dom!matt, sub!reader, implied spanking, dirty talk, mostly just super suggestive.

authors note: multiple people requested a matt version so here you go <3

SFW !

ೃ⁀➷ one of the first things matt loved about you was the way you express yourself through your style.

ೃ⁀➷ how could he keep his eyes off you with bows dangling and intertwined through your hair, belt loops or pretty much anything else you could stick em' on

ೃ⁀➷ watching you lay peacefully against your pink silk sheets never fails to lure him into crawling under your matching covers to cuddle and stroke your perfectly cared for hair into further relaxation.

ೃ⁀➷ anytime your cake-esque fragrance is sprayed around him he has to pull you into him. he's addicted to it like crack. he has to bury his face into your neck, inhaling like he'll never be graced with it again.

ೃ⁀➷ anytime he's out he's looking for things you'd accesorize with..

ೃ⁀➷ matt would be searching through every color of ribbon in every store he's in for a color, size or texture that you don't have.

ೃ⁀➷ matt would want to buy you makeup because he knows how good you feel about yourself while wearing it.. not saying he'd be good at picking out the right shades but hey, he tries right??

ೃ⁀➷ matt loves watching the bottom of your skirt dance and twirl while you bounce around your room with your fav artist playing..

ೃ⁀➷ you hum the lyrics while organizing your closet that's drowned in shades of pink..

ೃ⁀➷ "need help sweetheart?" "i'm okay, thanks" and even though he knew you were sincere from the sweet grin on your pretty lips, he'd get up from the comfort of your bed to assist anyways. he couldn't let your pretty little head get too exhausted now could he?

ೃ⁀➷ he knows how capable you are though, there's no doubt. he enjoys taking care of you but knows your more than able on your own

ೃ⁀➷ he would try his hardest to be assertive when he's angry but it was always impossible.

ೃ⁀➷ mid arguement you'd find yourself inching closer till you reach him. you take his hand. he can't ignore your perfect shiny acrylic nails (that he paid for) grazing along his palm to slowly interlock with his longer, masculine fingers.

ೃ⁀➷ "i'm sorry matt, i'll make it up to you. " you'd apologize sincerly.

ೃ⁀➷ before he could even think about saying no, your lashes batting up at him with doe eyes beneath them would usually force him to the final decision of teaching you how to behave another way...

NSFW !

ೃ⁀➷ "you think you look all innocent don't you?" now your backed up and corned against your makeup table. a few lipglosses knock over when the back of your thighs hit the table, your hands coming behind to steady yourself.

ೃ⁀➷ you'd nod your head. matt's dry laugh makes wetness pool beneath your skirt faster than you're willing to admit. "we'll see how much of a good girl you really are then yeah?" then next thing you know you'd be holding off your orgasms, being left begging for at least the 3rd time in a row.

ೃ⁀➷ and it never took much to get him going.

ೃ⁀➷ matt and you would be with his friends and all it'd take would be a graze of your perfect nails against his jeans for him to crave them wrapped around his dick.

ೃ⁀➷ your perfect pink lips pouting at him as you asked to go home early..

ೃ⁀➷ your eyes telling him you weren't wearing the shortest skirt you could find for no reason.

ೃ⁀➷ matt never really cared about you doing much for him sexually. making you feel good is what got him off. you were his princess and you needed to feel as such, in and out of the bedroom.

ೃ⁀➷ contradictory to that though, being a princess means being a bit of a brat and he knows how to deal with you when needed.

ೃ⁀➷ if it came to it, he'd pull you out of any social event (dinner, party, hangout, doesn't matter) and take you to his car.

ೃ⁀➷ your sweet demeanor never stopped him from ruining you.

ೃ⁀➷ "you think that shit's cute?" you quickly mutter back a "no" while knowing damn well that being bent over his lap in the backseat as your tears of pain and pleasure ruined your makeup was exactly what you were hoping for.

ೃ⁀➷ "who's dog was in here?" nick would ask matt the next day, eyeing at the nail shaped imprints in the seat cover. chris' head whips around from the front to spot your hair ribbon discarded on the floor. he put two and two together. "matt, there's absaloutely no way dude... in nick's seat seriously?!"

(sorry if any of the tags didn't work) tags ᥫ᭡ : @mattsrod @sturncakez @sturniololovesss @sturniolosstar @sstvrnioloo @watercolorskyy @pettydollie @sturniol0s @6ix9inewiturmom @sonicsmacks @orangelala

#matt sturniolo #sturnsdoll #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo headcannons #matt sturniolo x girly reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets fanfic

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fbfh · 1 year

Text

rodrick x hyperfeminine reader hcs

wc: 2.3k

genre: mutual pining, contrasting aesthetics

pairing: rodrick x hyperfeminine reader (fem/she her/referred to as a girl)

summary: you're new at school and it takes a painfully long time for you to find the only hot guy there. he's had a massive painful crush on you since you first set foot through the door.

warnings: reader is a little insecure/anxious and copes through hyperfemininity, rodrick has low self esteem and dyslexia, they both think they have no chance with the other one, jocks keep asking you out, you're friends with Heather and Madison

a/n: obsessed with this dynamic. when you finally date everyone is so fucking confused lmao

@dustyinkpages @the-snake-pit @yesv01

First of fucking all

Match made in heaven

On your first day of school at Crossland you turned a whole lot of heads

You figure you should make a statement and decide to channel your idol, Elle Woods

You show up to school in a pink mini skirt blazer set, a little halter top with a heart cut out, and matching pink heels

You’re obviously rocking your signature scent, strawberry pound cake body spray and matching strawberry fizz flavored lip gloss

You did a mani pedi and a facial over the weekend to destress

You walk in quickly to avoid the people that are staring at you for some reason, unintentionally strutting through the halls in a way that appears totally confident

You reach the office to get your schedule and tuck it into your heart shaped bag along with your sunglasses

You make sure to smile and be extra friendly with all the teachers and administrative staff, and in every class where you have to introduce yourself over and over, you try to project what you hope is an approachable friendliness

People were already starting to whisper about the living barbie doll that just showed up out of nowhere, and these whispers reached none other than Heather Hills

She grabs Madison and tries to hunt you down

To confront you for trying to steal her place as the prettiest most popular girl there

Before she can threaten you, you’re asking her where the good boutiques in town are

You have such a unique, sunshiney charm that she totally forgets what she came to talk to you about

Before she knows it, you and her and Madison have plans to go shopping this weekend

You praise yourself for making a couple friends on the first day, not realizing you accidentally waltzed your way into the elusive popular girl clique

By the end of the day, you have entirely by accident established yourself as queen bee of the school

As time goes on, you’re relieved that at least some of the people at Crossland are so friendly

Sometimes people say hi to you, and you always reply with a smile or wave or hi back

But a lot of the time people just stare at you

You’re somewhat used to it since not a lot of people wear nearly as much pink as you do

Or glitter

Or use a fuzzy pink strawberry scented glitter gel pen for all their homework

So you try to chalk it up to that

As the days go on, everyone thinks they know exactly what to expect from you

You’re like Heather 2.0, just a little nicer

Which is almost worse

When Heather is mean to everyone she doesn’t like (which is almost everyone) at least they have a reason to hate her

But you??

You’re so elusive

You don’t have a ton of friends, you don’t go out of your way to go party unless Heather and Madison drag you there

But what’s weird is that you’ve turned down every guy who’s actually worked up the courage to ask you out

Every single guy at crossland wants to ask you out

But when the captain of the football team

And the quarterback

And the hottest guy in your grade all asked you out

And the whole school watched you politely turn them down one after the other

No one else thought they stood a chance

Heather and Madison think you’re crazy for turning them down

“I just… I’m not really into guys like that.” you say dismissively

“Hot jocks?” Heather demands

You would have said the type of guys who’d have bullied you in middle school, but now doesn’t seem like the right time to bring that up

“Yeah.” you agree, and eventually they stop pressing you

Your status of queen bee is even more solidified by the rumors rampantly spreading that not only are you unimaginably hot

But you’re also impossible to date

This becomes common knowledge after a while

Until one day when you’re running late to school

Heather’s still complaining about having to turn around and pick up her sister

“I mean, you were the one who forgot her at your house…” Madison starts, piping down fast when Heather glares at her

As you all get out of her convertible, tires screech behind you

A beat up white van with spray paint writing on the side parks haphazardly next to the curb

Muffled guitar and drums blast out of the car speakers, and as the driver opens the door, you recognize it as green day

Your eyes widen, and you lag behind to try and get a look at the driver

Heather’s ranting about something, and Madison grabs your arm, pulling you along as you watch the driver stumble out and trip on the curb

He has messy black hair, eyeliner, and he’s wearing a well loved ramones shirt

As if that wasn’t enough, he shoves the drumsticks he’s holding into his back pocket, poking out awkwardly

“Who is that?” you ask

Heather and Madison whip around, ecstatic that you finally found someone at school you think is hot

They scan the scattered crowd of other late students trying to make it inside before first bell

“Who?” Heather demands, looking straight past the guy at the captain of the football team who you’d turned down for the fourth time earlier this week. “Brent? You know Brent.”

A twinge of jealousy flashing through her voice as she finishes, desperate for more information

“No,” you say, pointing. “The guy who looks like Billie Joe Armstrong.”

“Who?” they both demand, still looking right past him

“Black hair, black shirt…”

Finally they see him

“Heffley??” Heather demands, holding back a gag at his name. “No, no, no. Not him, anyone but him.”

She shudders, pushing past both of you to go inside

You’re stuck in place, watching him greet his friends and laugh loudly as they shove each other hello

Madison leans in close

“That’s Rodrick. His god awful band ruined Heather’s sweet 16 and she’s still pissed about it. Going near him is social suicide.”

It suddenly makes sense that you haven’t bumped into the only hot guy at school yet

If you’re always with Heather and Heather avoids him like the plague…

Madison drags you inside, and you’re already trying to figure out a way to talk to him

Just because you didn’t know Rodrick exited before now, doesn’t mean he hasn’t been drooling over you since you showed up at Crossland

“Uh, dude… was she just staring at you?” Ward says once Madison finally drags you inside, forcing you to break your unwavering stare you had locked on Rodrick

He turns around quickly, looking for a more logical explanation for you looking in his direction as some football players walk past

“She must have been looking at Brent.” he decides

“No dude,” Ben punches his arm, “she was totally making eyes at you.”

They all laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement as he drags himself to his first class of the day

He can’t focus even more than usual

Were you staring at him? Making eyes at him like Ben had said?

He stares at the back of your head in all your shared classes, which is a lot of them, just like he always does

And just like always, his mind starts to wander

Of course he’s down stupid bad for you, he doesn’t know anyone that’s not

He wonders what you smell like, what you look like up close

He wonders what your hands would feel like on his body, if you’d drag your pretty manicured nails across his skin

He imagines kissing you in such vivid detail it feels real for a few moments

Then he starts to wonder what you’d taste like

Probably bubblegum, you usually chew it between periods when you won’t get in trouble for it

He wonders if your lip gloss is flavored

God, since the first day you showed up in this shithole he’s been thinking about you

He’s had countless dreams about you to

He always goes right back to sleep hoping he can see you again, feel your body against his, feel your lips on his skin one more time

He knows it’s hopeless, knows that even if you’ve seen him around and are vaguely aware of his existence, you don’t know his name

And why would you want to??

He’s such a teenage dirtbag he practically has rights to the song

Plus Brent is still determined to get you to go out with him

He considers himself your boyfriend already and has been threatening anyone who stares at you more than normal

Even if he could get past Brent and his own debilitating self doubt and low self esteem, you’re with Heather and Madison constantly, who still think he’s worse than mold after the incident and Heather’s sweet 16

You’re literally untouchable

Even still, he doesn’t think he’s ever had a crush this bad

Not even back when he liked Heather

The only way he can get through classes is by spacing out the whole time (his teachers expect nothing less of course) and imagining you marching right up to him and sitting on his lap to make out with him

The only notes he takes anymore are scribbled song lyrics about you until his hand cramps up and he gets one of those nausea headache he gets from trying to write or read too much

He thinks about you so much

It’s getting to the point where he’s thinking about you all the time

And he has absolutely no idea what to do about it

Because he doesn’t stand a chance

There’s no way in hell he could approach you, much less get you to go out with him

Plus you’ve literally turned down every guy that’s asked you out this year

Why would you want to go out with him???

Heather and Madison are wondering the same thing

You could easily pull anyone in this entire school

And now you’re making eyes at Heffley out of nowhere????

It doesn’t make sense

They can’t pay attention for the rest of the day

Neither can you

You spend the entire day trying to figure out how to talk to him (you could just walk over to him)

How to get his attention (you already have it)

How to set up the perfect scenario to make him fall for you (he fell hard and fast long before now and has not recovered)

A party

You have to throw a party and get his band to play

Then you can corner him after the show to buy a cd and see if you can get it to go somewhere

It’s perfect

Plus Heather’s been telling you that you should throw at least one party before the school year is over

You tell Heather you want to throw a party this weekend

She’s ecstatic, thinking you’re finally moving on to something better to focus on

She and Madison are so busy helping you get everything ready they don’t notice you staring at Rodrick in the halls every chance you get and never managing to get him to look over at you

You’re so busy throwing an elaborate rager of a party to try and seduce him like Jay Gatsby that you don’t notice him staring at you when you’re not looking too

You can’t let anything ruin your chance with Rodrick

Nothing can possibly go wrong

So when Brent asks you out again at lunch you turn him down more definitively than you have before

You tell him you’re just not into him like that, and to please stop asking you out

He’s never had someone tell him that they’re not attracted to him and want nothing to do with him

It was definitely a much needed blow to his self esteem

Rumors that you broke up with Brent (even though you weren’t dating in the first place) spread like wildfire

So after school when you manage to slip away from Heather and Madison for long enough to approach Rodrick and ask him and his band to play at your party this weekend

It feels like a fucking dream

Not only do they have a gig

But it’s at your party????

It feels fake

It feels like something his touch starved hormonal brain would concoct to distract him from what he should be thinking about

They start trying to figure out sets and extra practice time before your party

And Ben insists the whole time that you were making eyes at him

Except this time Rodrick kind of believes him

There’s no way this means he has a chance with you, right??

He watches you walk away

And as you walk away, you let out an excited suppressed giggle that you actually talked to him

You’re still flustered and blushing under all your makeup, fanning your warm face as you hop into the passenger seat of Heathers convertible

“What’s up with you?” she asks, noticing your distracted state

“I’m just… really excited for this party.” you smile, biting your lip

You don’t think about a thing other than him for the rest of the day

You decide this party really cannot come soon enough

If you play your cards right

You might even get him to like you back

You ruminate on this as you start picking out an outfit - in your signature pink, of course - completely unaware that Rodrick is already rehearsing for your party

And thinking about you just as much

#rodrick heffley #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick x reader #rodrick #doawk x reader #doawk rodrick #rodrick x girly reader #you make him lose his shit #actively go bonkers for you

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 5 months

Text

What The Heart Wants || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x Reader

GIF by @aemondtargaryen divider by @firefly-graphics

Summary: This marriage was nothing but unhappiness. You always felt like you lived in the shadow of Lucy Gray. But you try to pretend, pretend that this marriage was everything you could have ever dreamed of.

Warnings: little detail of smut

Wc:

Coriolanus Snow Masterlist

Your fingers play with the ends of your dress that your mother insisted you wear. In your opinion, the dress was abit too tight, short, and the neckline a tad bit lower than what was deemed appropriate for a simple get together with the President, your fiancé.

“Smile Y/n, Smile.” Your mother urges with a forced smile as you roll your eyes. The door suddenly opens as your mother and father immediately stand up. You let out a huff before standing up as well as Coriolanus Snow in all his glory walks in.

He doesn’t even spare your parents a look or you for that matter. He just sits down on the armchair beside yours with a huff. You watch him as he rolls up his sleeves, he had yet to speak. “Lovely too see you again, Evangeline, Festus, and Y/n” He politely nods.

His voice was stern, cold. “Likewise, President Snow, likewise” You mother grins widely, her tone sickly sweet. “Please, call just call me Coryo. You are to be my in-laws soon. Best to cut the formality early on,” He voices out as he leans over and pops a grape in his mouth.

Your knees were crossed as you stare down at your hands. Snow turns his head, finally looking at you. You could feel his gaze from your peripheral vision. A sudden kick to your shin made you groan out loud as your mother gives you a death glare.

Clearing your throat, you face Coriolanus. “What colour do you plan to wear for the wedding day? So you know, I can match,” He stares hard at your face, studying every detail. “White.” Is all he said before facing your parents again as he starts conversation with them on a topic you couldn’t care less about.

Snow had always been cold towards you from the moment the two of you started courting each other. It wasn’t a marriage for love, it was arranged. Coming from a high born family in the Capitol, disciplined to be the perfect wife, you were a perfect candidate to become First Lady.

And not to forget how close your parents and his parents were before they died. Coriolanus had changed when he came back from exile. He was no longer the sweet boy you used to remember.

He was now driven with power and authority. You never asked him questions about the details of his exile as peacekeeper during the times you would spend together. He would merely brush it off and tell you never to ask him about it again.

You were never one to listen to Capitol gossip but there were whispers going around about how Snow was in a relationship with his tribute, Lucy Gray. And that she ran away from him just before he returned back. You remember seeing the two together on camera, there always seemed to be a certain chemistry between the two that not much people paid attention to. But you.

He seemed completely closed off when you first met him after his banishment. He was always drifting in and out of reality. You had a feeling he wasn’t over Lucy Gray. No matter how much she hurt him for leaving.

“Coryo,” Your voice was gentle as you place a hand on his arm. He was out of it again. “She asked what flavour cake you wish to have,” You slowly say as his eyes were stuck to the wall behind the woman sat across from them. “Whatever flavour you want.” He shrugs. Before you could open your mouth again, he beats you to it.

“Is this really necessary? I have other important things to be doing right now.” He snaps, unfolding his sleeves as he gets ready to get up. You furrow your eyebrows at him as the woman starts to pack up the papers on the table before you stop her.

“Coryo, you told me you cleared your schedule today.” You fold your arms as he buttons up his jacket, looking at you. “I’d rather be home than here.” And with that, he doesn’t spare you another look and walks away. You watch his figure disappear as you sit back down, defeated.

“Should I continue without President Snow?” Your eyes move to the lady awkwardly sitting there. “Yes, yes you can continue,” You sigh. This was the third time Coriolanus blew these meetings off. Both of you despised the idea of getting married, especially to one another. But it had to be done. For duty.

“Oh you look absolutely gorgeous, my love. You’re going to be the prettiest woman Coryo has ever laid eyes on.” You scoff, downing the liquid down as you get ready to walk down the aisle. “Remember, smile!” Your mother points to her smile as you roll your eyes and link arms with your father.

The doors opened and the crowd gasp. You looked ethereal. Perfect. Doll-like. You smiled like you were taught to do and walked with such elegance and poise. Snow’s back was turned to you, but the moment he turned around, you swore you couldn’t breathe for a second.

Coriolanus’ hands were cold against your warm hands. His piercing blue eyes studied your face as words around you drown out. “You may now kiss the bride.” Coriolanus leaned in as did you and your lips touched. The kiss was gentle and didn’t last long. You could tell he was reluctant to kiss you.

He then smiled brightly, turning to face the crowd and your mother’s words come rolling in. Smile. Pretend you’re happy. You both had to act like you were infatuated with one another for the rest of the day until you arrived at Snow’s mansion. Your new home.

The moment you walked through the doors, the façade was over. Coriolanus made a beeline to his study where he slammed the door shut as you stand alone in the hallway, still in your wedding dress. Exhaustion caught up to you so your heavy footsteps led you to your shared room with him.

You were helped out of the dress by servants. The silk slip soft on your skin as you let your hair loose. It was quiet. Too quiet for yo ur liking. You sat at the end of the bed for some time, thinking about everything and anything until the door abruptly opened revealing Snow.

He paused when he saw you, almost forgetting that you two were married now and were going to be sharing the same bed from now on. He sighs before closing the door behind him.

He starts taking his jacket and long sleeve off. “Why aren’t you asleep” He voices out, his back turned to you as you watch his back muscles flex. “I’m not tired,” You said, barely a whisper as Snow turns around, his eyes trained on you. “Suit yourself,” He said before entering the bathroom.

You decided to move up the bed and lean against the backboard of the humongous bed that you and Snow will be sharing. You played with your fingers the entire time Coriolanus was in the shower.

You hear the water jets stop and he steps out, towel hanging around his hips as he has another towel drying his platinum blonde hair. He gets dressed in just boxers before making his way to the bed. He turns off his bedside light and lays on his back. You were still leaned up on the backboard.

Coriolanus then leaned over you and turned your bedside light off before sleeping on his side, back towards you. You stared at the back of his head for a while. “Coryo…” You softly say. You knew he was awake. “Coryo.” You say once again, your hand gently on his shoulder as he sigh and turns to lay on his back. “Y/n. It’s been an exhausting day. Can this possibly wait until tomorrow” He snaps.

“No.” You say in a firm tone that was abit too loud. You took yourself by surprise as Snow raises an eyebrow at you. “We’re married now.” Your tone was bitter. You were becoming just as frustrated as he was with you. A long due reciprocation.

“I’m aware.” He flatly stated, his eyes shifting away from your body to the ceiling. You sensed his unsatisfactory behaviour towards you, and you felt, a feeling that you had become very familiar with recently. Vulnerable. Coriolanus did not want you one bit. You knew that.

But you wanted to atleast pretend that you were going to spend the rest of your life with someone who loved you. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t do it. A part of you understood that this was obviously wasn’t ideal for either parties, but you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, like you weren’t enough.

You were always hit on by other eligible males in the Capitol, but when it came to President Snow, you weren’t even remotely spared a glance. So, you decided that tonight, your honeymoon night, to pretend that there is as much passion as you needed to make you feel as though you were marrying the man of your dreams.

“Look at me.” You demanded, watching as Coriolanus beside you slowly tore his eyes away from the ceiling to bore into your face. “Coryo,” You began, moving from the backboard to get closer to him. You leant into him, foreheads touching. You could feel his breathing stagger, his breath began to tremble as if he was straining tears.

"Please," Your grabbed his face desperately, almost beginning to start sobbing yourself, as if your bodies being this close to one another transformed them into one big, contagious product of unfairness and agony—indulging in one another helplessly.

"Please, Coryo, pretend I'm her," you never once thought in your life you would have to beg for a man to worship you the way he did another—before courting the President of Panem, you would have ques of eligible men at your feet—not even having to raise a finger.

"What?" He mumbled back, an unconfident whimper, his eyebrows furrowed—casting a shadow over his vacant eyes, causing his piercing blue eyes to darken.

"I never though I'd have to say this, but " You breathed out, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose, "Pretend I'm her, pretend I'm Lucy Gray Baird. Even if she broke you, atleast you felt something for her." Your voice cracked as the nonchalant popular girl of Panem facade you’d spent your entire life up keeping, having Snow as a publicity accessory, had shattered in his grip.

Coriolanus didn't know what to say. He had never seen you in this state. You didn't know, but he watched you all the time through the cameras around the mansion and around Panem. Snow barely knew how to express his emotions adequately himself, let alone watching you break down.

You were in pain. As if you were swallowing back acid. "I just want to feel loved," You trembled. This was all so new to you, expressing your feelings, confiding to someone. "Even if it takes you having to think about someone else to make me feel like it.l And so, Snow silently agreed.

He took the invitation of being allowed to think about Lucy Gray in his embrace if it made you feel better. Selfish to an extent, but technically, what you wanted from him was equally so. As long as he appreciated your body as if it were a relic, to make her feel something, he'd be able to fantasise about the one thing he'd usually feel guilty about thinking. Lucy Gray crushed his heart. His soul.

Yet he couldn't stop thinking about the girl who betrayed her. And so, you mollified into him as he embraces your frame, kissing you the same way he'd been musing about doing so with Lucy, if he were to ever get the chance again.

Both your tears were the supplement of real passion, the dampness on your faces resembling sweat as tears fell between each aggrieved, desperate kiss.

More desperate, more intimate. You knew what Coriolanus wanted, and you gave in. You allowed him to see Lucy Gray through your eyes. And although they were a completely different colour, Snow swore he saw her eyes gazing back at him for a millisecond; and that was motivating enough.

Now you were both in pieces, too bad puzzles aren't taught how to piece themselves back together.

#fanfiction #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #hunger games #tom blyth #lucy gray baird #lucy gray x coriolanus #president snow #coriolanus snow fanfiction #smut #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow angst

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avtrbee · 9 months

Text

the prince [2]

✢summary: what happens when your husband brings home a son that is not yours?

✢tags: arranged marriage gojo satoru x reader, reader is a clan kid, she’s v traditional, obvious cat and jon snow references

✢tw: implications of cheating, mentioned abuse, misogyny ig, fanfic gojo, ooc gojo

✢ a/n: here's part 2! i'd like to emphasize that depsite this being a gojo x reader fic, the main realationships i'll be focusing on are y/n and the kids gojo brings home lmao. also im raw dogging the lore as we go so if there are any inconsistencies, please lmk. as always, have fun and lmk what you think!

i don’t do taglists.

part one ✢ masterlist

If it were up to you, you would have shut the gates of the Gojo estate as soon as the child entered the grounds, but your husband had given him the the maids so quickly that you’re sure they have spread the word around already. You could hear the rumors in your head. Gojo Satoru has brought home a child out of wedlock. Gojo Y/N is barren. Gojo Satoru has a mistress.

You expected Gojo to be frantic, stumbling over his words in explanation as to why he has a son- it was his son, there was no doubt about that- reassuring you about his vows remain unbroken, or whatever else but silence. You are silent too as you watch the child get scurried away by the estate staff to scrub the dirt off his face and to get a change of clothes.

Even as he is being escorted away from you, his cursed energy did not fade. You feel it like how everyone feels Gojo’s, but more raw and untamed. Whoever this child is, it is Gojo Satoru reborn again.

Silence. Silence is what took the Gojo estate into a chokehold as the maids finish bathing the child and then put him in a spare bedroom a good distance away from yours. The maids must think you resent him.

Satoru pretends like everything is the same as if the boy had been there since the beginning. During the first night, you watch with a blank face as the cake you've baked for him is eaten by the child. Neither the boy nor Satoru expresses their gratitude towards you. You doubt they even know you baked it.

To his credit, Satoru had treated the child better than you had expected. He is blossoming into fatherhood, you realize and you feel the rage and anger burn in your stomach.

He pats the boy's head and messes his hair, before pointing to his own messy mane exclaiming, "See? We match!"

Satoru had tried to include you in conversations with the boy, even daring to seat him on his right at meals. Satoru would blab after seeing the child gobble mochi. "Mochi is Y/N's favorite too!" He turns to look at you with a bright smile. "Right, Y/N?"

You want to point out that the boy had gobbled everything served to him, but you just give a brief nod.

At night, you sleep like a log- rigid, straight, and quiet. Satoru, on the other hand, remains comfortable, snoozing the day's exhaustion behind him.

Tonight will be the same as it has been for the past few weeks. You stare at yourself in the mirror of your vanity, wondering if your reflection is the perfect example of a foolish woman. How stupid of you to think he was different.

There was nothing but quiet as you prepare yourself to sleep, brushing your hair quietly. You hear the door creak but you do not turn and greet him with a smile like you used to.

“I expected you to be more emotional about this,” came Satoru's words beside you. Me too, you want to reply but held your mouth shut.

You had expected yourself to scream, and let your anger flow through your voice. You wanted to cry until your tears were dry and there wasn't any left. Neither you nor Satoru would be surprised if you use your technique against him in a fit of fury, and if you truly knew your husband, you know he'd take your anger like it was penance. You want to be the fire that burns him badly. But you did none of those.

You are as cold as their blue eyes. You are quiet.

You continue to brush your hair.

"Do you want me to get rid of him?" offers Satoru. "Just say the word, and I will."

You blink in surprise. You meet his eyes in the mirror. Satoru looks nonchalant in his posture with his hands in his pockets. But the fact that his glasses were nowhere to be seen tells you he is not joking.

Your ears recall the promise he made months ago. My wife, my equal. A promise to try, to try to be happy to spite everyone who was determined to make your lives miserable.

The sudden exhaustion hit you, your shoulders slumping from your previous postures. You lean back, letting your nape rest on the back of the chair. You stare at the ceiling, your head forbidding you to forget how the child looked like. White hair. Blue eyes. You hear Satoru sigh somewhere near you. You hear his footsteps come. From your peripheral, you see his figure beside you. A feather-like hesitant hand touches your shoulder. “I was not unfaithful to you.”

Satoru moves to kneel in front of your sitting figure. He reaches out to your head, and touches his forehead against yours. You find yourself looking up at his eyes, the same shade of eyes that he shares with the child. His hands cradle your face, desperate for you to believe him. “Please. Please, Y/N.”

You remain silent.

“You’re the only one I have left, Y/N, please.” He begs. There are tears threatening to spill down to his pretty face, and you find some sick satisfaction in them.

That is not true. Your husband has his clan, his estate servants, his high school friends, and his teachers. It is you that has no one but him. By your culture’s traditions, you do not belong to your clan anymore. You know that some elders have begun to doubt their choice in choosing you as the wife of Gojo Satoru with the obvious lack of children, but with the sudden appearance of Gojo-sama’s bastard child, they might annul your marriage by force- or, god forbid, cast you aside for another, more fertile woman.

You do not wish to share your thoughts, but your husband grips your head so desperately. You have made a god beg.

“I know.” You say. The child may be young, but he was old enough to walk and talk small phrases on his own. He must be at least two years old. The child is older than your marriage.

His shoulders immediately drop in relief before quickly detangling himself from you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He slides his head to hide in your neck and like instinct, you welcome him wrapping your hands around his waist.

"Where would you leave him?" You manage to ask, still not believing his offer.

"The cabin," he says. You can see the cracks on your husband now. You spot his hand making a fist inside his pockets, like it pains him to speak. “The one by Nagasaki, remember? I’ll send a maid and give him money every month. We can send him right now. The maids will not say anything outside the estate, not if I threaten to chop their tongues off. We can send him off with a caretaker to a cabin somewhere and leave him there. I- I can visit him a few times a year- just to make sure he’s fine.”

You blink. You did not expect Satoru to offer that. You let the fantasy linger in your head. You imagine the boy’s life so far- abandoned by his mother and unknown by his father. Children do not understand things the way older people do, so it is up to the adults to help and explain certain things. But he has not had an adult in his life before. Would you be happy if you were left alone in the cabin in the middle of the woods with no one but a caretaker for company? Better yet- will the caretaker even stay to care for him without anyone around?

That sounds incredibly lonely, you realize. The premise sounds all too familiar to you- an empty house with no one but servants. But this boy will only get one.

He needs people to protect him, but you are unsure if you’d like to. Your instincts tell you to agree, get rid of the boy before he becomes more of a threat.

“Satoru,” you say slowly, thinking of your next words carefully. “He is just child. He is no danger to me.”

You hold your breath, suprised to hear the words out of your mouth. From your lap, Satoru holds your gaze- piercing eyes trying to read your mind. If he caught your lie he does not show it.

"Are you sure?"

No. "Yes."

Hiroki. Satoru had names him Gojo Hiroki.

He spends most of his days inside the estate surrounded by maids or inside his room playing with the toys you off-handedly ordered the day after he arrived. The maids gush about him already, the older ones excitedly murmuring how the little lord acts so much like your husband as a child. You would be a fool not to agree.

Hiroki runs barefoot through the estate, tracking mud on precious tatami floors before a servant finally catches him. He likes people, likes the maids and the servants, and thus has migrated to the kitchen a few weeks after his arrival like he was addicted to places were people are the most. He draws. He draws so much it’s almost ridiculous. You could have a library full of childish scribbles.

Like your husband, he devours his dessert the best before any dish. He eats mochi, ice cream, cookies and whatever sweets there are on the table like it was his last meal. You recall one of the maids gasp as a drop of cream lands on your cheek when he slammed his fork in his cake.

Satoru is free in his affection for the boy, unexpectedly flourishing in fatherhood. He remains firm in his belief that children should be children and makes an effort to see Hiroki out. Satoru becomes known to sneak the child away from the estate to parks, to mini-vacations you begrudgingly join after Satoru’s incessant pestering. And of course- school. Hiroki made history once again when Satoru announced his decision to enroll Hiroki in a totally normal, public Japanese preschool.

You realize that Satoru was meant to be a father. And one good one at that. It brings you comfort that any children that he is at least good to his son after he confessed his plan to be a teacher after graduation.

Tokyo’s jujutsu highschool would be blessed with his presence, thought one of Satoru’s female seniors would disagree.

“Yo, Y/N-chan,” came a voice.

You twist your body over to the source of the voice, and your face lights up at the sight of a familiar face. “Getou-san!”

If Satoru's presence is an overwhelming force, making everyone and everything bow to him as if he is god, Getou is a dark, uneasy, slinking feeling. His cat-like features morph into a happy expression with a polite smile on his lips.

“Is there a mission today?” You ask as Getou comes nearer. Satoru would try his best to keep any of his classmates away from his estate, but there is nothing he can hide from Getou and Shoko. "Can I come?"

After you had let slip that you wanted to become a licensed sorcerer, Satoru had made it a habit to sneak you into some missions with Getou. You had fretted about the technical legalities and questioned the safety of the public when an inexperienced sorcerer like you enter the battlefield but Satoru merely shrugged and simply gestured to his best friend. We're the strongest!

Getou leans his shoulder on the wall. "Nope, not this one Y/N."

“I see,” you say, failing to hide your disappointment. Sometimes you wonder why you enjoy the missions so much. Was it the thrill of doing something you never would? Perhaps it was the freedom of it all, unleashing your power to poor curses who quiver beneath your feet?

Your ears perked at a familiar high pitched laugh, and your eyes immediately lock to the window where Hiroki soon runs across. He has dried soil on his feet. His pale hair is slicked back with sweat and it glistens against the sun like snow.

A maid forces a laugh in panic as she tries to catch him with his shoes on one hand.

Away from him. That’s why you enjoy it.

Getou follows your line of sight. “How is he?”

You glare at him. “How would I know?”

Everyone knows that Hiroki is a taboo topic if it’s within your earshot, lest they want the you in a foul mood. But Getou does not shy away from his question and only raises an eyebrow, calling your bluff.

“You’re telling me you do not know your own household?”

“The garden is his place,” you sigh., and admitting it felt like defeat. “He likes the grass on his feet and likes big spaces. He gets angsty when a room is too small.”

“Mmhm,” Getou agrees. “Did you know Satoru plans to enroll him in a daycare?”

Your eyes widen in horror. “In a- what?” You shriek. “He has a dozen of servants here willing to serve him-! Does he even realize the risk he’s putting the boy in? Assassins, curses, cursed users…” you trail off, remembering your own childhood. It was strange to be surrounded by servants but feeling so alone at the same time. “I see.” A daycare meant potential friends, friends that you never got to have. “Does…does the boy like it at least?”

“Me?” Getou barks out a surprised laugh. “Shouldn’t you know that?”

You glare at him. Getou meets your gaze unapologetically, almost as if he was challenging you. Finally, he sighs. “Have you ever talked to him at least?”

You roll your eyes. Your sharp tone echoes around the room. “And why would I do that? He is no concern to me.”

"He needs you."

"He does not need me," you snap, suddenly impatient for Satoru to come out of wherever he’s hiding so Getou and him can go. “He will resent me when he’s older, I know it.”

You have seen this same scene over and over again. Children and the wife of the husband do not get along. Both suffer at the existence of the other. This is the fate that Satoru had subjected you to. This is the fate you have set upon yourself when you refused to send him away. You wonder if your kindness will cost you one day.

“Well,” Getou shrugged nonchalantly. “You haven’t given him any reason to like you either.”

You opened your mouth to retort, only to be interrupted by Satoru.

“Getouu,” he whined, comically trudging towards his best friend with a hunched back. “Why are you so early?”

You see Getou open his mouth to reply, but you are lost in your head. You watch Getou ignore Satoru’s childish gimmicks, already dragging him out of the room and towards the door. You feel Satoru kiss your cheek before waving goodbye, but your head was in a daze mindlessly repeating Getou’s words. You feel shiver creep down your spine before shifting your gaze towards the garden where Hiroki’s presence was last.

thank you so much for reading guys! i’d love to hear all criticisms and suggestions for this universe <33 please lmk through comments :>

here’s my masterlist

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo x reader #jjk #gojo imagine #satoru imagine

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sluttywoozi · 23 days

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Starry Eyed | kmg x reader

Ten months together and every moment still feels brand new.

Rating: T | WC: ~2.6k | Genre: romance, fluff | Pairing: kmg x reader

Warnings: kissing, food

Reader Notes: wears a dress, gets lifted by mingyu, referred to as ‘miss’ (forgot to add before, my bad!)

You’re not always ready when Mingyu rolls up to your house and knocks on your door, but on nights like tonight, you are.

You’ve got your prettiest dress on, the one that he said makes your eyes sparkle, and you have a small container holding the cake you baked him just this afternoon. There’s a blanket, some battery powered fairy lights, and a bluetooth speaker in your bag, and as soon as you hear his timid raps on the wood, you’re on your feet and across the room. You don’t bother to slow yourself down as you open the door, long past pretending you do anything but sit on the couch waiting for him on nights like these.

Especially since it’s his birthday. Well, almost.

The smile that lights up his face when you appear has you fighting a swoon, though you know he would catch you before you hit the ground, his clumsiness absent when it comes to protecting you.

“Hey baby,” he says softly, already leaning in for a kiss. You happily grant it, pressing your lips to his and feeling that familiar spark in your stomach, the one you’ve only ever felt with him.

“Hi Mingyu,” you whisper, feeling oddly shy as he looks you up and down, taking in the bag on your shoulder and the box you carry. Normally, you’re empty handed, content to spend the hours just listening to music and talking about everything and nothing, like you always do.

But you want him to feel special tonight, to feel the love that you foster for him, to see the roots of the flowers that grow in your heart, watered and fed by him and him alone.

“Ready?” He asks, holding a hand out and waiting for you to take it, as if you could ever deny him.

“Ready,” you grin, giggling as he pulls you through your garden gate and around to the passenger seat of his truck. He opens the door for you and holds your waist as you climb up, making sure you’re securely inside before closing your door and running around to the driver’s side.

“Where are we going tonight?” You wonder, resting your head on the back of the seat and gazing at his profile, his sharp jawline and perfect nose and adorable ears.

“I thought I’d take you to the lake, the stars are crazy this time of year,” he glances over at you, laying his hand palm up on your thigh. The corners of his lips quirk up when you lace your fingers through his and he brings your joined hands to his mouth for a kiss, like it’s just instinct by now.

After ten months together, maybe it is.

This will be the first of Mingyu’s birthdays that you’ll get to be with him for, and you’re honored and slightly nervous that he wants to spend the time leading up to it with you. It’s barely 9 pm, there’s still three hours until it’s actually his birthday, but he was adamant that he wanted you with him for the transition and you’ve never been one to tell him no.

So here you are, driving down backroads and nodding along to the soft music playing on his radio, soaking in his lovely singing voice and stifling a smile at his lisp. He squeezes your hand when your song comes on, the one you decided together best matched your relationship, and you feel his ivy in your heart grow just a bit denser, just a bit greener.

It’s not long before you pull up to the lookout, Mingyu parking on the gravel with not a single other car in sight. If you were with anyone else, you’d be nervous, scared of every shadow and the dark lake stretched out in front of you, but with Mingyu, you know you’re safe.

He turns the truck off and unweaves his fingers from yours, jogging around to your side to open your door and help you down. You hold tight to your bag and the box of cake as he wraps his hands around your sides and helps you step down. You don’t mean to but you end up in his space when your shoes touch gravel, and there’s a split second of tension, one where you’re sure he’ll kiss your lights out. He just pulls away and takes your hand again, though, and you take in a deep breath and hold it long enough to blank out the dizziness he evokes.

Mingyu is quick to unlatch the tailgate when you get to the back of his truck, and even quicker to hoist you up into the cargo bed, his hands respectful and his handling of you utilitarian. You know it’s just because he’ll get distracted if he lingers, but you wouldn’t mind if he wanted to dawdle a teeny bit more, not that you’ll ever tell him that.

He hops up into the bed with you, walking over to the large metal storage box and pulling something out with a flourish.

“Look, baby,” he grins, his eyes somehow brighter than his smile.

You can’t quite tell what it is he’s holding, but then he unravels it and you realize with a gasp and a skip of your heart that he’s brought a bedroll. He must have packed it just for you, after you told him your back ached the last time you laid in the bed of his truck for hours.

“You’re so sweet, I could cry,” you beam up at him from where you sit, rising to your feet so he can arrange the padding. You take the time to set up your own things, winding the fairy lights along the inner edges of the truck and powering on your bluetooth speaker, starting your mixed playlist at a volume low enough for you to talk over. The blanket was meant to go under you but now it can go over, and you’re even more grateful for his thoughtfulness when you feel the chilly spring breeze ruffle your dress.

Perhaps it wasn’t the most practical choice of clothing, but you wanted to dress up for him a little bit, and you can’t fault yourself for that.

“You look so pretty, I should have told you earlier,” Mingyu says as he settles on his back on the padding, reaching out for you with open arms. You kneel carefully and curl up next to him, grabbing a corner of the blanket and drawing it over both of your bodies as you lean back and rest your head on his outstretched arm.

“Thank you,” you smile and tilt toward him for a kiss, your lips pressing against his softly before you pull away and snuggle into his chest. You feel a pressure on the top of your head and know he must have kissed you there too, eliciting a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

Ten months together and every moment still feels brand new.

You turn your eyes to the sky and take in the blanket of stars above you, their light striking on such a cloudless evening.

You know the visible constellations in this area thanks to countless nights spent like this, but you let him point them out to you anyway, just because he gets so excited to tell you about their stories.

He can summon them from memory by now, having lived in this small town his whole life. You moved here only two years ago, and met Mingyu before you even moved in.

After hours of driving, your sweet little car broke down a mile from the city line, with all of your earthly possessions packed in the back. You were close to tears, sitting on the side of the road trying to get in touch with your insurance when he pulled up behind you and hopped out.

You were nervous at first, he’s such a large man and he has such a large truck, but then he smiled at you and asked in the most gentle voice you’d ever heard, “Need some help, miss?”

You, obviously, fell in love immediately, but you were sure a guy like him would be taken already so you kept your feelings to yourself and tried not to let your eyes linger on his muscles as he loaded your things into the bed of his truck.

You had to look up your own address when he asked, and offered to give him directions but he just turned to you and said softly, “No need, miss, I know how to get there.”

And he did. Fifteen minutes later, he was parking in front of your new home and offering to bring your belongings in if you’d run ahead and get the door. All of your city-bred instincts told you not to let him into your house, but you decided then and there to put your faith in him, and to this day, he’s never made you regret it.

Mingyu asks you a question, pulling you out of your reverie, and you feel your cheeks heat as you realize you drifted off in thought while he was speaking.

“Sorry, I missed that. What did you say?” You ask, looking up at him with your most apologetic eyes.

He just grins and shakes his head, knowing you get lost in your head sometimes.

“I asked if you believe in soulmates,” he repeats in a nonchalant voice, the circles he swirls on your back the only sign that he’s nervous about your answer.

You hum, contemplating carefully. You never believed in fate or destiny growing up, and the concept of soulmates always seemed to be so far-fetched, but you have to admit that Mingyu has made you think differently.

He hardly ever leaves town, what were the odds of him being sent over to the city for a one day carpentry workshop? What were the odds of him coming back right after your car broke down? What were the odds of you even moving here in the first place?

There were hundreds of small towns to pick from, why did you choose this one?

And how in the hell was he single when you finally worked up the guts to ask him on a date?

“Baby? You don’t have to answer, I know you don’t really believe in that stuff,” he forces a laugh, shifting under you.

“I didn’t until I met you,” you confess, looking up to face him because you can feel his eyes on you.

He searches your face, hope and nerves warring on his own until his gaze clears and his lips stretch in a shining, ardent grin.

“I love you,” he whispers slowly, the words carrying more weight than they usually do. You know he always means it, but this time feels different, more like a promise.

“I love you,” you send him a wobbly smile, your feelings bubbling up in your chest until you fear they’ll spill out of your eyes as tears.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, drawing you toward him just as you start to lean in. You’re happy to meet him in the middle and even happier to feel his lips on yours, to feel him breathe his love into you.

You kiss for what feels like hours, always keeping the gentle, languid pace. There’s no urgency, no blaze of desire, just a warm, comforting feeling overtaking you, something like sinking into a hot bath after a long, freezing day.

When you finally pull away, it’s because an alarm goes off, one that you completely forgot you set in the first place. You reach into your bag for your phone and you’re shocked to discover it actually has been hours since you started kissing him, your sense of time completely skewed when it comes to Mingyu.

In just five minutes, it will be his birthday, and if you didn’t have the forethought to set an alarm for 11:55, you would have kissed him right through midnight.

This gives you just enough time to get everything ready, and though he pouts when you peel yourself off of him, you know he’s excited for what you have in store.

“Close your eyes,” you instruct him softly, waiting for his eyelids to flutter shut before springing into action.

He didn’t ask you to do anything but spend time with him, and while you’re happy to do that, you still couldn’t stop yourself from preparing just a little something.

You dig through your bag again to find the utensils, birthday candles, and lighter buried at the bottom before grabbing the container you stashed by the tool box. Wishing, hoping, praying the cake hasn’t been ruined, you take off the lid and breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of unmarred frosting.

Mingyu is no stranger to your baking, but this is the first cake you’ve specifically made just for him, and you want it to be perfect.

With the clock ticking, you carefully push the 2 and 7 candles in, setting the container down next to him and lighting the wicks just as your second alarm goes off. There’s only one minute till midnight now, and you leave your phone clock on so you can watch the time go from 11:59 to 12:00.

“Okay, open,” you tell him, kneeling a foot from where he lays, your lips bitten between your teeth and your hands clasped together in excitement.

When he blinks his eyes open and you see his face in the candlelight, the sheer love and devotion that floods your chest takes your breath away. You couldn’t exactly hide the cake container so you know he was aware you were planning something, but his eyes still grow wide in joyful shock, the beam that spreads his kiss-swollen lips enough to send your heart galloping away.

“Baby, you did all this just for me?” He asks, his voice just a bit watery and his eyes only slightly glassy.

“Of course I did, Gyu, I love you. Now, make a wish and blow out the candles, it’s almost midnight!” You urge him, watching as his eyes squeeze shut and his lips move, like the wish won’t come true if he doesn’t actually spell it out.

You don’t try to decode his words, even though you’re sure he won’t tell you what his wish was. You’ll let him keep it, you think, and make your own wish that his will come true.

His eyes open before he purses his lips and pushes out a breath, extinguishing the candles and grinning up at you with a secret in his smile. You can only surmise the wish involves you, and curiosity sinks its claws deep into you, down to the bone.

“You’re not going to ask what I wished for?” Mingyu gleefully teases you, reading you like you’re a book he’ll never put down.

“Nope,” you shake your head magnanimously, faking serenity even though you know he can see right through it.

His face softens into something fond, and before he can even reach for you, you’re leaning down and pressing your lips to his. It’s just a chaste, loving peck this time, mainly because you can tell Mingyu is itching to taste the cake. “Happy birthday,” you murmur into his lips before pulling away and pushing the cake closer to him.

“Have at it,” you giggle as you hand him a fork, watching as he digs in with gusto, his eyes closing and his face scrunching in delight at the flavors you chose.

He lets out a pleased hum, then garbles through a mouth full of cake, “Thank you, baby. Best birthday ever.”

You won’t even beg him to swallow before speaking like you usually do - it's his day, after all.

AN: happy birthday to the darling boy! sorry i'm a day late 💖

For mingyu and @bbychocolat

thank you for cheering me on @the-boy-meets-evil 💖

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lethargicluv · 6 months

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Firefighter Simon Ghost Riley who realizes that the baked sweets and fresh bread aren’t coming from a bakery in town but actually from the girl who inherited her grandmother’s house across the street from the fire station. She stops by twice a week with everything she’s made in the last 2-3 days. Turns out she’s a recipe book editor and she likes to test every recipe in the books she’s asked to edit before she approves them for publishing. If she finds issues with the recipes she sends it back for revision. Imagine testing out a 300 page recipe book. Some weeks she stops by more than 2 times because she’s testing out meal recipes and ends up delivering large batches of lasagna and pasta and meatloaf to the station. Sometimes she messes up a bit and to make corrections to the recipes she has to remake it with some tweaking and so sometimes their meals are a little burnt, maybe a little bit too spicy, or not salty enough. Simon would appreciate it all the same, so do the rest of 141. Sometimes Soap helps her with her groceries when he sees her struggling with the large bags of flour and runs across the street to lend a hand. Gaz always offers to help her carry everything into the dining hall. Price always sees her off. It’s like everyone knows about her except Simon. He doesn’t until he nearly bowls her over running for the truck as the alarms go off and the team’s getting dispatched just as she’s dropping off a very large batch of mostly misshapen but very delicious sugar cookies. (The recipe was good just not good at holding their shape. Might be too much butter, she’ll have to send it back for revision.) They get back hours later to find these wobbly ghost shaped cookies and Soap literally wouldn’t stop laughing and tell him that the cookies looked like him. Even Price poked some fun at Simon. He catches her the next delivery struggling with several containers of roasted chicken and she nearly drops the remain chicken in her hands when she looks at the big man’s face and is met with a skull mask. They get to talking while the boys chow down on tonight’s chicken dinner and Simon thinks he’s been an idiot for holing up in his office all this time when such a lovely lady has been feeding them like this. She thinks Simon’s scary appearance doesn’t match his personality at all. He’s been so soft spoken despite his gruff voice. She makes him a bourbon cake the following week and laughs in amusement as Simon tries to fend off Soap trying to steal a bite.

Part 2

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the-travelling-witch · 6 months

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𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐈𝐌

Accidentally matching outfits x Koko

You swear it’s a coincidence when you show up to your date spot matching Koko’s outfit of the day. But then again, your boyfriend has always insisted on gifting you outfits and accessories, so is it really a surprise you mirrored his style without noticing? That still doesn’t stop your cheeks from warming when he takes your hand and leads you inside, a small smile playing around his lips.

Carrying your bags x Inui

Inui is a gentleman all around but one thing he never fails to do is carry your bags for you. Usually, he asks beforehand if he should take them from you -even though he hardly accepts ‘no’ as an answer- but if he can tell you’re struggling with the weight he’s rather adamant about it. His beautiful partner shouldn’t strain themselves and he can easily handle it, so please let him do this. (Inui also rocks carrying your purse, it might as well be his.)

Weird nicknames in each other’s contacts x Ran

It’s almost as if you’re in a secret relationship, that’s how abstruse your names for the other are. If your friend ever looks at your phone when you ask them to read out a message, you can basically hear the confusion in their voice. There’s also a pretty high chance the contact name is accompanied by a picture that’s just as unflattering, probably taken when you were taken off guard. Well, at least both of you know you’re not in it for the other’s looks.

Walking on the side of the road x Draken

Draken is your protector through and through. Not only does your knight in shining armour catch bugs for you without a fuss and order your food as well if you’re too shy to, he also always makes sure to walk on the side of the road where the cars drive. Whenever you change streets or directions, he quickly switches to your other side, not letting your hand go for too long. You’re not sure if it makes a difference at all but the gesture is sweet nonetheless.

Laughing ‘til your cheeks hurt x Chifuyu

Nevermind if you’re grown adults, Chifuyu and you can still be as silly as children. At times, you’re literally the most unserious pair ever, giggling and holding your stomachs because of a stupid pun one of you told. Sitting at home on a night in, wiping the tears from your eyes and holding your hurting cheeks as you gasp for air, just to start laughing again when you remember the situation five minutes later.

Flour fight during a baking session x Mitsuya

Neither of you are about wasting food, just making that clear. But when you’re standing side by side in front of the kitchen counter, the oven preheating in the background and Mitsuya rolling the dough to then press into your cake form, you just can’t help yourself. Some leftover from the filling you prepared sticks to your hand and before you know it, you’re wiping it against your boyfriend’s cheek, giggling as you go. But Mitsuya only looks shocked for a second before he grins and wraps his flour-covered hands around your waist before you can get away.

Waking up tangled together x Rindou

It’s a calm night in, the take-out boxes still sitting on the coffee table in front of you as you snuggle in the corner of the couch, not really paying attention to the film anymore. And neither is Rindou, judging by how he yawns from the other side of the couch, his legs crossing with yours as he sinks deeper into the cushions. By the time both of you wake up again, your respective spaces of the couch have been abandoned in order to tangle yourself together bretzel-style, with your cheek squished against his biceps and his hand somewhere under the back of your shirt.

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

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muzansfangs · 8 months

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Byakuya, Ichigo, and grimmjow finding f! Reader naked?

They accidentally see you naked.

Starring: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x f!reader; Ichigo Kurosaki x f!reader; Byakuya Kuchiki x f!reader;

Format: short imagines;

Warnings: nsfw, Ichigo is aged up and around his twenties, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, nipple play, implied sexual tension on previous encounters, f!reader, unprotected sex, horny thoughts, language, fluff, rough sex, biting, suggestive themes, mention to kidnapping in Grimmjow’s part, shower sex;

Plot: what happens when you are naked and they accidentally walk on you, catching a full glimpse of your bare body in all its glory? Hormones cannot always be contained.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

Two weeks. You had been stuck in Las Noches for two weeks now. Not only you missed your family, your friends and your house, but you were frustrated over the fact that, apparently, you had been kidnapped only because you were Ichigo’s adoptive and older sister and Grimmjow wanted to irk his rival. Unfortunately for him, you had an attitude.

The day Grimmjow and Ulquiorra dragged you to Hueco Mundo, you were minding your business. It was such a serene night in Karakura Town and you had suggested to buy a cake in the nearby patisserie for enjoying a dessert with your friends. You had not even bothered wearing something nice. You were comfortable in your ripped jeans and sneakers. However, you knew that the t-shirt you were wearing could have drawn way too many glances. Therefore, you opted for wearing a jacket over it.

Obviously, you did not make it to the cake-shop. The sting on the side of your neck you suddenly felt as you crossed the road was a clear sign that someone had other plans for you. Your vision was blurry, but you could clearly discern the cheeky grin of the Espada that loathed your brother’s guts, as he stared down at you. The hot Espada, right. But that was a detail you were going to ignore for the time being.

You fainted several seconds after the impact, only to wake up in front of Aizen’s throne and find out to be the center of the attention of Hollows around you. The show was about to begin, though. As you started yelling at everyone how much you wished they all could explode like balloons in front of your eyes, Aizen simply ordered to give you a uniform and elegantly left the room. That decision was the cherry on top. Ulquiorra did not waste any precious time and handed you a white dress that matched the style of this ‘group of terrorists’, as you kept on calling them, but you scoffed and refused to wear it.

Grimmjow was not having it and thought and trying to unzip your jacket was a good idea. As you swatted his hands away, you had to eventually give up when he pinned your wrists above your head, as your back was pressed against the wall. The sneaky grin on his face, though, dropped as soon as the blue words printed on your white t-shirt came to his vision.

‘Blowjobs are jobs too’.

Your cheeks flushed up and Grimmjow let go of you in shock. But from that day he started to see you under a different light. You had always been pretty and he hated to admit how many times he had found himself fantasizing about how his hands could perfectly squeeze your ass as you bounced up and down on his shaft. He could not control himself and his lust for you grew with every argument you had.

The fact that you were a Kurosaki, even if you did not share Ichigo’s blood, made the whole deed even better. What a way to get back at his rival, if he could dig his claws into your flesh.

On the other hand, you were not indifferent to Grimmjow’s sharp features and abs. You hated to admit that he literally was your type and that you had wet dreams about him more than once. Getting to see him everyday in Las Noches was now driving you mad. You were glad Aizen had at least given you a chamber with a private bathroom. You had to admit that you allowed your mind to wonder and your hand to wander under the shower. His sharp canines, they did numbers on your mind and wished you could feel the way they grazed over your jugular. Just once, no one had to know about that.

Now, you easily got bored in the huge castle you were stuck in. You therefore asked Aizen if you could paint some parts of the walls in the hall that had cracked throughout the time. The stoic man had hesitantly agreed and now you were trying to keep yourself busy by painting over the ruined portions of walls in front of you. You were trying to balance yourself on the wooden ladder set against the wall, with a bucket of white paint in your hand and the brush in the other.

You knew you should have asked Ulquiorra to watch over you, but you were confident about your skills. Additionally, you had probably underestimated the presence of Grimmjow a few feet away from you.

“Tsk, what the hell are you doing up there? Do you want to break your neck?” his hoarse voice pierced your ears, making you roll your eyes in annoyance. There he was, ready to taunt you.

You sighed and tried to keep your balance as you gave him a flat reply, your tone almost apathetic at this point “Why do you care? Mind your business”.

Grimmjow cocked his head to the side, his trademark smirk plastered over his face as her let his eyes scrutinize the way the tight skirt of your dress emphasized the curve of ass. A delicious meal for him.

“Nah, if you die, I’d lose my plaything. Come on, let me help you” he teased you, hoping to get a reaction from you.

Oh, boy, he definitely did.

Your upper lip twitched, your grip on the brush tightening significantly as you tried not to slip from the creaking rung of that stupid ladder “Excuse me?!” you practically hissed, dipping your head down to glare at him.

Grimmjow grinned and arched his eyebrow at you “You heard me. Get your ass down here, plaything”.

You knew you should have asked Ulquiorra to help you and now, as you scoffed in indignation, ready to fire back an insult at him, you realized that you were screwed up. You never got to yell at Grimmjow, no. A strained scream left your mouth, as the sound of the thin wooden plank under your feet snapping pierced your ears. You did not see that coming for sure and so you fell. Loosening your grip on the brush and the bucket, you squeezed your eyes shut for inevitable impact with the floor. An impact that neve came as you felt two strong arms embrace you and yank you towards a toned chest.

You hesitantly opened your eyes, mouth slightly agape as you tried to steady your breath, when the bucket ended up pouring its content all over you two. You would have loved to to thank Grimmjow, but the first you did as you felt the paint stick on your hair, naked portions of skin and dress was cussing.

“Fuck!” you groaned, as Grimmjow snorted too and let you back down on the floor. Obviously, he had been a victim of the falling bucket as well. Some paint covered his messy hair and part of his chest and uniform.

Seeing him like this, in addition to the fact that he had saved your life, made you crack up a smile and shake your head softly. You two were a mess.

“Don’t you fucking dare to say anything! Let’s get this shitty paint off of us before it dries!” he grumbled, wrapping his hand around your wrist and marching towards your room. You quirked your eyebrows up, wondering why he was leading you back to your room. You did not have spare clothes for him, just a bathroom and, if he thought you were going to strip in front of him, he was clearly wrong.

As he opened the door of your room and let you in, he took off his jacket and threw it on the floor, his hands already reaching down to unbuckle his belt, as you finally squealed out in shock and turned your back at him.

“Grimmjow, what the hell are you doing! Don’t you dare undress in front of me!” you quipped, clasping your hand over your mouth. That was so embarrassing and you could feel cold sweat collecting in the back of your neck.

“What’s up now? Never seen a cock?” he sassed, dropping his pants down and walking to the bathroom naked. Your blood ran cold and you did your best not to turn around. He had never acted like that. This time you found yourself speechless and you could not even send him to hell.

As you heard him turn the shower on, you sighed and grabbed a towel from a drawer. You hastily undress yourself and wrapped the pink item around your naked body. You waited for him to get out ot the shower, confident that he had not seen a single glimpse of your body. But you were wrong.

The panther boy accidentally saw your naked ass through the mirror in your bathroom. The open door had granted it the full view of the bedroom and now he was practically growling in the cubicle with a painful boner. No, it was enough. This time you were going to take care of the problem you had caused.

Grimmjow stormed out of the bathroom, not caring about covering himself and making you gawk at the scenery before your eyes. He tugged your towel away and kissed you passionately, not giving you time to process what is was happening. You barely did, in fact. Your brain slowly started to process what your own body was doing, when you found yourself into the shower with Grimmjow’s fingere buried into your core.

You wanted him. You wanted him so badly and as he bit onto the crook of your neck, thrusting his fingers into you, you moaned softly and closed your eyes in bliss.

“What happens in Las Noches stays in Las Noches” he purred in your ear, only to receive your sassy reply.

“It was Las Vegas, you ignorant cat” you breathed out, before he involved you into a fervent kiss that made your inner walls clench around his fingers.

‘Sorry Ichigo. I could not resist’ was your last thought before you reached your climax.

Ichigo Kurosaki.

Being Urahara’s adoptive daughter was a privilege. Life was great, really, but since your father had started training Ichigo Kurosaki and his friends things were messy. You had no time to rest and practically zero privacy. Your house and shop had been opened to Soul Reapers and humans, coming over to ask for help at any hour of the day. Including night, obviously.

Despite that, you had bonded with the entire group of ‘heroes wannabe’, as you teasingly addressed them.

Yet, there was one out of them that had caught your eye and it was not just for his appearence. Ichigo Kurosaki, the invincible guy that had rescued Rukia Kuchiki and was now trying to take down Aizen, was living rent free in your mind. More than once, while you watched your father teach him new strategies and help him improve his skills, you had found yourself staring intently at the way his muscular arms flexed every time he unsheathed his sword.

You had carved in your mind the way his t-shirt emphasized the outline of his abs and you had to avert your eyes from him, when droplets of sweat made his body glisten. Your mind was wild, you imagined too many things for your own good.

You often laid in your bed, eyes closed, back arching for waves of pleasure, at the thought of his sweaty face hovering over yours as he thrusted into you. You wanted him, you wanted him more than anything else on this Earth. You wished to see the sweat beading his forehead up close, you wanted that sweat to scream your name. Things were heated, whenever your father ordered you to help him train.

A hand to hand fight was probably going to be the cause of your death, one day or another. Sometimes, as you fought, you ended up rolling onto the ground. His hot body against yours and those flames blazing in his eyes got you weak on your knees.

Once, you had ended up topping him. Your hand way laying flat onto his chest, as you straddled him. You were both sweaty, panting, your clothed intimacies pressed down against one another. In that very moment, as you tried to stand up and shifted your position, he groaned softly. You did not fail to notice the way his cheeks flushed, or feel how something was twitching underneath the fabric of his trousers.

That had happened a week ago and, since then, you were avoiding meeting him around your father’s shop. You were too embarrassed at the thought that you had practically felt his boner like that.

Now, that infamous morning, you were relaxing a bit into the bathtub. Urahara and the others had left for taking care of some business out of town and you had to watch over the shop while they were gone. However, you were too tired and stressed out to deny yourself some self-indulgent pleasure.

Some bubbles were floating in the air as you let the warm water and soap envelope your naked frame and you did not hear at all the door of the bathroom creak open. When you heard your phone buzz, you raised up in the tub, your naked back and ass in full display as you reached for your device.

But Ichigo’s eyes, oh dear, they went wide as he ended up toppling over a vase, as he stumbled into the bathroom. You were a vision, the emblem of perfection, and he clasped his hand over his mouth in shock, as the sound of the object shattering on the floor made you both flinch.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” he fretted, panicking as he tried to cover his eyes.

You, on the other hand, had dropped your phone on the floor too and had hastily slided back into the tub to hide your naked form from him. It was such a pleasurable nightmare!

“Ichigo! What the hell are you doing here?!” you blurted out, hoping a supermassive black hole could suck you in right on the spot.

“I was searching for Urahara!” he defended himself, turning his back at you and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“In the bathroom?!”.

“Oh shut up! I needed to use the bathroom too!” he snapped back, not knowing what to say anymore.

There was no way out from the carousel of shame and awkwardness, therefore you took the matter in your hands and quickly grasped a towel, hopping out of the shower and wrapping it around your body. You needed to get out of there as soon as possible.

As your shoulder brushed against his, though, Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut for a second before pinning you against the wall and kissing you out of the blue. You inhaled sharply, not expecting it, but, as soon as you collected yourself from the shock, you kissed him back and tangled your fingers through his spiky orange hair.

It was a kiss full of hunger, just like his hand, slipping underneath your towel and searching for your folds. You moaned softly against his lips, raving into the longed sensation you were finally experiencing.

“Let’s hope your father doesn’t come home earlier now” he rasped, plunging his fingers into your core as you lolled your head back against the wall in pleasure.

“If he does, I’ll tell Aizen how to fucking use that stupid device at his full potential” you joked, smiling against his lips.

Thinking about it now, you were so glad your father had messed up your lives with Ichigo’s group of friends.

Byakuya Kuchiki.

Drenched in sweat, you were running up to the Kuchiki Estate. Training under the scorching sun for hours had truly drained you. Yet, you were determined to get stronger and help to fight Aizen and his crew of Arrancar. When Rukia had suggested to Orihime to visit the Soul Society and spend some days together to hone her abilities, you had decided to join them.

It was your chance to put yourself to the test and, actually, even an excuse to see the new friends you had made in the Seireitei. However, you had to be honest to yourself and admit that there was one special person you wanted to see again. You had hated his guts, when you first met. It was a miracle that he had not slashed your chest open too when you tried to prevent Rukia’s return to the Soul Society. Yet, things had changed.

Byakuya Kuchiki was not only a cold-hearted, stoic and sophisticated man. He was much more than that and you had started to see it too.

He was not much of a talker, but he was handsome as hell and he had even offered you his help in trying to become a better Sobstitute Shinigami. You naturally found it odd, but you were in no position to refuse his help. However, the recent events had forced you to part ways again and you had missed him too much not to come back to the Soul Society and see him again.

Throughout your permanence, Rukia was allowing you to sleep over at the Kuchiki Estate but, much to your dismay, you never crossed paths with him. Not even once. It was horribly ironic, but you were partially glad he could not hear your soft moans in the dead of the night, when you touched yourself thinking about him and how his hands rested on your hips when he adjusted your position during a training session.

You missed his touch, his cologne, the way his chest grazed over your head when you were that close. Whenever he scolded you for being too distracted, you had to bite on your tongue not to blurt out that it was his fault. Your close proximity truly made your grip on your katana falter. He was messing with your head in a way you could not fully comprehend and you wondered if he was conscious of the way he affected you.

Now, as you stormed into the room Rukia let you sleep in, you quickly started taking off your uniform. You craved a shower and some fresh clothes more than anything right now. You dropped your pants to the floor and you quickly took off your shirt as well, as you already imagined the way the hot water would have made your aching muscles relax.

But as you finally reached behind your back to unclasp your bra, someone had returned to his Estate. His feather-like steps could not be heard at all and you simply discarded your bra too, sighing in relief as your breasts were free from any restriction. You were still humming in satisfaction with your eyes closed, when the door of your room slided up and a gasp of shock left Byakuya’s lips.

He was for some reason unable to move, his eyes locked on the curve of your breasts, staring at your nipples as if he was admiring some greek statute of a goddess. He cursed himself for his lack of decency and he felt mortified as you opened back your eyes and you met his gaze.

“Byakuya!” you squeaked out, cheeks heating up in shame as you grasped your shirt anf tried to cover your upper body from his eyes. Honestly, you had never felt that ashamed in your whole life.

The Captain of the Sixth Division cleared his throat and averted his eyes from you, his body clearly reacting to the vision he had just been blessed with. He could not pretend he had not seen you like that and, obviously, you would have never forgotten such an indecent accident. There were plenty of things he could say, but just one thing he wanted to do.

He slowly darted his eyes back on your frame, his lips slightly parted as he walked up to you. With every step he took towards you, your heart skipped a beat and your legs quivered. You could not read his mind, but his body language was pretty clear at this point.

His hand gently grasped your wrist, inviting you to loosen your grip on the shirt impeding him to admire your chest and, under the spell of his touch, you obliged his request. As the item fell at your feet, Byakuya grasped your chin and made sure you kept the eye-contact with him as he gently captured your lips with his ones.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as, standing on your toes to reach his lips better, you returned the kiss with equal hunger and gentleness. His hands, however, were already exploring your body.

The Captain definitely knew what he was doing as he took your nipple between his index and thumb, pinching it softly and massaging it with a mastery of a man that had been married and knew how to please a woman.

As the first moans were elicited from you, Byakuya stroked your cheek with his free hand and let you lay down on the futon underneath him “Please, allow me to have you. I promise I’ll make sure you are comfortable with me” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours.

And that, my dear, was an oath he stack up to through the rest of the evening.

TAGS: @byakuyawifey

#grimmjow smut #grimmjow x reader #grimmjow headcanons #grimmjow x you #grimmjow x y/n #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #byakuya x you #byakuya x reader #byakuya smut #byakuya kuchiki x reader #kuchiki byakuya x reader #ichigo x reader #ichigo x you #ichigo kurosaki x reader #ichigo x y/n #kurosaki ichigo x reader #bleach x reader

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itaipava · 6 months

Text

— how f1 boys would act when crushing on someone.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

tries to become your best-friend. and makes sure everyone knows you two are close. actually plays it cool but secretly thinks of you 24/7. tries to deny his feelings and puts himself in the friend-zone so that it hurts less when and if you do. sometimes, his eyes subconsciously drop to your lips when talking to you. always invites you to hang-outs with his friends and unintentionally ends up ignoring or forgetting everyone else and mostly just talks to you or sticks with you. always tries to match your pace when walking together.

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO

casually flirts with you a lot but does so in a joking or playful manner. slow to realize his feelings but doesn’t bother hiding it once he does. goes out of his way to spend time with you and talk to you. so many little touches like slight brushes of the fingertips, a light rub of shoulders, or a game of footsie under the table. is endearingly protective over you and defends you a lot. asks you to text or call him when you get home, or often offers to walk you home himself. unknowingly smiles so big while texting you and lowkey gets embarrassed when someone points it out or when he notices his own reflection in his phone screen.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

looks at you like you must be protected at all costs, but also admires you and thinks highly of you. notices your little quirks and habits, and finds them cute. wants your opinion on things because he cares about what you think. wants to be updated about your life and keeps you updated about his. lots of eye contact. soft yet deep and intense gazes. unintentionally becoming more goofy and energetic around you. smiling uncontrollably when someone mentions your name or when he gets teased about his crush on you. always picking you first for his team when playing games with friends.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

is actually timid about liking you, and tries to teat you like just another friend because he doesn’t want to be too obvious. does subtle things like tagging you in funny posts, or remembering your favorite cake flavor and buying you one on your birthday. throws surprise parties or celebrations for you — your birthday? surprise! you just finished your exams? surprise, again! sends you memes and tiktok videos at 3 a.m. his words are neutral but his body language shows his feelings; can’t look at you directly without getting slightly flustered, especially when you’re in public or when surrounded by friends. sometimes becomes tongue-tied in the most adorable way when talking to you.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

becomes more talkative and tends to ask a lot of questions about you. he tries not to overdo it but he’s just genuinely curious and interested. tries to find excuses to hold your hand; subtly grasping your hand just a little longer after a high-five or asks for your hand so that he can “read your palm” or compares hand sizes for the hundredth time. lingering gazes and touches when you’re around people. always buys you little snacks that you like. if you just casually makes a comment about how a certain color looks great on him, he remembers that and wears that color even more around you.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

more smiley around you but is also generally chill. always tries to initiate conversations with you and keeps it flowing. he’s slow to realize his feelings, so his friends are more likely to notice it first. loves to tease you and loves it even more when you tease back. the type that probably won’t look away when you make contact but also gets flustered and a little annoyed when someone interrupts the moment. initiates hang-outs with just the two of you and likes to take you to his favorite spots, but claims that it’s not a date unless you want it to be.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

enjoys teasing you, but in a good-natured way; pinches your cheeks and ruffles your hair; steals the last piece of chips from you, only to buy you a whole new bag afterwards. showers you with compliments and also likes to help you with things — basically becomes your cheerleader and personal assistant. his voice or tone changes when talking to you, like he might be mad at someone and talking to them in an angry tone but as soon as he turns to speak to you, his voice becomes softer and sweeter. stalks your social media because you’re so beautiful and he can’t get enough of you. and he always comments on your posts, even if it’s a provocative comment, but he’s always there.

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lunarw0rks · 7 months

Note

farmer!price & sweet little girl next door!reader (yes i’m thinking about this pairing in the most perverted way possible)

a/n: here it is. the long-awaited neighbor!price fic <3 Hopefully, you all enjoy these Price crumbs. anon is onto something ;) & thx for the dog name ideas! ⊹。°˖➴ ao3 ver. // word count: 6.9k

// warning(s); nsfw (18+), implied age gap [r is mid-twenties, price is early/mid-forties], dadbod!price agenda, oral (r.), p/v unsafe sex, fem!reader

Price is living out his recluse dreams. Retired and secluded, finally! It was more than he’d wished for, honestly. He always desired a patch of land far from town, leaving out scraps for the critters, finding the simple pleasures.

But here he was, with a small, self-sufficient farm, growing enough to feed himself. It was a quiet, rewarding lifestyle. Entirely the opposite of his years in the service. Right now, he found himself conquering his lost list of mundane tasks. Watering his herbs, then sorting the junk that accumulated in his storage shed.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

After a grueling afternoon of unpacking, you needed to unwind. Right now, you found yourself lounging on your deck, head tilted back as you shielded your eyes from the summer sun. As if moving and assembling furniture wasn't exhausting enough — now you had the sweltering star beating down on you.

Abruptly, you feel something soft brush against your legs. Before you can open your eyes, there's a hefty weight plunged atop your lap. Your eyes snap open, greeted with the hot breath of a smiling golden retriever.

You caress the blonde fur, receiving several licks along your hand. "Zeus! down, boy!" A husky voice shouts, followed by the face to match it. The eager, not-so-small ball of fluff hops off your lap, prancing toward the man walking around the side of your house.

A charcoal gray t-shirt hugging his buff but girthy body. A man who's been in shape for years — arms bulging and tanned from hours of working outside, all whilst his older years have caught up to him a bit on his stomach, which stuck out with just a bit of fat cushion.

"My apologies, he knows better." He rubbed his head and flashed an apologetic look, exposing the faint abs you'd already imagined on him at first glance. Price's eyes wandered you from top to bottom, nearly forgetting to unfurrow his brow.

What a sight for sore eyes, you were.

You peer down at your lap, now stained with dirt in the shape of paws — on your thighs and the shorts you're wearing. "Oh, not a big deal! he gave me quite a scare, but it was a pleasant surprise." You look over at Zeus, his tail thwacking against his owner's leg.

For a few moments, all he did was leer, before he snapped himself out of it. "John," he steps forward as if going to shake hands but retracts hastily.

"—'m all covered in dirt, wouldn't want to get you dirtier than Zeus already has, hm?" He chuckles when he finishes his rhetorical, smearing the dirt onto his denim pants.

You shake your head and chuckle gently, “no room for pleasantries in the countryside, is there?” You case his appearance again, eyes skimming his muscles.

John flashes a polite smile, muttering a reply before hooking a finger around the Golden’s red collar. “Be seeing you.” He effectively leads the sparky dog out of your yard, preventing both any more surprise attacks and more ogling on his part.

Not only was getting a new neighbor a surprise, but her being so damn tempting — an entirely different genre of awe.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Yesterday wasn’t your smoothest first impression. looking rugged and sweaty from unpacking, ending up covered in dirt and in awkward conversation. You wanted a second chance. He was going to be your neighbor after all — and it wasn’t like there were many others. John was the only one within reasonable walking distance, it seemed.

Now, wearing a sundress as opposed to sweat-caked shorts and a tee — you were more confident in your odds of at least being civil with your neighbor. At the very least, a man who would roll up your trash bins before a storm. Perhaps even supply a spare cup of sugar if you were being optimistic.

You trudge down the dirt road, careful not to roll your ankle on the unpredictable mounds of earth. For a few moments, you’re convinced you’ve gone the wrong way. It’s either dense forest, patches of crop, or more road ahead of you.

Lord knows you were exhausted yesterday, maybe the handsome neighbor was just a figment in your fried mind. A foolish thought — but one that worsened the longer you walked.

The tray in your hands; a few oatmeal dog biscuits and some cookies made from the recipe on the chocolate chip bag. It was better than coming empty-handed, wasn’t it? That would just be distasteful judgment.

With eyes glued ahead, you nearly let the handles of the platter slip when you finally spotted the lights in the distance. Golden-tinted and countless, illuminating the updated cabin. In the yard, lay a few scattered chewed ropes and muddy tennis balls. You could safely assume you made it to the suave man’s residence.

You knock on the oak door, seeing the hues of a television flickering through some of the bent blinds. After a few seconds of mumbling, the door swung open.

Price answered with a beer in one of his fists, instantly straightening his posture when he laid eyes on you. The sundress; cherry red with splotches of tiny florals. Dusk sunbeams highlighted your bone structure seamlessly — casting an ethereal glow on your captivating flesh.

Today, instead of gray, his shirt is army green and just as snug of a fit. You can't help but prolong your stare when he leans against the doorway, his bicep bulging even when he stands with nonchalance. He's even more of a knockout when not covered in dirt; though you suppose the same could be applied to you.

"This is a surprise." He glances at the tray in your hands, then at the polite smile on your face as you flash it in his direction.

With a beam, you extend the platter out and wait for him to take it. "I wasn't sure when to come. I hope I'm not intruding." You speak softly, catching a glimpse of his tidy living space.

“No such thing as intrusion around here, eh? ‘m practically searching for chores these days. A little conversation won’t bother me any.” Price chuckles a bit, flicking his head as an invitation for you to join him.

You step inside behind him, engulfed by the scent of tobacco and cedarwood. The cabin's interior walls have been stained with a warm tint, stretching throughout what bits of the space you can spot. Immediately through the front door is his kitchen, likely the most modernized of the rooms.

Distressed, truffle-colored counters in an L shape; altogether enough space for a man living alone. Yet, the countertops are anything but cluttered — nearly spotless, in fact. He slides the tray across the counter, finally unveiling the homemade treats for both human and man's best friend.

"Figured chocolate chip would be simple enough, right?" You speak up, watching him examine one of them. For a few moments, he's lost in thought again, not taking a bite.

You furrow your brows, "please don't tell me I baked the one dessert you don't like."

Instantaneously, a grin smears on his face, then a rumbly snicker. "Nothing like that," he bites the cookie in half and savors its sweetness, "—just not used to having neighbors this deep in the woods, you're my first. And she can bake too, huh? Aren't I lucky?" He teases a bit at the end, rinsing off some chocolate residue from his scarred fingertips.

Well, it was only the recipe on the back of a bag, so you surely hope it would taste decent. You decide it best to leave that out, merely twirling your thumbs as he shuffles around the space.

Finally, he walks back around the counter and holds out the same beer he sipped when he answered the door. Your reluctant fist wrapped around the brown bottle's glass neck, following him as he led you to the porch.

“Weren’t you watching something?” You question, sitting yourself beside him on the cement steps. Zeus’ collar jingle sounded once the back door closed, the sound a signal for him to join his owner out back.

John shook his head, taking another sip of the brew as his achy muscles relaxed again. “You’re doing me a favor; I could cut back on my screen time.” He reached out his free hand and gently patted the dog’s head, giving his fur a few strokes.

“Cut back? By the looks of your land, you’re outside all day.” You retort with a playful scoff, feeling the nuzzle of a wet nose along your leg. Without shame, you glance at his hands, observing their size and condition. “The callouses don’t lie.”

You piqued his interest at the mention of his hands, and he'd noticed just how long you were staring at them. "Suppose you're right, love." On purpose, he caressed the neck of the bottle with his thumb. He takes another hefty sip, which prompts you to take your first.

You didn't have the heart to tell him before how much you disliked the taste. The tangy beer coated your mouth and throat, seemingly sliding down at an agonizing pace just to prolong the torment. Still, the scrunch of your face spilled enough of the fib.

"Faces don't lie, either." Price mocked, taking the barely touched bottle from your grip. His words held double meaning — one harmless and one sinful — though that truth was unbeknownst to both of you.

In a matter of seconds, you'd been caught in a petty lie. You wipe away the bit that dripped between your lips. "Guess you caught me," you chortle, "I don't like beer much."

"Much? Don't be so modest." He screws the top back on and sets it on the wooden deck beside him. "You hate it, don't you?"

The way he spoke had you in some sort of trance. Perhaps it was his age, perhaps it was his obvious past of influence. It was... like being interrogated. Not in the pathetic way an inexperienced civilian would mock his way through, either. The agitation of being put on the spot — feeling as though you'd done something illegal the second you approach airport security.

That is what this felt like; only the words came tender and sportive.

“Alright, I hate it.” You affirm, unable to wipe the simper off your face. “We’ve officially made it through our first lie. That’s a milestone, right? Saves us the sting later.” Unintentionally, you haven’t broken your stare — even when he did to gaze at the sunset in front of him.

Later? Would this company become a routine? How wrong was it for him to hope it would?

Eventually, he nods and turns to face you again, shamelessly taking you in like it was the first time. “Ah, you’re like me. Ten steps ahead, got everything planned out already.” He questions, squinting slightly from the bright dusk, which was actively being snuffed by storm clouds. "Besides, I could tell your lie from miles away. The way you fumbled that bottle."

You waved a flustered hand of dismissal. "Yeah, yeah. Point taken. I'll remember that next time."

John cocked a brow, "next time, eh? With no more fibbing?" He asked you jovially, once again putting you under his spotlight.

But this time you knew how to handle it. Besides, you had learned his ways of meaningless banter — despite only spending several minutes with the man. "Next time I'll make sure it's not so obvious, and you'll be none the wiser."

"It was more than how I held the bottle," you added accusingly. "You don't just afford a place like this with retirement savings. Not without sacrifices."

He was more than someone who once had a mundane, meaningless job. You could tell it from 'miles away' he was a man who had stories to tell. More than his scarred body already did, that was. A fierce career, a position of power — something cutthroat, literally.

Of course, you had no intention of prying. Screwing this relationship up prematurely would be a grave mistake.

Fortunately, he remained untouched by your suspicions; they intrigued him. And John, he knew you weren't wrong about him, either. He was one of the few souls who could confidently declare he'd seen it all — or the closest thing to it.

"Sacrifices... is a way to put it," his lips curled into a polite smile. Finally, he stopped staring holes into you and caught a whiff of musky petrichor in the air. "C'mon, we're due for rain. Get you inside before the mosquitos feast on us."

The same lips pursed, letting out a sharp whistle to recall Zeus. He transformed from a blond dot in the distance into a prancing canine at the speed of light, slowing to a prance when he laid eyes on his owner.

With one hand, he held both bottlenecks between his thick fingers, then opened the back door with the other. Zeus nudged your legs and walked through them, determined to get inside first. The sight made you snicker as you walked inside, hearing the soft creak of the door behind you.

His work boots thudded against the wooden floor as he took them off, setting them neatly beside the door. Yet another unusual trait for men his age living alone, at least in your experience. No clutter in sight, and no grime residue from his tireless yard work.

Now, his steps are a glide instead of thuds when he walks around the breakfast bar. You turned to face him, watching as he ignited a burner for the kettle. "Do you fancy drinking something you'll actually enjoy? Tea?"

You lean against the island, unintentionally allowing a bit of the dress neckline to droop.

“Tea will work.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

In front of you were the only signs of his old self. Metals and ribbons encased behind a glass frame, hung up in the hall as a quaint display of his achievements. Below them, on the hall table, decorative mason jars; most with faux leaves and vines. You made your way up and down, admiring how the rustic, shipshape decor was placed with such intention.

As your gaze panned left to right, you made it to the end of the display. Interest arose when you examined the last jar; a small mason with a bullet inside, littered with indents and some bits chipped away. Your mind swirled with scenarios as you put together the story told in front of you. A career so intense, so all-important; it was difficult to imagine the man in the kitchen enmeshed in one.

In the distance, the kettle whistles, effectively ripping you from your peering. Before he can shout for you, you’ve walked around the corner, ready to claim a drink your mouth will savor.

“Here you are.” Across the marble countertop, Price slid forward the mug.

A green tea of sorts, with a bit of cream on top and a dust of cinnamon. The presentation is nowhere near seamless, with its lopsided spoonful of foam and granules that ended up sprinkled unevenly through his fingers. Still, there was nothing wrong with a drink that looked homemade.

“Matcha?” You ask, wrapping your fingers around the handle of the mug, then using your supporting hand to hold the small plate it’s resting on.

Price glances at the tea box through the frosted glass cabinets then nods. When he presses his own mug to his lips, the tea is ebony and swirling like a cyclone from the sugar he mixed in.

From the corner of your eye, you skim past him and gaze out the window overlooking the deep copper sink. Through its rectangular pane, you see the string of herbs and leaves grown — well-tended and used often in his cooking, surely.

You point a free finger towards the fresh greens outside, “do you grow it?”

He lets out a rumbly chuckle and shakes his head, “if I could. Matcha plants are loads of work.” You now spot the pasty green box poking through the cabinet, which you hadn’t noticed when too occupied with the herb planters.

You mutter a ‘hm’ in response and raise the porcelain rim to your lips, feeling the steam scald the tip of your nose and Cupid's bow. The vegetal fragrance of the green tea soothes your senses — just before the spice of cinnamon gives them a right hook.

To keep your eyes from tearing, you close them and take your first sip. It’s thicker than you anticipated, coating your mouth and throat as you swallow, yet the taste is pleasant and earthy.

Whatever John had done to prepare it, he did it correctly. That much you could tell.

Before your throat can sizzle with aftertaste, the cold foam dollop calms it. From grassy, fresh matcha to a striking sweet cream.

“You have a bit…” Price motions to his mouth, an index pointed toward the left corner of his mouth. The cream is too airy for you to notice any accidental residue. You’ve missed the swear twice before he sighs and raises a crumpled napkin to your lips.

You meet gazes while he dabs at your bottom lip, feeling any confidence seep from you in an instant.

The sweet aroma fleeted instantly with the proximity, now with your nostrils flooded with his fragrance. Smokey and masculine; something rum-adjacent, mixed sinfully with cedarwood and the earthy smell of crisp soil. And then, lastly, there are the pungent remnants of his minty mouthwash, which is slightly diluted by the black tea he swallowed.

This close, you can trace every wrinkle and line with your eyes. While you’re engulfed in his presence, he’s observing. Smothered and suffocating with the weight of diminishing continence. The vermillion sundress, the tray of goodies in the corner of his vision, the twitch of your lips as he dabs and drags with the linen.

Price has yet to notice his other hand, grabbing the tip of your chin with a feather-like hold.

But you have, blinking rapidly a few times while the chalky foam is rid of your mouth, which might as well have been thrown in the trash along with the napkin — because you’ve turned reticent.

“There.” He whispers, mouth curling into a polite glow.

Ultimately, your haze falters. Your senses unfreeze when you’re no longer swarmed by his aroma, or his tender touch when he walks back around the breakfast bar. Warmth coaxes your fingers, still emanating from the tea snug in your grip — even after the milky olive-tinted liquid has gone tepid.

With a perpetually widened gaze, you raised your mug to finish off the rest of your tea. This neighborly visit had played out differently than you expected. You savored about half of the lukewarm brew, letting it mellow the pining that arose when he got close. Sweaty fingers fumbled around the handle when you tipped the cup again, sending a gush of tea down the front of your outfit. The fabric stained instantaneously as the warmth soaked in, whilst the sugary cream made the dress cling in an unsavory, sticky fashion.

You cursed audibly and darted your gaze towards him apologetically, setting the mug down with a clammer. “I’m sorry,” you gasped, feeling an ocean’s wave of dishonor pummel through you at once.

John, who was mid-cleanup, jerked his head to the side when he heard the commotion. When greeted with the frazzled expression, he made an effort to soothe it. It wasn’t your fault; it was only some overpriced, boxed infusion that had collected dust in the back of his cabinet.

Besides, you were in front of him, now in soaked clothing and apologizing profusely.

“Don’t apologize. Happens to the best of us.” That damn smile again. The wrinkles around his eyes, the almost all-knowing look of understanding in them.

He fisted your discarded mug, turning on the sink.

“The washroom is down the hall, in my room. It has a better mirror than the half.” Price wavers through his instructions, overcome with his own helping of uncertainty. Nothing had gone explicitly wrong, per se, but it didn’t mean they went right. But they never do, do they? There’s a reason he decided on a life of recluse, even more, a reason for him to befriend seclusion so closely.

Your footsteps retreated down the hall, passing the picture frames and decor you had been admiring moments ago. John scrubbed both mugs until they were full of suds and then rinsed, placing them on the dish rack afterward. He made it a habit to never leave used dishes to sit in the sink.

Quickly, he walked through the open door of his bedroom. Golden beams peeked out from the gap under the door, where you were frantically blotting the stains. He pulled the string on his bedside lamp, illuminating a majority of the moody, rustic bedroom. His fingers hooked around the handle, gently sliding open the pocket doors of his closet.

His t-shirts hung neatly on the left wall, whilst his fewer button-ups remained on the opposite. With a quick hum, he took hold of his baggiest navy blue tee, draping it over his forearm. From inside his dresser, he grabbed a pair of sweats that were tight on him — enough to prevent them from slipping down your legs.

Inside the bathroom, you alternated between being hunched over the counter in embarrassment, to rubbing your dress profusely. The damp washcloth was doing little to the fabric, which was a few shades darker from the liquid, compressing tighter against you. It wasn’t a flattering look, nor was it a comfortable fit anymore. Akin to the feeling of maple syrup residue on your hands after breakfast, only it was covering the front of your body.

Would it have been better to spill on his authentic wood floors? Was it completely selfish to prefer it, to spare the discomfort of a soaked garment?

Two subdued knocks on the door halted your useless wiping. “I have some clothes.” The gruff voice spoke through the door, yet remained as placid as it was in the kitchen.

“Oh, no need,” you replied dismissively through the door. “I can change at home.” You tossed the wet towel into the small hamper. When you opened the door, Price remained standing there, fresh clothing in hand.

The thought was there, and now were the actions to go along. You didn’t want to change at home or be walking down that dirt avenue at all. At this hour, home would be lonesome and still, regardless of whether your new neighbor was fanciable or not.

But he was; that made him all the harder to decline.

Void of any attempt on John’s part, his gaze scanned the mess that covered you. This time, more obvious than he would’ve liked. It felt wrong; downright distasteful and discouraging, to do so.

Howbeit, he did — and you sensed it this time. The unavoidable gawking at your snug gown, devouring his dwindling abstinence. No unease, imminence, or desire to dismiss yourself ever came. Not like it did with men on the street, who resembled that of depraved, hungry hounds.

John wasn’t corrupted; behind the lust, there was something more, something too complex to daydream.

“Nonsense.” He persisted, the clothes remaining outstretched. “It’s raining. And you’ve got to walk quite a way, don’t you?”

You leaned your head against the thick wood of the door, unable to spit out another worthy excuse. “Thank you. Really.” With a nod, you took the folded clothing, setting the pieces on the countertop beside you. As he accepted your answer and turned on his heels, you mustered the gut to speak again.

“And, John?” You stepped through the threshold of the door, “if I go home in these clothes, you probably won’t get them back.”

“I’ll keep the dish, then.” This time, he didn’t back away after stepping closer. “Do we have a deal?” His breathing picked up subtly but was noticeable against your face. When faced with his proximity before, you fumbled a mug. But now, you were certain of every ache and desire troubling you.

Whoever leaned in first became a fleeting afterthought. It didn’t matter, not while your mouths and noses clashed together. He was the first to give way, to tilt his head to relieve the pressure on your nose, which allowed him more mobility.

Your knees nearly buckled when his hands cupped your cheeks — how the calloused prints of his fingers felt against the opposing texture of your face. It felt natural; a relief to every urge you’ve stifled from the moment he answered his door.

Before you broke away for air, he removed his lips while still maintaining his tender hold on your face.

“Are you sure about this…?” Price posed, pressing his forehead against yours. You exchanged each other's exhales, cloaking your racing thoughts with a suffocating, dizzy effect.

Still, regardless of your thundering heartbeat and draining lungs — you uttered the quickest yes of your lifetime. This time, you turned your head when lips and teeth clashed, back colliding with the door. Your lips parted as you panted, letting his tongue swipe along your lips, leaving them saturated. His beard audibly scraped against your jaw and down your neck, producing goosebumps as you shivered.

Though his movements weren’t theatrical or jaw-dropping, they left you unable to lose focus. His hands wrapped around the sleeves of the ruined gown, rolling the fabric down while he dropped into a kneel before you.

A need to provide, to satisfy, to satiate. No teases, no dramatics; just utter experience. The only terms you would associate with him currently.

The clingy fabric peeled off like a sticky bandage, peeling to expose the damn stain from cleavage to your pelvis. John’s briefly raised to suckle between your breasts, cleaning off every drop of the tea that had soaked through the discarded dress. Down; sternum to belly button, savoring the small remnants of the sweet cream.

“So beautiful,” he muttered, lips pressed to your lower stomach. His hands moved and kneaded your hips in worship. Despite his face hovering in front of your panties, and how he was actively trailing kisses along your thighs — his voice never changed. Not cloaked with blind lust or hesitation.

Admiration, purely; for you, maybe only your body. But you didn’t care about that — or couldn’t — right now. John was utterly too much, From light conversation to huddling in the restroom, then to being backed against the door. One hand rested on your lower stomach, as a means of keeping your back against the door. The other rolled your undergarments down at a sluggish pace, beard and lips following the falling undies.

Your neck craned down, seeing them fall to your ankles, shortly before the cold breeze hit your exposed core — emanating from the bathroom window left slightly ajar. The muscles in your thighs tense when Price’s tongue finally makes brief contact with it, blown pupils still staring up at you.

His tongue lay flat against your clit for a few moments until saliva rolled down his tongue, allowing him to delve deeper. Further on, he would kiss and suckle on the bundle of nerves, and you were sure your grip on the knob couldn’t have been firmer. Experience truly was the right word to describe him, earlier and now more than ever.

Along your slit, he plunged inside, growly breaths vibrating against your sensitivity. Your taste coated his mouth, and your natural scent drove him mad; like no other partner he’d had before.

“Wanna feel you—” Price slurped again, then pulled away to finish, “—clench around my fingers. You want that, sweetheart?” His tongue glistened under the spotty lighting, his buff chest still heavy. He was goddamn distracting in this state, more than he was before.

After a flash of muteness, you nodded your head. As if you could pass up that offer; if it was an offer at all.

True to his word and the desires racing through his head, John slipped his middle finger inside your entrance. Instantly, the appendage glided against the soaked, puffy walls of your cunt, causing him to chuckle with satisfaction.

Even the smallest pump forced a whine from your lips, though you were unsure what you should be pleading for. Tonight, this feeling was already unsurpassed.

“Another, huh? Can’t fuckin’ say no to you, can I?” Next entered his ring finger, the thick digits stretching you out delectably, in ways you could only dream of executing with your own two fingers.

His name slipped out when he curled them against your sweet spot, daring your knees to buckle and send both of you tumbling. His eerily observant nature had him anticipating the sudden weakness, and his other hand holding you in place never once faltered. Finding his shaggy hair, your fingers intertwined with the locks, purely to be holding onto anything of his when you inevitably come undone.

Back to slobbering, his tongue ran laps against your swollen clit, the tip of his nose knocking against it with every pass. Each flick, each thrust making your back arch wildly against the door. And once again, as he anticipated, you ended up clenching around his fingers like he wanted.

So tense, it was any wonder Price was able to keep moving his fingers. His erection pressed against his thigh, the tight denim making him resist the urge to squirm. Oh, how you sounded, how you felt. His years of stamina and strength training will surely be tested once it’s his cock filling you up instead.

The nub throbbed and visibly pulsed when he combined a well-timed lick and curl all at once, plunging you off that cliff of release. Around his head, your thighs clamped tighter than the fingers digging into his scalp. It was clear you’d be reeling this feeling for days to come, probably a climax to forever be unbeaten during your life.

Your heart hammered against your rib cage, your lungs exhausted and working overtime as you sucked in desperate breaths. “Fuck— that was…” You breathed, unable to articulate any one of the feelings assaulting your system.

The leer tugging at the corners of his soaked mouth wasn’t smug, it was pleased; pleasantly. Slowly, he raised himself, holding each side of your face. Price slurred, “You sound lovely when you cum, y’know that?” Before you could lift a finger to answer again, his dangerous tongue swirled around yours, spreading the taste of yourself against your taste buds.

Your sticky inner thighs glided when he blindly led you out of the threshold, collapsing atop you. The frame creaked under the weight of both of you, the mattress now with a crater in the center of it.

“Want you to fuck me, John. Please.” You pleaded between kisses, unconsciously wrapping a leg around his waist for any friction on the mess he caused. The sensitive tip of his cock ached, despite only being rocked against through the thick denim.

As if your sounds of pleasure weren’t divine enough, that fucking word was. Please. So desperate, so distraught. If he had the restraint or the patience, Price might coax a few more begs out of you — but those were the two things he didn’t have currently.

Briefly, his touches ceased when he leaned back. Swiftly unbuckling his belt, he slid out of his jeans and tossed them aside; discarded, now the only clutter in the bedroom. Soaked through his grey briefs, a stain of pre-cum, merely proving how badly he needed you. The same as his jeans, he rid himself of them, erection upright and freed.

Girthy and curved upward a hair, capable of reaching deeper than his fingers. Down his happy trail, which you got a peak of during the first encounter, were his trimmed pubes. The same shade of brown as the hair littering his chest. You examined further, spotting a few prominent veins bound to drive you mad.

Any longer without it, and you were willing to start pawing at him. The stars must’ve been aligned, because pleading wasn’t necessary anymore.

“Spread your legs f’me.” You did, as swiftly as he uttered the command. As wide as comfortable, you exposed the mess of your pussy to him, reflecting off the cool moonlight peaking through his blinds. Glistening and twitching from the first climax, remnants still left around your inner thighs. “Gonna fill you up, fuck you proper, hm? Have you clenching around me?”

As if his fingers weren’t euphoric enough. Gnawing on your bottom lip until it ached, you nodded your head eagerly, hooking an arm around your leg to keep the shaky limb steady.

Price gripped the base of his cock, guiding it toward your entrance. The tip slipped in as smooth as honey, coated in slick and strings of his saliva leftover. With a drenched glide, the rest of him dipped inside, until his pelvis was against yours.

Entirely crammed inside, your head lolled back against the comforter, reeling in the painless stretch of his girth. And how, before the movements began, the natural curve of his cock had him snug against your cervix, kissing all the right places within you. Your fingers trailed downward, beginning to rub circles around your responsive clit, the wet clicks combining with the squelch of his thrusts.

Whatever noises came from you were all-natural and uncontrollable, from a sensual place within you never trespassed. John grunted with every tighten around his length, pumping deeply and with more force. His thoughts earlier rang true, how little restraint you left him with. Already, he could’ve finished inside of you — just from the view of your body alone.

Breasts bouncing, hips jiggling, the sounds of your soaked core, the expression on your face as he got rougher. “Such a good girl, takin’ every inch of me,” his words came out grunts, matching the pace of his jabs.

“You’ll cum for me again, and let me hear those bloody sounds, won’t you? Fuckin’ touching yourself, all needy.” For him, the words acted as a distraction until you came undone for a second time. For you, it enhances your stimulation tenfold — his voice was like nectar, yet it rumbled through the room like thunder.

It mixed with the real thunder outside, which you caught bits of between everything. The rain he said the area was due for, faintly coming down in the distance, and surely headed this way by the time your legs shook.

With a soft nudge, he shimmied closer between your thighs, chest inches from yours, and allowed him to slam against your cervix. Your fingers had gone erratic, desperately teasing the bundle of nerves the closer you got to release.

And John, sure of this, allowed himself to focus on a fraction of his pleasure. You twitched around his length, swallowing every last inch of him. Arousal dribbled from you to the bed, soaking into the navy blue duvet.

When the coil of pleasure began bursting at the seams, his name slipped out again, in between your gasps for oxygen. How his thrusts had turned as sloppy as your fingers, every jerk of his pelvis knocking the wind out of you. Your legs wrapped tight around his waist, feet hooking under his backside to keep him locked in — as if the thought of stopping had ever crossed his mind.

Thighs quivering like your fingers were, you dug your fingernails into his shoulders, leaving crescent indents in his flesh. Yet another string of moans poured out of you, which tipped John over the edge same edge you’d tumbled off twice. His balls contracted while they drained, strings of pearly cum painting you on the inside.

Warmth filled you, from your tummy to your core, his length swimming in his own sloppy release. Your constricted ab muscles slowly eased up as the aftermath of orgasm faded, leaving you breathless and spent. His agape mouth dipped down as he withdrew his softening cock from you slowly, careful to not leave you any more sensitive than you already were.

The kiss distracted you and served as a reminder of what this hookup meant. Not regretful, not meaningless. Something lingered in the air, beyond the smell of sweat and sex.

Though his body begged to collapse atop you and fall fast asleep, you deserved to be taken care of. Price planted a parting kiss on your jaw, making the short trip to the bathroom to grab one of his fresh washcloths.

Silently, you observed his tenderness take over — even though it never left him. With a few featherlike swipes, he wiped away the messy aftermath of arousal, saliva, and cum, disposing of the used towel somewhere in the darkness.

You fought to stay awake, feeling his weight sink beside you once more after some squirming around. Eventually, John successfully got you and himself under the thick comforter, weighted and radiating as much warmth as your bodies. An arm snaked under your head, your back against his chest. The other arm around your waist, keeping you right up against his soft body.

He waited until he saw the rise and fall of your frame, the faint breaths of deep sleep before he decided that was permission enough to do the same.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Insects chirped loudly, enough to stir you awake.

Fresh morning light peaked through the blinds, which had been opened. Through your twitching lids, the intensity made your face scrunch. One hand reached up and rubbed them, while the other palmed beside you.

No sign of your neighbor, if he can have that title after last night.

His side had gone cold, and anything that was askew had been picked up or set back in place. Sitting yourself up, you groaned from hunger and the soreness in your legs. Beside the dresser, were the sweatpants and t-shirt he was going to lend you yesterday. Still neatly folded, placed with care on one of his leather armchairs.

You peeled the comforter off your sticky skin, coated with a layer of sweat from the sunlight on you. Usually overheating would’ve had you lying awake and sizzling, but it was clear that Price had thoroughly tired you out.

In addition to the shirt and pants, he provided a clean pair of boxers — since the ones you came over wearing had been long soiled. And nowhere to be found in the bathroom, where you made your best effort to fix up your appearance.

Aside from the sounds of nature, there was the hum of an appliance when you opened the bedroom door. Down the hall, you passed the dryer; the root of the tumbling sound. Through the small window, was your cherry sundress and underwear, half dry and spinning in circles.

Your bare feet adjusted to the cold wood, taking small, sleepy strides down the hall.

Into the living room, you laid eyes on the shelves around his television. Since you spent most of the visit on the porch, in the kitchen, and obviously the bedroom, you hadn’t had time to inspect this area closely.

Custom-built shelves frame the television. Rustic, meticulous decor placed on them. Some were store-bought, others looked to be souvenirs and memories. Stepping closer, you spotted a few framed photos; four soldiers, with Sharpie written on the corner: 1-4-1.

On the bright side, there is one mystery solved about his past. Military, or SAS, which you spot on their patches. Shuffling along, your gaze sets on the next section. More medals and ribbons, each most likely with their own significance.

Most notably, a plaque displaying his full name and title: Capt. Jonathan Price.

Another mystery solved. Why he had been so observant, so skilled at asking his questions. It all began to make sense, especially the closer you examined the relics. With a slight hm, you decided it best to stop snooping on the man’s possessions and continue your search for him.

No sign of Zeus in the house either, which isn’t shocking since he’s practically sewn to John’s hip.

Through the kitchen you go, finally picking up on the faint voice outside. Through the window overlooking the copper sink, you see Price tending to the herbs you pointed out the previous day, seemingly making conversation with his canine.

You continue on, opening the creaky patio door and shutting it behind you. You walk along the stained wood deck, rounding the corner. He’s in the middle of kneeling down, meticulously planting another herb or seasoning for his mini-garden.

“Looking good, Captain.” You startle him slightly, leaning a shoulder against the paneling of the cabin.

Price’s head perks up, snapping to the side at the sudden sound. And Zeus predictably treks over for your undivided attention, and you’re unable to refuse. The golden walks beside you when you approach further, and John gets to his feet with a small grunt.

“Snooping again, are we?” His lips curl into a harmless smile, dirt-covered fingers playing with the backs of your hands.

You shrug your shoulders, unable to conceal the feelings of fluster. Being put on the spot was something you’d have to get used to, that’s for sure. “Maybe I was. Just a little bit.”

“Careful now, sweetheart.” His voice molds into that of a superior, which you hadn’t heard from him yet. Was it twisted how much it excites you? Price continued, “or I might have you calling me Captain from here on.”

With a light scoff, you muster the last bits of confidence left in you.

“Is that a promise?”

♡‧₊˚✧˖° divider cred. - cafekitsune

#mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #price mw2 #captain john price #john price #captain price #price #john price headcanons #price headcanons #captain price headcanons #john price x you #john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #price x you #captain price x you #john price x y/n

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bluesidez · 21 days

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GymRat!Miguel Part 5

content warning: very fluffy, PDA ➡️ something in which the reader is shy about and Miguel is hungry for, Miguel’s bday is 10/13 here, it gets suggestive so MINORS BEWARE, George O’Hara is NOT abusive in this story and he will be Mexican here idc idc idc, some mentions of food (deer meat at one point), some of the gym photos are white men (my deepest apologies, I just want y’all to have an idea of the pose 😔)

word count: 4.3k (just nod and smile. she's thicc like me😗)

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GymRat!Miguel who learns your schedule front to back. He’s always there to walk you to your classes and carry your heavy bags and purses. Sometimes he’ll meet you outside of your dorm, sometimes you’ll send him your location and he’ll come running. Now, you both walk into the lab building hand in hand and leave the building swinging hands. You used to despise those lovey-dovey couples who were stuck in their own world, but now you could understand them completely. They were still a little annoying, though.

GymRat!Miguel who makes a habit of sending you post workout pictures in the early mornings. His go-to poses are the worm’s eye under-chest, the standing mirror, the bench mirror, and the back mirror. The last one was specific to his dorm bathroom, too shy to take his shirt completely off. Your thorough praises made him feel warm, but sometimes you let more silly things slip.

“You could probably choke me with your thighs and I’d be thankful”

“Baby don’t say that. :(( I would never hurt you”

“Oh so you can want me to sit and lay on you but I can’t ask for the same? Wow. The double standards”

“That’s not fair. You should sit on me. I can take it and I want it. Thoroughly.”

“Oh! So you’re saying I’m not strong enough. Got it.”

“Baby I never said that!”

“Whatever Miguel 🙄”

“ㅜㅜ”

“You never answered me though. Will you sit on me?”

“Go get ready for class 😒”

“😞”

GymRat!Miguel who tells you that his birthday is coming up at the last minute possible. You berate him for telling you so late and kick yourself for not asking sooner, but you still manage to get a reservation at one of the fancy local restaurants.

You pull out all of the stops you could. A gift card from Smoothie King, a pair of slippers to match yours, the newest Final Fantasy game, and a muscle bunny keychain to match your muscle bear keychain. He was your big teddy bear, after all.

You handed him the gifts after the staff brought out a chocolate cake with sparklers on it while singing at the top of their lungs. The chocolate syrup read “Happy Birthday Miguel 🤎” around the plate.

Miguel’s smile got bigger as he took the gifts out one by one. He paused when he got to the cards: one a birthday card and the other a thick “open when��” manilla envelope.

The birthday card was simple and sweet. It was the other stuff you were worried about. You found these cute ideas about letters and notes to leave for your significant other. You had one for anger, sadness, needing a hug, sickness, boredom, and even one for wanting a kiss. You remember Jess walking in on you with your lips smashed against the cardstock, trying to get a bunch of kiss marks to cut out. She just sighed out a “young love” and carried on to her side of the room.

“It’s only been a short time since we’ve been dating, but Thanksgiving and Christmas break are coming up so I wanted to leave you with something for when you can’t reach me.”

Your heart is thumping as Miguel takes the cards out, reading their envelopes.

What you don’t expect is for Miguel to start crying.

You startle a bit, scared that the gift is awful, but he lets out a watery thank you, flustered from everything.

You quickly make your way to his side of the table and hug him. You wipe at his eyes and chuckle at his cuteness, telling him you were afraid he didn’t like it.

He shakes his head, breathes deep and slow to calm his emotions.

“No, I will definitely be using all of these. I really appreciate this. Everything. I’m not sure how you were able to do all of this, but I’m thankful that you did.”

You couldn’t take it. Here he was with dewey eyes and red tinting his cheeks. It was cuteness overload.

You face him towards you and lean forward, connecting his lips to yours.

GymRat!Miguel who stares at you stunned when you lean back. That was your first kiss with him. His first kiss with you and he was sitting here with his cheeks damp and nose sniffling away.

“I-” his heart picks up and he’s opening and closing his mouth. He was short circuiting.

“Can we- I mean if it’s ok, can we do that again?” Miguel stutters out.

You simply nod your head and lean in again, this time tilting your head.

The cards in Miguel’s hands drop to the table and his breathing stops. Your lips were soft and full. Another fraction of his dreams that were nothing compared to the real thing.

He could only hear his heartbeat and the soft jazz music in the restaurant when he let up for air.

This was definitely the best gift of the night.

GymRat!Miguel who doesn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed when the waiter comes and asks if you two need anything while he’s leaning down for another kiss.

He just got to kiss his dream girl. Who cares if the waiter saw him kiss you some more?

You jump when the waiter’s hands come close to you two as he picks up an empty dinner plate. You look to the waiter awkwardly to apologize and ask for the check.

This just makes Miguel want to pull you in his lap and kiss you as the entire staff goes by.

GymRat!Miguel who wants you to feed him bites of his cake. You happily agree, especially since he was the birthday boy. His eyes never leave you the whole time.

GymRat!Miguel who grabs the check before you can pick it up. He doesn’t want you to pay for the meal.

“Miguel, it’s your birthday. I picked the restaurant and reserved the seats,” you say a little whiney.

“But I want to pay for the dinner,” Miguel pouts as he holds the check out of your reach.

When he got like this, it was hard to change his mind.

“If you let me pay, I’ll give you another kiss.”

“Just one?” Miguel brings the check back to your level, squinting at you.

You sigh, “I’ll give you ten.”

“Deal.”

Miguel gives you the check with a giddy smile and you slap your card on it.

The kisses still don’t stop him from taking over the tip.

So stubborn.

GymRat!Miguel who texts Gabriel once he’s back in his dorm. He sends pictures of everything from the food to the cake to the gifts.

“Look at what my baby did for me 🤪”

“The same one you left at the party even tho you blew up my phone about her for weeks? 😕”

“Yes…I didn’t do it on purpose. Me and her talked about it already”

“jk jk it wasn’t your fault”

“No way she got you final fantasy. Dana barely got me a cupcake”

“This just proves that my gf is better”

“Tbf tho you and Dana are still in high school”

“Ohhhh my god. You turn one more year older than me and all of a sudden you have the wisdom of a sage. SHUT UP 😭”

“I’ll literally be in college next year”

“AND ANYWAY you’ve never shown me this so-called gf. How do Ik you haven’t gone insane?”

Miguel clicked the back of his teeth in annoyance. Peter walked by him with his eyebrow raised and Miguel just waved his hand.

He sent a picture he took of you from tonight. You looked amazing in that dress and your eyes were beautiful and deep. You were smiling at him from across the table.

“First you try to steal Dana from me and now you get her”

“It’s crazy how this world is so anti-Gabriel”

“What are you yapping about”

“And I didn’t take ANYTHING from you 🫵🏽”

“We were 6 and 7 and you couldn’t push her hard enough on the swings. When will you get over that?”

“It burns all the same”

“You should give me her number and I can let you experience that feeling”

“Gabriel.”

“Show her what a real O’Hara is like”

“Cabrón”

“You’re so lucky I’m not next to you right now”

“THE BIG C WORD?”

“I’m telling mom you called me that btw”

“All because I wanted to meet your gf ☹️”

“Bastard”

“I’M TELLING MOM YOU CALLED ME THAT! WTF?”

It wasn’t long before Miguel’s mom was calling his phone to berate him. He pressed the green button, air pushing out of his nose as his mom’s face filled up the screen.

Peter looked bug eyed as Conchata’s rapid fire words filled the room.

“Ma! That’s so not fair! Gabri called me a bastard!”

There was a quick pause as his mom made a face that he knew all too well. Miguel heard Gabriel yelp as a sandal made a loud impact with his skin.

Miguel heard Gabriel cry out as his mom took off her other shoe, ready to aim, “MIGUEL HAS A GIRLFRIEND!”

Miguel just threw his phone on the bed and groaned. He could hear Peter snickering from his desk.

“What girlfriend? Miguel! Where are you? Come back and answer me,” Conchata’s voice got louder and louder. “I can’t believe you two! You would think this distance meant that you two wouldn’t fight like you’re still sleeping in the same room.”

“We’re not fighting,” Gabriel said. He smirks as he gets in the camera next to his mom. “Miguel is still hiding things from you, though.”

Miguel picked the phone up again with a frown on his face. Gabriel just stuck his tongue out like the brat he was.

“Mijo, what’s going on?” his mom asked, concern in her voice. “First, it was the party and now this. Do you need to come home?”

“No, ma,” Miguel sighed. “Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine now. Great even.”

“Then why haven’t you told me about this girlfriend of yours?”

“We just started dating. It’s still very new,” Miguel chose his words carefully. Ever since his second seamster in high school, she’s been super sensitive towards him and his feelings. Knowing her, she might give you a hard time. He didn’t want that for you just yet. “I didn’t want to introduce you to her until we were more solid.”

“I think a girl that helps to organize the take down of a sorority in your honor is pretty solid,” Gabriel comments off camera.

“She did that?!” Conchata stares at Miguel with furrowed brows.

Miguel only nods, lips wound in a tight line.

“Oh well, mijo, I have to meet this girl!”

“I don’t think-”

“Let me know when she’s free to come home with you! Maybe over Thanksgiving?”

“Ma, she has her own family-”

“Ok I have to go now! I have to catch my shows. Call me more often or I’ll have to come up there!”

The room fell silent as the call ended and Miguel was met with his messages with Gabriel again.

“CHECKMATE!”

Miguel still wanted to throttle him.

GymRat!Miguel who’s super excited when Halloween comes and you want to wear couple costumes. He hasn’t done costumes since early middle school. Growing up meant realizing that some people your age want to grow up. Fast. No one wanted to dress up in silly costumes anymore or go trick-or-treating. Sure, the scary stories were fun but at that age, he wanted to eat candy all night, not teepee houses and run in the woods.

He’s hanging out on his bed chatting with Mary Jane and Peter while you get ready in the bathroom. The theater and art department collaborated together to host a costume party. This time, Miguel wouldn’t leave your side. Maybe if you had to pee, he would consider waiting awkwardly by the door. He didn’t want the same mistake to happen.

The two of you decide to go as Starfire and Nightwing grouping up with MJ and Peter who dress up as Raven and Beast Boy for a Teen Titans theme.

The costume is pretty tight but he has to admit, it looks great on his build.

You walk out of the bathroom with a cheery “I’m ready!”

It’s definitely not ideal that his suit is so tight.

The skirt is hugging your body in every which way. The cut-outs at your hips had his fingers twitching. To top it off, the diamond cut out for your chest left him internally screaming.

Peter whistled from his desk and MJ hollered about how good you looked. You smiled bashfully, doing a 360.

Miguel wanted to shove MJ and Peter out of the room to reenact what Starfire and Nightwing actually got up to when they were by themselves.

You walk up to him and flip your flaming hair back playfully.

“Do you like it?” you ask, peering up at him.

“I think he more than likes it,” Peter mumbles out in a stage whisper. MJ elbows him softly in the stomach.

Miguel spins you around, “Fuck yeah.”

Your laugh falls out of you, surprised at his curt reaction.

“Honestly, you two can go ahead to the party and we’ll just hang out here,” Miguel said, face as serious as ever as he wrapped himself around you from behind.

“No, no, no! You can do whatever you want after the party. Keep it in, buddy,” Peter says as he starts to guide everyone to the door.

Miguel keeps himself attached to you all night.

GymRat!Miguel who helps you bring your things to your car for Thanksgiving break. It’ll only be a week but he feels like he might not make it.

“You’ll see me again next Sunday, Miggy” you say to him as he’s bent over you with the biggest pout out ever.

“I’m still gonna miss you,” Miguel leans further with his forehead on yours. “Wish you could come with me.”

“Maybe over the winter break we can plan a time to meet outside of school.”

Miguel just sighs dramatically.

You decide to say fuck it and kiss him in the middle of the almost empty parking garage.

Miguel doesn’t let up now that you’ve given him an inch. He’s holding you by your hips, your face, your waist, anything to get closer. He moans a bit into your mouth as you open up.

You wrap your arms around his neck and whisper, “I really have to get on the road now, baby. And so do you.”

Miguel slumps as he guides you to your driver’s seat. You roll the window down and pucker your lips for another kiss.

Miguel obliges easily and asks, “Call me when you get there?”

“Of course,” you say.

He stands and watches you drive off, missing you already.

GymRat!Miguel who is almost knocked down when he opens the door to his home. Gabriel is wrapped around him like a koala, squeezing away.

Miguel laughs and rubs his back, relieved that he’s not heavy enough to knock him over.

“It’s good to see you too, Gabri,” Miguel laughs.

Conchata peaks around the corner and almost cries at the sight.

“My boys!” She coos while coming to the door. “George! Come help Miguel with his bags!”

Miguel waddles in with Gabriel still clinging to him. He’s glad to be home.

GymRat!Miguel who gets your call in the middle of Gabriel watching him play Final Fantasy. He pauses the game and runs to his room, Gabriel yelling at him to come back and unpause the game.

You tell that you made it home and that you’ll call him later.

You blow a kiss at the screen and he catches it with glee before you end the call.

Miguel is glad you left before Gabriel opens his door like that one big bird meme.

“Was that her?” he asks, voice excited. “Is she still on the phone?”

“Yes. No. Why are you eavesdropping like a creep?”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping! It just dawned on me a little too late that you left to go talk to her.”

“Whatever,” Miguel groaned. “Let’s just get back to the game.”

“You know you can’t hide her from me forever, right?” Gabriel says, skipping next to Miguel.

“I’m not trying to. But you being a weirdo will make me want to.”

Conchata passes by them with a laundry basket on her hip, “Who’s hiding something?”

“Nobody!” Both Miguel and Gabriel shout in her direction and run back to their game.

Conchata rolls her eyes and continues to her bedroom.

GymRat!Miguel who becomes overwhelmed on Thanksgiving Day. It’s as if every close and distant relative was here. The first floor was full of people. As much as Miguel puts on, he’s never been an much of an extrovert.

He’s up in his room taking a breather. He pulls out one of the cards you gifted him. The one for when he missed your kisses.

He opens and pulls out a letter. There’s instructions on it.

“Each shade is for a different feeling!”

There was a cute chibi doodle of you kissing him on the cheeks at the bottom of the letter. He saw that there was a shade for nervousness/being overwhelmed.

He pulls out a polaroid of you and opens the bag of glossy paper kisses. He flips one and it reads, “Breathe slow and steady 10 times. Kiss me when you’re done.”

He does as you say and brings the paper to his lips. It even smells like you. Sweet. Fruity.

He smiles to himself and takes out one more.

GymRat!Miguel who finally lets Gabriel talk to you on Friday.

“He can be a bit annoying. I’m warning you now,” Miguel says.

“Don’t say that, Miggy. He’s your brother! He’s allowed to bother you at least a little. ”

Miguel yells for Gabriel to come in and he’s running to snatch Miguel’s phone.

“Hi! My name is Gabriel, the better O’Hara. It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

“Oh my gosh,” Miguel watches as you gasp. “It’s like another Miguel!”

Miguel snickers as Gabriel groans loudly in annoyance.

“I don’t look like him. He looks like me!” Gabriel pouts.

“Well, you both sport that same O’Hara pout.”

Gabriel and you chat for a long time. Miguel had to cut the conversation short when Gabriel started to tell embarrassing stories from their childhood.

“Alright, you’re done,” Miguel says and snatches the phone back.

“Aw, but we were just getting to the good stuff!”

“Yeah!” you say. “I wanna know how you messed up the science lab in middle school!”

“Nuh uh, Gabri is running his mouth too much. Get out.”

“I can’t wait to see you in person!” Gabriel shouts as Miguel pushes him towards the door. “You can meet my girlfriend too! She’ll love you!”

“I can’t wait,” you say, laughing as Miguel struggles to detach Gabriel’s fingers from the doorway.

GymRat!Miguel who talks to you on the phone until you fall asleep. You look adorable as you’re blissful to the outside world. Your cheek is squished on your pillow.

He has the urge to bite it like it’s mochi.

“Buenas noches, mi amor,” he whispers before he closes his eyes, falling asleep to the sound of your breaths.

He didn’t know that you were still partially awake to hear him.

GymRat!Miguel who picks you up and spins you around after the break. You squeal in shock, surprised that he could pick you up in the first place.

“Baby, I lift much heavier weights at the gym. This is nothing,” Miguel stares at you as if you have two heads when you comment on it.

You’re in a daydream the rest of the day because of that fact.

GymRat!Miguel who joins you on your late study nights in the library closer to finals. You two always sit at one of the tables hidden by the giant bookshelves.

It was nice and cozy. Quiet and roomy.

It was also a great place to makeout.

Every time you got a set of flashcards memorized, Miguel would pull you in his lap and devour you with kisses. It was a great motivation and a welcomed distraction.

It always ended up getting a little too heated and Miguel would have to excuse himself to go to the bathroom.

Sometimes you would feel so delirious that you wanted him to stay so you could crawl under the table and take care of his problems for him.

That was definitely the multiple late nights talking.

GymRat!Miguel who is super bummed out by the time Christmas break starts because you two can’t find a proper time to meet.

You have to visit several other family member’s houses and his biological dad wants his family to join him and his family at some ski resort before the week of Christmas.

George O’Hara was not turning down a free vacation.

You told him to cheer up and enjoy the snow and jacuzzis. Miguel couldn’t help but to think that the jacuzzi would be better with you on top of him in it.

And when Gabriel annoys him, he didn’t mind all that much because that was his baby brother whom he loves dearly. It was when Kron, his step-brother, would run his mouth that Miguel would seriously get annoyed.

He’s been competing with Miguel ever since he caught on to the fact that his dad had a secret love child.

Right now though, he was pissing Miguel off.

First, it was fighting Miguel over a snowboard. Then, it was taking the last elk burger and not even finishing it. Next, trying to knock him off balance right as he got off of the ski lift.

It was as if he was 8 and not 20.

His final straw was when he was being a dick towards Gabriel. All Gabriel was trying to do was bring them together and Kron cursed at him.

Even Miguel doesn’t tell Gabriel to fuck off.

“What is up with you? Don’t cuss at him. He didn’t do anything to you,” Miguel unlocks himself from his snowboard, ready to leave.

“It’s ok, Migs,” Gabriel held his hand out, knowing how this could end.

“No it’s not. He’s been nothing but a dickhead to you, to us, this entire trip. I’m sick of it. Go be annoying somewhere else, Kron.”

“Dad,” Miguel shouts out. Both George and Tyler looked over at him in concern. Miguel didn’t feel like directing himself towards a specific person. “I’m going to the room, I’ll be back down for dinner.”

Tyler wanted to run after him. George was eyeing Tyler for even reacting to Miguel’s cries. Nancy and Conchata just stood in confusion.

“He, uh, he probably just needs a breather. Maybe he’ll talk to his girlfriend!” Gabriel said trying to lighten the mood.

“Girlfriend? What girlfriend? I didn’t hear about any girlfriend,” Tyler says, saddened that he was being left out.

“Shit,” Gabriel mumbled to himself.

“You don’t live in our home, Tyler. Of course you don’t know,” George says, a bit peeved.

“What George means to say is that it’s all new. Fresh! Even I haven’t met the girl,” Conchata slides in matter of factly.

“Tyler should know her, being that she was the one who emailed him with our son’s case,” George grumbled out.

Tyler turned to Gabriel, “Jessica?”

“Uh, no.”

Tyler then says your name with a fondness. As if he knew you like an old friend. “She was quite compelling with her words!”

“So the two of you know of her and I still don’t even know what she looks like. I never thought this day would come,” Conchata held her gloved hand over her forehead like she was about to faint.

“Why don’t we host a small dinner next year? We can get to know her that way,” Nancy chimes in.

“Guys, I really don’t think that’s necessary-”

“Nonsense, Gabriel. If this girl was willing to do something so brave for Miguel we have to meet her,” Tyler grips Gabriel’s shoulder tight. A grip that could rival his brother’s.

“That’s a great idea, Tyler! Nice co-parenting move!” Conchata holds her fist out for him to bump. He does it proudly and they walk towards one of the cabins while Nancy follows behind, discussing dinner ideas.

George only scoffs and stomps off to his room mirroring Miguel’s mannerisms.

Gabriel was screwed once Miguel finds out.

GymRat!Miguel who waits until Christmas night in his bedroom to open the gift you sent to him. He smiles at your cute message and unfolds the paper to so much. It’s a Spider-man lego mask, a customized hoodie with a doodle of you and him, two picture frames with the two of you from his birthday dinner and the Halloween party, and some polaroids that you warned him to look at by himself later.

His breath shuttered as he took him in. They were all of you in your dorm room. They started off innocent. You were smiling, laughing, staring at the camera. Then they got a little more explicit.

You had on a tank top with no bra. Your cleavage was on display. Some showed your entire body on the bed. Some showed your torso and hips, curvy and full.

Miguel felt faint.

His final straw was the last picture in the stack. It was a picture of you from behind, “Merry Christmas XX” written in cursive across the top. You had on briefs but your ass was still readable, peaking out from the bottom. There was an arch in your back as you looked over your shoulder seductively. What a tease.

You were going to send him to an early grave. And who took these pictures?

All Miguel remembers was shuddering, hips lifting off the bed as he held one of pictures high. He had to bite his shirt as to not startle the entire house.

After he cleans up, he spreads the pictures across his bare chest and clicks a photo with a lazy yet satisfied smile.

You respond back with voice memos, so happy that he loved his gift. You also send some sounding a bit needy.

Miguel calls you and talks with you all night.

This Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.

dividers by: @plutism 🩵

a/n: This one was really fun to write!! I dove deep into my lover girl brain for this. Like full on immersing myself into the reader’s position. I hope you enjoyed! 🩵

As always likes and reblogs are super appreciated. PLEASE COMMENT OMG. 😭 Let me know how you feel or I get nervous 😭😭😭!

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