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luveline · 11 months

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𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel can’t control himself when you get hurt in the field —a ficlet featuring an irritated (lovesick) miguel and a flirty, distracted spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested he re, fem!reader, 2.5k

tw. fighting, injury, blood

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel watches the screen in front of him unhappily.

"Spider-Girl," he says. Two people answer him. He sighs. "Y/N," he amends, "you're being reckless."

The little droid camera that follows you around circles your head as you swing from one place to another. "I'm being good," you deny.

Miguel would never tell you this, but he loves how you speak. Sure, almost every word you say annoys him, but the cadence of your voice is melodic and addictive at once. And Miguel knows you're nice to everyone, but it's him alone that has you speaking so softly.

You do it to torture him, he's sure.

"You're doing well, but you'd be better if you didn't free fall for so long. Mechanical failure can happen at any minute," Miguel says.

"Then one of the others will catch me."

"And if there's no team member close by? I'm supposed to come and scrape you off of the sidewalk?"

"Miguel," you say gently. He can tell what mood you're in today. "They have people for that."

"Could you just do as I asked you to?"

"Ah, but you haven't asked me anything."

"Please," he says, "focus on the task at hand, and use your webs cautiously."

You make a chirping sound that feels more laughter than affirmation, but you do as he requests, reducing the length of time between each web shot. You're in New York, Earth-1844, attempting to send home an unhappy Doc Ock variant whose mechanical arms are immensely technologically advanced, even when compared to Nueva York's futurism.

Miguel had sent you along with a rather large team, one. because a big team was necessary for the task, two. because you'd asked and he has trouble saying no to you, and three. because if you'd spent another hour in his office today he actually might have given into temptation, which wouldn't be good for anybody.

Miguel is used to doing what needs to be done rather than what he'd like, these days. So while he wants to indulge you and your fanciful suggestions —I'm not heavy, handsome, please, you won't even notice I'm in your lap, your thighs are so wide— he can't. He has things to do. Things that cannot endure distraction.

"Woo!" you cheer through laughter, letting your shoes skim the floor in an especially dangerous manoeuvre. The adrenaline turns you giddy. "Holy crap."

Oh, right, that's why he resists temptation —he hates you. (He doesn't hate you.) He hates you and your disregard for your own safety, he hates your rejection of his authority, and he hates the stupid sweet sound you make when you're excited.

"Do you listen to me and then forget what I've said, or do you not understand the English language?" he asks.

You land on a rooftop overlooking the centre of Future Doc Ock's destruction. "Well, I've been learning Spanish. We could always try that," you suggest.

"Why have you been learning Spanish?" he asks.

"Coquetear contigo," you say, your pronunciation all over the place. To flirt with you.

"Qué maravilla," he mutters.

"I don't know that one, handsome, so I'm going to assume it was a love confession or something similar." You sound so overly fond he has to tense his jaw. "Gwen, where are you?"

"I'm over here?"

Gwen is wrapped up tightly in a metal tentacle. It shakes her around fanatically. Miguel swears and zooms in on her location, watching in apprehension as she attempts to free herself while the arm creaks, tightening, tightening.

"Woah," you say, taking a running jump off of the rooftop. "Can you believe it? I'm not the first one who needs rescuing."

Hobie Brown reaches Gwen before you can, and he makes an impressive rescue. You divert your path, shooting a web at the glass dome covering Future Doc Ock's head. Miguel crosses his arms across his chest. Wannabe Mysterio loser, he thinks, and then, when you've smashed a hole into the dome with a generously momentous kick, Nice.

He doesn't suppose Doc Ock was expecting a kick to the jaw today.

You hiss as you propel yourself away from him, another web shot at a nearby lamppost. It does something funny to his chest when he hears you whine in pain, but he's too distracted to ask what's wrong —he scours your droid's view for an answer, finds it red and saturating the fabric of your suit.

"Why are you bleeding, Spider-Girl?" he asks, gaze drawn to the main screen where Dock Ock shouts belligerent threats at an approaching Spider-Man.

"No biggie," you say, hissing again, "I think I cut my leg on the glass. I need a better suit."

"Can you walk?"

"I'm fine," you say with a sniffle. From the amount of blood, the cut is deep. "Is it me, or is it dusty in here?"

It definitely hurts if it's making you cry, though maybe you're unprepared. This was a bad idea, you aren't as seasoned as the others, and he knows you don't know what you're doing yet. You need more time, more practice. You've hurt yourself in the field on your very first mission, and you don't have the pain threshold or the super-healing necessary to cope.

It's his fault for letting you go.

"Prepare for extraction," he says.

"No! No way, are you kidding? I'm fine, I– I can do this."

"Y/N," he warns.

You fling yourself from the lamppost with impressive grace considering your injury and join the fight once again. Miguel can't keep an eye on you like he wants to, as the alarm that indicates an anomaly begins to sound. He's forced to rush together a second team while the elite strike force are preoccupied, yanking members of Spider-Society from their goings abouts, Lyla in his ear recommending effective combinations and fighting styles. From that point on, he has to supervise two different missions, his head pounding with effort.

His hands itch. He should be out there. Miguel is the cream of the crop and he isn't shy to admit that. He's a good fighter, but he can't be everywhere at once, and most of the anomalies they face require multiple sets of hands to fix. So he forces himself to stay put and guide the teams through each fight, sick to his stomach with every bloody footprint you leave behind.

He's following Hobie Brown and offering rejected instruction when he sees you go down. He toggles your voice channel and catches the end of a high-pitched, "Oof," the air-knocked from your lungs forcibly as you hit the ground. The tentacle that propelled you veers up for a finishing blow, and three different webs catch it and pull it backward.

It's a blur. One minute Miguel's in the control room at Spider-Society headquarters, the next he's breathing in the smoggy air of New York, Earth-1844, concrete and asphalt torn up under his hands. Lyla speaks in his ear and he's deaf to her, his focus pointed with only one thing in mind.

The restraint it takes not to wipe Doc Ock from the face of the dimension is incalculable. Miguel can't quite believe his own moderation as he orchestrates the return of the anomaly, your body on the ground in the corner of his eye.

The second the situation is under control, he runs to you. His gloves hit the ground with a thud by your hip, as do his knees. Spider-Man, a Peter Parker from Earth-751263, has already set nanobots over your prone figure, tiny spider-like creatures that leave webbing bandages in their wake, closing the sluggish wound on your calf. But nanotech won't fix a broken spine, not in the field. Miguel needs a stretcher. He needs to get you home.

"Miguel," you say, drawing his gaze from your slow-rising chest, "I can't breathe.

He slides his thumb as gently as he can into the seam of your mask and eases it off. "You're winded."

You cough. The sound is disturbingly wet, but your lips remain unsullied. Miguel can't look at you in this much pain, and he won't: he stands, and he takes control.

—

You're not in nearly as much pain as you should be, because Doctor Spider-Man gave you the good stuff. "Your healing isn't nearly as expedited as most of us," he'd said.

"Is this medical discrimination?" you'd asked, faking a serious concern. "Do I need to talk to Spider-Lawyer?"

You found it funny. He maybe didn't, but he gave you an extra dose and told you to rest up before leaving. Resting at the Society medbay isn't easy because Spider People are constantly filtering in and out of the ward for check-ups, medication, and corrections.

It's also not easy because most Spider People are incredibly lonely in their home dimensions, and incredibly friendly here. When Miguel finally comes to visit you, you have a Spider-Girl from a few dimensions over who has the same biological mother as you but a different father sitting to your left —she's trippy and adorable, if you do say so yourself— two Peter Parkers to your right, and a melting pot of currency lost in the white linen sheets over your legs.

They get one good look at Miguel and put down their playing cards.

The Peter Parkers slink off together promising to come and see you again sometime, and your variant stops just shy of Miguel's position to look him up and down affectionately.

"Go away," he says.

She beams at him. "Okay."

"You can't help it, can you?" he asks after she's gone, picking a rogue playing card up from the end of your bed. He twiddles it between his index and middle finger, the card shushing with each turn.

You sit up in bed and try to straighten out the sheets, hoping to entice him. You don't bother answering his question. It barely sounded like one.

"I'm hurt, you know?" you ask.

"I know. I told you to retreat."

"No, I'm hurt it took you so long to visit me," you say. You're putting on airs. Truthfully, you genuinely are a little hurt, but your voice is soft and dreamy as always. "I thought we were friends."

"Ah, because you need more of those."

You sink down into your pillows, your knees hiked. "I really can't help it if people like me. And you'd know."

Miguel surprises you by sitting down. He faces away from you, his thigh just shy of your feet below the sheets, and it's only then you realise he's tense. He's in civvies for a change, a t-shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders and chest and regular black sweatpants. He's wearing converse.

You look at him through a squint. "Did you hit your head, too?"

"I'm off-duty."

"I just never pictured you in sneakers."

"How do you picture me?" he asks, neck craned to look at you, his chin touching his shoulder. He has dark circles under his eyes and his brows are ruffled on one side.

You let your knees fall to one side and pull your legs to your chest, hoping to entice him closer. "You're not sleeping well?"

Miguel doesn't answer your inquiry. In fact, he falls silent. His eyes are on your hands where they're bunched at your chest, his dark flush of lashes twitching as his gaze tracks along the column of your throat, your jaw, and finally, your face.

"If you were anyone else," he says eventually, "you'd be benched."

"I'm not benched?" you ask.

"You disobeyed a direct order," he says, "and your actions affected the people around you. Someone else could've been hurt protecting you. You have to listen to what I'm telling you to do, or this is never going to work."

You look at the hospital bed railing rather than face his disappointment.

"But it's my fault."

"What?" you ask, startled.

"It's my fault you got hurt. I knew you couldn't handle it, and I let you go anyway. I'm… I'm weak."

"What are you talking about?" you ask. "Weak? You're the strongest person here, with or without Rapture."

He flinches at the drug's name.

You lay there, paralysed by your own mistake, your big mouth ruining everything for the thousandth time. If there's one thing you know about Miguel, it's that you never mention his weaknesses. His drug. His last attempt at a full life. You might be light-hearted, a free spirit, but you're far from stupid usually. Your emotional intelligence must've got lost somewhere on Earth-1844.

"Sorry," you murmur, looking at him from under your lashes. "I didn't mean…"

Slowly, so slowly, he puts his hand on your leg. It doesn't hurt, you've been medicated and stitched and his touch is far from cruel, but you're so startled that your breath gets caught in your throat. Miguel doesn't touch you unless he's giving you a vague reprimand, moving your hand from a button you shouldn't touch or a door you're not allowed to open.

"I let you go on that mission, knowing you weren't ready, because you asked me to let you. I put selfish motivations over your safety. It won't happen again."

You're not as brave as you think you are. You try to hold his hand but it looks so big, and you've never had him this close to you of his own accord. You're a moment away from nervous goosebumps.

He looks up at your touch, your pinky finger wrapped over his, smaller and shorter but with the same pattern of calluses, skin abraded by tight gloves and rough surfaces.

"Selfish motivations," you repeat in a murmur.

"I don't– like saying no. To you." He couldn't sound more unhappy to admit it.

"You say no to me all the time," you say. You don't mean to, but suddenly you're folding your fingers over his, forcing him to hold your hand. He doesn't stop you. He doesn't let go. "Like, ten times a day."

"It's difficult." Your complaint is a blessing for him —the atmosphere around you shifts to something less vulnerable, and his permanently chagrined personality rears its head once again. He raises his eyebrows. "You make my life extremely difficult," he says flatly.

"You make my life difficult, too," you say.

You can't help but give him your fondest smile, your lashes kissing in the corners of your eyes.

He visibly softens. His thumb rubs the back of your hand, just once.

"Fantastic," he says, looking firmly away from you. "Great."

"Isn't it?" you ask happily.

He squeezes your fingers gently. It's almost imperceptible. "Yeah, it is," he says.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! also, im sorry if you already speak spanish i realised after that that detail was subjective to the reader, sorry!

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callmerainman · 2 months

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THE SMITHS | Adam x fem!angel!Reader

SECOND PART

plot. in which Adam, after bumping into you listening to music in the elevator, gives you unsolicited music recommendations.

tags. first meetings, Adam being Adam, flirting, concerts, music, getting to know each other, rockstar Adam (still takes place in canon).

taglist. @call-me-nyxx

a/n. Adam is my muse at this point, he's directing all my creative energy lmao. This came up to me as an idea last night, kinda different from my usual Adam content! Might do a part 2, we'll see about that, enjoy!

«Take me out tonight, where there's music and there's people who are young and alive»

The elevator doors slide close, the few heavenly beings have exited, leaving you alone inside the cubic space. Absentmindedly, your foot starts tapping on the floor. A faint melody can be heard from outside your earbuds, the volume of the music set on max. You bumped music in your ears every chance you got, including when you were on bureaucratic duty for the Seraphim's.

«Driving in your car, I never ever want to go home».

As the elevator stops at the upper floor, the doors slide open and reveal who called it. Immediately, you adjust your pose, clutching your paperwork against your chest with arms crossed. Adam, the First Man, just entered the elevator.

He's loudly sipping what seems to be a sugary beverage from a large cup, positioning himself next to you. You've seen him many times, from a distance. At meetings, where you worked as an assistant, walking around Heaven, on posters advertising his band, in court. But you never interacted, there was no reason to. He was one of the big heads of Heaven, while you just hoped that nobody would yell at you for not adding enough milk to their coffee. Of course, this is what makes you nervous. But when the doors close again, you take a deep breath and let the music envelope you again.

«And if a double decker bus, crashes into us»

You relax, forgetting that Adam is next to you. You just stare at the elevator doors, unbothered. You just let yourself get lost in the sad, indie rock tunes that paradoxically raised your spirits. That's until, with the corner of your eye, you see Adam turning towards you. He's saying something, but music muffles your hearing.

«Ihatethasmiths»

You remove one of your earbuds, and you turn around with a gentle, sweet smile.

«Mh? Sorry?» you ask, the corner of your lips curling upwards.

«I said I fuckin' hate The Smiths!».

Your smile fades out immediately, your eyes go wide and your eyebrows shoot upwards. Adam goes back to look straight in front of him.

«tO dIe By YoUr SIdE iS SucH a HeaVenLy wAY to DiE! Ugh, fuckin' hate 'em » he mocks.

Dumbfounded, you just stare at the First Man in shock. Your mouth is slightly open, and your earbud is still pressed between your thumb and index as you can still hear There Is a Light That Never Goes Out playing. Then, the elevator doors slide open with a ding! and Adam just exits, slurping loudly his drink as if nothing happened. You follow him with your gaze, still in shock. The doors start closing again.

«Holy shit» that's all you can say, before disappearing behind them.

—

Next week, you're still in the elevator, a cup of hot coffee in your hand and your earbuds religiously plugged in your ears. Today you're in a good mood. The Heaven Headquarters offices weren't too packed with work and you were rising to the highest floor of the palace to spend time with your co-workers. That's until the elevator stops and the First Man Adam comes in. Again. You stiffen, your wings twitch and, hoping to not be noticed, you roll your eyes. Now that you think about it, it's the same day and hour you two met last week. When he, not-so-kindly, expressed his disappointment in your music taste. Suddenly, you realize something else. That you're...

«You still listenin' to that crap?» Adam says, pointing a finger towards your earbuds.

You sigh, resigned. You're still listening to The Smiths. This time around you heard Adam loud and clear, but you turn the volume down anyways. And, not caring about being all dignified and reverential in front of him, you roll your eyes in front of him.

«Yeah, I'm still listening to The Smiths. Heaven knows I'm Miserable Now».

Adam, scoffing, symbolically brings two fingers towards his mask and pretends to throw up.

«The Smiths are the bane of rock, I swear! Who wants to listen to a man being all whiny about love, vegetarianism and shit. Rock 'n roll is something else, I tell you»

«I disagree on that»

How did you even end up in this situation? Discussing music in an elevator with the First Man on Earth, one of the most important authorities of Heaven. It's just unreal, so much that going on doesn't bother you that much.

«You're into rock music?» Adam asks, shaking his usual drink in his hand, ice making a crisp sound inside the cup.

«Safe to say yes» you say, a collected but confident smile on your face.

«Okay, okay» Adam smirks, mischievous «and who are you rocking out to?»

«Oasis» you reply.

«Ugh»

«Radiohead»

«Nahh»

«Arctic Monkeys»

«Ew»

«Joy Division»

«For fucks sake woman, are you gonna give me a real rock band or keep naming your emo fest-»

«Guns 'n Roses»

Adam's breath stops for a second. You stare at him with a challenging look. His LED eyes digitally burned on his mask squint.

«Okayy miss...?»

«(Y/N)»

«(Y/N). Name 3 Guns 'n Roses songs»

You raise a finger in front of him, your eyes wide in a sort of prohibitive look.

«Nuh uh, don't you try to pull that move on me, I'm not gonna name anything».

«Tch, as I thought» Adam says, before sipping on his cup of icy soda.

You emit an annoyed groan, before sipping on your coffee yourself. As you're about to press start again on your phone to replay the music and metaphorically cancel Adam's presence from the elevator, he speaks again.

«Listen, girlie, if you wanna listen to some real rock music you should, first of all, give up on that sentimental bullshit that people call rock nowadays. Second, you can start by coming to one of my concerts. I'm-»

«Adam, The First Man. I know who you are» you interrupt.

You move your weight from one leg to the other, as Adam playfully smirks at you.

«Of course you know who I am, you probably heard of me from my band»

«Actually, I work as an assistant for the Seraphims meetings» you say.

«Oh, nah I never noticed you. You sure you don't know me from my band? We're pretty sick»

It's not like you expected him to know you from meetings. You mostly worked behind closed doors, preparing paperwork and only handling it to Seraphims last minute. And Adam wasn't really a necessary presence at meetings. He was important, an authority holding a great power for sure, but you don't really understand of what kind.

«I heard that you got a band but sorry, Christian rock is not my genre» you reply, nonchalantly.

Adam jumps a little in surprise, an appalled sound escaping his lips.

«Oh no sweetie, you got it all wrong. Didn't you listen to me when I said that we're a real rock band? We sing about all things rock» he says, theatrically.

«For example?»

«Sex, drugs and bitches of course».

You let out an ironic chuckle, not thoroughly convinced.

«I heard your venues are like, really crowded. I don't know if I feel like tip-toeing all night long to see anything»

«You can always tell security that you're with me»

His statement surprises you, so much that you turn around with a frowned forehead. The scrunch in your face says it all about your uncertainty. Adam looks chill, confidently leaning on the elevator's mirror and looking at you. How long have you been riding this thing?

«You think they'll believe me? Not even in a 100 years»

«Listen sweet cheeks, I'll meet you at the queue between sound check and the start of the show and I'll directly tell em that you're with me».

«You want me to play groupie?»

«Aren't you already?» Adam grins with a wiggle of his eyebrows. A very shit-eating grin.

You let out a playful and sarcastic chuckle «No, but I accept your offer, Mr. Real Rockstar»

«More of a real rockstar than Morissey»

The elevator doors open, it feels like you've been there for an eternity but not necessarily in a bad way. It's Adam's floor, the one just beneath yours, and he waves at you goodbye with a hand.

«See you Saturday, you'll be my number one fan».

«You wish»

How was that one of the most annoying, yet weirdly entertaining conversations you ever had?

—

You've never been to an Adam's concert, because you never had the chance to get into his music even if he was really known all around Heaven. But it was true that his gigs were packed. The line is infinite, and the venue probably won't even be enough for all these people. Suddenly you start to regret your decision. Damn, you even dressed up for this! You nervously start shifting your weight from one side to the other of your body. Security is already telling some people to just go home because it's likely that tickets just ran out. One titanic of a bodyguard goes up to you, arms crossed.

«I'm sorry miss, but we're out of tickets»

«Oh it's fi-»

You can't finish the phrase, distracted by the feeling of a stranger arm wrapping around your shoulders. You straighten yourself, and turn around alarmed. Adam had appeared from behind a portal, which immediately closed behind him. All the people left in the queue turn around, shocked to see the frontman appear right there.

«Don't worry dude, she's with me» he says, confidently.

How can someone be such a loser and so charismatic at the same time? This is what you ask yourself while wrapped around Adam's arm. The security guard nods, and Adam opens the portal back with a snap of fingers. Soon, you find yourself in the front row. Did he just transport you there? Adam has already let go of your shoulders, standing behind the barrier. Fans in the front row start going crazy at the unexpected sight of the frontman. As they scream incoherent, adoring gibberish to him, Adam stays focused on you.

«I'm happy you're here. Trust me, your ears will thank me for blessing them with some real rock» he says, his playful smirk permanently printed on his mask.

You roll your eyes, but you're betrayed by your own smile «We'll see»

«Trust me, you won't be disappointed» Adam replied.

Then, he winks at you before turning around and heading towards the backstage.

When the concert is over, you can confidently say that no, you aren't disappointed. As much as you hate to admit it, Adam can get it. He knows how to play guitar, he's vocally a beast in every good sense possible, and he's a stage animal. He's an idiot for sure, an arrogant one, but he quite literally fucking rocks. It's the way he plays guitar solos, his finger picking technique flawless and effortless. And how he knew how to talk to the crowd, how to move on stage. And you also saw him for the first time without a mask. You didn't know what to expect, but you have no complaints whatsoever. Brown, messy hair, dark but charming circles under his eyes, a fierce grin on his face. You felt your stomach fluttering when he obviously looked at you during Stick It To The Man. As people are leaving the venue, you're about to do the same. Maybe you and Adam will talk about it on your next random encounter on the elevator. But, before you can turn around, you see a security guard gesturing you to come close. He opens the barrier for you, and, confused, you shuffle your way through it.

«Yeah?» you ask.

«Adam wants to see you» the bodyguard says, moving his head to invite you to follow him.

Your heart skips a beat. This is some groupie shit. But you don't mind. You follow the security guard to the backstage, hugging yourself slightly out of nervousness. Adam, who was talking to the drummer, immediately stops the conversation when he sees you approaching behind the security guard. A wide smile extends on his face.

«So, (Y/N)! Did you change your mind about The Smiths?» he asks, opening his arms.

You place your hands on your hips «No, but...you weren't half-bad»

«Not half-bad?» he says, almost offended.

You decide to give up the tough girl act «Okay, I'll admit it, you know how to rock. You were really good».

«HA! Told you! Ladies love my band and you're no exception. And THIS is real rock»

«I'll still bump the shit out of The Smiths next time we meet on the elevator» you protest with a smirk, crossing your arms on your chest.

Adam drags a hand between his messy hair «Instead of meeting in the elevator, me and the rest of the band are going to the after party. It's in a club near the venue. Why don't you come? I still have to recommend you some real music»

Oh this is bad. Adam's teasing smile, the way he got closer to you and is now staring down at you without a shade of awkwardness. And the fact that one of his skilled hands is now placed on your waist, again, without any form of hesitation. Is he hitting on you? You feel your face burning, pressing your lips together. Would accepting make you a groupie? And soon, you realize that you don't care.

«Okay, First Man, I'll come with you. But only if you don't ask me to name 3 songs of a band»

«Deal»

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torusmuse · 4 months

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➠ Fed Up - G. SUGURU | 夏油傑 𓈒 ݁ ₊

fanart by kyulgo_ on twt

warnings ;; bf suguru geto x reader NSFW!!!, afab reader, no prns other than you, mentions of reader wearing a skirt, edging, fingering, pussy slap (only once), brat taming? geto's tired of ur bratty attitude lol im bad at this soz ➜ wc: 704.

࣪⤿ ᩠͡✎̈ ⁺ : I'M LITERALLY NOT NORMAL ABOUT THIS MAN HOLY CRAP.

Geto has always been so patient with you. Ever the doting boyfriend, sweet enough to induce cavities, his touches so gentle, almost as though you'd break if he added too much pressure. dealing with your bratty attitude with a smile and a soft kiss on the lips, a simple "knock it off" in return, letting your teasing off with a shrug of his shoulders. Patience with you is always as easy as breathing.

So you're not really sure what finally snapped in that pretty head of his to lead you to your current predicament. Your legs spread on the bed as he mercilessly teases your swollen pussy. your back to his chest as he watches the cute faces you make in the mirror in front of you two.

Maybe it was the tiny skirt that hardly left anything to the imagination, or maybe it was the lack of your usual cotton panties under said skirt, but most likely it was how you rubbed your bare cunt onto his dark pants when he allowed you to sit on his lap. A low "don't start." leaves his lips in warning. A warning you, of course, don't listen to. You're not too sure if you regret it, the feeling of his fingers pumping in and out of your cunt and circling your clit felt heavenly but not being able to cum had you on the brink of crying and yelling at him, your frustration running deep.

Dirty words fall from his lips as he brings you to the edge of tipping, just to deny you your release again and again, the pretty rings on his finger drowned by how wet you currently are. His pretty lips twist into a smile as fat tears well in the corner of your eyes. the soft brush of his hand across your teary eyes, contrasting the mean rubs of your cunt and teeth biting down into your skin as you beg him to let you cum, bucking your hips in hopes of getting more friction on your desperate clit.

He pinches your nipples with his free hand and bites harder on your skin as a warning to stop chasing more friction. "I spoil you too much," he whispers into the nape of your neck, the fingers inside of your cunt pick up their brutal pace, the sweat on your skin building. "I have to teach you brats don't always get what they want." He quickly pulls his fingers from in your sopping cunt and delivers a slap to your pussy with those words. A loud whine from your lips and a twitch of your body has him chuckling behind you.

He takes a second to stare at your exhausted state in the shiny mirror, admiring the wreck he'd made out of you, still telling you how absolutely gorgeous you looked even with your now messy makeup. he coos sweet words into your ear when hot tears begin to freely spill from your eyes. "you're so pretty", "don't cry baby", "why are you crying? doesn't it feel good?", "you must be so tired." he'd baby you as one of his hands squeezes at one of your erected nipples.

Bending his head slightly to look down at you from his position behind you, his hair tickling your skin he'd bring his fingers coated in your wetness to your lips telling you to suck, groaning lowly from the feeling of your tongue run across his fingers, his cock stirring below you. He'd finally let his other hand sneak back to your wetness after you coat his fingers in your spit.

You don't remember when exactly he slipped two fingers in your sopping hole, but you instantly react when his fingers thrust out and in again, your back arching off of his chest, desperate moans leaving your mouth. "Please" and "I'm sorry," along with his name, leave your shaky body wanting nothing but to experience the white hot pleasure your boyfriend never failed to deliver.

He simply shakes his head with a cute smile on his despairingly pretty face, as if his fingers weren't digging into you, and creating the most lewd sounds known to man. "Next time, don't be so desperate for a reaction."

໋ © TORUSMUSE 2024

#geto x reader #geto smut #geto x you #geto x y/n #suguru geto x reader #suguru getou x you #getou suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #geto fanfic

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jeonqkooks · 8 months

Text

our beloved summer | jjk (7.5) (m.)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: exes au, fluff, Angst, smut; THE REASON™️, crying because obviously there's gonna be crying, mentions of hobi leaving :(, cursing, uhm she hits him; kissing (well, of course 😂), br*ast play, t*tty s*cking, oral s*x (f. receiving), f*ngering, unprotected s*x, r*ding, cr*ampie, uhm idk i think that's it word count: 6.9k (poetic, i know) note (1): holy fucking shit i am literally shaking like a chihuahua as i'm writing this a/n. what the hell it's finally here. we've been waiting for this for almost a year and a half. TREMENDOUS thanks to Jo @daechwitatamic, Ari @wintaerbaer, and Jazz @jeonwiixard for beta-ing this for me and for reassuring me that it's not a load of crap (probably) and especially Jo for telling me if i back out she'll come kick me. frick! gaaaah. okay i'm gonna let you read or i'll go out of my mind

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards ; taglist

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

I want you to smile, to feel like enough 'Cause you deserve yellow and lions and love I hope you come back when you're doing well Forgive me for being the worst of myself

New Recording 28 - Chelsea Cutler

The second the door is closed, his mouth is on yours again.

His hand on your waist, yours in his hair, it’s similar to how it was mere minutes ago, just the urgency has increased tenfold. You want his suit off as much as you want your dress on the floor.

Jungkook detaches from your lips to let you breathe as he cages you between his body and the door, but it’s not like you can focus very well on breathing when he starts kissing down your neck, sucking bruises into your skin. His hands travel south, one palm curving around your hips to grope your ass, the other settling on the back of your thigh to lift it up, opening your legs wider so he could better slot in between them. With your leg lifted, it makes the slit in your dress ride up, exposing your core to the cool air of the room. You can feel his growing bulge pressed against you, right over your panties.

You whimper his name when he sucks on the sweet spot on your neck, his hips grinding against you slowly.

“Yeah?” You can hear the smirk in that one simple word and the honey that drips from his voice. “What is it?”

“Want you…”

“I’m right here,” Jungkook says. His slender fingers rub you over the pink lace that you’re wearing underneath your dress, teasing your opening through the fabric for a few beats before he pushes your panties aside. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

His breath is hot on your neck. He presses his lips against your skin absentmindedly, the tip of his index circling you but not pushing inside just yet.

“Tell me you want me too,” you pant, your arm hooking around his neck to hold him close.

“I want you.”

Truth.

You pull him in for another bruising kiss before you blindly push him further into the room, your hands roaming the broad expanse of his clothed chest. He stops when the back of his knees hit the bed.

“Hey.” Jungkook breaks away from the kiss to look at you. “Are you sure?”

If Jimin knew what you’re doing right now, he’d say that you have zero self preservation instincts.

He’d be right, though. If you had any self preservation instincts, you wouldn’t be doing this.

Your stupid, battered heart has only ever wanted him.

“I’m sure,” comes your immediate reply. It’s desperate, but you don’t have it in yourself to even care. “I’m sure. I want this. Please.”

“You were drinking.”

“I’m not drunk. I promise.”

Maybe it’d be better if you were drunk. Then you could at least blame this lapse of judgment on a pathetic state of inebriation and not on your stupid self who’s always weak for him.

He stares at you for a minute, searching for any sign of your willingness being driven by alcohol. He seems relieved when he finds none, and it isn’t until then that he shrugs off his jacket, before helping you take off his dress shirt and trousers.

You haven’t seen him like this in so long.

Every defined line on his body, accentuating every detail that you could spend hours running your fingers over.

He looks different but at the same time, not really. A tad more muscular, but still the same lean frame. Hard chest and abs on full display for you. God, your fingers are fucking twitching with the need to touch him.

Once he’s been stripped down to his boxers, he leans down to kiss you before you stop him with a hand on his chest. The lone tiger lily on his arm catches your attention.

Your fingers reach out to trace the black ink on his body, the lines delicate, your touch feather light. You’re suddenly curious. When did he get it? You can’t remember if you two ever talked about getting tattoos.

“What does it mean?” you ask. It strikes you with the realization that this is just one of the thousands of things that you missed, a reminder of your lost time.

“Please love me,” he says, bringing his hands up to cup your face. He looks at you, just for a few seconds, before clarifying, “It means ‘Please love me,’” then kissing you again.

Jungkook clumsily and blindly searches for the dress’ zipper on your back, giving it a few impatient tugs until it finally starts gliding down your body. Your lips never part from one another as the dress falls to the floor, pooling at your feet. But once you step out of it, he does pull back to look at you from head to toe. His eyes fall to your chest, clad in a lacy pink bra that matches your panties. The look he gives you is the same one that he did when he saw you in your dress earlier today. But there’s something else in his eyes - realization, pride, perhaps a question too.

His hands are back on your body instantly, throwing you onto the bed, crawling over you like a predator. He discards your bra with ease, flinging it to the floor with the rest of your clothes. You shiver when the chilly air meets your bare chest, but the sensation quickly goes away when he takes your breast into his warm mouth. You let out a delighted sigh, arching your back to push yourself further into him as his tongue flicks over your stiff nipple. One of his hands comes up to squeeze your other breast to make sure that it isn’t neglected, rolling your pebbled bud between his thumb and forefinger. He switches to sucking your other tit after a while, then pawing at the one he just had in his mouth.

“Jungkook,” you whine his name when he makes out with your tits for too long, because there’s somewhere else that desperately requires his immediate attention. “Need you…”

He releases your nipple with a wet pop, and he looks pleased with himself when he sees that they’re thoroughly glistening with his spit. “Sorry,” he says with a chuckle. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” He starts making his way down your body, kissing every inch of your skin that’s on display for him, before you put a hand on his shoulder when his face gets close to your thighs.

“What are you doing?”

He looks up at you as his fingers ghost over the fabric of your panties. “Can I?”

You lick your lips, contemplating whether or not you have the patience to wait for him. But alas, you decide, “Okay.”

Jungkook makes quick work of sliding your underwear down your legs and letting it join the pile on the floor. Even in the dim light, he can see just how wet you are, practically glittering with arousal, looking so utterly inviting that it makes his mouth water. All of this, just for him.

He doesn’t waste another second, diving right into you to lick a stripe up your dripping folds. Swiftly burying two fingers into your heat, he doesn’t stop until he’s knuckles deep. Your lips part in a silent but delighted moan. You forgot how good he used to make you feel. Your fingers could never feel as good as his, not thick enough to stretch yourself open and not long enough to reach deep inside of you.

“Fuck,” you drawl, your eyes fluttering shut when the tip of his tongue meets your throbbing clit, teasing it until you’re practically grinding against his face. You thread a hand into his hair, gripping his dark locks until he’s groaning, sending blissful vibrations all throughout your body. The figure 8’s that his tongue draws on your clit sets you alight, sends you into a whole other dimension completely as pleasure courses through your veins.

“So good,” he mumbles. To you? To himself? You can’t tell, but that doesn’t really matter. “Still so good.”

You hear it, just how soaked you are, as he begins thrusting his digits in and out of you. He strokes your walls delicately with each press of his fingers, scissoring you open for what you know is to come.

His tongue dips into your entrance then, teases your dripping hole as you pant heavily,

Your legs close in on his head as the orgasm nears, but he keeps your thighs apart, firmly holding them open as he makes you unravel.

This is fucking unreal - Jungkook with his whole face tucked between your legs, desperate to make you come with his talented mouth. You never would have anticipated this when you woke up this morning.

No, just a while ago you were crying by yourself down at the beach. Now you’re crying out his name as he smothers himself in you.

Once he starts curling them inside of you, it’s embarrassing how fast you come. You clench hard around his fingers as the orgasm washes over you, dripping down his fingers and he uses the added wetness to carry you through the high.

“Jungkook…” you whimper, sounding completely fucked out even though it’s only just beginning. After a while, the heightened pleasure fades into the background, and he presses soft kisses against your inner thigh.

He crawls his way up your body until he’s facing you again. You watch his fingers and the way they’re coated in your juices, wondering what he’ll do with them next. Jungkook languidly smears the wetness all over your lips like he’s carefully painting them, only to kiss you afterward. When you moan against him, he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your hand finds its way into his boxers then, wrapping your fingers around his hardened length, pumping him in your fist until he’s shallowly rutting against you.

The kiss gets broken when he suddenly pulls away, realization dawning on him. “Shit,” he exclaims. “I don’t have a condom.”

“Oh.” You blink at him, then you both just look at each other for a while. This isn’t a problem with no solution, even if the solution is a disastrous one in hindsight. You just want him, so badly that you can’t think of anything else.

He waits for you, doesn’t dare say anything else until you do.

Yet again, the opportunity presents itself for you to stop.

But you’ve already gone this far, and though it’s damn near impossible, you want him even more than you did before.

“Are you clean?” you ask.

It’s evident that he’s surprised by the way his eyes widen, and his silence that follows for the next half a minute. “Yeah,” he tells you.

“Okay. Then we don’t need a condom.”

He says your name once, his fingers brushing your hair away from your face sweetly. You always did like your name best when it used to fall from his lips so softly. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“I’m sure. I promise.”

Jungkook sucks in a breath, like he’s steadying himself, before he rids himself of the remaining piece of clothing on his body, then settles between your legs again. This time, his cock rests directly on your bare pussy. The anticipation makes it harder for you to breathe, makes you squeeze your thighs around his waist to not let him leave.

“How long has it been?”

Your answer is vague. “Too long,” you say. You don’t want to tell him that there’s been no one else since him, but you have a feeling that he understands it anyway. You think that he’d be pleased with your answer, that maybe it would boost his ego in a way, but there’s only a certain sadness that settles in his eyes.

“Okay.” Regardless, he pushes past the sudden gloom that befalls his features, blinking away the disheartenment swimming in his irises, to align himself with your entrance. He rubs his cock against your pussy to coat you in his precum, even though you yourself are certainly more than wet enough for him to slide home easily. “Ready?”

“Yes,” you confirm, bracing your hands on his shoulders as he eases the tip into you, making the both of you moan at the contact. You feel him, all of him.

For a second, you wonder if he has ever forgone protection with anyone else, or if it’s only ever been just you.

Jungkook takes one of your hands off his shoulder to lay it flat on the bed next to your head, lacing your fingers together, giving your hand a slight squeeze. “Breathe. You can do it.”

“Give me a minute.”

“We’ve got time,” he says, his voice smooth like velvet.

“Can you kiss me?” you ask, almost like you’re shy even though he’s balls deep inside of you.

He chuckles lightly, so endeared by you and your silly question.

His lips meet yours sweetly, like doing so would help make the stretch less painful. Maybe it does, at least a little bit.

You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you, and he’s probably trying so hard to hold back, but he keeps kissing you nonetheless.

“You can move,” you say after a while.

“I’ll go slow, okay?”

“Okay.”

He rears his hips back, slowly, then thrusts forward again. You whimper from the slight burn, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. His movements are gentle for the next couple of minutes or so, and it isn’t until you start opening up more that he sets a steadier pace. Even when he starts to fuck you faster, one of his hands is still on your hips, rubbing your skin soothingly.

“Fuck,” Jungkook grunts out, followed by a sigh of your name as he pumps into your cunt, every ridge and vein of his cock dragging deliciously in and out of your walls. “You feel so good.”

He gazes down at you as he moves, and there’s just something so intimate about it that it makes you want to cry again.

You know what it’s like to have him fuck you, and this isn’t it.

No, this is something else entirely.

I love you, you think. I love you so fucking much.

“Missed you.” His words come out hushed, caught in half a moan, half a whimper. “Missed you so fucking much.”

“Did you think about me?”

“Always,” he says, without even missing a beat.

“No,” you clarify. “When you were sleeping with other people, did you think about me?”

“I only thought about you.” His hips stutter as he tells you this, like he’s confessing to something that he shouldn’t. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You never admitted this to anyone, not even Taehyung even though he probably sensed it, but you used to feel like you could be physically sick just looking at the photos on his feed every time you’d lurk on a drunken night. They were never flashy, just subtle enough for you to know that there was someone. It made you nauseous, because the place next to him was always supposed to be yours.

You just stare at him, not knowing how to process this bit of information. Sure, it’s an ego boost. There’s some pride in knowing that you were the one on his mind even if you weren’t together.

He’s so utterly gorgeous like this that you can’t form a single coherent thought, too lost in the way his eyes bore into yours and in the blossoming warmth that spreads all over your chest from hearing his words.

How did he manage to get even more beautiful? Sculpted by the gods. The standard for all men.

“What is it?” he asks when you stare at him for too long.

“I…” You blink away the daze. “I wanna be on top.”

“Okay.”

Jungkook slips out of you just long enough to get seated with his back against the headboard and pull you into his lap. You hover over him, letting his tip rub against your dripping hole for a moment before you sink onto him. You tip your head back and sigh as you envelope him fully again, the only difference is that you can feel him so much deeper like this.

He grabs your ass with both hands, kneading your skin as he helps you ride him. The sounds that you make together are downright obscene, bouncing off the walls, ringing in your ears.

“Harder,” you tell him shakily. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I want it to hurt,” you say, holding onto him like you’re bracing for impact, because you know he’ll give you what you want. “Make it hurt.”

Jungkook sighs once, then digs his heels into the mattress to steady himself before his hips go wild, thrusting into you with such force that it nearly has you sobbing, your head falling onto his shoulder. It makes you burn with pleasure, like a star before it becomes a supernova. When the tension starts building quickly, you can’t help but slam your hips down harder to meet his thrusts, to chase that high.

You press your lips against his skin, any spot you could find - his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. “Tell me you love me.”

The words are ready on the tip of his tongue, like he’s been waiting for an opportunity to say it. He doesn’t miss a single beat as he tells you, “I love you.”

“Mean it.”

“I do mean it. I love you.”

Truth.

For some sick and twisted reason, his words send you crashing over the edge, falling into that abyss of pleasure that you’ve been searching for. You say his name, over and over again, like you’re making up for all the years that he wasn’t around to hear it.

Your walls convulse wildly around him as you cry out, your toes curling, your thighs shaking. He holds you close, thrusting into you through your orgasm until you’re dizzy, like you could actually pass out from the overwhelming bliss.

“I’m close,” he tells you in a raspy voice.

You catch your breath long enough to say, “Come for me.”

“Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you say without much thought. If you were in a clearer state of mind, you would know that it’s reckless and stupid. You’re not on birth control, and if anything were to happen, you would have no one to blame but yourself.

But you aren’t in a clear state of mind, and maybe this is even more dangerous than if you were fueled by alcohol. At least you can sober up from alcohol.

You just want him so badly that rationality seems like a luxury you can’t afford right now.

“Y/N,” he whispers shakily, though there’s a warning edge to his voice that you understand.

“I want you to come inside me. I want it. I want it so bad. Please.”

Jungkook groans at your answer.

He doesn’t ask you to look at him, instead choosing to hide his face against your neck where you feel something wet glide down your skin as he grips your hips. It’s followed by a sniffle, and hands that hold onto you like you’re a lifeline.

He’s crying, and that breaks your fucking heart.

You don’t know what to do. Part of you wants to tilt his chin up to look at you, because it feels strange without his tender gaze on you, but you decide against it even though the tips of your fingers tingle with the need to do so.

Your walls clench with purpose, squeezing around him, trying to help you get there. It’s not that long before you hear your name falling from his lips in a choked out moan, so needy and beautiful and makes you nostalgic. He empties himself inside of you, making you shudder from the sudden warmth that he paints along your walls.

You stay in the same position for a few more minutes until your chest is no longer heaving with exhaustion and euphoria. He gently pulls you off his lap to lay you down on the bed, pressing an apologetic kiss against your bare shoulder when you wince from the oversensitivity, from any kind of movement at all.

When he moves to throw on his boxers and goes to stand up, you reach for him. “Where are you going?” You instantly feel pathetic for asking.

He pauses, then squeezes your hand as that sadness from before makes an appearance in his eyes again. “I’m just going to the bathroom,” he tells you, his voice quiet.

The relief on your face must be visible. “Okay,” you say. Rationally, you know he probably wouldn’t fuck you and leave you the second the deed is done. But again, rationality is a luxury at the moment.

Jungkook returns a couple of minutes later with a warm cloth, and dabs it between your legs to clean you up. You grimace when he touches you there, evidently sore already from the activities you just engaged in.

“Sorry,” he’s quick to say, though it isn’t really his fault. Or maybe it is his fault. You’re not sure if that even matters.

When he’s done, he gets under the covers with you. “Come here,” he says, then shuffles your body closer to his until he’s holding you with his hands on your bare waist. He leans down to kiss you, and you let him. God, you feel like you’re fucking melting.

It’s different from the kiss down at the beach, and it’s different from the needy ones you shared in the past hour. It’s soft and slow and easy, like there’s nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.

Jungkook breaks away eventually, and rests his forehead against yours then. One of his hands on your waist slides up to your ribs, until his thumb could brush the underside of your breast. The touch is gentle, sweet, completely innocent.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. He means everything he tells you. “You’re perfect.”

You even blush, like you’re a stupid lovesick teenager. “Tell me,” you say.

“Anything.”

You reckon it’s self-indulgent at this point. You’re only asking to feel better about your place in his life, or rather, the place that used to be yours.

“Tell me you can’t live without me.”

He nudges his nose against yours. No hesitation. “I can’t live without you.”

Truth. You know it’s the truth.

Nonetheless… “Liar.” Your tone is soft. There’s no bite at all. You touch his face, trying to commit to memory every detail, how his soft skin feels under your touch as if it’s the last time you’ll ever get to see him like this. Maybe it is. You never got to have a last time with him, never got to know that it was ending before it already ended. You’re not thinking about the morning because you don’t want to, but the seed of anxiety is there in your belly. Your fingers trace his jawline as you say, “You lived without me. You were doing fine without me.”

His lips ghost over your cheek. “It wasn’t much of a life,” he says. “I couldn’t bear it without you.”

The thing is, you know that he’s being honest. And it should make you feel good that you affected him as much as he affected you.

But then… it keeps leading you back to that question. The question that you thought you could go the rest of your life without knowing the answer to. But for that to be possible, you needed him to stay gone, stay out of your world forever.

He shouldn’t be here, tangled up in the sheets with you and kissing you like his life depends on it.

He shouldn’t tell you that he misses you, that he loves you. Shouldn’t tell you to please, love him too.

It’s contradictory, isn’t it? You needed to never see him again if you stood a chance of moving on with your life. You needed it and yet, all you wanted was to have him back by your side.

The tattoo catches your attention again. It feels like it’s laughing at you, mocking you.

You clench your teeth once, your eyes beginning to turn glassy. Jungkook sees it, and he’s quick to break up your train of thought. He presses his mouth to yours, shushing you with a deep kiss that makes your head spin, despite it all.

“Don’t think about it,” he mumbles against your lips, so desperate to get you to stop. As if he can sense where this could lead.

“How could I not? I don’t know who you are anymore.”

“You know me.” He holds onto your wrist, to keep your hand on his face before you can pull it away. “I’m still the same.”

“No, you’re not,” you say quietly, absentmindedly.

“Yes,” he insists. “Yes, I am.”

Maybe that’s true. Maybe you do see the person you used to know. But you only ever see him in glimpses and it always leaves you with a terrible, nauseous feeling afterward.

He doesn’t understand how much it hurts you to catch glimpses of the boy you used to love - the boy you still love - only to realize that maybe that isn’t the person he wants to be anymore. It feels like he keeps trying to kill that version of himself, like he despises the person who meant the world to you.

Are you gone forever?

Come back quietly.

“How old are you?” you ask after a moment.

The question makes him pause, his soft features twisting in confusion. He leans back a bit, so his eyes could focus on your face better.

“What?”

“How old are you?” you repeat.

It takes him another while to answer as he tries to see where you’re going with this. But when his search comes up empty, he just answers, “29.”

"I don't know who you are at 29. The last time I knew you was 24. No. You hadn't even turned 24 yet. Where was 25? 26? 27? 28? It’s unfair that you still know who I am when I don't know who you are. I feel like I never aged a day past 24. You carried on living but I'm still here."

His eyes well up once again, but this time, you can see it. The first tear spills over, lands somewhere on your collarbone. This is what you used to want, right? To see him hurting, just like how you were hurting? Well, be careful what you wish for.

No part of you feels victorious that you’re making him cry, that the score is finally being settled, because none of this undoes all of the shit you had to go through. If anything, it makes you feel even worse, like you’re still losing.

“I never moved on from us. I couldn’t move on from you,” he says, voice cracking toward the end. Your heart is doing the same thing in your chest, but you’re glad that he can’t see it. “I swear I miss you every day. I wanted you with me every day. You have no idea how much I wanted to come back to you.”

Jungkook looks so dejected, like a reflection of you these past few years. You recognize that look in his eyes. You know that sadness all too well. He was in as much pain as you were.

He loved you when he left you. He still loves you even after all this time.

You inhale shakily. For the first time, you feel infinitely selfish for only focusing on your own misery without even stopping to give him the benefit of the doubt, to consider the possibility that maybe letting you go wasn’t something he wanted. Maybe he isn’t the antagonist that you spent years making him out to be.

There’s more to it, and you need to know.

“Then why did you leave me?”

Graduation was just shy of a month ago, and two weeks before that was Hoseok’s flight when he left you all behind.

You and Jungkook, along with Taehyung and Jimin had gone to see him off at the airport. Of course you did, you were his best of friends after all. The goodbye was full of jokes accompanied by sniffles, and tears that overflowed without permission because you all agreed that you would hold yourself together for Hoseok. Jimin was probably the one who cried the most, even though inside, you were equally sad to see your friend leave.

A part of your life was ending, and that in and of itself was depressing enough already, but you thought at least the whole group would still be together and start the next chapter by each other’s side.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t the end of the world. All of you could still make it work, even if it wasn’t the most ideal of situations. You promised to keep in touch, promised to message the group chat every day and have video calls every weekend. You were still kids, and kids tend to be optimistic like that.

What none of you could see coming was how everything would fall apart in a matter of mere weeks.

Jungkook thinks that decades from now, when he’s old and gray and helpless, he still won’t be able to forget that day.

He should’ve been more concerned when your mother contacted him out of nowhere, asking him to meet with her, asking him not to let you know where he was going.

He’d shown up half an hour early to the cafe where they were supposed to meet, just because he didn’t want to risk being late and have your mother disapprove of him even more. Not once had she expressed anything other than disdain toward your relationship, but you’d always told him it didn’t matter, that you were the only person who could decide what to do with your life, not anyone else, let alone your mother. He always believed you back then, even if deep down, he still wanted her to see that he was enough for you. Her unattainable approval still mattered to him.

Jungkook spent thirty whole minutes running on nothing but anxiety and caffeine. That was probably his first mistake, ordering a cup of coffee which only made him more nervous than he already was.

When your mother arrived, it barely took her any time at all to get right into what she came here to say. She hadn’t even bothered with a drink.

Was that how it was always going to end? Should he have seen it coming from the beginning? Was he the only one who thought it would be you and him all the way until the very end?

Maybe he was more of a hopeless romantic than he thought.

It was the way she had called him a phase that she hoped you’d grow out of. That she had let you keep this relationship for long enough, but now that you’d graduated - now that you’d be starting a life for yourself - she couldn’t sit back and watch you throw it all away for a boy who could never give you what you deserved.

It was the way she told him she didn’t want history to repeat itself. How she didn’t want to subject you to the same fate that she and your father had to suffer through. How she had left your dad because in the end, he wasn’t enough for her and you, even though you were a child and you deserved to grow up with a father and with love.

She said the same thing would happen to you and Jungkook, because you were meant for greater things and he was not meant to deserve you. She made it clear that he would always hold you back, that he would never amount to even a fraction of what you should receive in life.

“If you love her, you would let her go.”

Cliché, right? Like the kind of stuff you only ever see in movies? Well, movies have to take inspiration from somewhere.

He thought about his own mother then, and about how people could have such different ways of showing love. He believed that your mother loved you, and he still believes that. She wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of seeing him if she didn’t care about you. She wanted the best for you, and that wasn’t him.

She didn’t have to tell him to keep it a secret from you, because he wouldn’t have told you regardless. He was well aware of how strained your relationship with your mother was, and letting you know would only drive it closer to the edge. She knew he wouldn’t tell you. He loved you, and that was the one thing that she could count on.

Just sitting there in that café, Jungkook felt like all of the air had been sucked out of the room, even though he was surrounded by the other patrons and their lively laughter as they chatted away. The pitiful way that your mother kept looking at him forced him to learn what it was like to feel truly worthless.

The pity in her eyes only intensified when he couldn’t even say a single word in response, couldn’t think of anything to defend himself.

Silence meant agreement, and that was what he chose. Jungkook - the naive boy that he was - stopped believing in you. He’d believed her instead.

He was just a kid, what else was he supposed to do?

She was your own flesh and blood, and he knew nothing could ever replace that. He would rather let you hate him, resent him for the rest of your life, than let you lose your family.

That day, he lied to you for the first time ever, saying he couldn’t come over because he was tired. The sunflowers he bought for you just hours prior ended up dying on his windowsill.

He wouldn’t see you again for a few more days, then for months afterward.

July was supposed to represent a blossoming summer, but all he could remember was the dreadful promise of a winter that would inevitably come.

You call his name when he takes too long to answer. “Tell me.”

“I love you,” he merely says. His hand brushes your cheek.

You frown, despite the way the three words make your chest tingle.

“I love you,” he says it again, trying to ease the furrow between your brows.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m sorry.”

His voice is soft, barely even audible, but it’s this gentleness that makes his words ricochet, ringing in your ears loudly like a gun going off in the quiet of your room.

Again with the apologies.

Fuck this.

It’s hard to take it to heart when you don’t even know what he’s apologizing for.

You gave Jungkook the chance to explain himself, but if he doesn’t take it, then that’s not on you. There isn’t much else that you can do.

You swallow hard, then shove him off of you so you could get out of the bed. Your legs instantly tremble as you attempt to stand, but you soldier on as you put on your bra and underwear, then grab your dress from where it lays abandoned on the floor. You’re shaking, but it’s difficult to determine if it’s because you’re angry, or cold without his warmth nearby.

He’s quick to his feet too, rushing toward you before you could leave.

“Don’t touch me,” you hiss when he reaches for your arm. He doesn’t listen, because when has Jeon Jungkook ever fucking listened?

“Y/N, wait-”

“Wait for what?! I asked you a simple question and you can’t even answer me.”

He runs a hand over his face frustratedly, clearly torn over something. He holds your angered gaze, but the way he looks at you is much milder, gentler even if it’s equally frustrated. “I’m trying to protect you.”

You don’t know if it’s the wrong answer or not. You just know that in this moment, it irritates you to no end.

“Oh my god,” you gasp mockingly. “Someone is trying to kill me.”

“What?”

“Someone is trying to kill me. Someone is waiting outside that door right now, waiting for me to come out so they can kill me. Holy fucking shit, I’m about to be assassinated.”

“Y/N, I’m serious.”

There’s that burning sensation behind your eyes again. “And you think I’m not? What do you mean you’re trying to protect me? Protect me from what? Do you think this is a fucking k-drama? Jesus Christ,” you scoff harshly. “What do you want from me? What the actual fuck do you want?”

Jungkook aims for you again, and in an attempt to ward him off, your swinging fist inadvertently collides with his chest. The dress falls to the floor again, laying next to your feet, that useless piece of fabric.

It probably doesn’t do much damage to him, but he’s a bit startled regardless. So are you, if you’re being honest. But you do it again, and surprisingly, he lets you.

“You coward.” You shove hard at his chest, making him stumble backward. “You unbelievable asshole. You fucked me, you said you loved me, and you still can’t tell me why you left me.”

He allows you to push him until his back is pressed against the wall. And even then, you don’t relent. Your fists continue beating against his chest as you start sobbing, spilling ‘I hate you’s in between so many expletives it could make his grandmother faint.

He might bruise in the morning.

You hope he bruises in the morning.

The least Jungkook could do is bruise for you.

You want him to curse him out for so many things - for loving you, for leaving you, for not even having the balls to tell you why he broke your heart. For coming back to remind you that you still love him. For proving that he still has you in the palm of his hands, and every twitch of his finger can make you feel like the walls are crumbling down on you.

But even as you tell him how much you hate him, you’re still thinking: Come back. I don’t want to keep losing you. Come back to me.

Because he’s the only person who can hurt you like this. When you think about him, it used to make you so depressed that you could hardly function. There’s no other way to put it to make it sound less pathetic. That’s just how it is.

You shouldn’t have agreed to this weekend, shouldn’t have been nice to him, shouldn’t have let him convince you not to think about it. You shouldn’t have opened the door for him in the first place, because there was always a part of you that knew he could get under your skin so easily just like that.

This wasn’t your second chance at holding onto him. It wasn’t a do-over. It was a re-enactment.

The years haven’t made you wiser, that much is clear.

You don’t know how long this goes on for, but at some point, you begin to wear yourself out. Your movements start to slow and the energy to violently sob leaves your body until you’re nearly collapsing. Jungkook catches you when you don’t have the strength to hold yourself up anymore. Why are you always so fucking helpless?

“You just…” Your voice gets caught at the end of a sob. This is rock bottom all over again. “You make me so sad.”

You grasp his arm weakly, feeling like your own lungs are failing you. You can’t breathe. It’s too much, too infinitely humiliating. He’s doing this to you again, and this time you have to shoulder most of the blame, because you are the one that enabled your own heartbreak for the second time.

You’re still crying, and you hate that this is the first time he’s ever seen you cry like this.

“I’m trying to protect you,” he says firmly, looking at you like he’s trying so hard not to break down alongside you. “Please, I’m so sorry.” The words come out as a whisper now. You can feel the tremble in his voice and the shake of his hands where they hold you. His big bambi eyes - the usual home of constellations - now house tears that threaten to spill onto his supple cheeks. “Please. What can I do to make you believe me?”

It’s those stupid fucking eyes. It’s your stupid fucking self.

“You need to tell me.” Your tears keep on falling no matter how much he tries to wipe them away. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“It’ll make things worse,” he tells you, his voice cracking as he does. He sounds like he means it, and maybe he does believe that whatever he’s hiding from you will only hurt you more. It almost has you caving, but you can’t do this a second time. You’re exhausted, both physically and emotionally. In the morning, you’ll think about how this is all so dramatic, the way you’re acting right now. The most k-drama-esque thing that has ever happened to you. But in the moment, you just feel like someone plunged a knife in your chest, and they keep twisting it, twisting and twisting,...

In the end, you decide that it’s a risk you’ll have to take, because nothing can be more painful than the absolute hell he’s putting you through. He’ll never understand how utterly excruciating it is to experience this kind of heartbreak.

“If you don’t tell me now, I won’t be able to survive you again.”

up next...

our beloved summer (08) ⏤ aka the JK centric chapter

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cellophaine · 2 years

Text

Shy

Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Abs riding – a hint of sub/dom dynamic, sweet talk, praise kink, cum eating.

Author's Note: I finally got around to writing this prompt that was on my list for forever! I just want to go 😖👹 on his delicious yummy abs holy crap somebody take the wheel 😵‍💫

*Everything in italic is flashback*

GIF made by me.

You knew how it went. It always started out innocent until one of you wanted something from the other.

… damn him and his abs.

Matt was shirtless, reclining on the spacious couch with you lying on his side, your head on his chest. He was laughing at a joke on the TV, but you couldn't register what was on since you had tuned it out a while ago, ever since you placed your hand on his midriffs. You leisurely caressed the dibs and ridges, feeling the smooth skin with little bumps of tiny scars. Your legs squeezed together to relieve the tension of something that was missing. You squirmed a little in your position; your mind wandered far away from the cozy living room, wondering if you could make yourself come on his–

"What are you thinking about?"

You blinked, lifting your head to look at him. His unsighted gaze had turned to where you were, a small grin on his lips that softened his face with all the faint wrinkles.

"You seem distracted, and you're squirming a lot."

You put your hand on his chest, moving it in a soothing pattern to ease his concern.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to distract you. You can go back to–"

"No no, you can tell me. What's wrong?"

His hand gently squeezed at your side, imploring you to be honest with him.

"Nothing's wrong. I just … I wonder if– you know what? It's really stupid."

You tried to sit up, but his hand stopped you. Instead, Matt pulled you closer so you would sprawl on top of his sturdy frame; his other hand gripped your chin to keep you facing him, making it impossible to hide.

"Tell me."

You took a deep breath, knowing there was no point in delaying the inevitable.

"I want to … ride your … abs."

Matt didn't say anything for a moment, and you felt your stomach drop in anxiety over a stupid proposal.

"Never mind I said anything. It's–"

"I'm surprised you didn't ask me sooner, sweetheart."

The smirk on his face was sinful, and you knew you were in for a day spent in bed with him. Or on the couch. Either way, you wouldn't mind.

And now, here you were, moving on top of him fervently like there was a fire you couldn't put out. Your arousal painted a sheer coat of translucent essence on his abdominals. You moved back and forth, swivelling your hips, revelling in the effortless glides of your wet folds on his smooth skin with all the pronounced definition underneath. It tied a knot in your lower belly in a foreign style, and you eagerly worked yourself up to unravel it. His hands grabbed at either side of your thighs, helping you move with ease. The grasp wasn't painful but tight like a pair of shackles, anchoring you to his heavenly body. Matt was laid back, completely in control, while you lost your mind over the strange feeling, your head thrown back with needy moans spilling out of your mouth. You repositioned yourself to move your hips just right, making your clit rub on the dibs and rise. The repeated friction drew more arousal from your core, leaking juice all over his muscles with your frantic movement. That fresh wave of pleasure hit you, causing your face to burn with the embarrassment of doing something so filthy. So debauchery. Your hips slowed as you held back your moans, and your head dipped slightly in self-consciousness. Matt's hand came up and searched for your face. He gripped your chin, pulling at your bottom lip so it would relax.

"Don't get shy on me now, sweetheart. Get what you want from me."

As if he could sense your hesitation still, he persisted.

"Don't think about it too much. Stay with me. Can you do that for me?"

You shyly nodded, which earned you an approving smile from him. You resumed the motion, working yourself up again. Matt's hand slipped underneath your sweatshirt, covering one breast and kneading with his calloused palm. The rhythm of your breathing became short and heavy, unsteady with each glide of your sensitive bundle of nerves on his abs. His fingers teased your nipple, playing with the aching nub. You whimpered, feeling overwhelmed with your senses being toyed with under his influence.

"That's it. That's my good girl."

His praise went to your head, sending a pleasant wave of bliss to your core, encouraging you to chase that high. You moaned wantonly as Matt tweaked your nipple; his hand on your ass pulled you towards the definition of his abs, magnifying the sensation. Hearing you let yourself go seemed to affect Matt too. His chest and neck were flushed, and his lips parted as he took a deep breath, taking in the scent of your arousal. His cock was so hard it ached, creating a tent in the sweatpants he wore. You moved faster on top of him, and you were close; Matt could feel it. Upon your desperate whines, he flexed his abs; his hands helped you move faster and faster. The dam broke, and you came undone with a choked cry, your hands braced on his chest to hold yourself up. You caught your breath, his hand tenderly stroking at your hips, coaxing you down from the orgasm. Your eyes fluttered, feeling hazy from the exertion. But they snapped wide open when you saw Matt gathering the wetness on his stomach and bringing the fluid to his lips. You watched as he sucked on his fingers, moaning at the taste. Even after what you just did, you still couldn't help but blush.

Matt pulled you down with him, unabashedly searching for your lips with his own. You could taste yourself on him, and you shivered at how it turned you on. When you parted to pull air into your lungs, Matt whispered against your lips, a mischievous glint hidden in his tone.

"We should do that more often."

You felt your face heat up and couldn't help the giggle that escaped at the suggestion. You buried your face in Matt's chest, closing your eyes as you felt the rise and fall of his ribcage and the beat of his heart underneath your cheek, steady as ever, grounding you.

*Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!*

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ohisms · 7 months

Text

↪ ᵀᴴᴱ 𝑀𝐼𝐶𝐾 . ( a series of sentence starters from season 1 of fox's sitcom , “ the mick ” . adjust phrasing as necessary . will be updated ! )

oh my god , why do you have gasoline ?!

we're fine , not that it's any of your concern .

stay out of trouble .

no , you're not coming in with me .

you're embarrassing . you embarrass me . i'm embarrassed of you .

can i bum a smoke , please ?

it's okay , i already have a dollar .

i get the sense that you're in need a lot .

i don't have a problem . you do , otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation .

what do you mean ? you invited me .

i got into yale , that doesn't mean i'm going .

the scales of justice tip in favor of the wealthy .

if we throw enough money at this thing , i'm sure it'll go away .

let's catch up in ten years when you need another loan .

i feel like we got off on the wrong foot .

i want you to come to me with boy problems . or girl problems , i don't assume .

i know you think you're pretty clever with this plan to drink me under the table , but there's two problems ... you're not , .. & you can't .

she's not dead , i can see her breathing .

i cannot count the number of times i've been ripped off a barstool & thrown in a cage .

i should probably get out of the house , yesterday kinda got away from me .

i don't like these people . but i like you .

why are we at a poor person's restaurant ?

don't touch my stuff , psycho .

no , i don't believe you . you're lying .

uh , i don't know , maybe because you're a lying bitch .

okay , look , i understand this stuff is really hard to hear .

let's just keep our voices down , okay ?

you think i care about these idiots ?

what is wrong with you ? you're making a scene .

how's that for a scene ?! dinner & a show !

i know what you're up to , & you're not gonna get away with it .

i'm sorry , you think you're in charge ?

once all this is gone , all that's left is this . & nobody wants just this .

wait , wait , wait ! i'm coming with you !

i will only go if i have your blessing .

if you need anything at all , do not hesitate to call 911 .

[ name ] , my beautiful angel !

i heard about that little accident you had .

so , this is it ! home sweet home .

holy crap , you're alive ...

what are you doing here ? are you living at my place ?

okay , i'm sensing some major hostility here .

i thought you were dead !

don't pay attention to him , he's no one .

— i'm just kidding ! oh , i'm so sorry , your face ...

no ... you're joking — this is a joke , right ?

i'm gonna go freshen up , this'll be fun !

my legs are heavy , but my mind is light ...

wait , why is my window open ?

do i look like i'm playing games ?

we both burnt that bridge , it doesn't matter who lit the match .

i need you to do me a favor , i did you a favor .

oh , thank god you're here . you've gotta help us .

oh , i'm not going anywhere .

what do you want me to do about it ?

knock - knock ... can i come in ?

oh ... i get it . you're jealous .

enough with the guessing games , i'm freaking out over here .

fine . i'll fix this myself .

i thought we agreed i'm the boss ?!

if you saw my silence as agreeing with you , that's on you .

don't take it personally , his heart just isn't for sale .

not now , [ name ] , i'm gloating .

[ name ] ?! since when do you smoke ?

HEY .. !! [ name ] . just the person i wanted to see .

i haven't gone this long without a smoke in years .

either be part of the solution or get the hell out .

well , now i feel like you're lying .

regardless of how we got here , i'm having a really good time .

is it ? is it creepy to be ahead of everybody at all times ?

i want to squeeze you around your neck until you can't breathe .

i said that forever ago when i was young and dumb .

if i were you , i would take this opportunity to lay low .

that's the opposite of what i just suggested .

[ name ] , you've been overruled .

i don't mean to offend you , you don't fit the [ surname ] brand .

it's already happening , we're becoming socially radioactive .

i'm sorry , that night is a blur of bad pinot and intolerable conversation .

oh , so you're a liar too ?

i was sitting at home , and then i remembered you're not my boss .

what's the matter ? little plan didn't work ?

#rp meme #inbox meme #rp sentence starters #inbox prompts #ohisms

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camryn-haitani · 19 days

Note

omgg heyy so i binge read all of your writings and like im speechless.. like holy crap. but like youre legt so talented, so i was thinking if you could maybe like write about sam golbach hearing colby and I from the other room doing some nasty.. and like he cant help and after we finish he wants to recreate it?? i hope u unferstand what im yapping abt here.. anyways once i LOVE you work !! <3

YES OFC

it's like you're in my mind

I hope you like this <3

you sound heavenly, doll

Sam and Colby x FemReader

you and Colby start to get nasty in y'all's shared room. Sam decides to surprise Colby by coming by y'all's house all while he hears y'all and he can't help but make you sound like that too.

TW: SMUT, cursing, masturbating (Sam), p in v sex, name calling (darling, love, sugar, baby, princess, slut), smelling (colbys smells you a few times), fingering (fem receiving), unprotected sex, pussy eating, slapping (thighs, pussy, face), squirting, crying, hair pulling

I'm sorry if this is a lil short

"fuck, colby!" his cock is hitting your sweet spot over and over. he can't help it, you feel so good wrapped around him.

"I know, darling. just a lil more, I promise." colbys head in your neck, breathing in your scent. he can't get enough. whatever perfume, deodorant, body wash you use, keep using it because he loves it.

"c-cumm-ing" you manage to let out in breaths. all while Colby keeps hitting your spot over and over and over. he knows exactly where it is, he just loves to tease you, acting like he doesn't.

"cum with me, darling. take all of it, take all of me." the words flow right out as your walls flutter around him.

you both calm down from your high as Colby goes to get a washcloth to clean you both.

"imma go get some dinner for tonight, I'll be back soon, love." he kisses your temple and leaves.

you roll over and scroll through social media until you hear a knock on your door. still being sore from Colby, you wobble your way over to the door to open it.

"oh... hi Sam. what's up?" you ask him.

he brings you in for a hug. you, of course, hug him back. he trails his hands down to the fat of your ass. "you sounded heavenly, darlin'." he says in your neck, tickling your ear.

Earlier

the sound of Sam's fist hitting against his balls match with the pace colbys fucking you at. Sam angles his hand more upward to create the illusion he's actually fucking you.

"fuck y/n.... you feel so good." he throws his head back as he came on his chest and stomach. he had been teasing himself ever since you and Colby started. palming himself through his jeans, only fisting the top of his leaking cock, even going so painfully slow. sam couldn't take it anymore.

Now

you've been standing for a good minute and the more you do, the more your legs get weak. Sam feels your weight shift and he gets an idea.

"jump, doll." he orders. you nod as you jump with your remaining strength. Sam's hands still on your ass as he walks you over to your bed.

"been waiting for this, sugar. bet you taste like it too." he squeezes your thighs then gives them a slap. you pull up your legs to spread them even more.

"god you look divine, baby" he licks a fat stripe up your pussy. your hands immediately find a way into his hair. your thighs subconsciously close but Sam pulls away and gives your cunt a warning slap.

"keep them open darling, I need to taste all of you." Sam dove his tongue back into your wet hole.

the knot in your stomach begins to unfold and he could tell, so he pulls away.

"w-what no no no no, Sam please." you beg.

"I don't think so, princess. want you to cum hard on my cock. can you do that for me , sweet thing?"

you nod but you felt a sharp sting on your cheek. you moan at the contact and sam gripped your chin to make you look at him.

"I want words, slut. now answer me properly." he doesn't let go until you answer him.

"yes! 'm sorry!"

Sam's fingers circle ever so slowly on your clit. he coat his two middle fingers with your slick and his spit and push them past your dripping walls. Sam moved his fingers so fast, you never had time to speak. only little squeaks everytime his fingertips hit that special spot in you. with everytime he pushed them back in, your thighs ripple every time his knuckles hit your skin.

"sa-! 'm gon-! cum!" he didn't react in enough time when he felt warm liquids coat his stomach.

"fuck, doll... do that again for me, ok?" he pulls his fingers out and aligns his cock with your pussy. he pushes past your ring of muscle, Sam restrains himself from pushing all of himself in and fucking you. but he knew you need to adjust to him.

you give the nod of approval to continue, and he did just that. he gets to the base and pulls back out just to push back in.

he can finally start going faster when your little pained whimpers turn into moans.

"fuck, your doing so good for me, aren't you doll?" his head hung in your shoulder.

"yes! doing so good for you." when he out his head down, he reached an angle that he didn't hit before. that knot in your stomach came a little too early than you wanted it to but you didn't mind.

"sa-m cu- cum-ing 'gain" you somehow managed to get out. the same feeling on Sam's stomach appeared again but he didn't stop. you were soo sensitive that tears started to form in the corners of your eyes.

"I know darling, just a little more for me." Sam muffled in your shoulder.

"fuck, pull my hair y/n." and you did just that. you grabbed a handful of his blonde hair and tugged. he let out the most erotic moan you've ever heard.

"shit lemme cum inside you please?" his 'please' came out higher than the rest of his words.

"please! Sam cum in me, please please please!"

he gets himself up and pushed himself a few more times to make sure it's not coming out. he slides his cock out of you and goes to clean y'all up.

you hear the door unlock and bags being set down on the counter. the footsteps come closer to your room. your sprawled out on your bed, tears down your pretty cheeks along with a red spot from Sam, legs twitching, and pussy leaking with Sam's cum. Colby opens the door and basks in your position.

"I see y'all had some fun."

all you do is whine as they both laugh.

#x reader #sam and colby x reader #sam and colby #sam x reader #sam golbach x reader #sam golbach smut #colby brock x reader #colby brock smut #colby x reader #colby brock x y/n #sam golbach x y/n

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short-honey-badger · 4 months

Text

Peppermint Tea 25

Holy crap I'm so sorry that this has taken so long to get out. I'm still trying to get over my slump, but hopefully, it'll be dead and gone soon.

I really hope you enjoy this! Our reader and Mihawk are finally doing the deed!

Warnings! SMUT SMUT SMUT hopefully thats all i need to say lol.

Masterlist

You freeze above Mihawk. Did he want to have sex with you? Right now? The thought makes snow spout and shower around you, dropping the temperature of the room by several degrees.

It's not that you don't want to. You do! But you've never had sex before, and you don't think your books do a very good job of explaining the concept. Your silence must have stretched for too long. You feel Mihawk tighten his hold, and his voice is full of concern when he speaks up, though you can still hear desperation wrapped around every word.

“We don't have to, Darling, but I have desired you for so long, and my patience is growing thin,” the warlord had wanted you for a long time, but he could wait longer if you wished. No one could ever say he wasn’t a gentleman.

“O-of course I want you!” You blurt before Mihawk can take his offer back or something equally silly again, “I want to have sex. I want to feel you, too.”

You lick your lips in thought, trying to figure out how to explain to Dracule. You're nervous, of course. This was a big step for you, but you trusted Mihawk to do this right.

Hawkeye watches you closely, seeing your nerves come in and make it hard for you to think. He's seen this happen before, and it would not be the first time Mihawk has pulled you out of your head, but he only smiles gently up at his angel and squeezes your hips to catch your attention. The warlord had no complaints about walking his dear one through what was to happen.

“Would it make you feel better if I explained everything as we go?”

You consider the offer and find that the thought of Mihawk explaining his actions makes you feel better, so you nod and squeeze his shoulders, “Yeah, I think I'd like that.”

Dracule gives you a nod, and he starts up those soothing strokes along your hips again. The most important thing here was to keep you comfortable. There was no joy or pleasure in the act of sex when his partner was not secure in the situation. You, above all else, deserved that from him, “Do you want to start now?”

‘Yes,” you whisper, eyes locked with Mihawk's molten gaze as he smirks in satisfaction.

The warlord moves silently, rolling the two of you over until your back is pressed into the mattress. His fingers find the edge of your sleep shirt, playing with the hem of the soft material, “I'm going to take this off now.”

You nod, sitting up to help him. Mihawk flings it to the floor, and then he looks down to admire the perky breasts in front of him. You look radiant in the low light of the bedroom, and the wine he had earlier makes him burn even hotter for you. He reaches out, tweaking your left nipple harshly while his free hand smooths up to gently cup the side of your neck. You watch him through lidden eyes, lips caught between your teeth as you shiver from the twinge of pleasure.

“So sensitive, sweet thing,” Mihawk croons and tweaks your nipple again with a content sigh, “You’ve had my fingers inside of your cunt before, remind me how many?”

“Th-three,” you stutter out and flush at the reminder. It shouldn’t make you blush so much still considering at least one of the days Mihawk or Shanks stays while here is solely dedicated to exploring your body. They were both givers, but now and then, they would be selfish for your mouth around their dick.

“Such a good girl for remembering,” Mihawk murmurs and sits back, devious fingertips leaving your throat and breasts to trail down your stomach and pluck at the elastic waistband of your sleep shorts, “Lift your hips, dear.”

You do as you're told, lifting your hips, and Dracule snags both your shorts and the soft cotton undies you wear. After he flings them to the floor, Mihawk leans up and grabs the pillow that’s been designated as Shanks’ and pats your hip, “One more time.”

The warlord slips the pillow under your hips, adjusting it until you assure him that you are comfortable, “This will make penetration easier, though the angle will let me go deeper,” Mihawk warns, and you give a slow nod, showing him that were paying attention.

Like this, you are fully exposed to him, and Mihawk takes his time to lavish your legs with attention. Smoothing his hands down to your ankles and massages your muscles. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, kissing the inside of your knee and making you giggle at the ticklish sensation. Hawkeye smirks against your skin and does it again before suddenly digging his teeth in and making you shout.

Before you can protest, the warlord soothes the bite with a swipe of his tongue and a kiss to the imprints of his teeth. It would not be the last mark he would leave on your skin tonight. You were a canvas, and he was determined to paint you the way he saw fit.

Mihawk lawyers your leg only to bring up the other one, kissing along your ankle and up your knee, giving it the same attention as the other. He kisses the inner part of your knee just to hear you giggle before he moves up, sucking bruises into the plush skin of your inner thighs.

Dracule and Shanks always impress upon you that they wanted you to tell them what felt good, even if you didn’t use words to express yourself. The way your body arced and strained for Mihawk’s touch spoke volumes of how much he affected you. You whine when the awful man licks down your thigh and to the apex of your legs.

Mihawk greets your pussy like an old friend, tongue swirling through your folds and then up to wrap around your clit, sucking gently and you spread your legs for him, sighing and tossing an arm over your eyes. You leak around his tongue, cunt quivering, and you are so so close, but then the warlord is pulling back and reaching forward to toss your arm off your face.

“You need to be properly wet and stretched before I fuck you,_,” Dracule explains, and smirks at your frustrated look. He ignores it, for now, tonight would not be one for his darker desires and sits back between your thighs, one hand maneuvering one of your legs back on his shoulder, “I want you to watch me.”

You angle yourself, sitting up on your arms to be able to get a proper view of Mihawk's actions, and the devious man rewards you by placing a soft kiss to your calf, “Do me a favor, sweet thing, and slick these up for me.”

Mihawk presses his middle and ring fingers to your lips, and you open up without thought, groaning when the warlord stuffed your mouth with the digits. He presses down on your tongue, and saliva pools in your mouth, coating his fingers before he releases the pressure to gently slide them in and out past the ring of your lips. His eyes track the way your throat works, memorizing the sight and storing it away safely.

Properly slick, Dracule slips his fingers from your mouth, and then slides them through the folds of your pussy, and the combined mess of spit and slick causes embarrassing and lewd sounds to fill the room.

“I'm going to put my finger inside you, now,” Mihawk murmurs quietly. His middle finger finds your entrance, and you watch, lips caught between your teeth as he sinks his finger inside you, all the way down to the knuckle.

You keen at the intrusion, cunt tightening and walls fluttering as Mihawk sets a steady pace, soon adding the other soaked digit and making you hiss at the slight stretch.

The warlord looms over You, bending your body until the stretch is nearly too much. He bends, balancing on his knees as his free hand captures your jaw and brings his angel in for a kiss. Mihawk, the impressive man, matches his kissing how he fucks you with his fingers, lips pulling at your own and sliding his tongue past your lips to give you a taste of yourself.

Mihawk loves the sounds that you make for him, and if wasn't getting so impatient to feel your cunt around his dick, he would take longer to pull them from you. However, his cock is straining against his sleep pants and staining the soft material with precum. It's almost painful in the way it throbs, and Dracule is desperate for relief.

He breaks the kiss, and you fall back, head hitting the pillow, and you gasp for precious oxygen. You moan when his thumb finds your clit, and Mihawk runs harsh circles into the nub. You shudder under him, legs shaking and hands digging so tightly into the sheets that you fear you'll rip them. You leak around his knuckles, and confusion settles over your flushed face when he pulls his fingers free.

Mihawk shoves his sleep pants down, and he hisses when the cool air touches his dick. He is painfully hard, and he grasps the base, scooting forward to rub the head of his cock through your folds, “I'm going to put it in. Are you ready?”

Dracule watches the way your pupils dilate, eyes shining with lust and you nod jerkily, tongue coming out to wet your lips, “Please fuck me, Mihawk.”

The warlord doesn't need to be told twice, and shifts forward, head of his cock sliding inside your waiting cunt. Mihawk curses, brows furrowing at how fucking tight you are. He pauses there, allowing you to adjust to his size, and only slips deeper when you give him a soft okay.

It takes a bit, but soon, Dracule bottoms out, heavy balls presses flush to your sensitive skin and causing him to groan. He stays still, teeth clenched as your walls flutter and pulse around him, dragging him deeper into your stuffed cunt.

“Y-you can move, now,” your voice, thick with unshed tears and pleasure rocked him, and with a low snarl, Mihawk rocked forward, before pulling out half way just to sink back inside. You whine, head thrown back and Dracule looks down to take in the way your pussy sucks him down perfectly.

Mihawk sets a steady pace, hips snapping forward. His hands find your hips, fingertips digging in and most likely leaving marks as he speeds up, cock dragging along your walls, and leaving you a cursing mess.

Everything felt overwhelming, oversensitive, over everything. You've always enjoyed the way Mihawk's devious fingers stretch you out, but having his cock open you up was something incredible. You angle your hips, pressing back into his thrusts, and your eyes blow wide when his dick shoved into that spongy spot deep inside. Dracule does it again, and you wail, hands finding his shoulders to hold on for dear life as he abuses that spot inside of you.

“That's it, sweet thing,” Mihawk hisses above you and leans down, bending you up and pressing your knees into the mattress beside your head. The angle is even better this way, and you look down to watch the way Dracule pistons in and out of your cunt. Mihawk can tell that you are close by the way you keep clenching around him, and he smooths one hand from your hip, thumb finding your clit and pressing down just enough that it ends you over the edge.

Dracule curses, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead as you come undone, gushing around the warlord so much that slick leaks past your folds to stain your inner thighs. He doesn't stop, pace steadying out as he fucks you through your first orgasam. He leans in, sealing his lips to yours in a kiss that leaves you crying for more.

Mihawk delivers, sending you over the edge twice more and soaking the sheets in sweat and juices. He has shifted, lowering your legs and slowing to a gentle pace that purposely ruts into your sweet spot. He is close, balls tight and swollen as he slides in and out of your slick hole. The two of you are tangled together, legs intertwined with one of your arms tossed around his neck to keep him close.

“I'm close, Angel,” Mihawk rumbles and presses his face in the crook of your neck to breathe you in, “Can I come inside you?”

Just the thought of being able to feel Dracule pulse and paint your inside was enough to send shivers all over your body. You nod, kissing the side of his face, “Yes.”

Mihawk nods once, and then he switches to a faster, more erratic pace. His rhythm is off, and it makes you feel powerful to see such a beautiful man come undone because of you. It's enough to make you clench around him again, your body wringing out one last orgasam for him. That tension breaks, and Dracule groans your name as he finishes.

You feel him come inside you, scorching semen splashing your walls and filling you to the brim. The combined fluids of your juices and his cum leak around his cock, and the amount that pools under you when he pulls out is obscene.

The two of you lay there panting, and it takes Mihawk longer than he would have thought to move. He rises carefully, moving off you and the bed. He stumbles to the bathroom and retrieves a wet rag, first cleaning himself and his thighs before loping back to the bedroom to clean you up.

Mihawk crawls back in the bed with you, body work and mind tired as he wraps you up in his arms. You snuggle into his chest, pressing your face into the muscles there and sighing heavily. He strokes your back and kisses the top of your head, “Are you okay?”

You nod against him, kissing his chest delicately, “I'm fine. I really liked it.”

Mihawk smirks at your admission, pride making him smirk and puff up like a bird. You snicker at him and then yawn loudly, eyes closing. You feel satisfied, body sore in the best ways. You feel him press a kiss to your hair, “Good, now get some rest, Angel.”

You definitely don't need to be told twice, and it takes less than a minute for you to drop off to sleep, your light snores already filling the room.

Dracule follows after you, holding you tight and not planning on ever letting his precious angel go. You are his, mind, body, and soul.

-----------

The next morning, Mihawk gets up and leaves long enough to go to the bathroom and draw a bath. Your tub is large enough to fit both of them, though it would be a tight squeeze. He ensures the temperature is just on the right side of hot before he lopes back to the bedroom.

However, before he can slip back inside, he hears the sound of your snail transponder going off, and there was only one other person beside himself that had your number. He quickly answers it before the ringing can wake you up.

Ca-lick

“Yoo do know that it is an ungodly hour to be calling, don't you, Red?” Mihawk sneers over the phone.

“Awee, Hawkeye, so you do miss me,” Shanks sounds delighted to hear from the other man, and it brings a reluctant smile to Mihawk's face.

“You shouldn't put words in my mouth,” Mihawk sniffs and knows it's the wrong thing to say when Shanks snickers over the receiver.

“Heh, I got something you can put in your mouth.”

The sigh that escapes him is long and world weary, but he had walked straight into that one, “You are terrible, Red.”

Shanks laughs on the other side again, “You know it, Baby.”

He continues before Mihawk can make a snarky quip, “Anyway, I called to let you know that I'm about a day and a half out from the island.”

“_, will be happy to see you,” Mihawk tells him, and even across the sea, he can feel the joy that the Emperor wears like a blanket, “So will I.”

Shanks hums on the other side, and his voice is full of warm affection, “I'll be there as soon as I can, Baby. I miss the two of you, too.”

Mihawk feels his face grow hot at the sincerity, and he is glad that he is alone in the living room, “Be safe, Shanks.”

The other man assures Mihawk that he will be and then ends the call. Dracule hums to himself and then turns to lope back to the bedroom.

Inside, you are still curled up on your side, your arm tucked under one of your pillows, and Mihawk admires the curve of your body in the low light of the room. A smirk slides across his lips when he sees how swollen your cunt is, and he recalls with a sigh how beautifully you clenched around him as you came around his cock.

The warlord kneels on the bed beside you, hands finding your shoulders to push you to your back. He looms over You, leaning down to press sweet kisses to your cheek and then to your lips.

You wake up with a groan at all the commotion, eyes cracking open to see the sight of Mihawk holding himself up above you, “G’morning.”

Dracule hums at your greeting, pulling away to look down at you with a quirk of his lips, “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

You stretch in bed, sighing when your body protests, back popping, and you reach for Mihawk, twining your fingers with his own, “Sore, but good.”

The warlord nods, and brings you hand up to kiss along your knuckles and then gently tugs you, “Come, I've run us a bath.”

Being clean sounds incredible, so you don't protest and go scoot to the edge of the bed. Mihawk stops you, and then bends, scooping you up bridal style and carrying you to the bathroom.

You giggle at the sweet treatment, head resting against his shoulder as Mihawk shoves the door open. He shuts it back before Hank or Sukuna could sneak in and carefully begins to lower you into the steaming water. It feels divine against your chilled skin and you gladly sink lower.

Mihawk tells you to shift forward, and he lowers himself behind you, pulling you back into his chest and splaying his legs on either side of your own, bracketing you in. It's nice to just enjoy his company, and you hum one of your favorite songs as you trace random patterns on his chest.

Dracule relaxes against the edge of the tub, hands finding your thighs to gently trail his fingers back and forth. The touch sends shivers up your spine, and you turn to kiss his chest.

“Shanks will be here in the next day or so. He called earlier,” Mihawk murmurs and the news brings a smile to your face. His hands splay wide, fingertips dipping down to the apex of your thighs, “He will want you, too.”

You flush, arousal already curling low in your stomach. You wonder how Shanks will want you, if he will be rough with you, selfish and taking like he is with everything else.

“What about you?” You ask quietly, and you can hear the mischievous tone that paints his voice when Dracule speaks up.

“Me? I'm going to enjoy the show."

@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax

#one piece #fanfic #reader insert #dracule mihawk #fluff #mihawk x reader #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x you #opla mihawk #opla dracule mihawk #sugar daddy dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #one piece mihawk #mihawk x shanks #mishanks x reader #mishanks #shanks x reader #red haired shanks

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year

Text

When Are You Gonna Come Down

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Aftercare; implied rough sex, but no sex is shown; implied lack of previous aftercare; nonsexual nudity; fluff; not beta-read

Summary: "Let's get you cleaned up," He urges against your skin. "C'mon."

You hesitate before you nod, scooching toward the edge of the bed. Bradley gets up with you, taking hold of your hand and guiding you down the hall. You follow, blinking a little blearily.

You're usually in your car by now. You're usually pulling over to take a deep breath, to calm yourself down, to settle.

"Slow down."

"I'm fine."

"Just hang on—"

You don't heed his order, already sitting up—and nearly falling back as your head spins. Your gut swoops with panic as you brace your hands on the bed, sucking in a nervous breath.

"Holy crap," You mumble.

"I told you." He's chuckling, but it isn't a mean sound. Bradley scoots closer to you, gathering you back against his chest and easing you to lay down. You sag back against him, head still throbbing as stars crowd your eyes.

"You always in such a hurry afterward?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," You grumble.

"I would, for next time. May tie you down, head it off at the pass."

"I'd like to see you try."

"I'm in the Navy, sweatpea. I can tie a mean knot."

You can't help but smile a little as he gently smooths beads of sweat back from your forehead, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"You alright?" He asks. "You want something to eat or drink?"

"I should go."

"Wait a little bit." His hand slides down, smoothing down the slope of your shoulder. "Just...Come down properly, huh? I'm not gonna send you out all wired."

"I'm used to it."

It falls out of your mouth, and it's chased by harrowing silence. His fingers never waiver in their tender stroking of your skin.

"You shouldn't be," He finally murmurs. "You shouldn't split so fast."

"It's normal."

"It's not right."

"I can handle it."

"...I don't mean to be rude," He hedges, "But you just tried to get off of my bed and nearly dropped back down immediately."

"I'm just a little lightheaded."

"I know. I was rough."

"I wasn't complaining."

"I know." He leans into it. You can't see his eye roll, but you can hear it. You open your mouth to argue again, but he lowers his head, dotting your neck with tender kisses. You let your eyes slide closed, feeling yourself become putty in his arms. He carefully props the two of you up after a few minutes. You draw in a nervous breath, waiting for your head to spin, for the room to tip sideways…But it never comes.

"Feelin' alright?" He murmurs.

"Mhm."

"Let's get you cleaned up," He urges against your skin. "C'mon."

You hesitate before you nod, scooching toward the edge of the bed again. Bradley gets up with you, taking hold of your hand and guiding you down the hall. You follow, blinking a little blearily.

You're usually in your car by now. You're usually pulling over to take a deep breath, to calm yourself down, to settle. You follow Bradley into the bathroom, leaning against the counter as he starts the shower up. He glances at you now and again, seeming to want to check on you before he draws you takes you by the hand, leading you into the stall. You sigh at the feeling of the warm spray, tipping your head under the stream and feeling yourself relax further. Bradley curls up behind you, dropping kisses to your shoulders before he takes hold of the soap. It's a moment before you feel him smoothing your hands over your back. You brace your slightly-shaking arms against the tiled walls, relaxing as Bradley cleans your body reverently.

You reach for the soap, determined to do the same, but—

"Nn-nn," He hums, smoothing his hands along your arms until he's intertwining your fingers. "This is about you."

It makes you shiver. The brush of his lips, and his steady, sweat insistence.

"You took me so well, you know that?" He murmurs against the shell of your ear. "So fucking sweet, baby. You felt so fucking good."

The praise melts over you like warm butter. You whimper softly, fingers against his.

"Took care of me, just like I needed," He adds, giving your hands a squeeze. "Now it's my turn to take care of you."

You think that it'll end at the shower—that Bradley will shove some clothes at you and nudge you out to your car with a kiss. But there you are, sitting at the counter, wearing your underwear and one of his old t-shirts, and chowing down on the best damn grilled cheese you've ever had. Before you can completely finish the first one, Bradley's tipping another one onto your plate. You glance up guiltily, but he just smiles, turning back to the stove.

"You can have it," You offer.

"Nu-uh," He waves you off. "That's yours. I'll make another one."

"...You don't have to be this nice, you know."

"This isn't a have to, this is a want to. Although," He glances at you over his shoulder, "If you're that used to taking it and no one taking care of you afterward, that's not okay."

"I don't do it a lot," You shrug, "But when I do, it's just, like...I don't know. It's quick. I don't think about it."

"That why you're so used to running?"

"I guess."

Bradley glances back toward you, and you hurriedly look down, taking up the grilled cheese and stuffing a bite into your mouth.

"Does running feel good?"

"...Not really," You mumble around the food.

"Then don't run next time."

"I didn't run this time."

"You tried to."

He's got you there. You raise your thumb, sucking a few crumbs and melted butter off before you glance at Bradley again. You find him watching you with gentle curiosity.

"...I'll let up once you finish that," He nods to the grilled cheese and the glass of water beside your plate. You consider, looking down at the plate and poking a few crumbs.

"Is it okay if I sleep here?" You ask.

You don't dare meet his eye. You hear turn the stove off, and the sound is chased by the steady padding of his feet. You feel the heat of him at your side, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him place a hand against the counter.

And then—he presses a tender kiss to your cheek. Your eyes slip shut, lips pulling with a smile as he murmurs,

"More than okay with it, sweetpea."

"You're a real romantic, Bradshaw. And you know what," You hold up the rest of the sandwich. "This grilled cheese isn't half-bad."

#Bradley Bradshaw x Reader #Bradley Bradshaw x You #Bradley Bradshaw/Reader #Bradley Bradshaw/You #Bradley Bradshaw fic #Bradley Bradshaw imagine #When Are You Gonna Come Down

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ohtobeleah · 7 months

Text

Lessons in Love & War // Bradley Bradshaw

-> A Terms of Endearment Blurb

Summary: On one of your first shifts back at work after the events of ToE. Odette is plagued with an illness that sends her to the emergency room with a very panicked Bradley Bradshaw.

Warnings: Fever. appendicitis. Relationship miscommunication, misguided anger. Bradley Bradshaw x F!reader. Jake Seresin x F!platonic!reader.

Word Count: 3.8k

Author Note: Day Eighteen of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Fever/Separated from loved ones. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Those were your days off. Tuesday and Thursday were the days that you bravely stepped outside your little bubble of peace and went back to work doing what you loved. No one in their right mind was about to stop you either, you could handle two full days at a time. Two days in one week was enough for you right now. Mav was in full support of you and Rooster sharing your full time hours. He went in to bat for you whenever the topic was brought up to the higher ups. He was your unofficial proxy.

“Oh hi there Dotty girl.” You weren’t ready to send your little girl back to daycare yet either. So Odette spent her days with her favourite person besides you, her Tooster, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. “What's got you all sad?”

Bradley had been doing some work on his lap–he was reading up on the signs, symptoms and possible characteristics of depression. You were just a little off at the moment, with good reason. You'd been through so much–more than anyone ever deserved to be put through.

“My tummy huwts Tooster–” Odette mumbled through tired eyes as she padded into the dinning room with her blanky, sucking her thumb. She had been feeling under the weather for a few days now, since Monday–It was now Thursday and she hadn’t started to get better in the slightest bit.

“Oh sweet girl, come here.” Bradley cooed as he reached out for the little girl who had stolen his heart, he scooped her up under her armpits and sat her on his lap. The first thing Bradley noticed was the heat Odette had to her. “Holy crap, you're burning up baby girl.” He frowned as he placed the back of his hand to her forehead. “You've got a bit of a fever there.” It was worrying, especially since Odette had already had some children Tylenol not long before you left for work. How long had she had a fever for?

“My tummy huwts–” She nearly sobbed as her little head lulled to the side, she placed her cheek against Rooter's chest to listen to his heartbeat. The kiss he planted on the top of her head as he rocked his knees back and forth to soothe your daughter told Odette that she was safe, that her Tooster would make her feel better. “Tooster–”

“I know baby, I know.” But the fact of the matter was Bradley didn't know. Sure he’d lay his life down on the line for Odette, but he really had no idea how to act when she was sick. It broke his heart to see the usually so energetic and full of life extension of you so down in the dumps and sick as a dog. She hadnt been her usual self for a few days and it was unnerving to say the very least. He did his best however, to keep a confident front up that he had this covered while you were gone.

Bradley Bradshaw was confident and wise enough to take care of a sick three year old. How serious could a flu be? Or a tummy bug as you were pretty sure it was.

“How about I make you some soup and we watch cartoons and hang out on the lounge for the rest of the day?” All Odette did in response was nod very tiredly. She hadn’t been sleeping through the night and the little sleep she was getting, was in between you and Rooster, where she felt safest and where you felt like she belonged right now.

Odette didnt eat her soup, Bradley had tried to get her to have a few spoonfuls of the pureed pumpkin and sweet potato soup he’d heated over the stove but it was to no avail. Your little girl was not having a bar of it before the tears started.

“Oh sweetheart, don't cry.” Bradley cooed as Odette snuggled as close as she could into her Tooster.

“My Tummy huwts Tooster make it stowp.” Dot mumbled into Rooster's shirt, clinging to him for dear life as she climbed his torso and laid herself flat as she could on him. All Bradley did was try his best to soothe the clearly uncomfortable three year old he’d been left in charge of today.

“How about we get you some more medicine to make you feel a little better?” It was the only thing he could really think of in the moment, Dot hadn’t been well sure, but this was a whole new level of unwell. “We’ll get a washcloth for your forehead too baby, that might help.” Bradley was starting to realise that he may or may not have been in over his head with this. He hadn’t gone through this before, he hadn’t ever had to worry so deeply about a child not being well before. He wanted so desperately to take Odette's pain away. He wanted so desperately to make her feel all better like you somehow always managed too. But this seemed more serious than just a cold or flu or random stomach ache.

And when little three year old Odette Dolan (Bradshaw) started to scream, cry and throw up in the bath Bradley tried to run for her to help her feel better, he didn't know what to do. He knew it wasn't just her being scared of the bath, because she’d been really good in it as of late. The past few weeks she’d gone without a fuss so long as Tooster and you were in it with her. But right now, as Bradley rubbed small circles into her little back and watched as she dry heaved into the bow he held under her chin, he knew he had to take her to people who could actually make her feel better.

“I think we need to take you to the hospital baby girl.” He sighed to himself, watching as her tears streamed down her puffy face. She hadnt eaten all day, hadnt cried this hard ever. She was in pain–Bradley could clearly see that. “Let's get you dressed and I'm gonna take you alright, see some doctors so that they can help.” Before Bradley could think about helping Odette out of the bath, she slumped into his hold, completely exhausted from crying and trying to throw up. Her fever had yet to break and she was burning up. “Okay, Okay–” That's when the panic really set in. “We’re going right now baby I've got you.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“You know I’d ask what exactly it is that you’re doing—“ Jake made sure to make himself known as he entered your hanger. “But I’ve come to learn overtime that that question doesn’t always have such a good answer.” He didn’t want to scare you, he knew that coming back to work was what you needed in order to move on, get back into a normal routine and make an effort to keep yourself from completely falling apart. The day had almost passed you by and you’d only caught yourself thinking about Jaidyn Dolan like….seven hundred times.

“I tried to call Roo at lunch to see how things are going at home but he hasn’t returned my call.” You replied while you sat at your workshop desk, working on a part Jake couldn’t quite pick. “Tell me everything’s fine, that we’re okay?” He knew what you meant, you didn’t need to elaborate or explain yourself. Jake knew, hell he knew because that very morning he’d woken Amilia up with his horrendous screams. He’d called out for Bob in the void of darkness.

“Dots sick isn’t she?” Jake sighed as he stood behind you, watching carefully as you worked. He didn’t want to point out that you were tapping your leg up and down like a mad woman or mention that you were tensing your shoulders, so instead he bent over to kiss the top of your head and kept his hands firmly on your shoulders. “They’re fine Fe—if anything Bradshaws probably just spending his day off sleeping and watching Repunzel for the thirteenth time.” You couldn’t help but to smile at the thought. “Trust me, they’re good, we’re good, everyone’s good and accounted for.”

“Thanks—“ It was like Jake had talked you down from some metaphorical ledge that you’d been standing on, ready to jump. Only you had been contemplating leaving work early to race home and make sure two of the most important people in your life are safe. “You’re right, he’s probably just sleeping with Dotty.”

“I can almost guarantee it.” Jake replied. “Besides, you’re off soon enough, no need to stress when everything’s okay Fe.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Everything was not okay. Bradley Bradshaw had never been more freaked out in his entire life. He hated seeing Odette this way, so sick and visibly in pain. This had to be more than just a stomach ache, her fever hadn’t broken in hours, she wasn't keeping food or fluids down and she could barely keep her little head upright as he carried her into the emergency room of the Miramar Base Hospital.

“Sir–?” The triage nurse was immediately on her feet when she saw Rooster through the little window. “Bring her right in.” Bradley did exactly that, he took the little girl who was burning up in his arms right into the triage room so that Odette could be assessed. “Who do we have here?” The nurse asked softly as she set up her station.

“This is Odette, Uh–Dot, she prefers Dot.” Bradley cooed as he sat down on the empty chair with Odette still clinging to him. “She my daughter, well, kinda, I’m her mothers partner and I’m one of her medical proxies and emergency contacts.” Bradley felt like all eyes were on him as he explained his relationship to Odette. He wasn't her dad but he was the closest thing she had. “She's been sick for a few days, but today her fevers just skyrocketed and she's not keeping anything down.”

“Is she throwing up?” The nurse asked as she placed little Odette's arm in a blood pressure monitor. “Any diarrhoea?”

“She's been throwing up, but I haven't noticed any diarrhoea–”

“And you said she's had a fever for a while?”

“Yeah and today her stomachs been hurting pretty badly too.” The nurse could see the worry in Bradley Bradshaw's eyes. She knew enough in those few moments to know that he cared enough about this tiny human to bring her in for treatment.

“Dot honey?” The nurse cooed as she looked at Odette and placed a tiny admission wristband on her wrist. “Can you point to what side your tummy’s been hurting on?” Odette, albeit slowly, pointed to her right side, just above her pelvis. The nurse sitting across from her immediately typed something onto the report she was writing up and turned back to face Bradley. “Okay Mr. Bradshaw, you can take Dot through to fast track, I'll have her admitted for an ultrasound but if I had to take a good guess here I'd say your little girl's appendix is acting up.”

“That means surgery?” Bradley held the little girl who was everything to him a little tighter. The nurse nodded in confirmation.

“You did the right thing bringing her in, we just need you to fill out these consent forms and we’ll take care of her.” The triage nurse could see on Odette file that Bradley was indeed an authorised person to give medical consent on Odette's behalf if you weren't able to. “But yes, she’ll need surgery if it is in fact her appendix, we don't want it to burst and by the looks of things if she's been sick for a few days it could very well be about to.”

“Okay–” Bradley pressed his lips together in a fine line, he felt sick to his stomach, his little girl was in so much pain. “Okay, uh–let's go Dotty, I've got you baby.” But in all the fuss and worry and focus he’d forgotten one very vital thing. He’d forgotten to message you about what was going on, all his focus had been on Dot that he forgot to message you. Her Mother.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

You hadn’t heard from Bradley all day. Usually he’d send you little updates, let you know when Odette had gone for a nap, if she’d eaten, if she was at daycare when he picked her up and dropped her off. But today he’d been radio silent since around ten this morning.

“Roo honey?” You were already on edge with the radio silence, but when you pulled into the driveway to see Bradley’s Bronco wasn’t there your heart immediately sunk into your stomach. “I'm home, you here?” Nothing. There was nothing but a still silence that flooded your home as you went in search for the man who had helped you out yourself back together again.

“Rooster?” You nearly sobbed out as you walked down the hallway to the bathroom, at the sight of water in the tub you immediately broke out into a heartbroken cry. No. No, not your baby, not your little girl. “Bradley!!?” It felt like you were right there, watching your ex try to drown you baby girl in the bath when your phone rang.

It was like the ringtone snapped you back into reality and all of a sudden the scene playing out before you was gone. It was just you again, staring at yourself in the mirror across the bathroom. When you looked down at your phone to see that it was just Jake and not Bradley, you cried a little harder and answered.

“Told you everything would be o—hey woah? What’s the matter Fe why are you crying?” Jake had just picked Amilia up from Paybacks play to drive her to work when your sobbed rang through the truck. “Y/n?”

“Roosters not here and I can’t find Dot.” Was all you had to say before Jake was pulling over on the side of the road before swinging around. Amilia slammed against the doorframe of the passenger’s side as he did so.

“Righto, ease up turbo.” She hissed as a frown overtook her face. “And you have the nerve to call me a maniac on the road.”

“Talk to me when you know your left and rights Oz.” Jake chuckled knowing that Amilia from time to time still had to really think about what side of the road to drive on. “Fe, try to breathe alright, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for why they aren’t home.”

“He hasn’t been answering his phone all day Jake! He doesn’t do that!” You sobbed painfully as you slid down the wall of your hallway to hug your knees to your chest. “He doesn’t—he doesn’t do that, he doesn’t—“ Jake knew you were having a full on panic attack, he knew because he got them too. Amilia heard it in your voice, the way you tried to breathe through your words. “He left—he took her, I can’t breathe—“

“I’ll call Rooster.” Amilia quickly pulled her phone out to call Bradley, his name in her phone was the Chicken Man. “There’s gotta be a good reason he’d just vanish with Dot right?”

“She’s sick.” Jake mumbled just loud enough for Amilia to hear. “Something could have happened but until we get ahold of him I don’t know what to do.”

“Voicemail—“ Amilia didn’t wait for Jake to tell her to try again, she was on it before he even had a chance to blink. “Fucking dammit Bradshaw.”

“We’re around the corner Fe, we’re on our way, just stay on the phone with me yeah?” Jake cooed as tears welled in his eyes, he hated this, hated hearing you so panicked.

“Fuck! Voicemail again.” Amilia groaned as she tried for a third time to get ahold of the missing lieutenant. “Surely he’s not intentionally ignoring us right?”

“No—“ Jake sighed frustratedly as he ran a hand across his face. “No somethings wrong, he’s distracted by something, he wouldn’t just go radio silent, not on Fe, me maybe, but not Fe.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Tooster.” She looked so tiny in the middle of the gurney. “My tummy huwts.” But Bradley knew as he walked with the surgical tray who was about to take your little girl in for emergent surgery that she was going to feel a hell of a lot better after.

“I know baby I know.” Rooster cooed as leaned over to press a gentle kiss to your daughter's forehead. “But the doctors here are gonna make you feel all better.” When Odette spoke soon after, Bradley’s heart sunk into his arse.

“I want mamma—“ Holy shit, he’d been so caught up making sure Odette got the care and help she needed, that he hadn’t even checked in with you.

“Mammas gonna be here when you come out of surgery baby, I promise.” Bradley could feel the colour draining from his face as he watched your little girl nod. “And so is uncle Jake—“ Bradley knew he was about to be in the dog house. He should have rung. He should have kept you in the loop. He couldn’t imagine what was going through your mind right about now.

As soon as the double doors closed, Bradley immediately pulled his phone out of his back pocket and couldn’t believe what he saw. An unknown amount of missed calls and texts from one Amilia Fisher explaining in great detail the way she was going to skin him alive for whatever it is that was keeping him from getting back to her.

There were a handful of missed calls and text from you throughout the day, just checking in to see how Dot was going.

And then there was one very important text, a singular message from none other than Jake Seresin that scared the shit out of Bradley. The overall calmness of it all, the time he read it in, the lack of urgency made it all the more worrying—because when Jake got calm? Bradley knew he was about five seconds away from blowing up.

H_ngm_n: “You better have running shoes on man.”

“Fuck—“ Braldey pressed on Jake’s called ID to ring him as quick as he could. This wasn’t good, not at all. It only took three rings before Jake was answering. “I can explain!”

“Where are you?” Was all Jake asked, again as calm as ever.

“I’m at the hospital, Dots fever was skyrocketing so I brought her in, turns out she has appendicitis, she’s on her way into surgery.” It was the most rushed explanation Bradley could give as he ran his free hand through his hair and paced up and down the hall. “Is Y/n okay? Is she alright?”

“We’ll be there soon.” Was all Jake said before he hung up. Bradley felt like he couldn’t breathe, he knew he’d fucked up. He should have called you when he was heading over to the hospital and think back to it he knew he had left the bath water in the bath too.

He’d fucked up, and he knew that you’d be a wreck too.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

When you first saw Rooster sitting in the waiting room, your heart beat just a little faster. But although you loved him so deeply and so fiercely, his decision not to call you about what was going on had left you wondering if he understood just how important it was for you to know the whereabouts of your daughter right now.

“Where is she?” You asked sternly. “Where’s my daughter?” Bradley could tell by the look in your eyes that you were pissed, but the love you had for Odette took priority.

He sat in one of those plastic hospital waiting room chairs, dishevelled and worried that he’d crossed some invisible boundary. Bradley didn’t mean to keep you in the dark, it was never his intention. He was just so focused on Odette that he didn’t think of anything else.

“She’s in surgery, they said someone would come give us an update as soon as she’s out.” Bradley explained as he stood from the chair he sat in and reached out to draw you into him. But you shrugged him off. “Y/n—“

“How am I the last person to find out my daughter has appendicitis?” You asked through a hiss. “Tell me Rooster how do you forget to tell the mother of the child you rushed to the emergency room that hey—we’re going to the hospital don’t freak out?”

“I’m so unbelievably sorry.” Jake could tell that Bradley was sincere. “I was just so focused on Dot I didn’t stop to think, she was so upset, I just wanted her to be okay.”

“Well she’s not alright is she!” It was just the fear talking, the fear taking over your critical thinking capabilities. “She’s in surgery getting her appendix removed and her mother wasn’t by her side to tell her everything would be alright because you—“ You shoved at Roosters chest, he didn’t budge. “Didn’t tell me what the hell was going on.”

“Y/n, listen to me for a second alright sweetheart?” It was killing him, the idea that you were mad at him for doing whatever he could for Odette.

“No—no don’t you dare sweetheart me right now Bradley, how could you not remember to ring me? Send me a fucking text?”

“Because I was looking after her! The little girl you left me to take care of! Her fever was getting out of control Fe!” It was one of the first fights the two of you had ever had.

“She’s not your damn daughter Bradley!” You didn’t mean it, hell the words you spoke even shocked you and you could immediately tell that what you had said cut Bradley deep as his features softened In disappointment and frustration. “I’m her mother, and you should have called me when she was getting worse.”

“Yeah—“ Bradley stiffened up as he looked over at Jake, he knew just how hurt you were by this mess but he never thought you’d throw Bradley’s ability to care for your little girl back in his face. “No yeah you’re totally right, I’m just gonna go, I’ll uh—I’ll just go back to my house and clean up the mess your daughter fucking makes all day because you’re too scared to send her back to daycare then.”

It was your turn to be stunned.

“Call me when she’s out, or don’t, I don’t care.” Bradley hissed as he walked past where you stood with his hands in his pockets and his tail between his legs.

“I won’t!” You called back as you watched Bradley walk out of the front doors of the Miramar Base Hospital, wondering how the hell he was going to fix this god awful mess.

***~***~***~***~***~***~****~

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