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stillmonsterz · 7 months

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GAM3 BO1

pairing: heeseung x reader

genre: smut

summary: reclusive gamer heeseung offers you the chance to live in a decent place in exchange for your companionship.

warnings: unprotected sex, swearing, voyeurism, dubcon, somnophilia, jerking off, exhibitionism, coercion, humiliation, anal sex

word count: 3.7k

The man you’re looking at in this coffee shop does not look like he could pay rent anywhere, let alone cover most of yours. He looks like he should be scrolling imageboards in his mother’s basement as he dines on high-fructose corn syrup. His eyes have bags, his skin is pale and sallow, his overgrown bangs reach below his eyebrows, and he’s so thin that the sleeves of his button-up hang from his arms. He peeks at you under his eyelashes, smiling shyly.

“You seem like a good fit,” he says quietly, fiddling with the handle of his mug of coffee. “And like I said, all you would have to do is clean up, do the laundry…make sure the place isn’t a complete pigsty.” He laughs softly. “God knows I’m awful at that.”

“Well, I can do that,” you say slowly, leaning back in your chair. “I still don’t understand why you’re being so generous. I mean, you could just get a maid. It’d cost you less money, too.” You don’t mention that the apartment is ridiculously nice for the pittance he would let you pay for it, and it’s in a choice location in the city. When you saw the ad for it on the roommate app you had downloaded, you had thought it was a scam. But then, you were so desperate that you were willing to fall for a scam. As it turns out, the apartment is real – he had sent you a video of it at your behest – and the owner was definitely real.

Heeseung – Heeseung Lee, a single computer programmer that had come into an undisclosed yet presumably exorbitant amount of wealth following his parents’ passing – laughs again, a self-conscious chuckle that quickly dies in his throat. “Well, to be honest with you…I just get lonely. I mean, my work is all online, and I don’t have many, uh, friends. I sort of just stay at home and play…” Heeseung’s voice becomes hushed. “play video games. It’s sort of pathetic.”

“Nothing pathetic about that,” you say quickly. He’s so earnest, it tugs at your heartstrings. “I think this could be a great arrangement.”

Heeseung looks up at you, and his eyes are shining. He smiles at you, tilting his head. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You smile as well. “And I’m a pretty good companion, if I do say so myself.”

Heeseung’s eyes flicker down, lingering below your collar for a full five seconds before he looks back up at you. “You know, I think you’ll be a great companion for me.”

Your first week living in his apartment is relatively peaceful. Relatively is the operative word. Your room is comfortable, stocked with plain furniture. Heeseung gives you carte blanche to decorate it as you wish, which is nice. Cleaning up after him is a simple affair, too. He deposits his dirty dishes and takeout containers outside of his door at regular intervals – 6 pm, when he wakes up and orders something, 8 pm, when he remembers to eat something, and 2 am, when he needs a snack to keep him going. You got home from work at 5, so it wasn’t hard to accommodate him. He exclusively eats Doordash, which saddens you a bit. When you made pasta for yourself one day, you decided to knock on his door and offer him a bowl of it. His eyes had widened, like you had offered him a plate of solid gold.

“Really?” he’d said, receiving the bowl.

“Yeah, of course.” You had smiled at him sympathetically; it was really so easy to please him.

Heeseung had grinned at you. “Thank you, thank you.” He had taken a large bite of it and closed his eyes, nodding and pointing at the bowl. “You’re so good at cooking, wow. Wow, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“No really…you’re an angel. Like a domestic goddess.” Heeseung had looked you up and down. “You’re like a cute little maid.”

You laughed and walked away.

His eating habits were one thing, but some things he does mystify you. He refuses to let you inside of his room, blocking your view of the door. You can catch a whiff of stale air whenever the door is cracked even slightly, which piques your interest. “It’s just really messy in here,” he’d tell you nervously. Heeseung only really comes out of his room to play Overwatch on the Smart TV in the living room. Other than that, he asks you periodically to bring him things when you get home from work.

There’s also one other issue: you swear your panties are going missing. Your favourite pair of panties has vanished, as well as a pair you generally wear when you’re on your period. You take care of all the laundry (including Heeseung’s own filthy boxers), so it’s impossible that you could have misplaced them. You don’t push anything, though.

Today is weird, though. When you get home, there’s a medium-sized package outside of the door. It has Heeseung’s name on it, so you bring it to his door and knock. “Heeseung, there’s something for you.”

Heeseung cracks the door open, his hair having grown even longer in the week you had been here. “Oh, no,” he says, pointing with a bony finger, “that’s for you.”

“Aw, Heeseung,” you say with a wide smile. “You got me something?”

Heeseung grins at you and shrugs. “It’s the least I can do. You do so much for me…I hope you like it.”

You excitedly open the package, but your smile drops when you see its contents: a cheaply-made maid outfit with spaghetti straps, white lace trim, and a skirt that would cover your panties and little else. “You…want me to wear this?”

“Yes,” Heeseung says, reaching out to touch your shoulder. “Come on, it’s just a dress. No one else will see.”

You sigh. He practically lets you live here for free, so you might as well play along. “What, you want me to wear it right now?”

Heeseung nods so vigorously you’re surprised his head doesn’t roll off his skinny little neck. You turn away to head to your room to change, but Heeseung’s grip on your shoulder tightens. “No. Change here.”

You whip your head to face him. “What?”

His gaze is steely now, his previous shyness having seemingly dissipated. “Change in front of me.” Then, as though he had been momentarily possessed, his softness returns. “Please? I don’t ask you for a lot, right?”

You swallow your pride and put the maid outfit on the ground. First, you remove your hoodie, revealing your tank top. As you fold up your hoodie, you can see Heeseung’s hand furiously moving in his boxers, which causes you to freeze.

“Keep going,” he says hoarsely, leaning his head back. Dread pools inside of your gut as you continue to strip. Soft, strained moans spill from Heeseung’s lips as he watches you strip down to your underwear. When you put on the maid costume, he carefully adjusts the straps of your dress with his slick hands. “Very nice,” Heeseung says. “Turn around for me?”

You turn, and you can feel the cool air of the apartment hitting your ass- the dress is that short. “So good,” Heeseung whispers. “You can take it off now.”

Your hands fumble with the hem of your dress, but Heeseung laughs. “Not here,” he says, removing his hands from your shoulder. “In your room, silly. And after you’re done, bring the dress to me, okay?”

You’re too dazed to question his instructions, and you’re all but too happy to get out of the dress. After you’re done changing, you hand the maid outfit to him. He smiles and takes it without a word.

Things go by relatively smoothly after that, and you almost wonder if you made that incident up. The only thing that has changed about his behavior is that he comes to see you more. Not for long, only a few minutes per day. If you make cookies, he’ll ask if he can try some of the dough or try a cookie. If you’re doing the laundry, he’ll ask you about your day as you fold.

You’re currently on your hands and knees scrubbing a particularly obstinate white stain on his couch when you hear Heeseung’s voice behind you. “You know, you should wear leggings more often,” he says.

You don’t turn to look at him. “Yeah, why?”

“They make your ass look perfect,” he says with a laugh. “Of course, it looks best naked.”

You’re about to ask him how he would know how your ass looks naked before he’s already wandered off. About two minutes later, you can hear him in his room playing a low-grade pornography, his own moans mixing in with the fake screams of pleasure from the women. You put your headphones on and try to drown the sound out- even the sound of Heeseung calling your own name.

This goes on for a while, and it only gets worse. Now he leaves his door open so the sound of him jerking off echoes through the apartment. When you’re trying to sleep, you can hear the severely un-titillating sounds of the brother-con hentai he watches.

One day, you’re rummaging through your underwear drawer trying to find your comfortable, plain bra. You realize that it’s missing, and your anger reaches a boiling point. You stomp over to his room and knock on the door. “Heeseung,” you growl.

Heeseung opens the door nonchalantly and smiles. “Hi,” he says innocently, “could you clean my room for me?”

“Could I what? Heeseung, did you steal m-,”

“And could you wear this while you do it?” As if he had been expecting you, Heeseung walks over to his bed and hands you the maid outfit, your missing bra, and that pair of your favorite panties. All of them were coated in globs of cum in various stages of hardening, especially your panties.

“Heeseung!” You take a step back from him. “I’m not doing that, for fuck’s sake.”

Heeseung just smiles at you. “I think you should.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Either you wear this, or make you pay your share of the rent.” Heeseung leans towards you, and you can smell his fruity, sickly breath. “The choice is yours, of course.”

“You’re insane,” you say, leaning away from him.

“Whatever. Now get in the maid outfit.”

Tears well in your eyes as you head to your room to don the most humiliating outfit you’ve ever seen. When you put the bra and panties on, his cum oozes out of them and drips onto the floor. The maid outfit is sticky all over, and you shiver. You don’t even look yourself in the mirror before leaving your room to see Heeseung again. His hand is already wrapped around his dick by the time you walk out, his boxers resting around his ankles.

“Wait, wait,” Heeseung says, holding up his free hand. “Don’t walk to me. Crawl to me.”

The humiliation forces your head down as you sink to your hands and knees and crawl towards Heeseung. When he sees you at his feet, Heeseung smiles, still stroking his cock. “Such a cute little maid,” he says. “Now get up on your knees, come on. Be good.”

You prop yourself up on your knees, so that you’re level with his crotch. “Now,” he says softly, “open wide.”

You close your eyes, open your mouth, and Heeseung slides his cock into your mouth. When he does, he moans loudly, and he grabs at your hair. Heeseung fucks your mouth like it’s a pussy, and the musty state of his cock makes you gag the entire time. His balls slap against your face, and he keeps whimpering pathetically. His other hand reaches down and squeezes one tit after the other, and within no time he’s pulling his cock out of your mouth, tugging it hurriedly, and finishing all over your face. He tugs his boxers up to his waist again and sighs. “That was great,” he says, affectionately ruffling your hair. “Whenever you’re ready, you can come inside my room and tidy it up. I know it bothers you that I’m so messy…”

Your jaw is too sore to speak, and for a moment you just lie there on the floor in the hallway. None of it seems real, none of it makes sense to you. The worst part of it all is that you can feel wetness pooling in between your thighs, which makes you groan softly.

A little while later, Heeseung emerges from his room. He crouches down and strokes your hair. “You want me to get you something?” he asks soothingly. “Some water, juice?”

“Water would be nice.” You cough a few times. Heeseung gets up and comes back shortly with a bottle of water that he opens for you. You pull yourself up so that you’re sitting, legs crossed, and you drink the water while Heeseung pats your hair comfortingly. Once you calm down, you and Heeseung head inside of his room.

It’s disgusting, which is an understatement. The bed is unmade and piled with stained pillows, the floor is spattered with cum, his bookshelf is a horrid mishmash of coding textbooks and manga, his closet is filled with clothes, of which only half are on hangers. His desk area is relatively clean, but one of his three monitors is playing some filthy pornography. The other has Discord open, and the third has some weird game you don’t recognize open. Worst of all is the pocket pussy resting on his gaming chair.

You sigh. Seems like you have a lot of work to do.

Over the next few months, you start to realize that Heeseung is treating you like a pseudo-girlfriend. He changes your contract so that he pays for virtually all of the rent, as well as the groceries. He even gives you a hefty monthly allowance, enough that you can start building up your savings.

Of course, you doubt that a regular boyfriend would treat you the way Heeseung does. For one, ever since you cleaned his room the first time, he expects you to clean it every day while donning a humiliating outfit of his choosing. He likes to have you walk around in the apartment wearing striped microkinis, plaid skirts with black G-strings, nurse costumes, maid outfits, and an elaborate swimsuit cosplay of his favorite League of Legends character. He’ll watch you as you clean his room clad in whatever skimpy outfit he’s gifted you, commenting on your body. Other times, he’ll come up behind you as you’re in the kitchen or living room and grope your ass or tits before wandering back to his cave. That’s what he does on a regular basis.

Lately, he’s been fucking you. It started when you were eating a bowl of cereal before heading off to work. You had heard his room door creak open, then his dragging, lumbering footsteps.

“Good morning,” he had whispered, placing his hands on your shoulders. “You’ve got a little something…”

Before you could say anything, Heeseung had licked the tip of his finger and swiped up the bit of milk lingering by the corner of your mouth. He stuck his finger into his mouth, still hovering over you. Every time you took a bite of cereal, trying to finish up as quickly as you could, he would wipe your face and then suck the milk off of his fingers. His other hand rested on your shoulder, rubbing it slightly, until it slid down lower and lower. As he ran his thumb against the corner of your mouth, he slowly began groping your breasts. Heeseung pressed his lips against yours, both of his hands fondling you.

You had pulled your lips away. “Stop. I just ironed this shirt…”

“Sorry,” he had said, buttoning your shirt from behind. As soon as it was sufficiently open, he groped your tits directly, his lips on yours. He had a greedy, selfish way of kissing you; his tongue would slither down your throat, gagging you. Heeseung had unbuttoned the rest of your shirt, then he pushed your cereal to the side. He pushed you down onto the dining table, your chest pressing against the wood. You could feel his hands tugging your damp panties to the side.

“Such a nice pussy,” he had murmured. You heard him spit, then you felt cool fingers pumping themselves in and out of you. You bit your lip so you couldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan. Heeseung only prepped you just enough to get you wet, then he stuffed himself inside of you, inch by inch.

Your hands curled, desperately trying to find any purchase. It had been a long time since you had anything inside of you, and you welcomed the pleasure. But you couldn’t let Heeseung know that.

His gnarled fingernails dug into your soft flesh as he pounded away at you. He wasn’t particularly vocal, only making soft moans of pleasure. Sometimes, he would drag himself out of you, then slam back inside. He smacked your ass. “Just look at that shit jiggle,” he said breathlessly. “I want to try that out next…”

With that, he had slid his fingers into your tight hole, and you couldn’t hold back a gasp. Heeseung pumped his fingers in and out of the band of muscle, widening it. You had never taken anything up your ass before, and your toes curled in fear and anticipation.

You felt him slip out of your pussy, and the painful stretch of his cock opening your asshole replaced the pleasure you had previously felt. Heeseung groaned as he fucked your ass raw, only the precum that had dribbled from his cock for lube. Fortunately, he didn’t last, pumping your ass full with hot cum before pulling out of you. “Your pussy is definitely better,” he had muttered before walking away. While you rested against the table, trying to recollect yourself, you heard him booting up another game of League of Legends. With a palpable sense of shame, you finished yourself off right there as your cheek pressed against the table, your fingers wildly swirling against your engorged clit. You came with a shudder, then you darted into the bathroom to clean yourself up and go to work.

He never fucked your ass again, but your pussy and mouth were fair game for him. Whenever he sees you now, wearing the outfits he picks for you, he shoves his fingers down your throat. Once your throat is pliant and his fingers are coated in your spit, he either make you blow him or he fingers you wherever you are, his other hand stroking all over your body. Then he goes back into his room while you’re there, dripping wet. Heeseung likes having you wet all the time, so he can fuck you at his convenience.

Like right now, he was playing another game of Overwatch, hunched over his controller and eyes laser-focused on the screen. You were on your hands and knees, pushing yourself back and forth on his dick. This time, he had made you wear a cow-print bikini, complete with a bell; every time you fucked yourself on his cock, it would jingle.

“Fuck,” Heeseung says, voice ragged, “my team’s Tracer is so shit at kiting. It’s such a basic concept.”

“That really sucks,” you say through gritted teeth.

Heeseung reaches his hand out and touches your cheek, rubbing his thumb along your lips. “You’re such a good listener,” he coos, lazily thrusting as he removes his hand and continues playing his game. He soon stops moving, and you have to pick up his slack, rocking yourself as fast as you can so he can cum and be done with it. “Ah, stop going so fast,” Heeseung says, lightly slapping your ass. “I want to sync my nut up for when I use my ultimate.”

As you heed his instructions, you squeeze your eyes shut and tell yourself that homelessness is a far worse prospect than this, homelessness is bad, you wouldn’t like a homeless shelter.

It wasn’t like he didn’t jerk off anymore, either. He did, maybe even more than before he started using you. Heeseung liked to spread his legs, milk his cock right in front of you, then lick up the cum off of the couch while he told you to play with yourself. Whenever you got close to cumming, he would tell you to stop and do some task for him. Then, when you were scrubbing the dishes or wiping down his desk, he would plunge his cock into you and fuck you until you were twitching and crying out. Other times, he would make you sit in his room with him. He would sit you on his lap while he watched some degenerate hentai, and he would make you jerk him off while he fondled your tits and rubbed your clit.

Once, you went to bed early because you had a hard day at work. Your dream is odd; you’re running from a ghost in a dilapidated mansion. You can’t see it, but you can feel its presence. Then you feel it catch you, its hands wrapping around your waist, your tits. The ghost rubs your body slowly, almost tenderly, and you can feel its hardness pressing against your ass as you’re suspended in the air.

When you open your eyes, you realize that it wasn’t a dream, not quite. There is a hand that has slipped under your shirt, caressing your chest, and another hand on your waist. And someone is humping you, whimpering as he does. Quite belatedly, you realize that your pajama pants have been pulled down.

“Heeseung?” you whisper sleepily.

“Shh,” he says, “just go back to sleep, okay? I’ll be done soon.”

You’re too tired from everything to fight it, so your eyes flutter shut. Heeseung slowly thrusts into you, almost like he doesn’t want to wake you, and you smile slightly at the sentiment. He fucks you lazily and slowly, and only speeds up when he’s about to cum. He cums inside of you and uses his fingers to push his seed back up.

“Thanks for letting me do that,” he whispers before leaving you alone.

As you’re drifting to sleep again, you can hear him telling someone to, “Fucking stop camping.”

This is still better than being homeless.

#heeseung smut #heeseung x reader #enha smut #enhypen smut #a fic by rubyreduji partially inspired this!

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takami-takami · 3 months

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UHHHH so like Keigo getting wholeheartedly distracted from his daddy issues on Father's Day because he has a single passing thought about making you a parent and now the baby fever + breeding kink combo are beating his ass

Thoughts?

- magpie anon ✦

Keigo's hell begins over coffee.

Coffee and a mindless, paltry comment.

Keigo has always been chipper in the morning, if not a little understimulated by the rest of the world taking its sweet time catching up to his trademark speed. Like most mornings, your boyfriend is a blur of red and gold, flitting about the kitchen to prepare the perfect breakfast for you two to start off the day.

Pots and dishes click and clatter around you, and you swear you see a dollop of pancake batter go flying as a stray feather does its work mixing the bowl to free Keigo’s hands to cook.

You, on the other hand, are perfectly content sulking by the coffee machine.

You take a sip. Your coffee is dark roast— a little reminiscent of the bags under your eyes, as you force yourself to keep them open long enough for the caffeine to hit your system. If they close for more than a second, you fear they won't open again.

Perhaps letting sleep take you would be preferable. You want nothing more than to crawl back under the quilted covers, to drag your boyfriend back in bed with you for ‘just five more minutes’ and bury yourself in his warmth; but judging by the way he’s bouncing off the walls today, you don’t suppose convincing Keigo is an option.

Breakfast looks practically gourmet as Keigo drizzles strawberry syrup in creative shapes. He arranges fruit slices in the shape of a heart for your plate.

You’re doing your part, though. You dunk sugar in Keigo’s coffee and rub the sleep from your eyes.

“I’m bored,” Keigo suddenly asserts.

“Mm,” you hum, warming your hands against the mug.

“We never do anything this time of year,” Keigo says.

“Do you want to,” you respond, with a raised brow.

Keigo hums. He gets it. You both do. Still, every year, something unknown itches and claws at the back of his throat.

“Tsukuyomi asked for the day off today,” Keigo continues, almost shyly. He stares into the crackling eggs that are about to char on the frying pan and pokes them with a spatula. “Wanted to spend it with his folks again.”

“Yeah? He deserves it, honestly,” you say. “Good kid. What, are you jealous or something? Want a day off too, huh?”

Keigo shrugs. You almost snort as you make your way to leave the kitchen and set the table.

As you pass Keigo by, you push his mug into his chest and plant a peck on his cheek.

“If you’re that bored on father’s day,” you yawn. “You could always just knock me up.”

Keigo forgets to flip the eggs.

He forgets a lot of things, actually.

You could always just knock me up.

Several of his interns ask Keigo to write letters of recommendation for them at work; and his handler reminds him today is the last day of the week, so he needs to look over the particulars in the database for his agency to be sent to the higher ups.

Thus, even as he dons the visage of the hero Hawks, Keigo is confined to the torture chamber that is solitary confinement in his office with his thoughts.

He could always just knock you up.

Several chewed pen caps litter the expanse of his mahogany desk, another falling with a thunk to join its brethren among the pen cap graveyard.

I could always just knock them up.

Keigo decides to take the train ride home, opting to give his wings time to recover from a recent fight against a particularly tricky villain. He watches the scenery blaze by in a fog, pensive as the raindrops plop against the window.

He should probably just knock you up.

#💌 asks #hi magpie!!!!#hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #mha smut #bnha smut

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vanteguccir · 5 months

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── ୨୧ !　𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗟𝗨𝗡𝗖𝗛𝗕𝗢𝗫

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where it's part of Matt's routine to prepare breakfast and pack his girlfriend's lunchbox every day.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by @sturniozoey

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: This tiktok inspired me to write it 🩷

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Sunlight began to filter through the half-open curtains, painting the room in soft shades of gold.

The sound of Y/N's phone alarm echoed abruptly, interrupting the silence of the morning, waking Matt who, with a sleepy sigh and eyes still closed, stretched his arm over his girl's body to turn off the device that rested on the bedside table.

His blue eyes slowly opened, finding Y/N's serene face beside him, lightly crumpled by the pillow and with strands of hair over her forehead and cheeks.

With a gentle smile, he leaned forward, brushing the strands out of the way before placing soft kisses on the soft skin of her face, spreading them across every visible space. Each touch was full of affection, as if he wanted to express all the love he felt for her in those small gestures.

His slightly dry lips from sleep finally found hers, sealing a sweet kiss over her numb ones, his beard tickling her chin slightly.

Y/N mumbled something indistinctly, still half asleep, ignoring his attempts to wake her up and just snuggling closer, sinking into the soft sheets and his warm chest. She didn't want to leave that moment, that comforting hug, but she knew she needed to start the day, or she would be late for work.

Reluctantly, Y/N pulled away from Matt and stretched, feeling completely enveloped by the feeling of warmth and security he provided. The girl slowly got up, hearing Matt's low laugh - who was watching her with loving eyes - still feeling the echoes of drowsiness, walking towards the bathroom.

While Y/N enjoyed the invigorating shower, Matt stealthily headed to the kitchen, determined to go through the motions of his daily routine and prepare his girl's breakfast. With eyes still tired from sleep, he began to gather the necessary ingredients, listening to the low sounds coming from Nick's room, who had probably woken up earlier than them - if he had even slept.

Waffles were Matt's specialty, and he knew exactly how to make Y/N's favorites. Skillfully, he mixed the dough until it reached the right consistency, adding an extra dash of vanilla. When it was ready, he placed it in the toaster, ensuring they would become golden and crispy.

While they cooked, Matt carefully cut a papaya into separate slices, arranging them on a plate with a sprinkle of oat flakes and honey on top, in the exact way his girlfriend ate it every morning. Next to it, a bowl of fresh berries waited to be added.

While the delicious aroma of waffles filled the kitchen, Matt prepared the typical black coffee, adding to the scent that surrounded the room.

When everything was ready, the boy delicately organized the breakfast on the wooden table, arranging the waffles with the berries on top above the pink plate with small heart designs, the papaya next with a spoon and a Harry Potter mug with steaming coffee.

With breakfast ready, Matt dedicated himself to preparing Y/N's lunch.

He knew that she worked incessantly at the office and that, despite having an hour's lunch break, she almost never managed to complete that time - always needing to return to her desk as soon as possible, which often resulted in her not being able to eat properly, or because of the type of food or whether she needed to buy it from a restaurant.

That's the reason why, when Matt discovered this situation a little over a year ago, he started to include the task of cooking Y/N's lunches everyday, and preparing her bag to take to work.

It's easy to say that his love language was acts of service.

Matt opened the fridge and took out some of the food previously prepared the night before - rice and seasoned broccoli, before taking out the raw steak, which he would fry at that moment, choosing a healthy and nutritious dish that he knew was her favorite and simple type.

"Good morning." Nick's voice sounded behind him, the oldest triplet opting to lie down on the couch while he waited for Matt to vacate the kitchen, as he did every day.

"Morning." Matt replied in a low tone, keeping his focus on his main task, not noticing his brother slowly falling asleep while hearing him using the many utensils.

He took a frying pan from the cupboard under the sink, placing it on the stove and pouring in a small amount of olive oil, waiting a few seconds for the ceramic surface to heat up enough for him to place the beef steak, turning it slightly and once in a while, making sure it was medium cooked.

Carefully, he divided the whole meal into individual portions and placed them in vacuum-sealed containers that could be reheated in the microwave hours later, ensuring that each one remained fresh and flavorful.

Before closing Y/N's small cooler bag, Matt took a sheet of pink post-it from one of the drawers on the counter, fishing out a black pen and writing a cute little message, expressing all his love and wishes for her to have a great day, before drawing a little heart. He placed the note on top of the containers, knowing it would be the first thing Y/N would see when she opened the bag.

With everything ready, Matt placed it next to the top of the stairs that led to the front door of the house, making sure Y/N didn't forget it.

With her work clothes already on and her hair still damp, Y/N walked out of the room she shared with Matt, feeling refreshed after her morning shower. Her light footsteps echoed down the small hallway until she reached the kitchen, where she found Matt leaning on the counter, busy washing the dishes he had used to prepare her breakfast and lunch, her eyes finding momentarily Nick asleep on the couch, letting out a nasal laugh.

A warm smile lit up Y/N's face as she approached her boyfriend, enveloping him in a hug from behind, her arms encircling his bare torso, caressing the exposed skin of his belly. She rested her face on Matt's shoulder, breathing in the natural scent of his post-sleep skin.

"Thank you for taking care of me, pretty boy." Y/N whispered, planting soft kisses along his right shoulder, up to his neck. Y/N's lips left small lipstick marks along the way, making Matt blush slightly, and a silly smile formed on his face, his blue eyes shining with love.

"All for you, petal." Matt replied, turning to look at her tenderly. Their eyes met, overflowing with love and mutual admiration.

Y/N pulled away slightly so Matt could finish washing the dishes - not before kissing his lips for long seconds, finally sitting down at the table to eat the breakfast he had prepared.

As she enjoyed the waffles and coffee, they chatted idly about Y/N's company gossip and Matt's plans for that week's videos, enjoying each other's company.

Time seemed to pass faster in Matt's presence, and soon, it was time for Y/N to go to work.

"Thank you for the breakfast and lunch, honey. I love you." Y/N said goodbye with a tender kiss on her boy's lips.

"I love you more. Keep me on your mind."

"Always, babe." Y/N affirmed, promising to think about him throughout the day.

With a heart full of love and gratitude, she walked out the door with her bag in hands, ready to face another day of work, knowing that she would have Matt waiting for her when she got home.

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @ksskianshd @soimightlikeoldmen69 @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @thebottledwatersupplier @soso-scarlettolivia @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @lvrsturn @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @patscorner @iammattswife @strnilolo

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

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writer-komaru · 6 months

Text

Wild One’s Rodeo 𓃗

Warning✧ [explicit] Grinding, no protection, dubcon.

Characters✧ Boothill

Words✧ 1464

Summary✧ As a waitress for one of the most popular bars in penacony, you’ve met your fair share of strange characters. A smug man adorned in exotic furs who tried making a bet with the bartender, a sparkling knight who gave every lady in the bar a rose without even staying for a drink, even an enigmatic woman carrying a purple katana with eyes like a serpent who sat alone at the end of the bar. But never have you met a man like Boothill. A man of steel and whiskey, tying you in hemp like you’re nothing but a naughty cow he’s gonna tame. Give him a rodeo he won’t forget.

“Sorry for the wait, ma’am. Here’s your sundae,” you place a decked out desert in front of an impatient woman who snarls a crude thanks. You’d like to give her a good smack for making you fetch her four other deserts until she is finally satisfied but you had already been scolded two times already. You couldn’t afford to lose another job. Not in this “thriving” economy that had the lower class slaving away while the rich babbled over dozens of mugs of beer or road cars that sped down the busy streets like a comet streaking through the night sky.

You pushed away the unrealistic thoughts and got back to work. “What would ya like, sir?” “How can I help ya, ma’am?” “Would ya like a refill?” The thoughts buzzed and bounced around in your head like a hive of bees; it was beginning to drive ya mad. That was until they suddenly went dead silent.

You placed another tray of expensive alcohol (stuff you’d never dream of buying) onto the faded wooden counter when the doors of the bar flew open, almost splintering into pieces. A shot blasted out into the sky.

“YEEEEHAWW!! How’s all yall fiendin’ tonight?” He hollered out into the crowded bar catching everyone’s attention, including yours. Even though you’ve never seen this man before in your life, the guests erupted into cheers, some even standing up to greet him or share drinks. At Leary it gave you a few seconds to scope him out. He wore a tight, jet-black leather vest and pants, held up by a brown and heavy gold belt. Yet, that wasn’t the main thing that caught your eye. His vest appeared to be cut right above the nipples. But, strangely enough, he didn’t really have any. Instead, his entire upper body from the neck down to his feet and fingertips was entirely plated with titanium, or some similar shiny metal. Could he be some type of robo cowboy?

“Heyyyy little lady, whatcha doin’ on yer own?~” you gasped as he pushed you up against the counter, humming right against your ear with such a deep country accent you felt your legs tremble. He seemed to notice it too, his smirk stretching into a full on smile. “Oh my sweet darlin’, yer gonna fly away like a mayflower in May if ya keep trembling’ like that. Don’t worry babydoll, I got ya~” he chuckled with that rugged, sultry voice as he playfully stroked your hips, as if he was tinkering with some kind of machine, steadfast on fixing your loose legs. But his tinkering only wet your face ablaze.

Who even WAS this man?! You wanted to push him away and scold him but your hips were pinned so hard to the counter you could feel every inch he had. No, you can’t think such dirty thoughts about a guest, no matter how persuasive they were. And damn, was her persuasive.

“What’s with that look, darlin’? Scared I’ll bite?” Lets out a small laugh, “I might be gentle with it if ya say please, mister…~”

“P-please… mister.” you managed out breathlessly

“Awh, aren’t you a cute little lady~ why not we find out what these metal hands’a mine can do to those barrels yer hauling around, huh doll?~” his hands roamed up your body and gave your breasts a firm squeeze. That little move of his snapped you out of your lustful daze to deliver a fiery slap across his cheek.

He takes it like a champ and lets out a light whistle, “wow baby, you sting like hot iron~”

“Y-you can’t just jump on top of a stranger and have your way…” you cross your arms and turn around, peeking back at him to see his reaction. Any other waitress would have called the Bloodhounds of him. But you weren’t just any woman. You were dying for something actually interesting to your monotonous assembly-line ass job and this cowboy might be your ticket to freedom.

“Awwwhhh come on, doll face~ I ain’t mean no harm. When I saw yer curves dressed in that get up I knew I hadta show ya how to properly ride a bull~” he leans forward, taking your hand in his and kissing it with a flirtatious wink. He begins walking back to the door, your hand still in his, “if ya want some hands on learnin’, follow me, pretty thing.”

You immediately ripped off your stained waitress uniform and ran to his side, “Oh Boothill, I’ve been itching for this~”

“Have ya, now?~” he raised an eyebrow in amusement and pulled you into a nearby alleyway, “Well I know just the way to solve a pesky itch~”

“How will-“ before you could even finish your sentence he lifted both of your legs and swung them over his shoulders, your aching pussy pushed flush against his toned metallic abdomen. The hard surface sent electricity zapping through your wet folds; you were not sure if it was your desire or his robotic body sending out small shocks as if to warn you about the power it can showcase.

“Overwhelmed already?~ never been dicked down by a real man, have ya, darling?” He teases, stoking your flames.

“N-no, I have… m-many times…” you bluffed.

“You sure, babydoll? Cuz this cute little pussy down here’s singin’ a different tune and myyyy is it a sweeten’~” he bites his lip as he rubs his hips side to side, the hard as metal rod in his pants grinding against you so good you felt like cumming already and he wasn’t even inside yet.

“P-please….” You begged between gasps.

“Please what, doll?~” he smirked wickedly.

“P-please… p-ple… pl… ease….” You choked out each word, struggling to put them together.

“Two little words and I’ll stretch ya out so good your kitty’ll meow so loud they’ll call animal control,” he gave your chest another teasing squeeze.

“P-please… boothiiiiiilllll….” You cried out.

“That’s a good girl…~” his eyes narrowed with focus as he pushed aside your drenched panties and stroked your folds up and down.

“So sticky and wet… like a rich lil beehive overflowing with thick honey…” he once again rested his head on your shoulder as he aligned himself to your twitching pussy. Without so much as a warning, he rammed right inside, immediately hitting the deepest reaches of your womb, making you release an embarrassingly loud cry and a hot stream of cum all over his shiny abs. “Wowie…~ someone’s really been dying for a proper fucking, huh?” He gripped your hips tight and grunted as he attempted a deeper thrust, “I’ll milk this pretty hole for all its for.”

“Aaaaggh... nnnagggg… s-stop… n-no deep… we… aaACK!~” you choked out moan after moan, almost like you were a pent up teen again. No matter how much you begged, he only went faster and harder, with enough robotic accuracy and consistency you knew you’d be sore for days. It was like he filled each slap of skin with a silent promise to somehow, some way, get you pregnant.

He let out a particularly loud groan in your ear, “oh baby, if ya squeeze me like that… ohhhh doll…~ I just can’t take much more-a this.~ Ya ready? Ready for a real mess?”

“Y-yeah-ahh! Yeeaaaahhhh-Ahhh!” You cried out.

“Darn baby…. Oh… oh fu- f-fudge…. Hold on baby, I’m almost… oh darling, you’re perfect for me!~” with one last growl you feel a large burst of warm cum burst inside of you, dripping out onto the concrete of the secluded alleyway. But instead of giving himself even a moment’s rest, he bites his lip and shoves himself right back in, humping at you like a dog in heat.

“Shi-sugar baby, I just can’t stop breeding this pretty hole… And these massive tits here don’t make it any easier~” he gropes them a bit more before pinching your nipples with a naughty smile.

“A-aaagh!”

“Ohhh~ did someone like that~” he begins fucking you harder and licks your neck, “I didn’t know I had such a foxy lady under me~”

“P-pleasssseeeee boothill…”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll get ya to that edge again…. And again and again and again, oh, you’ll have so much fun with me,” he laughed before delivering a cheeky bite to your neck. Your moans began to soften as your vision darkened, which he caught onto almost as fast as he’s drilling into you.

“I’ve got ya, doll… just let the darkness settle in.” He whispers with a soothing groan as he litters a series of bites along your neck and shoulder, each one fading your vision faster until it is purely black. When the morning comes, you’ll definitely get an ear full from your boss. That is…. If you choose to awake from this beautifully sexy daydream.

Hellooo everyone, I’m so terribly sorry it’s been so long. My life’s gotten a whole lot busier and I haven’t had any inspiration to write in a very very long time. BUT!! Even though this ain’t much compared to my usual stuff, I hope it’s still enjoyable to you all. I love yall so much, looking back at all the kind comments and likes warms my heart more than anything. See yall soon! (I’d be down for a part two if yall like 👀)

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr smut #boothill #boothill x reader #Boothill smut #i’ve returned

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fortheloveoffanfic · 7 days

Text

Anywhere That You Are

Hozier x fem!reader

Author's note: Inspired by that picture (as seen below), my new favorite song (That You Are) and an idea sent in via asks.

Summary: A scene of Y/n and Andrew enjoying their vacation in a secluded spot in the mountains of Italy.

Warnings: NSFW/SMUT, semi-public sex (sort of?), so much fluff.

They’d bickered for a while over where to go. She wanted somewhere quiet and secluded – because after two entire years of sharing her man with the world, Y/n wants him to herself. Andrew, on the other hand, had simply requested somewhere near water – the beach, a lake, a pool, anything he could swim in. So they met in the middle; two weeks in a rustic, little one bedroom cottage tucked away in the mountains of Italy, within walking distance of a vast, jewel toned lake. The house is perched on a jagged hill, overlooking the serene landscape, and sunsets wash the area in a gentle, golden glow. They’ve witnessed three so far, and each one has been nothing short of magnificent – though Andrew has argued that there’s at least one view that he appreciates much more.

Her, standing on the open porch, wearing nothing but his shirt as that warm light hits her face, making it seem like she’s glowing. Like something ethereal; an angel on earth sent just for him. Or even better, his own, personal heaven.

He’s thinking about that as he sits there, in one of the two wicker chairs with an acoustic guitar propped in his lap, fingers absently grazing the delicate strings. At first, he isn’t playing anything in particular. Andrew’s eyes are trained forward, taking in the view of rolling hills and aged trees while his mind strays to the thought of his love, just past the window behind him, moving around in their rental’s charmingly quaint kitchen. Humming softly as she fills the kettle, moving around fluidly as she takes it to the stove before prepping a pair of matching mugs out of the small cupboard over the wooden counter as it boils. She’ll fill up the mugs at the end of the process, and bring them out, all without spilling even a drop – because she’s more graceful that Andrew could ever dream to be.

Because if he is a perilously tall stack of china plates, just waiting for a breeze in the right – or wrong – direction to end in a clumsy disaster, then she is silk, moving freely through calm water.

As thoughts of Y/n take shape, Andrew finds himself playing the notes of a familiar tune, humming along to it as he does. A wedding present, written with a new friend for someone he loves so dearly, and so deeply, that even the most beautiful words, tied together with threads of gold, could only express a fraction of what he feels. But she’d loved it, and that was what had mattered most to him. Because if she loves it, then chances are, she knows.

She knows that if he had his way, they would be together – always. No oceans would separate them for months on end. There wouldn’t be months between kisses and neither of them would endure the heartache of seeing that other on screens without being able to touch even the barest tips of their fingers. No bed would stay half cold, and no terrible joke will be told through text. They’d go on walks every evening with fingers laced and her head leaned on his arm.

He would be anywhere – and everywhere – that she is. Because he always finds that he makes a bit more sense when Y/n is around.

So lost in the inner workings of his mind, Andrew completely misses the whistle of the kettle, the subsequent clinking of a metal spoon against the ceramic and finally, the tell-tale creak of the front door. He’s only pulled out of his thoughts when Y/n sets the pair of mugs down on the small, round table between the two chairs and comes to stand behind him. Her hands begin at his shoulders, spending a brief moment messaging them before sliding forward, fingers sprawled on his chest.

“What’s on your mind, huh?” Y/n probs, bring her lips to his cheek in a much-too-short peck.

Freeing one of his hands, Andrew places it over hers. “You,” he offers softly, shifting his head to meet her lips.

“Mm, yeah?” She smiles, “now, why would you think about me when I’m right here.”

“Because,” he tips his head so their noses are touching, “you’re my favorite thing to think about.”

Y/n giggles again, walking around until she’s in front of him. Andrew allows her relieve him of the guitar, watching as she carefully lays in in the vacant chair before climbing into his lap, her legs astride his thighs. “That’s all?” She pouts dramatically, “just think about.”

Chuckling, his hands find her hips, clothed in a gray t-shirt stolen from his suitcase – not that he’s complaining, his clothes look much better on her anyway. “Not just think,” he promises, catching her mouth.

“Yeah?” Her arms go around his neck as she melts into his chest, words escaping through their tangled lips, “what else?”

“Favorite person to kiss,” his lips travel along her jaw, and then down her neck, where he presses his nose to the warm skin near her pulse, “favorite smell,” he nips at her throat, leaving little, telling bruises, “favorite person to do this with,” and then, as of to examine his work, or just freshen the image of her in his mind, Andrew pulls away, broad grin splitting his cheeks. “Favorite person to see wearing my clothes.”

She is really just his favorite everything.

“Our clothes,” Y/n corrects pointedly.

“Oh, of course darlin’,” he plays along with a chuckle.

“I’m glad we’re here,” she says suddenly and the mood sobers a bit. A soft smile still plays at her lips, but there’s a twinkle in her eyes that are indicative of those private moments where one of them says something that is only meant for the other. A surge of emotion pools in her chest, and there’s a lump in her throat. It doesn’t matter how long they’ve been together – five minutes or ten years – it isn’t the distance that makes her heart grow fonder, its the moments spent in their own little bubble. When he’s close enough for her to throw her arms around his neck or lay her head in his lap. When the sound of his voice isn’t skewed by the speaker of her phone.

When she can open a door and find him on the other side of it.

Those are the moments that make her heart swell so much that Y/n thinks it may burst out of her chest. They are the ones that remind Y/n of how much she loves him, only because he’s him. There isn’t another person in the world that could rouse such an intense feeling within her, or even a fraction of the certainty she feels it with.

Lifting his hand to the side of her face, Andrew mirrors her expression. “So am I,” he returns with the same ease, “you have no idea how much I’ve missed it just being the two of us.”

Y/n huffs a chuckle and leans in conspiringly, her forehead pressed to his while his thumb caresses the apple of her cheek, “I’m willing to bet I do.”

Still cupping her cheek, Andrew tilts his head and closes his mouth in over hers again. His other hand, the one on her hip, searches blindly for the hem of the t-shirt. “We’re outside,” Y/n’s mumbled admonishment melts against his lips when he flattens his palm on her upper thigh, gradually inching it upwards.

“Just us up here,” Andrew returns, then adds, “do you wanna go inside?”

Clumsily, she undoes the plastic buttons at the top of his shirt, “not really,” Y/n’s hands slip into the top of his flannel shirt, fingers dancing along his skin, leaving sparks in their wake. “God, I love this shirt on you.”

“I’d like this off you,” he starts lifting the oversized t-shirt over her head, not caring where it falls when he tosses it off to the side. She isn’t wearing much under it, just her underwear, and Andrew’s eyes fall to her unrestrained breasts after discarding the t-shirt. His gaze is steady as he trails the tips of his fingers up her spine, and its more his feather-light touch than the temperate evening air that causes the dusting of goosebumps along her exposed skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasps, and Y/n feels her cheeks warm under his stare; a heady combination of tenderness and longing darkening his eyes.

There’s something about the way Andrew looks at her – and just looks – that never fails to rouse a sensation in the pit of her stomach. A warmth that she’s never really associated with sex; its more like the warmth of a hearth, reaching upwards. Embers spreading to the most hidden parts of her body. It's gentle, and comforting. It's not the rush of being desired, but the peace that comes with being wanted.

Its not fast and explosive. It doesn’t fizzle out when they’re spent.

It stands up against time, steadfast and true.

Andrew looks at her, and Y/n doesn't feel as if he's forgotten that there are other women in the world. Instead, she knows that of all of them, he will only ever choose her – want her.

“I love the way you look at me,” she whispers, still loosely clutching his shoulders as she leans forward.

Andrew’s grin broadens and he flattens his hand on the center of her back, “well, I love looking at you,” he returns in the same, hushed tone. A sound between a delighted chuckle and a hum of contentment falls onto his lips from hers. He tastes of the beer he’d taken out with him earlier, and something subtly sweet that makes her toes curl.

In a sequence of clumsy, fumbled movements, Y/n lifts herself off Andrew’s lap for long enough for him to tug her underwear down, and get it of one leg before they hastily undo the button and zipper of his jeans so they can shove them down to the middle of his thighs. A fit of laughter erupts from her throat, at some point during the jumbled mess of movements, and as she throws her head back, he laughs too, rendering their attempts efforts even more maladroit

It probably doesn't look like they’re in a movie, or even particularly sensual. But its the one of the things he misses the most when they’re apart. Not the act itself but the being with her like that; when they’re so caught up in how it feels that nothing else matters. Bodies in awkward positions or a stray comment that has nothing to do with anything at all, none of it matters because he's with the one person that it all makes sense with.

When Y/n sinks down onto him, her lewd moan is cast into the crook of his neck, and Andrew lolls his head to the side, pressing his cheek to her hair, the fruity fragrance of her shampoo flooding his senses. “God,” he rasps, reveling in the way she feels wrapped so tightly around him.

“Just like that,” he encourages, gentle grip on her hips guiding Y/n into steady pace. Rocking her hips against his in pronounced, languid motions, her back arches slightly, creating in a balletic curve. She looks much like art, Andrew thinks.

Just like that, so simple and unhampered. With a couple stray strands falling over her face and her head thrown back. Practically melting in his hands. Through his hazy, lust-blurred vision, he sees the most beautiful person he’s ever known transform into something that can only be other-worldly. Every bit of her has been carved by the gods with the purpose of being the truest personification of beauty.

What must he have done in some other life to be afforded the privilege of her company?

It's really the tangible that’s keeping him grounded; reminding him that he’s real enough to share that moment with her. The warmth of her silken skin under his rough fingers, the clench of her core around him, the tips of her fingers sunken into his shoulders.

The pressure of Y/n’s forehead against his, the heat of her breath when she ellicts his name in a husky moan. “God, Andrew,” there’s a waning smile tugging at her lips as she quickens ever so slightly. His hips buck to meet hers, and every time they connect in a heady, jerked movement, her breath hitches audibly.

God, he loves that sound. That little, whined, “uh.”

Y/n’s fingers curl into his shoulders as her thighs start burning, a direct result of Andrew’s light wash jeans rhythmically rubbing against her skin. That fiery friction coupled with the usual tingle that accompanies being stretched around him is enough to run her breaths shallow and ragged. There’s a light sheen gathered on his forehead when she presses hers to it, and from that angle, Y/n swears she can feel him in her stomach.

Vaguely, she registers when Andrew moves one hand from her waist, bringing his thumb to her sensitive bundle of nerves, while he lowers his head to press his mouth to the swell of her breath. Curling her toes at the new sensations, one of Y/n’s hands slide out from under his shirt and reaches for the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, disturbing his haphazard bun. Andrew's tongue flicking at the top of her breast, incits the most thrilling sensation in the pit of her stomach, and the way he's working her nub is dizzying; the combination quickly guiding Y/n to the cusp of release.

“I need to feel you,” Andrew grits, edges of his teeth dragging along the ample flesh. “Let me feel you,” he pleads urgently, the upward motions of his pelvis growing erratic as he tries to prompt Y/n to quicken her pace. “Come’on sweetheart,” he encourages, tone low and dry.

"Andy….Andy….” Y/n yelps, crescent-shaped nails grazing his scalp as her legs start stiffening.

“That’s it, darling” he entices, thumb working on her numb more vigorously now. Andrew needs to feel her squeeze him; like she’s putting every stray part back into its place. He’s aching for the kind of release that only Y/n can bring, the kind that empties his mind completely and leaves him seeing stars for the next few minutes.

Twin kaleidoscopes are painted onto her shut lids as it happens, and Y/n can’t help but blurt out a string of cried praises muddled in with the obscene repetition of his name. A sinful prayer shared between lovers. Her legs, no longer able to support her own weight, become jello and Y/n struggles to keep moving through the cloud of her release.

“Fuck,” Andrew heaves, lifting his head as Y/n quakes around him. His breathing is heavy as he follows along, mind now far too tattered to properly enjoy the way she looks when she’s completely in ruins. So instead, Andrew hastily pulls his hand from her center and cradles the back of Y/n’s head, pulling her towards him so he can crush his lips to hers, the fervor of their kiss matching the thick warmth swirling around them.

That gorgeous scenery that they’ve been enjoying over the past few days – trees that soar towards the dimming sky, the bellies of green hills and the occasional burst of colour owed to wildflowers, all dusted by that golden evening hue – blurs around them, completely forgotten.

Even as they come down from the very top of it, Andrew’s breathing remains heavy, and he can feel Y/n’s heart pounding against her ribs.

“Jesus,” Y/n suspires when they break, shoulders slumping. Andrew chuckles briefly at her exclamation before sagging against the back of the chair, throwing his head back so he can stare up – but not really – at the ceiling. Looking down at herself, Y/n can’t help but feel the heat return to her cheeks upon noticing that she’s completely unclad. He’s seen her like that maybe a hundred times by now, if not more, but there’s always the tiniest bit of self-consciousness that sneaks up on her when he’s completely dressed and she’s….well, not

Abashed, Y/n throws herself against his chest and buries her face in the side of his neck. Andrew can feel her smile on his skin, and the way her fame shakes slightly with bashful giggles. “What?” He smiles, one hand settled on the small of her back while the other reaches for the side of her face, urging Y/n to look at him.

“You're still wearing all your clothes,” she giggles, tugging her lower lip between her teeth as she meets his gaze.

Briefly, Andrew glances down at himself; the first four buttons of his shirt are open, and his pants have made it to the middle of his thighs, but otherwise he’s still entirely clothed. “Shit, yeah,” he laughs softly. “Tell you what,” he meets her lips in a punctuating kiss, “gimme ten minutes, and then we’ll fix that.”

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #hozier x reader #hozier x y/n #hozier x you #the hoziest #hozier fanfic #anywhere that you are

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pumpkin-bats · 2 months

Text

Bitter and Sweet - Mihawk x Reader

a/n: Genuinely was expecting Buggy to win over Mihawk, but the poll has decided! I hope you all enjoy!

summary: You happened to wake up before him and decided to make breakfast for you both.

contains: sfw topics, brief mention of potentially more intimate relationship, gender neutral terms for reader, fluff.

wc: 900 +

You couldn't shake the sensation of eyes trailing after your every movement as you drifted about the kitchen. The attention sat so heavily on your shoulders that, at least twice, you nearly burnt your hand trying to make a pot of coffee. Even the briefest glance over your shoulder was met with a swirling gold, urging you to hastily look away or else you’d be pinned in place.

It wasn't uncomfortable or violating in any way. You knew what it felt like when those eyes held suggestive intentions and this wasn't it. Although, whatever this was didn’t make it any less overwhelming.

There was... something more to it.

Mihawk habitually made breakfast for the both of you every morning. As far as you knew, the main reason he did it was because you had a bad habit of waking up late. He surprised you the first time with a full breakfast spread and the tradition stuck. You were grateful, but at the same time you’d felt guilty for receiving so much from him all the time.

So, on the one day you managed to wake up before him, you decided to take care of breakfast instead. This way you could return at least a little bit of the effort he put in for you every morning. And if you could get a surprised reaction out of him, it would set your day on a really cheery path that was worth the dishes you’d have to clean up shortly after.

Breakfast wasn’t anything too complicated. A simple plate of eggs and bacon with a cup of straight, black coffee for him and something similar for you. You figured a red wine enjoyer like Mihawk would be the type to want a bit of cream or sugar in his coffee, but you've never seen him add anything to it before. And the one taste he let you have a while ago proved to be quite the bitter concoction.

Once everything was all set you turned to face him, armed with the meal, and immediately faltered in your steps.

Mihawk sat at his usual spot, legs crossed and chin perched atop his hands from where his elbows rested against the table. Without his hat, there were no shadows being cast over his eyes and you were able to get a clear view of his face. But the way he looked up at you in that moment felt like staring at two beads of golden light gleaming from the darkness.

There's a deep intensity in that gaze, made even worse by the way he's posed. Nothing about it was sexual, but your heart hiccuped on a beat regardless. This wasn’t exactly the ‘surprised’ reaction you were looking for.

It took a second to force yourself to move, clearing your throat as you step forward, setting his plate and mug in front of him.

"Breakfast is ready." Your voice trembled minutely from nerves as you got your own plate and sat down across from him.

You sink the prongs of your fork into the eggs. You were actually pretty proud of how they turned out, expecting them to taste blander than they did. After the first bite was halfway chewed, you glanced up at Mihawk. He hadn't made much of a move, still staring intently at you which made a wave of anxiety bubble up your chest.

"What? What is it?" You put your fork down to face him head on with your full attention. "Why are you staring at me?"

"You made breakfast," he stated plainly. You'd be confused, even irritated, if not for the way that sentence seemed to be charged with something deep enough to be felt in your gut.

"I... did. Is that bad?" you asked, raising a brow at him.

He shook his head and finally moved from his poised position. Mihawk leaned against the backrest of his chair, picking up his utensils to cut into the eggs.

"Not at all. It’s quite sweet of you," he said, pausing to savor the bite he took. "Delicious."

You refused to acknowledge the way your face burned at his words. Instead, you returned your focus to your own plate, eating a bit more yourself before the butterflies starting to take flight in your stomach got too distracting.

"Not- not really… You always make breakfast for me. I just figured that I'd do it for you for once, since I was awake earlier and had the chance to," you explained, though it sounded more like rambling as you fought to keep your eyes away from him.

Your attempt failed at the sound of a soft hum, chancing a glance up at him.

"You, who cherishes your mornings, took the time to make this for me.” As he spoke, he brought the coffee you made him up to his lips. “I'll admit, I was quite enchanted watching you. So much grace in even the simplest movements. And with the way that little curl at the back of your head is sitting, it looks like you didn't even take much time for yourself before doing this."

He looked at you from over the rim of his mug, taking a slow, measured sip.

"How sweet you are to me, indeed."

You were lucky that you'd already swallowed the bite you took or you'd be choking on it right now. There was no added smile, just one last, lingering gaze before he took another sip of coffee and continued to eat his breakfast.

The effort it took you to return to your breakfast, with the way you knew your face was painted a deep scarlett, was monumental. You swallowed thickly and momentarily wondered if you'd even be able to finish eating after that.

#one piece #fanfiction #fic writing #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #one piece mihawk #fluff #x reader

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disneyprincemuke · 9 months

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santa baby * ls2

it's never fun feeling like an outsider, so you'd sworn that nobody would ever feel the way you did all those years ago

pairings: logan sargeant x platonic!femdriver

notes: hi i know i took forever to write this but uh what r u gonna do? ik u love me B)

you hum, whirling around at the camera crew settling right by the front of the mercedes racing home. “ah, it’s that time of years again, isn’t it?”

“yes! are you excited?”

you nod with a smile as you see a box being pulled out of the cart they’ve been lugging around in the paddocks for the video. “have you seen the present? got any hints for me?”

“aw, we can’t do that,” she giggles. “where’s the fun in that?”

secret santa is the yearly affair that you find yourself looking forward to as the year progresses. it’s always the santa hat and the fun of guessing who’s gotten you what this year. what used to be a silly game of gag gifts when you first started out, is now an endearing event filled with thoughtful gifts that you keep on your shelf for years to come.

last year, max had gotten your name. he is very thoughtful with his presents. his present sits at the top of your shelf: a paper mache trophy he admitted that he made with penelope (you’ve met her and she loves you) deeming you his toughest competitor in 2022.

you’re curious to see who drew your name this year.

“oh! do i get to keep this one?” you giggle as she hands you a santa hat. you pull it over your head snuggly and clap your hands. “where is it?”

“here.”

a box is handed to you, wrapped neatly in a mercedes green paper. you squeal as you take it into your hands and carefully unwrap it. there is something about wrapping paper that is so incredibly delicate and worth keeping.

you carefully tear at the tape holding the seams and edges of the box.

“any guesses who it could be right off the bat?”

“it could be anyone at this point,” you sigh, shaking your head. “could it be max again? hopefully it’s not charles — who knows what he will give me.” you look up to the camera. “in secret santa terms, of course. he is actually a good gift giver.”

you tear off the wrapping paper, folding it up neatly before pinning it between your body and elbow. “okay. truth time.”

you pull the cover off the box and tilt your head at the array of presents sitting comfortably in mercedes’ coloured confetti.

“what did you get?”

“a ‘best mum’ mug?” you say, coming out in a slight question as you lift up the pastel green mug to the camera. “am i pregnant and somehow it’s passed me?”

you hear a chorus of laughter as you venture further, each of the presents somehow getting weirder by the second. “and a christmas card? seriously?”

you graze your fingers over the 3d design on the card with a small smile, reading ‘merry christmas!’ with a cute doodle of a christmas tree in the centre. “we’ve been instructed to tell you to read that after you get all the presents and guess him correctly.”

your eyes trail to the gold plate in the shape of a star.

“another trophy!” you shriek. you squint your eyes to read the inscription on the plate. you sigh and press your lips together into a thin line. you hold it up. “best grid mum. the spelling alone gives it away!”

you step forward and let the camera zoom into it, the inscription reading “best grid mom”. “logan’s my secret santa?”

“ah, rookie mistake with the spelling there, wasn’t it?” she laughs. “there’s one more gift. he told us to give it to you when you figure it out.”

somebody else reaches out with a frame in their hands. you take it into your hands and smile, a picture of you and logan sitting right outside the mercedes home together for lunch sits tightly behind the glass.

“this is so sweet!” you coo, one hand covering your red cheeks. “do you want me to read the card?” she nods. you open the folded card and read as you speak. “thanks for welcoming me this year to the grid. you’re the best ever. hope i get to race with you longer than just this season. love, your secret santa.”

you look up as tears well in your eyes, looking into the camera. “aw, you’re the sweetest, logan. don’t worry, i’ve already got a present for him this christmas.”

you point to the lens of the camera. “can i grab this thing real quick for dramatic effect?” he nods. you grab the frame of the lens and take a step forward. “james vowles, if you do not re-sign logan hunter sargeant, i know where to find you.”

@cashtons-wife

#logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #fem!driver #f1 female driver #f1 x you #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke inthaf #logan sargeant platonic #disneyprincemuke 3k celly

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m1d-45 · 11 months

Text

ink, ink, ink

summary: overworking yourself all on your lonesome? not on the northland bank’s watch.

word count: ~1.3k

-> warnings: the name and title of a harbinger not shown in game. yeah.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept

< masterlist >

you slumped over your desk, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. a headache pounded behind them, the words on the documents before you losing all meaning.

it was late. later than you’d normally be up. later than what’s healthy. but the stack of unfinished files was barely as high as your nail was long, and you knew you could finish it. you just had to finish it tonight, and then you could have the next week entirely stress free. no more paperwork, no more forms… nothing.

you honestly didn’t expect being the creator to be this stressful, though you probably should have. you weren’t bothered about day to day activities, but with your permanent residence under construction, your opinion was required for everything. fabric samples for the sheets—inazuman silk or liyuen?—and tiles for the floor, or would you prefer to have rugs or carpet? the flowers in the front, gold or jade for the inlays, what style of plates or mugs? tea or coffee or both? would you like a garden in the back to rest in? please provide measurements for your clothes, as well as which nation’s style you preferred. please and thank you and we’re honored for the opportunity to serve.

you knew they meant well. you were never talked over or dissuaded, and the envoys from the nations you visited were always impartial in their descriptions. they knew you loved teyvat as a whole, and even if you had a preference for where to stay, you wouldn’t abandon the rest of the world for that one place. so they advised you about weather and the local wildlife, politely waiting when you stopped to let a crystalfly land in your hand. the people of teyvat were kind, accepting your answer with a smile and a bow, only wanting the best for you.

you suspect they knew your answer from the beginning, but nobody brought it up. it was nice to see the nations, and you never regret your final choice. especially not now, when the thought of your lover being so close to you gave you the strength to pick up your pen.

just a bit more, then you can go rest. lie down and be welcomed with warm arms, for he’s certainly long retired by now.

did you want a wardrobe, closet, or both?

would you like curtains around your bed?

how many pillows? what kind of blankets?

a tub combined with your shower, or separate?

blinds or curtains for-

knock, knock, knock.

you blink. you look up. by the time you’ve set down your pen and it’s registered to your tired mind that there’s someone at your door, the person in the other side calls your name in a soft voice.

a voice that you instantly recognize, automatically inviting in. a voice carried in the chest of a harbinger, but one that looks at you with adoration all the same.

pantalone closes the door behind him softly, barely the slightest click heard as he locks it. “when you asked to work in my bank, i had assumed you would be doing so responsibly,” he says, voice quiet. his eyes are low, shadows sharp from the candles lit on your desk, but you know he’s checking the clock the same way he knows you have a headache, silently reaching to pinch out the flame of one of the candles.

your headache eases a bit, and he wipes the ashes from his gloves on a handkerchief.

“is work-“ you wave at your desk, at the cluttered sprawl of invitations and letters across it “-not responsible?”

“at this hour?” his head tilts the slightest amount, and your already fragile will to keep working crumbles. “the only responsible thing to do this late is rest.”

you don’t fuss when he comes around to your side of the desk, sweeping your papers into neat stacks. you just lean against his side, watching as he quickly tidies everything, down to throwing away the napkin you kept on hand for ink spills.

you weren’t used to their fountain pens when you first got here, needing assistance to simply check boxes for a to-do list without the ink bleeding everywhere. your regrator was by your side even then, kindly walking you through the proper form and pressure. he’d been the one to teach you the code used within the fatui as well, and had gifted you the very pen that laid at your desk for your birthday.

the room dimmed again, smoke rising from his fingertips as he pinched out another flame.

“come now.” his hand pats at your shoulder gently, and you sigh as you straighten. he pulls you to your feet easily, bringing you a step closer than strictly necessary. with a neat flourish, he takes his jacket from his shoulders, wrapping it around yours instead. you don’t protest as he helps you put it on, nor as he removes his gloves, flexing your hands to absorb as much of the warmth from the leather as you can.

“won’t you get cold?”

he smiles, his hand warm as he raises it to your cheek. “i was born in snezhnaya,” he says simply, “you were not.”

he puts his hand around you and extinguishes the last candle, this time directly with his handkerchief instead of his hand. he walks you out of your—his, really—office, locking it behind him with a key he tucks away just as fast as he brought it out.

once you arrive at your shared—his, again—quarters, he sits you on the bed, letting his hand linger for a moment to ensure you stay there. you wait as he moves around the house, bringing you water and food, making sure you have at least a bit of each before handing you a painkiller.

when you try to take off the gloves, he stops you with a hand over yours. there’s a thin papercut over the side of his thumb. “not yet. your office was cold, and you’ll need the dexterity.”

“won’t they get dirty?”

“then i’ll have them cleaned, or simply commission another pair.” onyx tumbles over his shoulder as he takes out the tie from his hair, running his fingers through the dark waves to check for knots. “you are my priority. not them.”

once you’re finished with your food and are adequately sleepy from the warmth of his coat, he coaxes you to stand once more. this time your proximity is not of simple selfishness, but because your head keeps drooping and he’s afraid you’ll nod off where you stand.

he removes his coat and gloves as reverently as he put them on you, tossing them to a chair to stay close to you. he lets you remove your socks and shoes then tucks you in with a kiss, glancing back at you the entire time he removes his own. it’s endearing to see you try to stay awake to wait for him, his chest warming at the clear sight of your affection.

eventually he does join you in bed, reaching out to pull the blanket over your shoulder on instinct. your hand fumbles for his, squeezing once. “thank you.”

your heart is in your ears as you watch him lift your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. he pulls away with a smile, brushing his thumb over your fingers. “anytime, my lord. now please, get some rest.”

his glasses are left on his nightstand and your responsibilities were checked at the door, your eyes long closed by the time he settles you against his chest.

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designedbytheboss · 1 year

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Discover exquisite luxury coffee mugs designed by the Boss. Elevate your coffee experience with our premium collection of meticulously crafted, high-end coffee cups. Shop here to glam up to your home. Shree shipping over $299 on US order!

#luxury coffee mugs #Luxury White And Gold Plated Coffee Mugs

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kelari-talks · 2 months

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head-canons i have for tsc (mostly jerejean)

jean is unbelievably good at art.

cat, laila and jeremy leave sticky notes on the fridge and most are/include drawings of the most random shit

jeremy usually draws barkbark

jean takes note of this and for a couple of months just ignores it.

that was until jeremy draws a ridiculously bad portrait of jean, next to months old drawings of laila and cat

the next day jeremy wakes up and finds a yellow sticky note stuck to the fridge. its a remarkable drawing of jeremy, not by himself or either of the girls

needless to say he keeps the sticky note of himself forever and goes out with cat to get jean a sketch book.

jean thinks its stupid and a waste of time. this goes on for another two months before he is benched for being a little too rough during scrimmages. this turns into a very bored jean on the bleachers with nothing but a pencil and math notebook

one picture of jeremy turns into two. then three. then renee and her bright hair. so on and so forth

he ends up drawing quite a lot and of course his flat mates try to get a peek every chance they get.

jean doesnt care so much as its he is usually drawing scenery when around watching eyes

that was untill jeremy menages to sneak up on the french man sitting at his desk and sees a picture of himself.

he was a VERY happy camper that day and begs jean to let him have the picture

jean takes his book and leaves the room.

another artistic trait from jean is his surprising like of his pottery class.

jeremy is awful at it. thank go he pursued exy.

jean is again, unbelivably good at it. he has never been have to express any artistic talent in the nest so this is a weird, new feeling he finally doesnt resent

everything jean makes jeremy wants to keep. before they know it their cupboard is full of hand made mugs, cups, bowls etc.

jean thinks nothing of it at first. then he wakes up to see his flat mates in the kitchen with jeans hand made plates and mugs filled with coffee and food

for the first time in his life he feels like he is truly appreciated and somewhat wanted, at least a part of him

cat and laila try it out and make each other something for their anniversary. cat makes a dish for lailas jewelry and lila makes a very wonky vase

cat regularly has flowers in it either in the kitchen or living room

once jeremys birthday rolls around the girls drag jean out o get the birthday boy a gift

jean ends their trip empty handed as he slowly feels pressure (he doesnt quite understand) to find something for his friend

once the day before jeremys 23rd birthday rolls around, cat and laila make him a redvelvet cake with bright yellow frosting and make jean pipe on a simple barkbark drawing ontop

(it did not turn out as good as they expected)

jeremy still loves it.

as jean is getting ready for bed jeremy walks into their room to find a small box on his bed. opening it he finds a red and gold metal yo-yo and a beautifully detailed portrait of himself. the same one he asked to keep months prior, but now fully finished.

once jean is back in the room hes greeted with a tight hug from the shorter man and a very happy 'thank you'

for the rest of the evening jeremy is trying all sorts of tricks on his new yo-yo as jean watches. a soft smile onhis lips every time jeremy gets it tangled and swears to himself.

#jean moreau #jeremy knox #laila dermott #cat alvarez #aftg #tsc #the sunshine court #this is prob ooc idc #i wrote this in one sitting its 3 am #all for the game #all for the gay #tsc headcanon

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bruh-changbin · 2 years

Text

sweet tooth

pairing: park jay x waitress!afab reader

genre: smut, minimal fluff (minors dni)

warnings: oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (be safe), public sex, creampie, finger sucking, minimal food play, lots of mentions of food, brief mention of male masturbation, jongseong is kind of a big desperate loser, lmk if i’m missing anything

word count: 6.7k

a/n: writing this killed me idk why it took fucking forever dawg. but hey, i’m finally giving you all an enha fic without a depressing ending!!! here’s a fun drinking game to play while you read this: take a shot every time jay says a variation of ‘uhhh’ (you will die) ALSOOOO this is for my bae’s @k-ingzo @lix-ables thank you guys for hyping me up to write this bc if you didn’t I’m 90% sure I would’ve scrapped it 😻 LOVE YAAAAA

waiting.

the most painful game one can be subjected to.

seconds stretch into minutes stretch into hours and soon enough the whole concept of time is but a mere social construct that holds no real value.

surely his coffee’s gone cold by now.

the view from the window to his right has progressed from one filled with gold, yellow and orange to one filled with blue, black, and indigo. one by one the neon signs of nearby businesses have flickered on to attract the nighttime crowd.

he tries to ignore the way his heart is sinking in his chest, much like the way he himself is sinking deeper and deeper into the red vinyl cushion of the booth he’s seated in. the overhead speakers have been blaring elvis for the past half hour and he wants to scream and smash a plate on the floor in frustration. if they play hound dog one more time i swear i’m gonna-

jennifer. 20. single. 2.3 km away. her bio read: only swipe right if you like puppies!!!!!

he does like puppies and found her to be quite pretty, so he did as he was instructed. his heart did a small flip in his chest when his phone screen lit up reading ‘it’s a match!’. he got to talking to her and things were going smoothly. well, at least he thought they were. now he’s alone in a booth constantly refreshing their online chat with some sliver of hope that she may still be coming. the same three messages stare back at him:

[5:17 pm] jay : hey! I got here a bit early so i’m just waiting in the car. let me know when you get here and we’ll go in together.

[6:03 pm] jay: it started getting busy so i snagged us a booth, i hope that’s ok… anyways, i’ll see you soon.

[6:49 pm] jay: hello?

whatever, her loss. fuck dating apps.

and fuck jake sim for making him sign up for one.

maybe tinder just isn’t for him. maybe he needs to find love the old fashion way: bumping into someone on the street; locking eyes across a crowded room; both of you reaching for the last bottle of wine at the grocery store and then just insisting that the other takes it. you know, the kind of shit you see in movies.

the only thing is he’s tried the old fashion way for years to no avail, with tinder being his last resort. things like these take time, he tries to remind himself. you can’t rush love, that’s the magic of it!

but now, seated in a booth at an obnoxiously retro themed diner with his head hung low, he has lost all faith in love. he picks up the porcelain mug to his right and downs the dark liquid; cold, just like his heart.

he should just leave. i mean it’s obvious at this point that he’s been stood up so he should just head home where the teasing and nagging from jake that will bruise his ego even more is iminent. there comes a time in life where one must accept defeat and move on with-

“would you like a top up, sir?”

a sudden interjection from a saccharine voice to his left is what pulls him out of his trance of self pity. woah, hello you.

it’s been a long time since he’s been rendered speechless, but you do that to him. you, looking like someone who should be on the cover of a magazine as opposed to serving coffee in a diner. a white button down hugs your torso in all the right ways and he’s envious of the red apron that’s tightly wrapped around your waist because that should be him. the blue ballpoint pen tucked behind your ear somehow makes you 10x more attractive and he can feel his throat close up at the sight of you.

your skin looks smooth and your lips look plump and thank fuck jessica bailed on him because now all he can think about is bending you over this very table and fucking you raw. top up? more like top me, please!

the glint of the gold name tag pinned onto your shirt catches his eye and he reads it: y/n. pretty.

he notices your eyes shifting around anxiously and reality comes crashing down on him. stop drooling over her tits and answer the question you perv. focus!

“i u-uhhh yes, uh yes please that’d be great,” he stutters out embarrassingly, prompting you to bend over and refill his mug with steaming hot coffee from a pot that you hold with a perfectly manicured hand.

“can i get you anything else while you…” your eyes dart to the empty seat across from where he’s seated, “wait?”

god this is so embarrassing. now the cute waitress thinks he’s a fucking loser who got stood up (that is exactly what happened). could this day get any worse? he was just about to leave, spare himself from more agony when you waltzed into his life and made his brain a complicated, frazzled mess.

“uhmm no that’s ok,” he’s trying very hard not to trip over the simplest of words, “just the bill would be great.”

you nod, about to turn around and head over to the register when jay speaks up again in an attempt to preserve his image.

“it was supposed to be a-a work meeting,” he starts while motioning to the still empty spot across from him, “but my uh….. business partner… couldn’t make it, so..”

he’s lying. you know he’s lying. someone waiting for their ‘business partner’ to show up wouldn’t be checking their phone every 1-3 minutes while intermittently wiping their clammy palms on their slacks every time the doorbell jingles and a new customer enters.

but he doesn’t need to know that, so you paint on an understanding smile before heading over to the diner counter, sparing him one final glance over your shoulder.

it’s a sad sight to see; a handsome boy patiently waiting for someone who’s clearly not going to show up. so you bring him a slice of red velvet cake dolled up with cream cheese icing and waive the two cups of coffee that were tacked onto his bill for the evening.

“it’s on the house,” you practically whisper into his ear while placing a comforting hand on his sturdy shoulder.

“oh!” his voice cracks, “t-thank you so much i-” he calls, but you’re already walking away to assist another table.

his hand instinctively reaches to where yours was placed on his shoulder only moments ago. he could sense the warmth radiating from your palm, feel the stray hairs of your bangs tickle his ear, smell the artificial strawberry scent of your lip gloss.

either someone decided to crank the heat up in the diner or he’s becoming extremely flustered (it’s the second one). he scoffs down the cake you left him with flushed cheeks and tight pants, visions of himself prying your legs open and indulging in something sweeter plaguing his mind.

with a hefty sigh he throws on his coat before making his way out of the diner and into his car that’s parked right out front. from behind his windshield he watches as you greet a group of other customers before turning his keys in the ignition and peeling out of the parking lot.

he doesn’t even make it home before he’s pulling into an empty parking lot and jerking himself to the thought of you and your work uniform and your glossed lips.

covet. desire. yearn for. crave.

all very real tertiary emotions that park jay would use to describe his current feelings towards you - a server who he spoke to for two minutes max and now can’t seem to move on from.

unsurprisingly, jake teased the fuck out of him for getting stood up in the way that friends do. but he doesn’t know that jay views his failed date as a complete success.

albeit he is still mildly salty over the fact that he got stood up, all negativity is washed from his brain the moment he pulls into the familiar parking lot in front of the familiar diner and he feels the familiar pitter patter of his heart quickening its pace from behind his ribcage.

he tried to hold off on returning the literal day after he was just there, he really did, but he simply couldn’t bear it. the urge to see you, to observe you interacting with other patrons to know if you’re nice to everyone or if he got special treatment is too strong to ignore. it’s for science! he assures himself.

the dulcet jingle of the bell as he opens the door to the diner rings in his ears, and he waits to be seated. the hostess that shows him to a booth similar to the one he was in yesterday is pretty, but she’s not you. only then does jay realize that the possibility of you not having been scheduled to work today is very real. this is only worsened by the fact that he decided to come in the late morning today as opposed to the evening like yesterday. stupid, stupid, stupid!!!

while feeling like a complete and utter idiot he decides to get to work, whipping out his journal, writing utensils and laptop for the sake of not looking like a weirdo. what kind of person goes to a diner and just…. sits there. he’s gotta keep up a facade.

things are starting to look grim for jay as he sits and works and waits for the object of his desire to appear in front of him. while the retro cat clock on the wall continues its relentless ticking he attempts to swallow down his dismay.

alas, the universe must be on his side after all for soon enough he catches a glimpse of you through his peripherals. yes! you seem to be a little frazzled, gnawing on the inside of your cheek before grabbing a mop to clean up the chocolate milk that a toddler has decided to decorate the floor with; your shift must have just started.

he keeps his head hung low while intermittently scribbling in his journal or scrolling on his laptop, opting to steal an occasional glance as you assist a plethora of other patrons. the coffee he was served upon his arrival is starting to go tepid, much like yesterday, and he’s practically praying you’ll soon stride over and ask if he needs a top up.

“more coffee…” you pause briefly, “jay?”

hold up, how’d you learn his name?

his brow quirks upwards in confusion and with your hand - the one that’s not holding a boiling pot of coffee - you point to his leather bound journal that’s splayed across the table, opened to the first page. property of park jay is scrawled across the top in his sloppy handwriting akin to that of a first graders. he’s surprised you can even distinguish what it says to be completely honest.

“ahhh,” he remarks in understanding, smiling ever so slightly because hey, now you know each others names. that’s a step in the right direction.

“were you looking to order something? you know, other than black coffee.”

as if on cue his stomach growls (luckily quietly enough for you to not pick up on it) and he fumbles for the plastic covered menu to his right that slips and slides in his sweaty grasp.

“i would love to but uhh, i’m not sure what i’m in the mood for… what do you recommend?”

you roll his question around in your head for a moment, “were you thinking sweet or savoury? or if you want both, we make a pretty mean monte cristo.”

at this point if you told jay to walk off a cliff he would do it, so he orders your recommendation without hesitation.

“good call,” you purr before waltzing away from his booth and into the kitchen, leaving jay to erupt in a fit of goosebumps on his own.

while he waits he busies himself with reading an article on his laptop, getting halfway through before realizing he hasn’t actually been taking any information in the entire time. but can you blame him? his brain is… preoccupied with other thoughts.

soon enough you’re striding back over to where he’s seated, placing a steaming monte cristo with so much confectioner's sugar on top it looks as if there’s been a mini avalanche in front of him. he thanks you and is about to dig in before he realizes you aren’t leaving.

“is your business partner coming today?”

…what?

“my business partner? i don’t- OH! fuck, uh y-yes my business partner right! uh no, no he’s not coming today. i usually come here to work on my own though.”

for a moment he forgot about the blatant lie he spilled to you the last time he was here to save face, but he thinks he saved himself with that last bit.

a playful yet triumphant smirk makes its way onto your face, “that’s funny, i’ve never seen you here before yesterday.”

his eyes widen and his palms become impossibly sweaty. caught in a lie, great.

before he can come up with a witty response you just shoot him a knowing look as you walk away from the booth he’s seated in, your strawberry body spray wafting behind you and infiltrating his senses, rendering him immobile.

ugh how you make his teeth ache! he longs to douse you in syrup and powdered sugar, drag his hot tongue across your skin as you squirm and twist in pleasure underneath him. he’s sure you’d be sweet enough to give him a cavity. he finishes his monte cristo with gusto and attempts to do more work on his laptop but finds his brain to be far too frazzled to do so.

when he decides to call it quits, he leaves you a hefty tip before driving home with the taste of sugar coating his lips and the inside of his mouth.

over the span of a few weeks the two of you become accustomed to a game similar to the likes of cat and mouse.

he shows up to the diner in the late morning/early afternoon and prays that you’re scheduled for a shift; you usually are. through the course of a few hours jay manages to get minimal amounts of work done while you check on him occasionally, offering your opinions on different menu items and then placing a hand on his shoulder with a laugh when he trips over his words.

he’s sure you can sense the tension as well, but in case you can’t he keeps his thoughts to himself. you could just be doing your job for all he knows.

nevertheless, it feels as if all aspects of jay’s life now revolve around you. when he falls asleep at night you’re the last thing on his mind and when he wakes up you’re the first. when he gets himself off he has to think of you or else he won’t feel satisfied, and he can only hope and pray that one day he’ll be able to feel your body against his, the warmth radiating from your body making him feel like a cake in an oven.

sure he’d love to take you out, shower you with gifts and spoil you by taking you to expensive places that would surely break the bank, but he just can’t seem to push away all of the hardly appropriate thoughts and feelings he harbours towards you. it’s becoming quite an issue, honestly.

he thinks of popping the buttons on your blouse open one by one before diving in, scattering bite marks and bruises across your tits and neck and collarbones as you writhe and plead underneath him. i need more jay, please give it to me…

god you would sound so perfect.

his fantasies don’t stop there though; they never do. he can’t help himself from imagining what it'd be like to reach up your skirt and peel your panties down your legs as if they’re strands of red licorice. he’d go so slow, taunting and teasing you before slipping himself inside of you and feeling your cunt suck him in as if you crave him like oxygen.

you smell of strawberries and he’s sure you taste like them too. the stripper red polish on your nails would pair so well with the scratches he’s sure you’d leave across the expanse of his back and shoulders. he longs to dig his teeth into your plush thighs like they’re mochi, snapping a picture of his bite mark embedded in your perfect skin to save for later use.

down bad is an understatement when it comes to jay’s desire for you. infatuation is more like it.

today starts off like every other day. the smell of burnt coffee is what pulls him from his slumbers, and the clock on his bedside table tells him he managed to sleep in until one in the afternoon. when he trudges into the kitchen he sees his roommate and friend jake, who likely also just woke up and still doesn’t understand how to properly operate a coffee machine, staring at his phone.

it’s then that jake reminds him of the plans they made to spend the afternoon at their friends house playing video games before grabbing takeout for dinner. jay curses his past self for agreeing to these dumb plans with his dumb friends since he was planning on heading to the diner today to marvel at his favourite waitress! oh well, he can still head over for an hour and a half at most before he has to return and uphold the prior promise he made.

he turns down jake’s offer of a cup of coffee and, after a quick shower, he’s flying out the door.

when he finally makes it to the place where he spends most of his days now he doesn’t even wait to be seated, just slips into the same booth as always and waits for you. the little ritual the two of you have fallen into now so ingrained into his brain he can’t imagine straying from it. alas, it’s decently busy today so he busies himself by scrolling through his instagram feed while waiting for you to grace him with your presence.

when you finally appear in front of him you don’t say anything, just shoot him your usual friendly smile while precariously placing a napkin and mug of black coffee in front of him before leaving as quickly as you came. this sends jay into an emotional spiral. oh god, did i do something wrong? he ponders to himself, brows furrowed as he tries to remember everything he said to you during your last interaction that could have potentially been misconstrued.

only then does he notice the blue ink poking out from the napkin tucked underneath his steaming mug of coffee. with shaky hands he pulls it out and reads the short message written in your refined penmanship:

my shift is done at 10:00 pm.

wait for me? :)

y/n

and just below your neat scrawl he can make out a sticky lip gloss print, a faint hint of the fake strawberry scent that plagues his mind day and night still lingering.

in this moment he should be happy, ecstatic, victorious even! his constant and obsequious devotion to you has not gone unnoticed, and at long last he’ll be alone with you in a place that doesn’t have checkered tile floors and posters of pin ups on every square inch of the teal coloured walls. but no, all he feels is embarrassment.

embarrassment because he was too much of a wiener to actually do something so you felt the need to take matters into your own hands. and embarrassment because your little napkin love letter signed off with your glossy kiss is making him excruciatingly horny. it’s like he’s in highschool all over again - yikes.

he glances at the face of the silver watch that he scarcely takes off, the leather wrist strap now feeling uncomfortably tight considering his recent spike in blood pressure. with some reluctance he decides to leave early, tucking your napkin note into his pocket before driving home while barely focusing on the road and cars in front of him.

the hangout with jake and the rest of his friends is excruciating as expected. time seems to both fly by and drag on simultaneously, and he watches the hands on his watch tick down the hours, minutes, seconds until he can finally be with you - alone. when jake finally throws the towel in jay all but runs out of the door, speeding down the now far emptier city streets before pulling into the dining parking lot and waiting (he’s 23 minutes early).

with every passing minute his heart rate quickens and, when the time reads 10:06 pm, he thinks he’s going to faint when he sees you exit your place of work and scan the parking lot briefly before making your way over to his car. the sound of his passenger side door opening feels far off as he tries to make sense of the fact that you are about to be in his car, right beside him. what the fuck.

“hi.”

“i like your car.”

“oh, you do?”

“yep. it suits you.”

“really?”

you only nod at this, flashing him a subtle grin before flipping down the sun visor in front of you to tidy up your appearance after a long and tiring shift (he still thinks you look pretty). it feels as if his fingers aren’t his own as he fiddles with the radio while gazing at you through his peripherals, watching as you rub the smudged mascara from underneath your eyes before applying a final coat of the lip gloss that he loves oh so much. how on earth is he going to last longer than 5 minutes without falling at your feet?

“sooo what do you wanna do?” jay questions, unsure if his eagerness to hear your response is because he’s genuinely curious or because he just likes the sound of your voice.

“you choose, take me anywhere,” you offer with a smile, “surprise me!”

“okay!” he responds, narrowly escaping a voice crack as he shifts his car into reverse.. he has just the place in mind.

the drive is somewhat of a lengthy one, although you don’t seem to mind. it’s warm enough to have the windows down, and jay greedily gulps down deep breaths of the fresh night air. from your spot in the passenger seat you ramble about your day at the diner, complaining about an old man who held the ketchup bottle the wrong way and promptly squirted it all over you when you came to ask how he was doing. despite all, you still manage to have a positive attitude.

soon enough he’s pulling off of the main road into an opening surrounded by woods, killing the engine and the car lights and opting to bask in the natural glow of the night sky.

“wow jay, way to be subtle.”

“what!!?”

“what do you mean what? you bring me to the city’s unofficial official makeout spot and expect me to not be skeptical?”

fuck. for the entirety of the drive over he was hoping that you wouldn’t know about the promiscuous reputation this spot has garnered over the years. he can’t give up this quickly though, he must play innocent!

“i- woahh, is that what this place is? i genuinely had no idea i just-”

“shut it jay, the first thing i noticed about you was that you’re a terrible liar.”

you’ve got him there, deception is not his strong suit. he’s about to explain himself when he notices you unbuckling your seatbelt and stepping out of his car, prompting him to do the same.

“i just thought it would be a nice, secluded space where we could talk and hang out… nothing more.”

silence settles over the two of you and, upon noting jay’s queasy expression, you decide to indulge yourself and tease him (just a little bit).

“what are you trying to say?” you bat your eyelashes and fake being in thought, “that you don’t wanna fuck me on the hood of your car?”

he chokes on his saliva.

“w-what i’m trying to say is that i’m a uhhhh gentleman. i’m a gentleman.”

yeah right, you think to yourself. a gentleman and a major fucking hypocrite.

“okay jay, if you’re such a gentleman then why do you have a raging hard-on from literally just talking to me?”

in the pale moonlight you see his eyes widen before he scrambles to cover his crotch, not doing much to conceal his erection that’s straining against his slacks.

“oh god i’m so sorry i can explain uhh-”

“i’m just fucking with you,” you taunt before petting his hair affectionately, attempting to quieten your giggles while jay plasters on a fake smile even though he looks like he’s about to puke. in an attempt to garner the little composure he has left he turns away from you, the cool night air soothing his heated cheeks.

from where he’s standing he’s granted an overarching view of the city he calls home. against the nighttime sky he can decipher the suburbs, the downtown area, the cafe district. upon each building there’s a small rectangle filled with yellow or white light, windows in which individual people are carrying out their individual lives; it makes everything seem so… miniscule. i mean, aside from you, nobody even knows he’s up here - and he’s still trying to decipher if that’s a good thing or not, seeing as tonight all he’s done is embarrass himself.

when he looks back you’re leaning against the hood of his car, your arms folded across your chest which sequentially shoves your tits together in a way that makes him wanna plunge his face in between them and give you a good old fashioned motorboat.

his thoughts are cut off when you speak up.

“i brought you something,” you announce before turning and opening the passenger side door of jay’s car, trifling around in your before before pulling something out and heading back to where you were standing before, leaning against the hood of his car. in your hands is a toppled over piece of red velvet cake protected by a clear plastic takeout container coupled with two disposable forks.

“sorry it’s kinda smushed…. i forgot about it.”

“no, that’s ok!” jay thinks you shouldn’t have to apologize for anything ever, “thank you.”

with a crisp pop you open up the container, moving it to sit in between the two of you before passing jay one of the flimsy plastic forks. he lets you take the first bite, stating that after a long shift you need to get your blood sugar back up. you laugh before complying, watching as jay takes a bite right after you do, his eyes rolling back as all of the sweet, rich flavours dance across his taste buds. despite the piece of cake not being in the best condition, it still tastes like heaven.

jay’s caught off guard when your hand suddenly swoops in just as he’s about to spear another piece of cake with his fork, collecting a dollop of icing on one of your nails. he should’ve seen it coming when you reach up and wipe it on the tip of his nose with a playful laugh.

“wow y/n, so original,” he sneers while wiping the cream cheese icing on his nose onto the back of his hand.

he attempts to do the same to you, dipping his finger in the thick frosting before moving to wipe it on the tip of your nose, but you suddenly latch onto his wrist. he watches with hungry eyes and an erratic pulse as your tongue comes in contact with his knuckle, licking all the way up to his icing-coated fingertip before taking his digit inside your mouth. the thick muscle of your tongue wraps around his finger, sucking away the sweetness before you pull yourself off of him. a faint pink ring of lip gloss on the base of his knuckle now present.

fuck me.

not a single word is exchanged before jay pushes himself onto you, prompting you to lean back against the hood of his car that’s still slightly warm. with your body weight resting on your elbows and your legs spreading to accommodate jay’s torso, you finally let him taste you.

your lips are soft and warm like a pastry fresh out of the oven, and when he pulls away he heaves a heavenly sigh filled with pleasure and contentment and thank fuck this is finally happening. it’s not long before you’re pressing your lips to jay’s again, one of your hands moving up to caress the shell of his ear before resting against his face.

you can feel his jaw move against your palm when he opens his mouth and drags his tongue across your sugar coated lips, inducing you to do the same. when his tongue pushes past your teeth and brushes against yours you groan in pleasure, the fingers previously gracing his face dipping down to undo several buttons of your work shirt. with his lips against yours and his tongue down your throat you can feel him giving into you, as if you’re a delectable piece of his favourite candy and he has a raging sweet tooth.

when jay pulls himself off of you you think you might just cry. luckily you don’t go without his touch for long, for when you open your eyes you watch him dip two fingers into the frosting on top of the forgotten slice of cake before smearing it across the exposed flesh of your tits and down your sternum. he promptly shoves the two frosting coating fingers into your gaping mouth, gazing at you with heart eyes as you suck them clean.

only then does he dip his head down, the tip of his tongue teasing the sensitive skin of your right breast before licking the stripe of icing off with one broad swipe of his tongue. he gives your other breast the same treatment before giving it teasing nips and kisses, using his tongue to soothe the pinch of his canines.

once he licks the rest of the frosting from your sternum he continues his descent, not stopping until the insides of your thighs are brushing against his pierced ears. in one swift movement he flips your skirt upwards, your pretty panties with a subtle wet patch now on display for him and only him.

not being able to resist seeing your bare cunt in all of its glory, jay eagerly digs two fingers into the waistband before dragging the fabric down your legs. your lacy pink thong gets all twisted and tangled around your ankles as jay struggles to pull it off, eventually managing to get it around your sneakers before tucking it into his pocket for safe keeping.

he feels his pants grow impossibly tights as he stares at you on the hood of your car with your legs spread, quite literally something that could’ve been torn right out of a playboy. without missing a beat jay dives into you, flattening his thick tongue and licking you like he would a dripping ice cream cone. it catches you by surprise and you instinctively tangle your fingers in his ebony tresses, a needy moan making its way past your lips and into the air. jay uses the tip of his tongue to explore your needy pussy, lapping up your juices and revelling in the taste on his tongue. i could die like this he thinks, and he digs his blunt nails into your thighs while shoving his head impossibly deeper.

it’s somewhat sloppy, but what he lacks in technique he makes up for in enthusiasm. it feels like he’s practically making out with your cunt and you can’t help yourself from tugging on his hair in approval. the groans he emits in response have you shuddering, the vibrations causing your legs to shake and tremble as you struggle to keep them pried open. in your lower abdomen you can feel the pressure of an impending orgasm begin to brew.

this sensation only doubles when jay shifts his focus to your clit, sucking on and toying with it like it’s a sugar-covered gumdrop. his actions have you arching your back off of the hood of his car, eyes squeezing shut as you cry and plead, “p-please don’t stop jay… never stop.”

your pleas boost jay’s ego to the max and he eats you out with unrestrained passion, alternating between sucking your clit and tonguing your hole until you finish all over his mouth with a canorous cry that reverberates between his ears. he hopes to never forget that sound.

with reluctance he pulls himself off of your sweet pussy, having to push your legs apart slightly to free himself from the way they were clenching around his head. he stares at you in awe as you bask in the post-orgasm sensation, mouth agape and chest heaving faintly. your eyes, when you finally pry them open, are slightly glassy and it looks like it takes you a second to come back to earth.

your grip on jay’s hair loosened but you never fully let go, and soon enough he feels you tugging at his roots in an attempt to get him to hover over you once again. without hesitation you press your lips to his once again, tasting yourself in and on his mouth as you kiss him until you can’t breathe.

his curious hands never stay resting in one spot on your body for longer than a second before he’s exploring somewhere else, his mouth making a path from your lips down to your jaw and neck. the tips of his fingers finally stop when they reach your hips, gripping onto your and flipping you over so your chest is against jay’s car and your ass is up in the air.

he can’t help himself from ogling at your perfect form all splayed out for him. the curve of your ass is to die for and jay starts subconsciously unbuckling his belt, easing the strain of his pants against his painfully hard dick.

from your spot on top of the car you begin to grow impatient. your tits are smushed and your neck is craned and even though you just came you’re already ready for another one if it means you get to feel jay filling you up like a cream puff. luckily, you soon feel the tip of jay’s cock dragging through your folds, your still-sensitive clit throbbing slightly when he bumps into it. the sound of jay spitting into his palm joins that of the crickets and your erratic breathing, soon replaced by his sighs of delight as he strokes his cock with his spit covered hand to help lube it up.

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in when you finally feel him prod your entrance with his tip, although you can sense some hesitancy. it’s not surprising when the silence is broken by jay asking: “...are you ready?”

he feels his chest tighten when you make a noise of approval followed by a meek nod, your starry eyes glancing back at him as much as you can in this particular position. with a hefty exhale he nods back before slowly starting to sink into you, a low groan making its way out of his chest as he pushes deeper and deeper until his hips are flush with your ass.

once fully inside of you he remains stagnant for a moment, needing to adjust to how incredibly warm and tight you feel if he wants to last longer than three seconds. soon enough he feels he’s garnered enough collectedness to start moving, so he does.

his movements are small, almost timid at first. like he’s testing the waters, garnering enough confidence to go harder, faster. your hushed whimpers of pleasure ring in his ears and he teasingly rolls his hips in an attempt to have you feel him impossibly deeper inside of you.

“j-jay!” you cry when he seemingly bumps your g-spot with the tip of his cock, the muscles of your waist tensing up when he does. wanting to provide you as much pleasure as possible he continues his ministrations, not altering them in any way out of fear of doing something wrong.

jay feels his stomach start to seize up as a pleasurable burn takes hold in his lower stomach, his vision blurring slightly at the edges as he shifts between groaning aloud and biting his lip so hard he’s worried he’ll break the skin and draw blood. with exercised caution he picks up the pace, ensuring that in this moment you’re still feeling as good as he is.

his cock slips in and out of your desperate, dripping hole with ease, your hips banging against the unyielding metal hood of his car with each and every thrust. it’s hardly comfortable, but at this moment in time you think you’d rather die than have jay stop - so you persevere.

“god you’re so good jay, so fucking big,” you praise as you feel your second orgasm of the night approaching steadily. most of your limbs have started to go numb from the position you’re in yet you can feel each and every nerve end slowly begin to burn up, to bring you closer and closer to release. when jay reaches down to toy with your aching clit, you’re done for.

the slight ache from the way your cunt is stretched around his cock adds to the jolting sensations that come every time he bumps your clit has you so close, so close you can taste the sweet promise of an orgasm dancing on the tip of your tongue. jay feels it too, for he throws all inhibitions to the wind and fucks you from behind with no restraint.

he can feel his release creep up his spine and spread through all of his limbs until it’s all he can see, taste, and feel. groans continue to spill past his lips as white hot light floods his senses and a blinding orgasm washes over him, which is only strengthened by the sensation of your pussy clenching around his cock as you finish underneath him. he cums inside of your wanting cunt, filling it up to the brim before collapsing on top of you with a grunt.

seconds turn into minutes and the two of you remain in place, breaths and pulses struggling to return to normal as you come down from an intense high. jay can feel his shirt clinging to his sweaty back, and he scrambles off of you when he realizes he was quite literally resting all of his weight on you.

with a helping hand he helps you sit up, chuckling slightly when your knees turn to jello when you try to stand up. so, you opt to stay seated on the hood of jay’s car for just a few more moments, patting the spot beside you to get him to sit down. you’re sure you look like a mess, but jay gazes at you with something that can only be described as awe.

smitten. captivated. enraptured. allured.

the pale light of the moon casts a heavenly glow across your face, and he kisses your lips like they’re covered in strawberry syrup.

a/n: tumblr’s editing system is the biggest piece of garbage i am so sorry if there are any weird glitches or anything but i am literally seconds away from whipping my laptop at the wall out of frustration as i edit this so pls lmk if anything looks weird when this posts lawl thank you

#enhypen smut #park jay smut #park jongseong smut #enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen blurbs #enhypen x reader #park jongseong x reader #park jay x reader #jay park x reader #park jongseong fanfiction #park jay fanfiction #park jongseong blurbs #park jay blurbs

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of-a-chaotic-mind · 1 month

Text

Star Stickers

Summary: Buck & Tommy devise a plan to cheer you up since you haven’t been sleeping well due to insomnia.

TW/CW: Evan Buckley & Tommy Kinard x Platonic!Reader, Fluff, Insomnia, Self Doubt

Requested?: No

Word Count: 2,941

A/N: Ngl this was entirely inspired by my desire to have someone in my life who surprises me with gold star stickers, that desire was inspired by a text post on here that says “I’m a gold star bisexual. The gold star has nothing to do with my bisexuality, I’ve just been very good today & I deserve it.” Anyway, hope you enjoy the fluff. Much love to all! Requests are Open!

P.S. I just want a couple of gay besties that let me be a child every now & then... is that too much to ask?

--- Your POV ---

As I hop down out of the fire truck and trudge up the stairs to the coffee maker, Buck lovingly greets his boyfriend Tommy who has stopped by for lunch before they follow me up. In my sleep deprived and pissed at life state, I completely miss any and all other interactions. Truth be told the only reason I even noticed Tommy is here is because he ruffled my hair when I passed them.

I'm pouring what feels like my thousandth cup of coffee since breakfast this morning when Buck leans against the counter beside me, "How many cups of coffee is that today? I think you've set a new record."

From the table, Eddie looks up and raises his own mug of coffee, "Uh uh, I've got that record set at seven," before going back to his phone.

I roll my eyes, "This is number eight, Eddie. Nice try." He only shakes his head and takes another sip.

Leaning against the counter across from me, Tommy's eyes nearly pop out of his skull, "(Y/N)... that's way too much coffee for one day."

I shrug and make my way over to plop down on a couch and drop my head back to rest on the cushions. I am soon joined by Buck beside me and Tommy who takes a seat on the coffee table. I pout at him which makes him chuckle, "What are you pouting about?"

I playfully stomp my feet a couple times, "I was gonna put my feet there."

Buck nudges me, "Just do what I do," before propping his feet up on Tommy's thigh. I look at Buck's boots and then mine before shrugging and resting mine on Tommy's knee. Tommy simply shakes his head and they strike up a conversation.

Before long, Cap is calling us all to the table to eat. As soon as I sit down, I flop my head over onto my forearms. To my right, Eddie sighs, "Why haven't you been sleeping?"

Without lifting my head, I shrug, "Between working doubles, insomnia, and noisy neighbors I just can't."

To my left, on the other side of Buck, Tommy tuts, "Do I need to dope you up with Benadryl?"

I lift my head finally as Buck scoops food onto a plate in front of me, "Please don't. I still owe the hat man money and even with all these doubles I can't pay him yet." Everyone at the table shakes their heads this time. They all know how bad my insomnia gets at times, so they're pretty familiar with my sleep deprived state. What they're not familiar with is the thoughts that keep me awake at night and create a void that should be filled by sleep. I always just blame the insomnia on something less concerning.

--- Third Person POV ---

That evening as Buck and Tommy make their way into their apartment, Buck is concerned, "Do you think there's anything we could do to help (Y/N)?"

"Well, she vetoed my suggestion of Benadryl, so not really," Tommy responds as he shuffles through the mail in his hands.

Buck wanders off to the bedroom to change, raising his voice a bit so Tommy can hear him, "No, I know we can't really help with the insomnia. Me and Eddie already tried. I mean to like cheer her up."

Tommy enters the room as Buck is exiting to make dinner, "I don't know. Did you have something in mind?"

Buck is still thinking, tomatoes on the cutting board in front of him, when Tommy joins him in the kitchen. Saying nothing, Tommy grabs a knife from the knife block, holding it out in front of his distracted boyfriend. Buck snaps to and takes the knife to begin cutting up the tomatoes, "I can't really think of anything. I was hoping you had some suggestions." Tommy retrieves two beers from the fridge, cracking them both open before leaning against the counter beside Buck to take a sip of one, placing the other beside the cutting board. He takes a few more sips as he thinks.

Tommy has noticed how similar you and Buck are in the somewhat short time he's known you. He's noticed that a lot of the things that spark Buck's interest also spark yours and how you both get excited over similar things. He has an idea of where to start, "What's something that would instantly brighten your mood on a rainy day?"

Buck grins, "Seeing my hot pilot boyfriend but I don't think that would cheer (Y/N) up as much as it would me."

Tommy chuckles, shaking his head, "No, silly, something someone could give you or do for you," he clarifies, quickly adding, "regardless of who it is and something we could also do for (Y/N)." Buck is quiet for a moment before mumbling something that Tommy can't quite make out, "Baby, speak up please."

Buck takes a deep breath and sets the knife down. He turns to Tommy as he picks up his beer and takes a sip before repeating, "Gold stars."

Slightly surprised, Tommy tilts his head, "What do you mean?"

Buck smiles wide, "When I was little Maddie used to give me little gold star stickers whenever I did well on a homework assignment or test, even for not-so-great grades like Bs and Cs. I always kept the stickers because for some reason they made me feel really happy and proud."

Tommy is unsure, "So, you're suggesting we give our friend, who's a grown woman mind you, gold star stickers to cheer her up?"

Tomatoes forgotten, Buck sets his beer back down and insists, "Yes! She'd love it, I swear. One time on a callout she was taking care of a little girl while her mom was being bandaged up. The little girl was coloring the whole time and chatting to (Y/N) about what she was coloring and all kinds of other stuff.” Tommy has to dodge as Buck talks with his hands, “When it came time to leave, the little girl ran up to us as we were heading back to the truck. (Y/N) squatted down to see what she needed and the little girl stuck a unicorn sticker to her shirt pocket and then yelled, 'Thank you' as she ran back to her mom. I've never seen (Y/N) smile that big before."

Tommy thinks he's done but before he can even open his mouth to respond, Buck gasps, "And remember that time a bunch of us went to the beach? She had been wandering up and down the sand randomly picking stuff up and then when Maddie yelled at her to see if she wanted to go get ice cream, she ran over to us and was super excited to show us all the sea glass and shells she had collected in her shirt."

Tommy decides to make sure this time, "You done?"

Buck thinks for a second, placing his hands on his hips, "That depends. Are you convinced that we should stop and get gold star stickers before you drop me off at work in the morning?"

Tommy laughs as he answers, "Yes, Evan. We can stop and get gold star stickers in the morning."

The next morning, Buck directs Tommy to a local craft store where he had recently helped Chris buy stuff for a school art project. The two make their way inside but have to ask for help finding the stickers. Tommy chooses to ignore the judgmental look on the little old lady's face since Buck very clearly misses it, too busy craning his neck to see if he can spot what they came for. She leads them toward the back of the store and points down an aisle full of stickers. Tommy notices her shake her head as she walks away but is quickly distracted by the golden retriever stuck inside his 6' 2", muscular, firefighter boyfriend.

Tommy smiles brightly as he watches Buck make his way down the aisle, scanning for and collecting any sticker packs with shiny stars in them. When he returns to Tommy, bouncing with excitement, his hands are full of different sticker packs that he shuffles through to show him, "Which ones do you think she'd like most?" There's all different sizes and colors of stars, some have other sticker shapes mixed in; others are very clearly marketed toward teachers who use them to reward young students.

Tommy places his hands over Buck's to stop his indecisive shuffling, "Let's start by eliminating any that aren't just stars." Buck shuffles through and hands the rejected packs to Tommy who quickly puts them back where they belong. When he returns, Buck has tucked a few packs under his arm and is staring back and forth at the three remaining packs in his hands.

"Whatcha got?" Tommy asks looking down at the stickers. He finds that Buck is trying to decide between a pack that has only gold stars in varying sizes, a pack that has rainbow-colored stars that are all the same size, and a pack that has different pastel-colored glittery stars in a few different sizes.

"Yeah no," he says as he gently removes the glitter stars from Buck's choices and places them back where they belong. He knows you'd kill them for giving you the craft herpes that is glitter and to him you don't really seem like the pastel type. When he turns around to rejoin him, Buck is already heading toward the front.

When he finally catches up to Buck, he's handing both the gold and rainbow packs to a younger cashier who smiles brightly when she sees them, "Aw these are cute! Are you getting them for your kid?"

Buck laughs softly, "Uh no, just- just trying to brighten up a friend's day." She smiles at him and nods as she rings them up. She gives him the total as Buck taps his card on the pin pad. Once the receipt shoots out and Buck collects the stickers, the two make their way back to the Jeep to head to the 118, deciding that Buck could hang onto the gold stars and Tommy could man the rainbow stars. Somehow, they still make it there before you.

--- Your POV ---

After yet another night of tossing and turning, I trudge into the fire house like a zombie looking for brains, except I just want coffee. I make my way to the locker room, change clothes, and head upstairs b-ling straight for the coffee maker. My path is blocked by Buck and Tommy who are both leaning on the counter in front of the wonderful machine of caffeinated goodness with their arms crossed looking like they were expecting me. I join them and attempt to shove them out of my way but they won't budge. Instead, Buck turns his back toward me and pours coffee into a mug before facing me again and holding it out to me.

I take it gratefully and enjoy a sip before they both reach up and stick something to my forehead. Bewildered, I look up toward my hairline before deciding I don't have it in me to give a shit right now. I plop into one of the chairs at the table, stickers still on my forehead, and drop my chin into my palm. "Did you get-" Eddie looks up from his phone and grins. His eyes cut behind me where Tommy and Buck are approaching, "Who's idea was that?" he asks pointing at my forehead.

Tommy takes a seat beside me, sipping his own cup of coffee, "Let's see, maybe the one who can't sit still," he smiles as he points his thumb behind us at Buck who is bouncing on the balls of his feet, "because he's too excited to see her reaction when she sees them."

I look back at Buck whose smile is so big it looks painful. Sighing I pull my phone out and open the camera. There I find two stars on my forehead; one is rainbow and the other is slightly bigger and gold. I can't help but smile so big it probably matches Buck's as I look back at him again. He does a little happy dance before getting very close to Tommy's face, "I told you she'd like them." I quickly snap a photo in which you can clearly see the two stars on my forehead as well as Buck and Tommy, who are still in very close proximity, smiling at each other before putting my phone away. Soon a conversation picks up as Buck sits down on the other side of me.

At some point I decide that I need to find some paper to keep my stars on because I can't exactly walk around all day with my face covered in stickers, Buck has added two more since the first two. I also can't bring myself to just throw them away either. Having no luck elsewhere I make my way to Bobby's office and knock softly. He answers and when I open the door, he laughs, "Whatcha got there?"

I look up toward the stars and smile, "Gifts from Buck and Tommy. I was wondering if I could have a piece of paper to put them on."

Bobby nods, handing me a sheet of printer paper, "Of course," and as I turn to leave, peeling the stars from my forehead and placing them on their new home, he adds, "It's good to see you smiling again (Y/N)."

I give him a big smile, "Thanks, Cap."

A little while later, Tommy is heading out to go grocery shopping and clean up their apartment. Eddie and I follow as Buck is walking Tommy out. Tommy stops when he notices me. He backtracks to me as he pulls his sticker pack out of his back pocket. After placing a new sticker on the tip of my nose, he hands the pack to Eddie, "Hit her when she least expects it." Eddie nods, watching as I remove the sticker from my nose and add it to my collection with a big smile on my face. Tommy ruffles my hair before rejoining Buck at the door and heading out.

Throughout the rest of the day, Buck and Eddie take their sticker duties very seriously. At one point, from upstairs I notice them over by the engine whispering to each other. When they catch me watching, Eddie sassily shoos me away with sticker pack in hand making Buck laugh heartily. Not long after that, I am bombarded by not one, not two but six star stickers. Each one from a different member of the team.

After a particularly grueling call out, I sit with my head leaned against the window. In my peripheral, I notice Buck and Eddie make eye contact and nod at each other before both of them reach in their pockets, pick out a sticker, and slap them both on my forehead. Every chance they can, they are stickering me. I walk around the corner coming from the bathroom, sticker. I pour myself a cup of coffee, sticker. I'm helping Hen take inventory in the ambulance, sticker. Every single sticker makes me smile.

By the time Tommy arrives to pick Buck up that evening, I'm pretty sure Buck and Eddie are both out of stickers and my printer paper is getting full. As we are walking to our vehicles, Buck rushes over to meet Tommy, who is leaning against the door of his jeep, before we can and whispers something to him. Tommy's face breaks into a big smile. I'm dropping my bag into the passenger seat of my Bronco when Tommy places what feels like a big sticker right in the middle of my forehead, "Buck said he saved the biggest one for me since I wasn't here all day like they were."

I grin and look around at my three friends, "Thank you guys. You genuinely made my day," I look down at the paper in my hands as I peel the newest star off my forehead and place it with the others, "I don't think you realize how much this means to me."

Tommy ruffles my hair, "Anytime, kiddo. Besides, I don't think you realize how much joy this whole thing has brought Evan." We both look at Buck who is grinning as wide as humanly possible.

Buck pulls me into a hug, "If you ever need a star sticker day again, just say the word." I nod as he pulls away.

Eddie places his hand on my shoulder, "He's being dead serious."

I laugh, "I know. I will." With that, the four of us are parting ways and heading home. On my way home, all I can think about is how happy I am to have such amazing people in my life. Often, the most prominent insomnia inducing thought at night is that of loneliness. I've spent hours lying awake at night wondering if I actually have people who care about me or if they just let me hang around because they pity me. I wonder if I even deserve to have them around. After a day full of stickers, I truly believe that my team genuinely cares about me. Why else would Buck and Tommy get up early to buy star stickers before work? Why would Cap smile so big just because I'm smiling. Why would everyone get such a kick out of getting to put a sticker on my face? They care about me and I care about them. They mean the world to me. They are my stars.

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saekkas · 1 year

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𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

summary: in a different universe, michael kaiser comes home to you, and every single hardship he's endured has meaning when you wrap your arms around him. in this one, he has only himself to blame for when his house becomes a shadow of the home he used to live in.

tags: f!reader, kissing, angst (minimal comfort), lovers to strangers, neglectance, second chances, fools gold.

wc: 1.8k

notes: inspired by an angsty ask @mirahua sent that's been plaguing my mind for the past week. also, my debut as an angst writer so pls go easy on me ಥ_ಥ and the tags kind of sort of don't make sense, forgive me for that </3

"i'm home," kaiser whispers, opening the door to his apartment only to click it shut a few seconds later, his eyes fighting to keep themselves open.

he leans against the door, taking in the wide space. everything's dark and still, there are no signs of life, as to be expected when one comes home at 4AM.

he sighs, passing by the books and empty mug you must've used earlier in the day. some of his stuff is cluttered around yours, like the small sanrio plushies he bought with you only months ago. they occupy the sofa along with your pillows, and he smiles sadly at the sight. where did the time go?

even with so many trinkets and things littered around, his house feels empty. lonely as if no one's lived in it for weeks and months. his steps falter as he enters the kitchen to find a portion of a home-cooked meal, sitting on his favorite plate. it's cold but it still glows with the warmth and love you prepared it with.

he sighs once more, rubbing his hand across his face. putting the meal into the fridge with shaky hands, kaiser's quick to drop onto one of the chairs.

he stops for a second, looking around his house, the place he's lived in for the past 3 years. something's changed within the space, like there's an object that doesn't belong between the four walls. deep in his heart, kaiser wonders if it's him.

fishing his phone from his pocket, he takes in the messages that start to trickle onto the screen. it's been on airplane mode the whole day, a habit he needs to break, you've once told him.

his thumb lingers above your contact.

scrolling through, his eyes take in every single text you've sent him dating from months back. he sees the way they started; love filled descriptions of your days mixed in with questions about his own. reading the text you've sent today, he feels a pang go through him at the lone message. good night. get home safe. nothing else.

his hand clenches around the table, sadness turning into guilt that spreads like a plague when he realizes he's barely replied back to any.

this has been his life for the last 9 months. he wakes up, leaves for practice, comes back sometime around dawn, only to repeat the next day. his muscles scream at him every second, his shoulders groaning under the weight of exhaustion. it's the price one has to pay for the fame and fortune, kaiser tells himself.

self-assured as he makes himself out to be, kaiser isn't stupid enough to leave things all to fate. he may be a star striker now, one that has everyone vying for his time and attention, but who knows what will come in the next few years.

there will always be new talent, people with incredible skills and the greed to propel them into stardom. into taking his place. he knows because he's seen it before. been it before.

as the clock sounds to signal a new hour, his vision starts to blur. everything is starting to feel foggy, his head pounding and body screaming at him for sleep. he can't quite grasp anything. not when there's a distance separating him and the world around him.

"mihya?" comes your voice, soft and slightly raspy. kaiser snaps back into focus, the ringing in his ears dulling into background noise. "you're home."

"hi, baby." you're swaying on your feet, one of his shirts around your body. he recognizes it to be one of his favorites and he almost chuckles at the sight if not for the lump that's appeared in his throat. "shouldn't you be asleep? did i wake you up? i'm sorry if i did.'"

the first thing that comes to mind is how delicate you look. as if one wrong move, one wrong word is going to push you into a shell. he takes in everything about you, starting from the messiness of your hair to the slump of your shoulders.

he hasn't seen you. hasn't had the opportunity to breathe you in like he used to. those night when he traced every single one of your features, giggling loudly with you in the dead of the night seem so far away now.

he misses it, those moments you shared from who-knows how many nights ago.

when you rub the sleep out of your eyes, looking at him with a small smile, his trance breaks. he takes in the distance between you both, like a chasm that's gaping and mocking him because he was the one who let it widen this far.

"you didn't. i just needed to pee," you say, tone just barely above a whisper. there's something floating between you two, the things unsaid. you're afraid they'll come pouring out if you break the silence. "how was practice?"

kaiser realizes, even when you're right in front of him, your presence feels like a ghost. hesitant, locked up into a small ball of a person that's only being held together by hope and love, no matter how small.

"i'm sorry i didn't reply to your text." the words pour out of him like a waterfall, blunt and bruising. i'm sorry i haven't been with you. his eyes trace your form, and he sighs, moving to engulf you into his arms. "practice was.. busy."

please don't leave. please tell me that this is enough. that i'm enough.

"it's okay. i'm used to it." your tongue slips and you sigh as he wraps around you. it feels foreign, his touch. like he's not exactly the same person he used to be, but neither are you. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean it like that."

kaiser can only clench his eyes. he leans his head down to press a kiss to your forehead. "i know, it's okay. and i'm sorry."

i'm sorry i haven't been there for you. i'm sorry i haven't taken you out on another date. i'm sorry that i'm selfish and all i know is to take and take. i'm sorry that it's leaving you hollow and bruised. i'm sorry my love isn't enough.

the thoughts swirl, pinging around like warning signals going off in his head. he opens his mouth, only to close it right after. "let's go to bed."

even when the softness of his duvet embraces him, kaiser can't relax. his body stays stiff, timid as he waits for you to settle beside him. when you do, he's slow to reach out, placing a hand on your hip to test the waters.

he relaxes when you mold into his form, curling around his body as if he's never done any wrong. he presses you hard against his chest, wrapping his arms around your body.

he doesn't get to hold you like this anymore. between practice and exhaustion, whenever his head hits the pillow, he's out like a light. he misses the intimacy, the feeling of having someone beside him.

"do you think about me?" he hums, asking you the question. his hands nestle around your waist and back. he breaths in your scent, his body finally letting the coils of his muscles loose. "because it feels like i think about you every minute."

you respond in kind, caressing the hand that's nestled on your waist. you don't say anything. you don't need to, not when you let him kiss you for the first time in months.

"you know i love you right?" he whispers. there's nothing but him, him, him. you're surrounded by his presence, his touch is everywhere, and there's barely an inch between where you lay. his hair tickles your cheek, the faded blue molding into blonde. "and you know that i would never want to hurt you?"

you should know better. you wish your heart wouldn't give in so easily. you're nothing but an ordinary girl from humble backgrounds while the man wrapped around you is a shooting star that landed on your palm on a rainy summer day.

you should know better because shooting stars fade away.

"do you really?" you whisper, drained and tired out of your mind. "because you've done nothing but hurt me, mihya."

he isn't surprised by your words, but the truth stings all the same. he sighs, pressing his forehead against yours. the weight is back on his shoulders, his head starting to spin as he takes your words in.

"i promise i'll be better," he whispers back, pleading as he looks down into your eyes with tears lined in his. "why don't i take you on a date tomorrow? to that place you've been wanting to go."

"mihya," you trail off, shaking your head. "i-"

"i'll buy you flowers. i'll come home from practice early. we'll drive to the restaurant together." michael kaiser is nothing but greedy. the words that are flowing out are rushed, and his voice cracks under his own emotions. he'll say anything. he'll take and take, if it means he'll get you to stay. "you mean everything to me. i can't lose you."

you don't reply, not for a long time after. looking into his eyes, you process every bit of guilt and hope he has strewn inside. you wonder if they're enough to fix whatever's left.

"okay," you say with a hesitant nod of your head. "one last chance."

kaiser's eyes light up, brightening his whole visage.

"thank you." he kisses you, deep and passionate. there's nothing but you and him in the moment and as you fall asleep, kaiser whispers against your ear, placing gentle kisses on your cheek, wishing they'll be enough to take back every ounce of hurt he's given you. "i love you."

the next morning, kaiser leaves with a light heart and a kiss on his cheek. his steps are confident, his eyes bright. there's nothing in his head except for you and your date. he hums to himself, letting his thoughts roam about your reaction for when he surprises you with flowers when he gets home.

and yet, the universe is a cruel thing and so is his greed. kaiser loses himself in his practice, scoring goal after goal even as his phone rings. he doesn't see your texts of "mihya, don't forget our date tonight! can't wait!" "mihya, what should i wear? should we match?" "mihya it's getting late, where are you?" nor does he see the multiple missed calls you leave.

and when he gets home, soaked in rain with wilted flowers in his hand, kaiser is greeted by the sight of a truly empty house. your warm presence is gone, taking every moment of happiness with you.

he has only himself to blame for every single self-destructive habit that's led to him losing the one he calls home.

#blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser imagines #kaiser x reader #blue lock angst #kaiser imagines #michael kaiser angst #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x y/n #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x female reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x female reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock headcanons #kaiser angst

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