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writesvani · 3 months ago

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down low | 01

boxer! jungkook x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: There's no love, there are no fights with Jungkook—just a twisted addiction that keeps you crawling back. You tell yourselves it’s not toxic. After all, you never argue, never get jealous. Just fuck, lie, and slip back into the arms of the people who will never know.

It’s not love.

But it sure as hell isn’t nothing.

friends with benefits au, situationship au

TRIGGER WARNINGS: sexual content, guilt, manipulation, secrecy, emotional conflict, cheating, voyeurism, risky behavior, sexting

comment here for the Down Low taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— next chapter

wc: 3,6k // date: 10th of April 2025

CHAPTER ONE — U Up?; happy reading my gummies...

AN: okay, so here's a highly questionable cast of characters that i lowkey (highkey) despise. like, seriously, i’m not sure who let them be this messy, but here we are. anyway, just to clarify, i don’t condone cheating, but since this is fiction, i’m gonna let them do their absolutely horrible, unhinged thing.

also, this series was supposed to be a 5-chapter thing, each chapter a massive 10k words (i know, i had big plans), but since i don't have time to edit those giant chapters rn, i’ve decided to split it up into smaller ones. because we all deserve a little chaos in bite-sized pieces, right?

as for the note goal… who even knows how to set these things? like, chapter one is out and my m.list has around 1.6k notes, so let’s be HIGHLY ambitious and say chapter 2 will drop once we hit 800 notes. i mean, let’s aim high, people, right? let’s get those notes!

If there were a proper title to give you, it wouldn’t be something graceful or kind. No, it would be a creature of bad habits.

Greedy—that’s what they call you. And maybe they’re right. Because how could you ever be satisfied with what you already have? You crave more. Always more. More love. More passion. More friendships. More fun. More everything. It’s intoxicating, that hunger. Isn’t that just human nature, though? To want, to chase, to reach for the things just out of grasp?

You never understood the point of settling. Why would anyone cling to a single slice when the whole cake is within reach? But greed doesn’t come alone. No, it always brings a shadow—possessiveness.

Even as a little girl, you despised sharing. Your toys were yours. Your parents’ attention? Yours, too—until your little brother arrived and shattered that illusion. You learned to live with it. You adapted. But when it came to your friends… that instinct never faded. They were yours. Always.

So maybe it makes sense that now, as a woman, you have a loyal, sweet boyfriend who adores you—completely unaware that he shares you with another man when the night grows heavy and dark.

Sometimes, you think he’s stupid. The way he never even considers the possibility of someone else touching you, breathing your name while he sleeps, studies or works late hours. The way he never questions your sudden silences, your empty stare, the soft smell of someone else’s cologne lingering in your hair.

Sometimes, you think he’s cute. Sweet, even. Taehyung trusts you blindly, so deeply, it almost breaks your heart.

And sometimes—on the rare nights when your body aches from carrying secrets and your soul feels raw—you’re grateful for him. He’s the shoulder you cry on when the weight becomes too much, the arms that hold you when you feel like falling apart. Maybe… maybe he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

And yet—despite all of that—you still do it. You still let another man kiss the guilt off your skin. You still let another man wreck you in ways you never let Taehyung see.

Do you feel guilty? Occasionally. But guilt?

Guilt is for the weak.

Because the truth is—you can’t stop. Even when you know it’s wrong. Even when it makes you question everything.

Are you a bad person?

No.

Just… human.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

The honeyed scent of Taehyung’s skin wraps around you like a memory you never asked for. It’s warm, familiar—safe. His arm is thrown lazily over your waist, fingers curled like he’s afraid of losing you even in sleep. He’s close—so close it should feel like home. His chest rises and falls behind you, a steady rhythm you’ve come to memorize. His soft snores echo in the quiet, like a lullaby meant just for you.

You should be asleep.

You should be calm. At peace.

But you’re not.

Your eyes flutter open again, lashes brushing your cheeks with every blink. Frustration bubbles beneath your skin as you squint at the red digits on the nightstand. 01:34 AM.

You have classes in the morning. Work after that. Your entire day is stitched together with responsibilities, expectations, and the mask you’ve been perfecting for months, years even. Still, sleep refuses to take you. It stays just out of reach, mocking you.

Your fingers flex around Taehyung’s forearm—his skin warm under your touch—and he shifts closer, unconsciously drawn to you. It makes you smile. He’s too adorable for his own good when he sleeps. Soft. Vulnerable.

Yours.

You almost turn toward him. Almost let yourself bury your face in the crook of his neck. Let his scent rock you to sleep like it’s done a hundred times before.

Almost.

Until a sound cuts through the silence.

A ping. Soft, sharp. Familiar.

Your body stiffens. Taehyung mumbles something incoherent, lips brushing your shoulder, and you feel the faintest trace of drool there. He’s out cold.

You reach for the nightstand like you’ve done it a thousand times. No hesitation. No second guessing. You already know who it is.

Of course it’s him.

Your screen lights up with a message so simple it makes your stomach flip.

JK: u up?

It’s always like this.

He waits until Eunji is asleep, until the world is quiet, until you’re wrapped in someone else’s arms—and then he texts. Always at night. Always in secret.

And you?

You always answer.

Because your little game only lives in the shadows, breathing between midnight texts and silenced guilt.

Because even though you’re lying in Taehyung’s bed, wearing his t-shirt, listening to the steady beat of his heart—

You're never really his. Not fully.

Not when Jungkook’s name has the power to set your entire body on fire.

you: mhmm, but thinking of dozing off rn

JK: c’mon bby, don’t fall asleep on me now, wya?

you: taehyung’s. wby?

JK: home. but eunji’s sleeping over.

you: so why are u texting me?

JK: can’t i just miss you?

you: liaaaar. you don’t miss mee.

You stare at the last message, lips curled into a smirk even though your chest tightens with something you won’t name. Because it’s true.

Jungkook doesn’t miss you. He never has. Not in the way you need to be missed. Not in the daylight, not when the world is watching. Only in the dark, only when it’s quiet and no one’s looking. Just like you don’t miss him.

Not really.

Not ever.

JK: mmh, myb, but i miss that cute little throat

Your breath hitches. Instinctively, your eyes dart to Taehyung.

Still fast asleep.

His face is soft, turned toward your shoulder, mouth slightly open. The steady warmth of his breath fans your skin. He looks like everything that’s right in the world. Everything stable. Everything safe.

So why does your pulse quicken like this?

Why does your body react as if Jungkook’s hands are already on you, as if his voice is already whispering filth into your ear?

It shouldn’t be hot.

It shouldn’t be.

But it is.

The guilt crawling beneath your skin only adds fuel to the fire.

Your fingers tremble as you type.

you: really? what else do you miss?

You send it before you can stop yourself.

Before you can talk yourself out of it.

Taehyung shifts beside you, arm tightening around your waist, and you freeze for a second—heart caught between panic and something darker.

Something closer to thrill.

There’s a pause.

Long enough for anticipation to curl low in your stomach like smoke.

You can already picture him—lying in his bed, lights off, the pale blue glow of his phone screen painting shadows across that pretty face. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, that familiar furrow in his brow as he tries to come up with something clever. Something that’ll make your skin burn.

He always does this—crafts the perfect reply, like he’s pulling the strings and watching you fall apart from the safety of his room. Like he knows exactly what to say to make your walls crumble.

You bite the inside of your cheek, heart thudding painfully in your chest. Taehyung’s arm is still snug around your waist, his body still warm, still unaware. Still perfect.

But it’s not him you’re thinking about.

Not in this moment.

Not when your phone buzzes again.

JK: aha. miss the way u sound when i hit it from the back.

JK: miss how u shake when i bite down real soft so he wouldn’t notice.

JK: miss that dumb look in ur eyes when u know u shouldn’t want it but beg anyway.

Your mouth goes dry.

Shame rushes in quick and hot, but it doesn’t stop the way your thighs clench beneath the blanket. Doesn’t stop the heat blooming in your chest like a fire you’re too afraid to put out.

You should put the phone down.

You should.

But instead, you type with shaking fingers:

you: you’re such an asshole.

you: but what if i wanna beg now?

A reckless message. Sent before you can overthink it.

And just like that, the silence of the room shifts—heavier now. Thicker with something filthy. Dangerous.

He doesn’t reply right away.

And for a fleeting second, dread slips beneath your skin like ice. Your heart stutters.

What if she woke up?

What if you both got caught?

Your fingers tighten around the phone, breath held hostage in your lungs.

Ping.

Two notifications.

But not texts.

Photos.

Your pulse skyrockets as you swipe them open.

The first image is a little blurry, but you don’t need perfect resolution to know what you’re looking at.

Blanket draped low, his tattooed arm stretched across it, boxers tenting high with the unmistakable shape of his cock—hard and ready.

Your stomach twists. Fuck.

Even through the layers of cotton, it makes your mouth water. The idea that he’s this worked up over a few late-night texts? That his body responds to you like instinct, like addiction?

It shouldn’t thrill you this much.

But it does.

You swipe to the next photo—and suddenly, it’s not just lust that grips you.

It’s something darker.

Colder.

Eunji.

Sleeping on her stomach, hand curled beneath her pillow. Her face is turned away from the camera, peaceful. Innocent. Her long black hair spills across the pillow like silk—so shiny, so well-kept, you might’ve asked her about her routine if you weren’t fucking her boyfriend.

Your throat tightens.

She’s right there. Within arm’s reach of him. Of this.

And still, his attention is on you.

Still, you’re the one making him hard.

Taehyung stirs beside you in his sleep, lips brushing your shoulder, completely unaware. Completely devoted.

You blink, breath shaky, phone clutched in your hand like a loaded gun.

You should be disgusted.

You should feel something.

Shame. Guilt. Rage.

But all you feel is heat pooling between your legs—and that awful, aching need that only Jungkook seems to know how to pull from you.

And best of all?

The power.

The power of knowing you’re the one they both need.

you: bruuuuh, why’d u have to send me a pic of her

JK: because you’re teasing too much bby and i can’t do anything about it

you: ugh you’re so disgusting kook

JK: c’mon, don’t pretend you don’t love making me this hard when she’s here

You stare at the screen, thumb hovering, breath stuck in your throat.

He got you.

Again.

It’s not even about the sex anymore—it’s about the way Jungkook crawls inside your head and flips every switch you swore no one else could reach.

He knows.

Knows how your body reacts to filthy words whispered like secrets.

Knows which buttons to press to make you unravel with just a few taps of a keyboard.

But more than that—he knows your mind.

Knows how you crave what’s forbidden.

How your appetite is carved from hunger for things you can’t have.

How the moment something is off-limits, it becomes irresistible.

How the line between guilt and arousal blurs the second he sends you proof that he’s hard—while the girl who trusts him sleeps inches away.

And worst of all, he knows you won’t stop.

He knows you’ll let him get away with it.

Knows that the shame is half the high.

That this game you play—the one with no winners—is the only thing that really makes you feel anything anymore.

You clench your thighs together beneath Taehyung’s sheets, the warmth of his body wrapped around yours like a lifeline. And yet, you’re not even here.

Your body’s here.

But your mind?

Your need?

Your guilt and desire and the ugliest parts of you?

They’re with Jungkook.

JK: u there?

JK: or is taehyung waking up?

JK: should i stop texting, baby?

Your jaw tightens.

you: shut up, kook.

you: you’re insane.

you: she’s literally RIGHT THERE.

you: you’re actually disgusting.

JK: yeah? but you’re wet, aren’t you?

JK: don’t lie, baby.

JK: you love this shit.

JK: love that i’m hard for you while she’s snoring in my bed.

JK: love knowing she has no idea.

JK: love knowing taehyung’s clueless too.

Your hands tremble just slightly, phone screen glowing like it’s daring you to throw it across the room. You don’t.

you: i hate you.

JK: no, you don’t.

JK: you hate that i know you.

JK: hate that i get to see this part of you no one else does.

JK: hate that it turns you on this much.

You don’t respond. You can’t. Not yet.

But he doesn’t need your words to keep going.

JK: i bet you’re squeezing your thighs right now, aren’t you?

JK: laying there next to your sweet little boyfriend, thinking about my cock.

JK: thinking about my mouth.

JK: thinking about how fast i’d make you cum if you were here instead.

JK: or better yet... if i was there.

Your heart slams into your ribs.

you: kook.

you: stop.

you: seriously.

JK: say the word, and i will.

JK: but we both know you won’t.

JK: you like this too much, baby.

Your lips part. The room is quiet—too quiet—except for the sound of Taehyung’s steady breathing against your neck.

Your fingers move before your mind can catch up.

you: tell me what you’d do if you were here.

There’s a pause. A long one. Long enough to make your heart thud louder in your ears.

JK: i’d pull those panties to the side and stuff your mouth so you can’t make a sound

JK: i wouldn’t care about taehyung. he wouldn’t even wake up. he’d just keep dreaming while i fuck you slow and deep right next to him

JK: you’d cum with your back arched into me and my hand on your throat to keep you quiet

Your breath hitches. You feel the wetness between your thighs, undeniable now.

The scenario is absurd, unrealistic, impossible, yet the mere thought of Jungkook fucking you right next to your sleeping boyfriend makes the irational part of you ponder of calling him over.

Key word: irrational.

you: you’re horrible.

JK: and you love it.

JK: you love knowing i want to ruin you while he holds you like you’re some kind of good girl.

JK: you’re not.

You close your eyes, inhale the sweet scent of Taehyung’s skin—and then, traitorously, exhale Jungkook’s name in your mind.

you: what would you do after?

JK: i’d stay inside you.

JK: soft. slow. still.

JK: just so you’ll remember who really owns you every time he touches you.

Your whole body clenches.

You shouldn’t reply.

But of course, you do.

you: i want you so bad it hurtsssss

JK: then come over

JK: i’ll fuck you while you’re wearing his shirt

you: haah, you wish. she’s still there kook.

JK: so what? i’ll wake her up, tell her i have an emergency with friends or something, make sum up

you: you wish jungkook.

JK: you’re soooo mean

You stare at the screen. Your fingers hover for a second before you start typing again, heart pounding.

you: you want to know what i’d do if i was there?

JK: fuck yes.

JK: tell me.

You smile, biting your lip, eyes glinting with mischief as you start typing slow.

you: i wouldn’t touch you right away.

you: i’d crawl into your bed real slow, straddle your lap, let your hands wander while mine just sit on your chest.

you: tease you. rub against you just enough to get you begging.

you: but i wouldn’t let you take my clothes off.

JK: fuck.

JK: keep going.

you: i’d grind down on you until you’re so hard it hurts. kiss you just to shut you up.

you: make you watch me take off my shirt. real slow. nothing else.

you: then i’d lean in and whisper how good i’d make you feel—if you kept your hands to yourself.

JK: you’re evil.

JK: i’m literally throbbing rn.

you: i’m not done.

you: i’d slide down between your legs, kiss up your thighs, leave scratches on them just because i can.

you: and then i’d suck your cock so slow you’d lose your damn mind.

you: make you beg to cum.

you: but you don’t get to, not until i say so.

you: i’d let you fuck my mouth. deep. wet. sloppy.

you: and right when you’re close? i’d stop.

you: tell you to fuck me instead.

There’s a pause.

Then—

JK: baby. i’m gonna cum in my boxers.

JK: you’re unreal.

JK: comeee here.

you: you wish.

you: you don’t deserve me tonight.

JK: you’re so fucked up.

JK: and i love it.

you: you love it when i edge you, don’t you?

you: leave you aching and leaking for me.

you: bet you’d cum the second i sit on your lap.

JK: fuck. stop.

JK: you’re gonna make me ruin these boxers.

JK: get your ass over here.

you: why? so you can throw her out just to rail me. or so you can fuck me while she’s sleeping in the next room?

you: so i have to keep quiet with your hand over my mouth?

JK: you love that shit, don’t you?

JK: you biting my hand to keep from screaming is the hottest shit ever.

JK: you shake when you cum. did you know that?

JK: so fucking pretty.

you: you think i don’t know?

you: you only cum that hard for me.

you: not her.

you: never her.

You glance over your shoulder. Taehyung is still knocked out. Thank God.

you: he’s still asleep.

you: you should be fucking me right now.

you: you should be filling me up in his bed.

JK: you’d love that, wouldn’t you?

JK: i’d cum inside you so deep you’d leak into his sheets.

JK: he’d never know he’s holding you while you’re full of me.

JK: you’re so mine it’s pathetic.

you: i’d let you fuck me slow. real slow.

you: make you watch my face while i whisper his name just to fuck with you.

you: and you’d still moan like a bitch.

JK: jesus fucking christ.

JK: you want me to beg? fine. i’m begging.

JK: tell me what you’re wearing.

You smirk, fingers sliding beneath the waistband of your panties just enough to make yourself gasp softly.

you: just his t-shirt.

you: nothing underneath.

you: it still smells like him.

you: but i’m touching myself to you.

JK: i’m gonna lose my fucking mind.

JK: show me.

Your fingers move before you can think. You slowly peel the covers off your legs, making sure not to wake your boyfriend. The room is dim, but there’s just enough light from the window to catch your skin in that soft glow.

You bite your lip and slide your hand down the front of your body, lifting the hem of Taehyung’s shirt just enough. Camera up. Angle just right. The top of your thighs, the curve of your stomach, your fingers just brushing beneath the shirt, teasing the promise of what’s underneath.

Click.

You send it.

you: this enough for now?

you: you don’t even get to see everything. not tonight.

Another picture follows, this one riskier—your fingers between your thighs now, lips parted slightly in the mirror, shirt still on but clearly, there’s nothing beneath.

Click. Sent.

JK: holy. fuck.

JK: you’re gonna make me cum just from this.

JK: i want you on your knees the second i see you.

you: you’ll be lucky if i even let you touch me.

you: maybe i’ll just sit on your face and make you beg for it.

JK: say less.

JK: i’ll let you ride me until i forget my own name.

JK: just say the word.

You’re beyond turned on right now. Your body feels like it’s on fire, your thoughts tangled in need and desire. Every inch of you is aching for him, and you can practically feel your body calling out to Jungkook. Your pussy clenches around nothing, a constant reminder of how badly you want him.

For a moment, you consider sneaking into the bathroom, texting him some more, maybe even making yourself cum with your fingers. But then the air shifts.

Taehyung stirs in his sleep, and your heart sinks like a stone in your chest. Panic rushes through you, cold and sharp, as his voice breaks the silence.

“Love, what are you doing there?”

Your body freezes, a deer caught in headlights, your breath catching in your throat. You quickly shut your phone, lowering the volume to make sure he doesn’t hear Jungkook’s incoming texts.

“Oh, nothing,” you manage to say, your voice sounding steadier than you feel. “Just going to the bathroom.”

He hums in response, shifting his body to turn the other way. “Just turn the hallway lights off when you get back, and hurry up. You know I can’t sleep without you.”

Your heart races, but you manage to whisper, “Okay, love. Wait for me.”

You bolt out of the room, the urgency in your movements as sharp as the guilt gnawing at you. The second you’re in the bathroom, you lock the door behind you. You sit down on the closed toilet, your body trembling, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

You pull your phone back out, your fingers shaky as you unlock it. A string of messages from Jungkook lights up the screen, his words practically searing into you.

JK: ugh, i want to fuck you so bad

JK: bby?

JK: wya?

JK: is he up or sum?

JK: are you okay?

JK: did he catch you?

You take a deep breath, your chest tightening as you type your response, fingers trembling.

you: he woke up for a sec, i'm in the bathroom rn

you: he’s waiting for me

The next message hits you like a punch in the gut.

JK: oh shit

JK: we should probably stop for tonight

You roll your eyes, frustration bubbling up inside you. No shit, Sherlock. Of course, you should stop for tonight. Why does he always have to act like you’re stupid?

you: yea, i gotta go.

The reply is almost immediate, and you can hear the tension in his words.

JK: okay

JK: wanna chill tmrw tho?

You pause, your mind racing. You should stop, but you want him. You always want him.

you: when?

Your fingers hover over the screen as you try to keep your composure.

JK: after your shift? maybe 10-11pm? you can sleep over.

You feel a flutter of anticipation in your stomach. The pull of temptation is too strong, and you can't resist.

you: sure.

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azzibueckers5 · 2 months ago

Text

i want you to need me (need to want something more)

part 2: in which paige is so up. like so fucking up.

(ao3 link) (part 1) (wc: ~ 8k) (read iwkpa before this series)

cw: sexual content

AN: i hope this fixes the heartache adequately? if not don't let me know I'll cry <3 ummm I wrote the majority of the smut having been up for like 36 hours straight and then edited it after three glasses of wine? so uh good luck— ill go through and edit again in a couple days lmfao but im warningggg you i got really lazy towards the end like. i’m sorry <3333333 also pls suspend your disbelief about the wings theoretically making the playoffs in 2026 cause... whewwwww not looking likely. also this is literally twice as plotless as the last chapter of iwkpa... and three times as nonesensical and ridiculous so just like. keep that in mind. also it wasn't supposed to be this smutty man idk it got away from me. happy day!

+1 october 2026, dallas, texas

paige’s phone finally rings with the familiar ringtone she’s been waiting on for what feels like hours, just as she’s ushering her straggling teammates out of her apartment. she’d hosted a watch party after practice for the final game of the liberty–mystics semifinals, and though she loves her teammates, she’s been subtly (and then entirely unsubtly) trying to kick them out since the final buzzer in dc’s overtime loss.

nai and lyss had tried valiantly to cheer her up, but not being able to be there for azzi and having to watch her expression crumple through the television screen had been entirely awful and she’d just wanted to sit on the alone couch in silence until her girlfriend called.

the silver lining of their loss meant that azzi might be able to make it to her semi game tomorrow night, but she puts that thought on the backburner when she answers the facetime, jumping straight into sympathetic girlfriend mode.

azzi’s already talking on the other side of the line, hammering on angrily about “the fucking shit ass refs” and how it was a “rigged ass fucking game,” and paige fights to keep her smile at just seeing azzi’s face on her screen a secret. post-loss azzi is a force to be reckoned with and she won’t jeopardize putting herself as the target by showing positive emotion.

it seems azzi has skipped being sad about it entirely and jumped straight into being pissed, which is precisely paige’s post game specialty, and she lets her ramble, chiming in here and there with indignant comments on how bad the refs were and agreements with how poor their screens had been.

azzi had, surprise surprise, played spectacularly, and had unofficially locked in rookie of the year with a 27 point effort, but paige knows the competitive nature of her girlfriend is cut from the same cloth as her own, and her main goal is to try and keep azzi’s anger directed away from her very few mistakes and make sure she doesn’t veer into self-deprecation.

she’s mostly successful, and by the time azzi leaves the facilities, she’s calmed down enough to let the loss sink in a bit more. when she finally climbs onto the bus that will take them back to the hotel, she seems to relax even further, and lets out a quiet “i miss you.”

paige’s face softens immediately. “miss you too, az. so bad.”

“booked a flight already for tomorrow morning, but i might not get in early enough to see you before the game.” she says it apologetically, like she’s sorry she can’t charter a flight there herself, and paige smiles a little bit at how in sync they are, how much she can tell they both just want a hug.

seeing each other four times over a four month span wasn’t exactly conducive to a honeymoon phase, and though they were putting up a valiant effort anyways, she craved azzi’s physical presence more than anything. paige doesn’t think she’d ever been on facetime this much, and that’s including the month before she’d quarantined with the fudds and had been stuck inside all day, on the phone with azzi every millisecond.

it still isn’t enough, though, and her heart rate speeds up at just the thought of having azzi within arms reach in only a day’s time.

“s’okay, i’ll play better even just knowing you’re in the stands,” she says, and means it. azzi has always been the best motivator.

“you better. one of us has got to wi-”

“shhhh,” she cuts azzi off, “don’t jinx me.”

“yeah, yeah.” she pauses for a second, just looking at paige through the screen, and then there’s commotion on the other end and she gets distracted for a bit, clearly trying to negotiate seating arrangements. when she turns back, she sighs, “listen, baby, i’m gonna hang up so no one kills me for being on the phone on the bus, but i’ll text you when i get to the hotel.”

paige pouts. “how about you call me when you get to the hotel.”

azzi’s face is soft and knowing when she says “you’re gonna be asleep by the time i get there.”

“nuh-uh,” she claims, fighting a yawn. “gonna wait right here, awake, on the couch till you call.”

azzi just laughs. “if you say so. i’ll see you tomorrow, baby. love you.”

paige hangs up with an i love you too and a smile, and is only a little guilty when she thinks about how excited she is that azzi is coming to dallas tomorrow, instead of having to wait longer for their teams to arrange it.

she wedges herself further into her couch cushions, and puts on a random show, determined to stay true to her word and wait up for azzi’s call.

she must fall asleep like that, though, nestled into the couch, because she wakes what feels like hours later to the gentle sensation of hands in her hair and the murmur of her name.

she blinks, disoriented and disbelieving, to the sight of azzi standing above her, looking soft and delightful and angelic.

paige stares.

“hi,” the vision before her says, bashful, and paige’s brain suddenly registers that she’s not dreaming and that azzi is in fact, standing in front of her.

in her living room. in dallas.

she shoots up from her position on the couch to sit up and pull azzi down into a hug, and the brunette sinks into her, pressing her face into paige’s neck like she’s needed the contact just as badly.

“az, wh- what’re you doing here?”

her words are slurred into azzi’s shoulder, voice thick with sleep and confusion, and she can feel azzi’s laugh at her bewilderment against her chest, because azzi here. in paige’s arms.

what.

“changed my flight, couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” she says, and paige’s heart swells. she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to hearing azzi say things like that and knowing that she means for them to come across exactly as paige’s heart interprets them. “needed a consolatory cuddle.”

paige just hums and burrows closer, relishing in her presence. “what time s’it.”

“little past three. told you you’d fall asleep.”

paige slides her hands up underneath azzi’s sweatshirt just to feel more of her skin and ignores the opportunity to argue with her about how she’d only fallen asleep because azzi took too long to call, and instead leans back to press a gentle kiss to her mouth. “missed you.”

“mmhm.” azzi knocks their foreheads together in agreement, kisses her again, short and sweet, and then climbs off paige’s lap, ignoring her grumbling protests.

she holds her hand out, waiting, and says “c’mon. more of that after but in your bed.”

and well. paige would be crazy to refuse.

she latches sleepily onto azzi’s back as they stumble down the hallway, and paige knows azzi has missed her because she doesn’t complain when she stays tucked up against her side throughout their entire nighttime routine– even while they brush their teeth at the same time, knocking elbows– and making the process of getting ready for bed highly inefficient.

they shed their day clothes simultaneously, and paige bats a t-shirt out of azzi’s hands when she goes to put one on, pressing her now naked front up against azzi’s bare back and running her hands down from her ribs to her hips, grunting in protest at the idea of azzi covering any skin. azzi glares, entirely non-threateningly, over her shoulder.

“s’too late for that. sleep only. save it for tomorrow.”

“yes, ma’am.” she presses a kiss to her shoulder, “just like to feel you.”

azzi melts immediately– score– and when they climb into bed, paige instantly pulls azzi into her arms, relishing in the skin on skin contact and burrowing them under the covers.

she curls closer, trying to crawl inside azzi’s skin, and presses a contented sigh into her shoulder as their legs tangle. “goodnight, rookie of the year azzi fudd.”

her responding giggle is soft and just for paige, and she wants to bottle up the sound and keep it for a day when she’s desperately missing this. “night, p. love you.”

they drift off in seconds, and paige sleeps better than she has in weeks.

…

when she wakes, a second time, it’s to little rays of sunlight slipping through the cracks in her blinds and the vision of azzi sleeping peacefully next to her, head pillowed on paige’s bicep and face relaxed.

her heart clenches in her chest at the view and she takes a second to imprint the sight to memory, eyes tracing the slope of azzi’s nose and the birthmark on her jawline and the dark smudge of her lashes. it feels peaceful in a way that waking up first in their dorms in storrs and watching azzi sleep had never been.

aside from the fact that she’s only gotten to wake up next to her a measly four times since july, she also relishes in the security of an azzi that was entirely hers in her arms.

she’d spent years stirring to the same sight, but never for the reasons paige had so desperately dreamed of, and it was surreal, in a way, to know that she could gently shake azzi awake and kiss her as much as she pleased.

she’d done just that their first night together, in this very bed. paige had jerked awake before dawn with wet eyes and the crippling fear that she’d dreamed up the entirety of the prior day's events, and even the sight of azzi sleeping steadily beside her hadn’t been enough to stop the racing of her heart. she’d coaxed azzi awake, gently, just to kiss her, to cement it as real, and azzi had caught on immediately to her insecurity, whispering reassurances and apologies into paige’s skin until they’d both drifted off again, appeased.

paige loves her so much.

she’d almost forgotten, in the year they’d started referring to as the between, how well they could read each other's thoughts, and she’d missed the intimacy and comfort of just being so wholly understood by someone else.

they’d slotted right back together as if they’d never been separated, except this time with awesome things like blatant flirting and sex and transparent feelings, and after spending so many years pining after azzi and thinking hopelessly that she’d never have her in the way that she truly wanted, whenever she’s reminded that she does have her, she gets a little bit breathless.

her attention is pulled from her nauseatingly sappy thoughts when azzi begins to stir, blinking awake slowly, and paige watches, enraptured, trying to catalogue every flutter of her eyelashes, every shift of her brow. she opens her eyes briefly, and glances at the way paige is unashamedly observing her, before closing them again and nestling closer, smile growing on her face.

paige curls the arm azzi’s been using as a pillow tighter around her side, wanting her even closer, and is delightfully reminded by the bare skin of azzi’s lower back that they opted out of clothes the night before. beautiful. past paige was so thoughtful.

“s’rude to stare, y’know,” azzi mumbles into the skin of her shoulder, eyes still shut.

paige debates if she wants to be sentimental or annoying in response. being strictly sentimental might have quicker morning sex odds, but why choose one path when you can have both?

“can’t help it, you’re too beautiful.” her voice comes out raspy in the way she knows azzi loves, and she fights to keep her smirk internal when the brunette’s cheeks flush. incredible. she’s so in there.

azzi pokes her gently in the stomach, yawns (extremely cutely), and says “corny this morning.”

“s’not corny if it’s true.”

“that just made it doubly as corny.”

“whatever. missed you while we were sleeping.” paige’s grin is wide and pleased, and azzi fights a smile, nose scrunching. paige wants to bite her nose. mornings apparently give her cuteness aggression.

“how’s that possible when you told me on facetime last week that you dream about me every night.”

paige brushes a thumb over the smooth skin of azzi’s cheekbone, soft and fond. “s’not the same as the real-life thing.”

azzi rolls her eyes, disbelieving. “alright prince charming.”

paige flicks her forehead affectionately, and they lapse into a comfortable silence for a minute.

and then azzi makes a point to be a pest and drags her frigid toes up paige’s calf, nudging at the back of her knees, and it’s extremely annoying, and entirely unsexy.

in an completely unrelated turn of events, heat pools like lava in paige’s core, and her abs clench on instinct.

azzi laughs, disbelieving and gleeful, and pushes up on her arm a little bit to look down at paige. “there is no way that turned you on.”

paige has been more or less half turned on since the second azzi got here last night.

“bruh,” paige turns her face away from azzi in defiance and grunts, “it didn’t.”

“really,” the brunette’s fingers tease down paige’s stomach, and she grins, taunting, when goosebumps erupt across paige’s abdomen. “so you’re saying if i move my hand down-” she drags knuckles lower and ghosts a touch over the apex of her thighs “-here, i won't find you wet?”

her voice comes out low and intentional, and paige doesn’t know how the mood switched so fast but she’s absolutely not complaining one bit.

it’s too early to come up with a quick response, so instead paige just surges up to kiss her, tongue slipping in almost immediately, and she shifts azzi fully on top of her when she returns the kiss with the same fervor.

it’s languid and heated all in one, and paige lets herself bask in the feeling of having azzi on top of her for the first time in weeks, dragging her hands across her back and down to grip her ass, swallowing her moan at the contact.

“g’morning,” azzi says when they break apart to breathe, smile radiant and achingly beautiful, and paige can feel her own answering grin splitting across her face.

“excellent, fantastic morning.”

azzi giggles– paige wants to wake up to that sound for the rest of her life– before dragging her mouth down to paige’s neck and trailing kisses down her throat to her collarbone, careful not to leave any marks. this cautiousness must fly out the window when she gets to paige’s tit, however, because she immediately sucks a bruise into the soft skin of her flesh, before continuing on a warpath down across paige’s abdomen.

she starts at her navel, biting a mark into the muscle of her stomach and pausing to admire, before repeating the process twice more, moving down. by the time she gets to paige’s pelvis, she’s downright dripping, hips twitching against azzi’s arms and begging for contact.

“azzi, baby, you’re killin’ me,” she slurs, when the younger girl sucks a particularly deep bruise into the meat of her inner thigh, so close to where paige needs her.

“i’ll get there, be patient,” she says, voice unfairly clear in comparison to paige, eyes dark and teasing. paige has never been particularly patient to begin with, and if she expects her to start now, she’s sorely mistaken.

“need it now, please,” she keens. it seems she’s not above begging this morning, and she’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for how hot the brunettes gaze is, how affected she looks from between paige’s legs.

“need what?” she simpers, the bitch, breath blowing across paige’s cunt in a way that must be intentional.

paige nearly cries at the ghost of sensation, arching her back in search of more, and whines out “your mouth, please azzi, need it,” hands coming down to tangle in her hair.

it seems azzi is feeling accommodating this morning, because she smiles, bites at the mark she’s just left high on paige’s quad, and then dives in, flattening her tongue immediately and lapping at paige’s dripping center like she’s starving for it.

and jesus christ, paige is so super not gonna last if she keeps this up. because paige is worked up from the teasing, and from azzi’s general presence, and from the fact that she just slept naked next to her after almost a month of not seeing her. and also the fact that azzi has decided to fucking devour her, hands pressing into paige’s thighs to keep her steady, tongue dragging down to her hole and circling before tracing back up to suck at her clit.

she repeats that motion several times, before moving down to focus at paige’s cunt, thrusting her tongue inside and letting her nose brush the bundle of nerves above, and.

and usually, under normal circumstances, paige takes a minimum of ten minutes to come. usually, also, however, paige is not being given the most attentive head of her life, and isn’t coming off a month of being touch starved.

thus, it only takes a few minutes before she’s slurring out “fuck, azzi m’gonna come fuck,” hips trying to grind up into the younger girls tongue.

azzi nods, the movement nudging paige’s clit, and breathes out “want you to, please.”

she sounds almost as desperate for it as paige is, like she needs her to come this instant, and this thought combined with another purposeful lick at paige's entrance has her coming with a cry, the world falling away beneath her.

her vision goes white, hips twitching as her orgasm crashes down onto her, and her legs tighten around azzi’s head.

but azzi keeps going, flicking her tongue around to trace at paige’s entrance as she spasms, and she whines when paige tugs her off, like she’s actually upset.

jesus fuck.

if paige hadn’t come literally seconds prior, the sound alone would’ve pushed her off the ledge.

her whole body is buzzing, limbs lax against the sheets, and she grins lazily down at azzi when her body begins to resume normal functioning.

“be honest, are you cheating on me?”

“baby, what,” azzi laughs, full and surprised, as she crawls up paige’s stomach and returns to prime kissing range.

this means that paige has to kiss her for a second, slow and intimate, and she gets distracted by the taste of herself on azzi’s lips and how hot it is to have her in her lap again, nerves still buzzing with her release.

and then they part for a second, and paige remembers her question. she elaborates,“how did you get better at that. gonna make a girl suspicious.” she pairs this thought with an exaggerated pout for good measure.

“you’re ridiculous,” azzi says, smiling, trying to lean back down and slot their lips back together, but paige holds her still, stubborn.

“you didn’t deny it.”

“oh my god. there’s only you, p.”

“swear?”

“swear,” she says firmly, indulgently, and pairs it with another lingering kiss.

and then azzi shifts on top of her, but she’s too distracted by her mouth to notice the new placement of azzi’s legs until she grinds down, and paige’s brain shuts off when she realizes that azzi has maneuvered their hips so that their cores are aligned, clits grinding together whenever she rocks down.

it should be too much sensation– and it is, she’s just come– but she chases the feeling anyways with a strangled cry, feeling her entire body shudder when she realizes what azzi’s goal is.

she wrenches their mouths apart when azzi grinds down again and her head drops back against the pillows. “azzi, fuck,” she moans, and her hips move away from the feeling on instinct, still reeling from her first orgasm.

“s’it too much?” azzi breathes, and. isn’t that a great question.

because it is– she’s so sensitive that the pressure of azzi’s hips on her own hurts a little bit– but she doesn’t really want azzi to stop, despite that, so she just chokes out a groan and holds the brunette’s hips above hers for a second, giving herself time to breathe.

azzi’s kneeling, a little awkwardly, above, and it would be an uncomfortable position to hold steady if it weren’t for the strong muscle of her thighs, flexing a little bit as she hovers, looking like a fucking godess-sex-demon-angel-creature. or something.

she’s looking down with half-lidded, knowing eyes, and she keeps eye contact as she drags two fingers through the slick at her own core and then grazes paige’s, hips twitching, before mixing their wetness together on her fingers.

paige watches, in a trance, and her blood gets so hot at the vision that she has to look away for a second to contain herself.

“fuck, azzi.”

she doesn’t think she’s said anything but those two words for the past ten minutes.

“you wanna taste?” she asks, and before paige answers, she’s moving her fingers up to paige’s mouth and asking for entrance and jesus fucking christ.

paige’s body might ascend to a higher plane

she opens, immediately, and the taste of them mixing together on the pads of azzi’s fingers has her moaning, desperately and without restraint, hips moving up to find azzi’s again despite the sensitivity. she licks at azzi’s two fingers, sucking them further into her mouth and watching the azzi’s expression, her eyes stay transfixed on paige’s mouth. distantly, she appreciates how turned on and wild the other girl looks too, her composure slipping with every movement of paige’s tongue, every meeting of their hips.

“we taste good together?” she asks, voice low, before removing her finger from paige’s mouth to allow her to answer.

paige can only nod vigorously, though, not sure that she’s capable of words right now considering azzi is trying to kill her.

the brunette grins wickedly. “wanna taste it.”

she repeats the process from before, dragging her fingers– still damp from paige’s tongue– through her own slick, before sliding them briefly into paige’s entrance. the intentional stroke leaves paige gasping, but she doesn’t get a chance to catch her breath because instead of bringing her fingers to her own mouth, azzi returns to paige’s, pressing them down on her tongue and ensuring their mixed wetness coats her mouth before she’s dipping down to kiss her, hungry and desperate.

holy fucking shit.

the action has paige already close to the edge of another orgasm like it’s nothing, hips grinding together and mouths moving messily. she doesn’t know where azzi learned this, doesn’t even want to know, but she just counts her lucky fucking stars that she gets to experience the hottest thing in the universe.

in an ideal world, paige would wait for azzi to work herself up in tandem with her, would be able to stave off her own orgasm until they could come together. this simply is not possible, however, with how keyed up she already is from getting eaten out, and how hot it is to have azzi moving above her, just as desperate, and the vision of her, fucked out expression and curls bouncing as she grinds their cores together with reckless abandon.

she grips azzi’s hips to assist her, adding more force to her thrusts, and azzi must be able to tell that she’s close from the noises she’s making– paige has long since stopped paying attention to the string of needy whines coming out of her mouth, too pleasure drunk to care– because she asks, voice desperate, “you gonna come for me again, paige?”

paige keens an affirmative “yeah, gonna come, fuck,” and azzi makes an approving noise in the back of her throat, reaching down to tug at one of paige’s nipples.

the new sensation, combined with a particularly delicious grind of their hips and the view of azzi’s concentrated, pleasure-ridden expression has paige arching off the bed and coming with a scream, azzi’s name tearing from her throat.

blood rushes to her ears, muscles spasming, and she tugs azzi off immediately, pulling her up to straddle her abs as paige’s body tries to catch up to the earthquake that just tore through her.

she’s sure she takes a minute to come down, and when she blinks her eyes open, she’s met with the sight of azzi hovering over her, looking like she’s desperately trying not to grind too hard into paige’s stomach, biting her lip, and the view almost makes her come again on the spot.

she looks angelic— in a demonic, sinner sort of way? if that’s possible?— curls framing her face, lips bitten raw, a flush spreading down from her cheekbones to her chest.

“you back with us?” she asks, self satisfied and teasing. which is like. fair, because she’s just absolutely ruined paige, twice, but also. paige needs to even the playing field a little bit. can’t have her getting too big a head.

there’s a reason paige usually gets her off first– more than just for her own enjoyment of seeing azzi fall apart. because if she doesn’t fuck an orgasm out of the younger, coax out the needy side, she gets an ego like this. paige is determined to fix that.

she raises an eyebrow and tightens her hold on azzi’s hips in response, before pulling her down so her cunt grinds hard, on the taught skin of paige’s abdomen.

immediately, she keens, head thrown back, and her hands fly up to her chest to play with her own nipples, fingers tracing the skin of her areola and squeezing. she’s dripping, slick pooling on paige’s stomach, and the feeling of it makes paige dizzy with the desire to get her off.

she keeps her hands rocking azzi down into her stomach and back up, watching the arousal echo across her face and down the rest of her body, and when azzi moans particularly loudly at the feeling of her clit pressing down, paige smirks. “you wanna come, baby?”

azzi keens. “yeah. please.”

paige just hums, and stops the movement entirely, holding her still and relishing in the broken whine that she releases when paige prevents her from grinding down again to get friction.

she curls her hands behind azzi’s thighs and tugs, almost moaning at the feeling of the strength of her quads and the drag of azzi’s wetness up her navel and in between the valley of her breasts. she looks confused for all of two seconds before realization crashes over her face, and she keens, even before paige tugs her over her mouth.

she pulls azzi fully over her, gazing at her fluttering cunt, the soft pink just begging for her mouth, and when azzi whines again, waiting, paige listens, settling her over her mouth and immediately getting to work.

she drags her tongue through her soaked folds, and she feels like a dying man in a desert who’s just found an oasis, moaning at the taste of azzi on her tongue and relishing in the answering moans she can hear above her.

she sucks at her clit for a few seconds, and smirks into her when azzi’s thighs twitch, before switching to her entrance, tracing slowly and then thrusting in, slick dripping down her chin.

“please, paige– i need it please– love your mouth so much–” azzi sounds absolutely wrecked above her, and paige thinks that if she could pick the way she dies this would be her choice in a heartbeat: azzi, needy and pliant above her, blissed out expression on her face and moans of paige’s name tumbling from her lips, the muscle of her thighs caging paige in and the taste of her, sharp and sweet, flooding her senses.

she knows she’s close, can feel it in the tremor of her legs and the grind of her hips and the clench of her walls around her tongue, and when azzi breathes out “so close, please,” and throws her head back, paige drags one of the hands that’s been holding azzi’s thigh to her entrance, curling two fingers immediately into her cunt to press down on her g-spot and sucking at her clit, hard.

and azzi positively sobs above her, clamping her legs down firmly and cutting off paige’s ability to breathe as she comes, wetness flooding out of her. paige keeps at it, licking her through it, watching as she keeps her head tipped back, fingers still clutching her breast. she looks positively sinful.

azzi slumps backwards when the last of her orgasm washes away, and paige reaches up to maneuver them into her desired post-sex cuddle position– fronts pressed together and legs tangled.

it’s a little sweaty, and there’s slick all over paige stomach and thighs, and more on azzi, but they curl into each other anyways, contentment settling deep in their bones.

“missed that,” she says, pressing a messy kiss to azzi’s forehead, “solid elven out of ten.”

she mumbles “fourteen,” in response and bats at paige’s shoulder lazily, somehow pressing even closer, and paige laughs softly at how needy azzi always gets after sex, wanting to be practically inside paige’s skin. she’s never once minded, knows with certainty she never will.

she wonders if there will ever be a time when she gets used to the sex– both how good it is, always, and just how unreal it feels to have azzi like that, under her or above her but always wholly paige’s.

she doubts it.

she thinks that if she had to pick a moment to hold on to forever it would be this one, them tangled together, skin on skin, just basking in the warmth of each other, and the intimacy of it makes her feel light headed in the best way possible.

they doze for a bit, sun casting shadows through the blinds over azzi’s back and making her look holy in the morning light.

azzi starts drawing lines, softly, over her stomach at one point, and paige glances down at where her fingers are tracing the marks she’d left on paige’s abdomen and then back to azzi’s self satisfied face. “possessive, hmm?’

“yeah,” she breathes, and then presses down on the biggest one. “mine.”

and. well. paige is wet again.

she rolls her eyes a little bit at azzi’s conviction, like she has the need to scare everyone else off, which is absurd. “been yours since we were, like, sixteen.”

“yeah.” azzi smiles and nips paige’s shoulder. “been yours too, y’know. even if i didn’t know the depth of it.” she laughs a little before continuing, “used to get so fucking jealous when you would flirt with girls in front of me, but i convinced myself it was cause they didn’t deserve you.”

“yeah?” paige grins, wide and happy, something settling in her stomach at the idea that azzi had been just as possessive as her in college even if she didn’t know why.

azzi nods in paige’s shoulder. “mmhm. i was so stupid. teenage paige was much smarter, should’ve just listened to her.”

“maybe, maybe not. she was a little overeager,” paige says, wistfully. her sixteen year old self had thought they’d be locked in by the time they were twenty, probably would’ve, like, proposed by twenty-two. she’d definitely be a little disbelieving at how long it took them to get here, but she’d think it was all worth it if paige gave her the details. especially if she emphasized how pretty azzi sounds sitting on paige’s face.

azzi breathes out a laugh, seemingly agreeing. “true. it’s probably a little soon to be married with like, seven kids which is i’m guessing what we’d be according to her life plans.”

she says it so casually, like the thought of marrying paige, having kids with her, isn’t some ridiculous idea but instead a given. as if it was obviously part of their future one way or another. paige’s heart flutters sickeningly in her chest.

her grin is a little soft on her face when she asks “yeah? gonna let me put a ring on you?” and it’s supposed to be teasing but she just sounds entirely soft and hopeful. whatever.

“yeah,” azzi smiles radiantly right back. “if the ring’s big enough, probably,” she adds airly.

paige laughs, bright and disbelieving. “liar. you wanna marry me so bad.” she basks in the thoughts of their future, giddy. “an’ imma put at least seven kids in you, mama. prolly more.”

azzi hums happily in agreement. “i’m maxing you out at ten.”

“so we can run five on fives?”

“exactly.”

they sit in contented silence for a minute, and paige lets herself revel in the future that azzi is laying in front of them as the other girl curls closer, hiding her face from the blonde.

“speaking of like- putting a baby in me,” azzi starts, and paige’s ears perk up. this promises to be a delightful sentence.

she fiddles with paige’s fingers and stays buried in her shoulder, shy. “could we maybe- if you like- if you like wanted- maybewecouldgetastrap.”

the last part comes out jumbled together, and it takes a second for paige to process. and then.

her brain whites out.

wow her life was awesome. like so, so awesome.

despite the fact she just came, twice mind you, heat pools immediately in her core, and she feels a little lightheaded from the idea. her imagination is having one of its best days in a while. oscar worthy film productions are being written.

they are so having sex again before they get up.

a slow, obscene grin drifts across her face. “azzi fudd, you’re filthy.”

“whatever. your hips just twitched.” she burrows further into paige’s neck.

“i’m ordering one as soon as we get out of bed,” paige agrees, and then, just to be annoying, “gonna get a neon green one for the wings.”

“absolutely not,” comes azzi’s indignant response, though paige can feel the smile against her skin.

she gasps in mock offense and rolls them over so she can look down at azzi’s wonderful, flushed face beneath her. she pouts. “you sayin’ you won’t love our children if they turn out a little green? i can’t help what i am.”

it says something about how sickeningly in love she is, probably, that they’re discussing sex toys and she’s focussed on the thought of how endearing it would be to have imaginary little green alien kids of theirs running around. whatever.

azzi rolls her eyes, affection seeping out of her pores. “i’m saying that if you come anywhere near me with a chartreuse dick i’m calling the police.”

paige is sure her grin is enormous. “yeah, baby? what’re you gonna tell ‘em– that your incredibly hot girlfriend wants to fu-”

azzi cuts her off with a kiss. “shut the fuck up.”

they absolutely have sex again before they get up.

…

paige has to be at the practice facilities at one, so they eventually drag themselves out of bed around eleven, the blonde grumbling the entire time about leaving the warmth of her comforter.

they bicker in the shower over where they should go on vacation during the offseason (they settle on azzi’s idea, hawaii, because paige relents immediately when she mentions the word bikini), argue about how many vegetables azzi puts in paige’s omelet while they’re cooking (“you need nutrients, paige, they’ll make your muscles stronger.” “you seemed to think my muscles were plenty impressive earlier, given the bite marks on my abs.” “just shut the fuck up and eat your eggs.”), and fight over who has to sit on the rickety bar stool while they eat (they compromise with azzi on paige’s lap on the good stool, and only feel half as ridiculous as they should.)

it's the best morning paige has had in quite some time.

and then azzi drops her at the facilities, driving paige's car, with a lingering kiss over the console and a “love you, baby, gonna kill it,” before promising to go grocery shopping and stock up on even more vegetables to torment paige with, and she could cry at the domesticity.

she doesn’t, but. it's a near thing.

she walks into their shoot around with the most lovesick smile on her face, feeling like she’s floating on air.

the aces won’t know what hit ‘em.

…

the game is physical in the way only the knockout game of a playoff series can be– elbows jabbing with a little more force than usual and boxing out more aggressively than strictly necessary. paige is expecting this, is prepared for this, and even knocks in her own unusually rough shoulder bump when an aces player throws too much weight behind a screen.

it’s a close but winnable game by the time the fourth quarter rolls around, and paige can taste the championship finals. she’s proud of her efforts, 21 points overall and 12 from the three. (she always shoots threes a little better when azzi is near, like her impeccable form rubs off on paige).

the wings start really trailing away after a three from maddy puts them up by 9 with four minutes remaining, and las vegas goes from physical to downright reckless, trying to do anything to get a block, a steal, some points.

young gets the ball to start the aces next play, and paige narrows in to guard her, aware that there’s a screen incoming. it still catches her off guard, however, when a player– she can’t even tell who it happens so fast– collides with her back and gets tangled with paige’s already moving body, somehow catching on her jersey and sending them both tumbling, hard, to the ground.

paige lands smack on her back, head thumping against the floor, and she takes a second to evaluate the damage. her head is throbbing, dull ache already spreading through her skull, but her limbs seem to be relatively fine, and her jersey is rucked up high on her chest somehow from how the aces player– whose identity is still a mystery to paige and who is lying in a heap a foot away. she covers her face with her hands in an attempt to block out the noise of the crowd and decipher if this feels like a minor annoyance type of injury or a big fuck up.

nothing seems broken, which is good.

a little deliriously, she wonders if maybe this clip will go viral, what with her abs being out and her head tipped back in pain. is that weird to be thinking about? she doesn’t really care.

when she establishes that she’s pretty sure she doesn’t have a concussion, she widens the fingers over her eyes and peeks up at the circle of teammates around her.

she’s expecting to see some concerned looks, considering she just fell pretty hard and might have hit her head, which is why she’s bewildered by their smirks of amusement, and only a few concerned comments.

“you okay there, lil’ paigey?” says nai, who’s squatting to her left, positively gleeful, and instead of gesturing at her head, like a good, concerned teammate, pokes paige in the stomach, laughing.

“bruh, what the fuck,” she grits out, and covers her eyes fully with her hands again. maybe if she acts more injured, dijonai will stop being so annoying.

but even maddy, usually a little more motherly in that regard, looks at paige a little funny when she asks sympathetically, “how bad does your head hurt?”

before she can respond, jj piles on immediately with shit eating grin on her face, saying “her head or her stomach,” and paige finally sits up enough to glance down in confusion.

distantly, she hears nai say “we should ask azzi,” but she’s too busy looking at the unmistakable trail of marks starting from her navel and sensually trailing down past her waistband from where azzi had been focussed this morning.

and ohmygod.

paige now understands why everyone is trying not to laugh at her.

she jerks her head back up in panic, frantically shoving her jersey back down across her stomach, and generally contemplates how bad it would be to try and hang herself from the basketball hoop.

jesus fuck she is going to kill herself.

the hickies were, like, so extremely visible. to everyone. for at least fifteen seconds.

to like. the entire arena probably. and the millions of people watching on tv–

“i don’t- um. it’s not,” she stutters, hands trying to shove her jersey back into the waistband of her shorts while still sitting, eyes wide and cheeks burning.

this might be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to her. probably.

azzi is going to murder her.

the medical staff crowd in just as arike whistles out a low “she claimed yo ass reallll nice huh, paigey. gotchu all marked up.” fucking bitch.

and paige has no response, couldn’t even give one if she wanted to anyways because their trainer is helping her onto her feet, and grilling her about her fall.

she actually thinks she might collapse from the humiliation.

her ears and cheeks are probably redder than a tomato.

as the medical staff usher her over the bench to get her evaluated, she glances involuntarily over to where her family and friends are sitting courtside. nika and kk are on either side of azzi absolutely cracking up, and surely saying something exceedingly inappropriate, while azzi stands in the middle, hands over her face.

awesome awesome awesome.

it's not like they’d been trying to hide their relationship– it’d be kind of hard to come up with excuses as to why they’d been spotted flying to random cities just to get less than 24 hours together and posting random funny anecdotes from their time together on social media– but this is a level of out there that was sort of undeniable if you were paying attention. it was quite clear that someone had given paige those marks– she supposed a cupping excuse wasn’t going to cut it– and it wouldn’t be hard to put the pieces together on who that had been, especially given the fact that azzi had been spotted in the dallas airport the night before. the plausible deniability of the nature of their relationship had sort of just crumbled into nothing.

cool cool cool cool cool.

like azzi can feel her eyes from across the court, she lifts her hands for a second and makes eye contact with paige. her cheeks are crimson, concern and embarrassment warring across her face and eyes wide like she can’t believe that's just happened, and yet.

she looks like the prettiest girl in the arena, prettiest girl in the world.

and paige can’t help the lopsided, guilty grin that spreads across her face. she’s sure this will be clipped a million times, but she doesn’t even care because the embarrassment is sort of fading away.

because everyone with half a brain cell now knows that paige definitely belongs to azzi fudd. and that’s the best thing she’s ever accomplished– certainly not something to be ashamed of– and. whatever. let people talk.

paige can see azzi roll her eyes from all the way in her spot on the sidelines, and her smile only grows, pleased and unabashed, and then turns to give the poor trainer her full attention.

the short rest of the game involves paige enduring a litany of comments from the bench while trying to convince the training staff and coach to let her back in, insisting that she’s not concussed. she’s unsuccessful, but the wings pull off the win anyways, and then she gets to bask in the glory of a trip to the league championship, which is fucking awesome.

she breezes through the post game handshakes and celebration with her head held high, humoring the comments about making sure she ices her head and her stomach, and simply sits with the euphoria of winning the series.

when her friends and family are finally allowed onto the court, she’s still sweating, confetti sticking to her jersey and grin wide across her face as she catches drew when he leaps into her arms.

“you and azzi are nasty,” he says, instead of congratulating her. of course. brotherly love in all its wonderful glory.

“bruh shut up,” she says, shoving him off with a hand to his forehead. “fuck outta here.”

he just cackles maniacally, and runs off, surely going to find dijonai, his favorite.

and then azzi herself is in front of paige, smiling small and proud, a little sheepish.

paige’s grin turns impossibly fond, a little cocky. “hey there, baby.”

“hi,” she says, eyes furtively looking around to see who’s paying attention to them. she must either not realize that the answer to that is everyone or decide she doesn’t care, because she brings a hand up to paige’s cheek and asks earnestly, “you okay? it's not a concussion, right?”

paige smiles at the concern- it's ridiculous how a simple gesture like that can make her cheeks flush– and shakes her head. “nah, we chillin’. you can still kiss it better though.”

azzi just groans, and pulls the older girl in for a hug. “bro. imma kill myself. or you. haven’t decided which yet.”

“nooooo,” she drags out, wrapping her arms tighter around azzi’s back and pulling her closer. “don’t do that, i like you possessive. gotta make sure everyone knows i won jus’ for you.”

azzi huffs, sending goosebumps skittering across the skin of paige’s shoulder, and pokes paige’s side. “makin’ it real hard to want to congratulate you.”

paige grins into her shoulder. “you gonna let me kiss you as a prize since everybody knows i’m yours now?”

“no,” azzi whines, emphatically, and then hums like she’s reconsidering, smile pressed into her skin, and paige knows she doesn’t really care that everyone will be in their business now either, can feel the humiliation in azzi falling away. “beat the liberty for me and i’ll think about it.”

as motivators go, it’s a fairly good one.

(the wings do not win the championship, and it’s a heartbreaking, well fought loss, but azzi kisses her anyways– wet cheeks and cameras around them be damned– and as consolation prizes go, it’s pretty up there. paige promises sweetly that they’ll win it the following year against the mystics and gets an elbow in the stomach as retaliation.)

(a clip of that interaction goes almost as viral as the tv clip of paige’s fall in the semis: her, getting dragged to the floor by her jersey and immediately covering her face in pain, the hickies ridiculously visible to the camera, and carrying an undeniable insinuation. the broadcast must desperately want to change the stream to a less graphic display because they immediately switch it to the camera view of paige’s family and friends, who begin to realize what’s on paige’s abdomen and who immediately turn to azzi in amused disbelief. the announcers stumble through a comical explanation of the people in frame, and one laughs when the other says and that is azzi fudd, probable rookie of the year for the mystics and paige bueckers’ uh. close friend.)(it's not the worst thing that’s ever been part of paige’s digital footprint, even if her mother disagrees.)

AN: badda bing badda boom. such concludes this journey fr fr fr this time. this was ridiculous I'm. deeply sorry if you wanted plot. if you give me a comment/ask/anything I will personally kiss you on the mouth I'm so serious they make me so happy and motivate me so much. ily for reading <333333 ok bye

#paige bueckers x azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi smut #pazzi fics #once again i give up on tagging #if this is terrible don't tell me #thank you and goodnight i guess?#xoxo gossip girl

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rowarn · 2 years ago

Text

PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT2

simon riley / reader

FIND PART ONE || read the full thing on ao3

tags: childhood friends, friends2lovers, virgin!reader, soft!simon, protective!simon, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, MDNI

cw: reader is over 20, pining, masturbation (reader), loss of virginity, explicit workplace sexual harassment/assault, so much crying, one-sided love, not-really-unrequited love, vomiting, panic attacks, depression, crying, sex related shame, PTSD (reader), codependency but cute, self-deprecating thoughts, slut shaming, wet dream, dry humping, simon fucks up tho, reference to suicide & suicidal ideation, really nasty argument, reader hits simon sorry, apologizes tho!!!, reader struggles to orgasm, drinking, fooling around while drunk (no sex), breast play, fingering, orgasm denial, simon's a tease, p-in-v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, mating press, missionary, simon's dirty mouth, dirty talk, wet&messy, big cock, uncut simon bc i said so, reassurance & encouragement, some pain upon penetration, clit spanking, post-coital crying!!!!!!, aftercare, briefly edited so apologies for any lingering mistakes

note: this is part two and contains the gratuitous smut portion ur all looking forward to <3

you've loved him since you were children. after a confession when you were 14 went rejected, you vowed to never let your feelings be known again. but after an incident that left you hurt and fragile, you find it hard to keep that promise.

PART 2: 17.9k total: 35.8k

Things seem to get much better between you. Your anger and resentment towards Simon diminishes significantly and you can finally say you feel comfortable around him again. You wouldn’t say you’ve forgotten everything that happened, you fear that the entire ordeal has left its scar on you.

But you finally feel ready to truly begin to work on yourself and get to a better place mentally.

You’re humming to yourself as you dust the surfaces in your living room, cringing in disgust when you see how dusty a particular shelf was.

Just as you go to give it another swipe, your front door opens and Simon stumbles in, huffing from effort as he carries two armfuls of groceries.

“Simon!” you cry out, watching with wide eyes from the stepstool you stood on as he ungracefully dropped them on the floor, “Why did you bring them all up here like that?”

“Didn’t wanna make another trip,” he explained lamely, flexing his hands as he looked over all the bags.

“Okay, I guess,” you chuckle softly.

Simon finally looks up at you, “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” you shrug, waving the duster at him, “I haven’t felt like doing it until now so might as well get it done when I feel like it!”

He’s quiet for a moment before he steps over the bags of groceries.His boots thunk heavily on the floor as he approaches you. Suddenly, he wraps an arm around your middle. You squeak in surprise when he very carefully and gently pulls you off of the stool and places you back onto your feet.

Then he walks away like nothing happened, snatching up a couple groceries up from the floor to take to the kitchen.

You decide not to comment on his behavior and simply choose to grab a couple of bags and help him out. When you get inside the kitchen, he’s already stuffing things into the refrigerator. You place the bags down and go back to pick some more up, transferring all the bags of groceries near him so he can easily put them away.

You notice one of the bags has some piping, lightbulbs, wires, and other things you can’t identify.

“What’s all this?” you ask, holding the bag out to him when he turns to look.

He grunts, closing the fridge, “Gonna fix some shit around here.”

“Why?” you ask, scrunching your nose up as you place the bag on the counter.

“Shithole needs it,” he mumbles, moving to start opening the cabinets, “Since you refuse to let me move you out of this place, I’m gonna make sure it at least functions.”

You hum and nod your head. Simon had attempted to convince you to move out and into an apartment of his own choosing but you flat out refused. He was already paying the rent on this place, you weren’t going to let him spend more money for a different place – because you know Simon would choose somewhere that would cost a lot more than your current flat.

But you couldn’t deny, the idea of Simon doing a little manual labor around the apartment made your heart flutter in your chest. The way he took care of you and was willing to get his hands dirty just to make sure you were comfortable. The little domestic tasks you could imagine him doing.

It almost felt like something a husband would do.

You felt your cheeks flush immediately at the train of thought. How embarrassing and juvenile to think something like that

“I can cook dinner!” you mumble after clearing your throat.

Simon actually has the audacity to laugh. You frown as he shakes his head, closing the cabinet before turning to you.

“Absolutely not,” he says.

Your jaw drops, “Why?!”

“Because,” he steps closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before breezing past you, “You’re a terrible cook, love.”

You open your mouth to retort but can only huff. Because he’s right. The last time you tried to make dinner for the two of you, you had confused cayenne with cinnamon and made the most diabolical stew known to man. He vowed to never let you cook anything that required more than boiling water since.

You pout your way back to the living room, mumbling a petulant, “Fine…” as you went.

You didn’t catch the broad grin on Simon’s face as he watched you sulk away. He was just happy to see your vibrance returning before his very eyes.

True to his word, however, he began to do some random odd jobs around the apartment. He changed that damn leaky faucet in the kitchen first. He would never admit it but it was beginning to drive him completely mad. He swore he could hear it dripping into the metal sink basin in his dreams.

Then he fixed the piping in the bathroom so they would stop all that god-awful clanking that practically woke up the entire complex. But after that, he figured he might as well fix the piping under the sinks as well.

That’s when you saw him. On his back, big body sprawled out as he worked underneath the cabinet, wrench in hand and soft grunts of effort coming from him. His t-shirt rose up just a bit, exposing a small stretch of tummy and his happy trail. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it made your mouth go completely dry.

You felt like a Victorian man seeing his first ankle on a woman. Ridiculous.

Sure, you’d seen Simon shirtless countless times – hell, you walked in on him completely naked once or twice. But there was something particularly…delicious about him like this. Unaware, casual, just doing work.

It made a swell of heat settle in your abdomen. You squeezed your thighs together as you watched him. His biceps flexed and bulged, making the sleeve of his t-shirt grow taut around his skin. His muscles moved underneath the tattoos inked into his skin.

You dragged your eyes down his body, past his pecs, past the sliver of tummy. You imagined yourself crawling between those thick thighs and unbuckling his belt, tugging at the button of his jeans. You imagined getting to see his cock chub up inside his boxers before you would pull it out and wrap your lips around the leaking tip.

Salty, you imagine. You’ve always heard that men’s cum and pre-cum would be salty. Would Simon’s taste as bad as some of your friends had told you back in highschool? You hoped not. You couldn’t imagine not enjoying every part of him – even his cum.

You wanted him to shoot in your mouth, let you taste it. You wanted to milk it out of him, give him no choice but to cum down your throat.

“Are you just going to stand there or do you need something?” his voice startled you out of your thoughts.

Wide eyed, you looked to meet his gaze but you found he wasn’t even looking at you, still staring at the piped overhead.

“Um,” you cleared your throat, floundering for an excuse as to why you were ogling him like a piece of meat, “I didn’t want to interrupt you. I-I was just wanting to make sure the shower was okay to use?”

He grunts, letting out a soft sigh before pushing himself out from under the sink, closing the cabinet before wiping his brow with the back of his hand, “Yeah, go ahead and shower, love.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile, casting one last glance to see that his t-shirt had fallen back into place. Disappointing.

You trudge out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. Softly, you close the door and turn on the shower. The pipes don’t clang when the water shoots through them. It brings a smile to your face.

Once you’re stripped and standing under the warm spray, you let your hands wander your body. First, you cup your breasts, watching your nipples harden under your own touch before you slide one hand between your thighs. There’s a slickness between your folds that's distinctly different from the water, it’s slippery and sticky. But it makes your touch against your clit easy.

You bite your lips to keep quiet, scared to death that Simon could hear you from under the sound of the water. You make quick, tight little circles against your clit. The bud is hard and twitches under your fingers. It makes the breath stutter out of your chest.

You need more room, you realize, hiking your foot up onto a shelf. It spreads you open just a little more, gives you a little more access for your fingers to play. You sigh, head tipping forward to watch as you circle your own clit.

But the more you touch yourself, the faster that tingling, warm sensation dissipates. You huff through your clenched teeth, frustrated.

Usually, you could at least feel the beginning of that peak forming but this time…not even close. So you shamefully close your legs and go about your shower as if nothing happened, taking care to wash the slick from between your thighs especially.

As you lay in bed that night, Simon breathing deeply beside you as he slept, you were lost in thought.

Surely, you were in the wrong for thinking about Simon like that – for getting wet at the sight of him. And then sleeping soundly next to him as if you weren’t some kind of pervert. Maybe you should just confess and apologize to him.

No. You quickly admonish that thought, glancing over at his prone form. You couldn’t bear to see him be disgusted by you. He’d already rejected you years ago, finalized it and put the nail in the coffin so you would never be dumb enough to do it again.

What would he do if he found out about your…attraction to him? He practically lived with you now, after everything happened. He was in your flat more than he was on base now. It was only a matter of time before he caught you with your hands dancing in your pants.

Your cheeks flushed at the idea. Part of you thought it hot – for him to find you needy like that, desperately playing with your clit as you try to make yourself cum.

But on the other hand, you could see the wrinkle of disgust in his brow and sneer on his face as he walked away. That outcome was not worth it, you decided.

With a sigh, you rolled over so your back faced Simon and closed your eyes for the night.

You both should have known better that the fragile peacefulness between the two of you was just that – fragile, balancing on a delicate precipice that could shatter at any moment.

The ring of his phone was the break.

“Answer that for me, love!” he called from the kitchen where he was busy preparing dinner.

You leaned forward to check the number. It wasn’t in his contacts but Simon never got calls from people unless he knew them. So you slowly slid the button over and accepted the call.

“Hello?” you mumbled into the phone.

There was a beat of silence before a woman’s voice responded in kind, “Hello?”

“Um…” you swallowed down the apprehension that settled in your chest, casting a glance towards Simon’s back as he stood over the stove, “Who may I ask is calling?”

“I’m looking for Simon,” she said, sounding much more coy than a second ago. She knew his real name and that irked you. People from work always referred to him as Ghost, only those he considered trustworthy or friends were privy to calling him Simon.

“Um, he’s busy at the moment, can I take a message?” you ask, loud enough for Simon to hear in the kitchen if he was interested in intervening. But he didn’t move.

“Sure!” she giggled, “Tell him that Victoria really wants to see him again and to call me so we can!”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, “Y-Yeah, sure. I’ll let him know…”

“Thank you,” she cooed in a sultry tone, “Oh! And tell him I really had a great time last time we were together and that I’m looking forward to a repeat performance.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that,” you assured, hoping you didn’t sound as tense as you felt.

She giggled before the call disconnected and you were left glaring at his stupid stock phone wallpaper.

“Who was it?” Simon comes to the archway of the kitchen, leaning against the wall. You can’t hear anything cooking anymore so you assume he’s finished dinner.

“Victoria,” you spit the name out like it’s poisonous, “Says she wants to see you again and she had a fantastic time with you last time.”

Simon shifts where he stands, looking down at his feet before looking back up to you, “Alright. I’ll call her back later.”

That sends knives straight through your heart. It aches so badly that you want to bite your own tongue off to make it stop.

Jealousy, you realize. You’re fucking jealous. Some girl calls and asks for his dick and he just says okay?

He’s not yours, you tell yourself. He can fuck whoever he wants.

But that does nothing to quell the inferno raging inside you.

There’s other feelings brewing inside you; rejection, fear, loss.

You feel bitter that you’re right there and he would still never choose you. He’ll always choose someone else because he doesn’t see you like that. It feels like he’s throwing it in your face, just spitting at you to show you that he doesn’t love you like you love him. He never has and he never will. You’ll never be an option to him because he doesn’t want you.

Then you’re scared he’s going to leave you. He’s going to go to this Victoria chick and leave you all alone so he can get his dick wet again. Just like last time. Maybe he’ll like it so much he wants to stay with her. Maybe he’s going to leave you behind so he can start a new, happy life without having to worry about the dead weight that’s been dragging him down since he was 8. You. His responsibility. His problem.

You’re so scared that he’s going to be ripped from your grasp. That you’re going to lose him to someone else and it’s going to be you and your pathetic one-sided love for the rest of your life. Fuck, you’ve loved him since you were 4. You’ve loved him for so long that it makes you nauseous to think about. How many people loved one person for this long?

Please, you wanted to cry to him, please love me.

Please, just love me back.

“So you’re gonna go then?’ you finally find your voice, bitterness and resentment thick in your tone, “You’re gonna leave me to go to a booty call again?”

He stands up straight at that. Arms cross over his chest, he watches that way you glare at him, heated and teary-eyed. Hurt.

He knew you still weren’t over the way he left you that time – when you needed him the most. You’d been ignoring the residual hurt that lingered, intent on pretending that everything was fine. He had been doing his best to make up for it but it always felt like one step forward and two steps back with you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures softly, “I’ll call her back to tell her that it won’t happen.”

He tries his best to remain level-headed and soft, to be reassuring like he knows you need. But your expression doesn’t change. You continue to glare at him with that furious, hurt look in your eyes.

Suddenly, you stand.

“I don’t believe you,” you hiss, turning your back to him, storming down the hallway.

He almost winces when he hears how hard you slam the bedroom door. He thinks about going back there to talk to you but decides against it. You need some space to calm yourself down.

He eats the dinner he made for both of you alone, putting your half in the fridge for later. He goes about the apartment, locking the door and turning out all the lights. Then he gets to the bedroom door and goes to turn the knob and it doesn’t budge.

Despite himself, he laughs. He jiggles the knob, jerks the door a little harder like it’ll open with a bit of force. And it might, it’s a flimsy ass door if he’s being honest – he’s forced bigger and heavier doors open before.

He snaps your name, humor gone from his voice. You don’t answer.

“Open the damn door,” he snaps, trying the knob again. He gets silence in return so he slams his fist against the surface. The sound is loud enough that it makes his own ears ring, “I said open the door. I’m not playin’ this game with you, sweetheart.”

“Sleep on the couch, Simon!” he hears your wobbly voice call back. Of course you’re in there crying, he thinks.

“I’m not sleepin’ on the fuckin’ couch,” he hisses, leaning his forearm against the door, resting his head against it with a sigh, “Open the door and let’s talk.”

“Don’t wanna talk to you,” you whine, bratty as all hell. He would have laughed if he wasn’t so damn pissed, “Why don’t you go sleep with Victoria since you like her so much.”

You don’t know why you say that last part. You don’t want him to go to her, you don’t want him to go anywhere. The thought of it brings more tears to your eyes.

Simon is silent on the other side of the door for a long while. You almost think he walked away and succumbed to the couch. You wouldn’t actually let him sleep on that awful thing, of course. You just…you don’t know what the end goal here is, if you’re honest.

“Fine,” he finally spits, “If that’s what you want, I’ll fuck off and find Victoria.”

You hear the floorboards creak under his weight as he walks away. You sit up straight in bed at that, eyes wide as you listen to him stalk through the house. You swear you hear the jingle of his keys and that’s what has you lurching out of bed in a panic.

You almost trip over the sheets as they tangle around your legs but you manage to free yourself and wrench the door open.

“Simon!” you practically shriek, rounding the corner of the hallway to find him standing with his back to you, facing the door.

He’s got his hoodie and mask on, boots firmly on his feet and keys in hand. He stands still, back straight as his shoulders rise and fall with his breathing. But he waits.

“Don’t go,” you find yourself whimpering, “‘M sorry. Come to bed, okay?”

He doesn’t move and that makes your heart pound in your chest. You know he’s pissed, can see it in the way his fists stay clenched at his sides. His fingers twitch and he makes a move for the doorknob and you surge forward, wrapping yourself around his other arm, yanking him away from the door as hard as you can.

He lets your weight knock him off balance, lets you drag him away from the door. He lets you tug him down the hallway, sniffling and crying as you do.

“J-Just…” you find yourself frantically tugging his mask off, tossing it away before you rip the hem of his hoodie up. He doesn’t help you or fight you as you try to take it off of him. He just stares blankly at you, like he’s assessing you. You hate it. “G-Get ready for bed, okay? Just…we can go to sleep.”

“Why do you make this so fuckin’ hard for me?” he finally breaks his silence, the question cold and calculating. Like he’s tired. Exhausted, “I keep tryin’ to make it up to you. But every time something goes wrong, you throw everything back in my face and you act like you hate me again. I can’t keep…” he trails off, shaking his head before he sits at the foot of the bed, hands clasped together and head hanging between his shoulders.

“I love you,” you blurt out, a sob breaking out of your lips as you do. Simon doesn’t move. Your hands cover your eyes, as if being blind to his reaction will make the rejection hurt less, “I love you and i-it just keeps messing me up inside. I’m sorry.”

“You love me?” he asks, still no emotion in his voice.

When you peek at him, he’s in the same position as before, hands clasped, elbows on his knees, head bowed. You have no idea what expression he’s wearing and you’re scared to find out.

“Yes,” you hiccup, sniffling softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” he asks softly, almost solemnly.

“I promised,” you cry, another choked sob escaping you.

“Promised..?” he doesn’t sound cold anymore, just confused, “The fuck’re you talkin’ about?”

“W-When I was 14,” you whimper, shame filling you as you recall your now-broken promise, “I-I told you I liked you and you said you didn’t feel the same. You told me to never bring it up again and I promised I wouldn’t. B-But…” you sobbed again, stopping yourself from finishing the sentence.

“Fuckin’ hell…” he breathes, bringing his hands to his face, scrubbing them up and down vigorously in a way that looks like it hurts. Then he laughs.

He fucking laughs.

It’s like your worst fears come to light. He’s laughing at you, at your confession. At your feelings. A fresh wave of tears fill your eyes and fall down your cheeks. You bite your lips to keep from making your sobs audible anymore. You didn’t want him to laugh at that too. You hang your head, wringing your hands together behind your back anxiously as Simon quiets down.

“Shit,” he breathes, getting to his feet. He stands before you, cupping your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. He frowns when he sees the utter despair on your face, the heartbreak in your eyes, “No, baby. No, no. I wasn’t laughin’ at you.”

Baby. You catch onto it. He’s never called you that before.

You dash the spark of hope that it causes.

He rubs his thumbs under your eyes, wiping the tears away.

Then, he leans forward and slots his lips against yours.

It’s like fireworks explode in your chest. Your heart races so fast that you feel lightheaded. You can’t even respond to the kiss in time before he pulls away, your mind is moving too fast for you to process any meaningful thought. But he kissed you.

Simon kissed you.

“What?” you finally manage to whisper, looking up with wide, shocked eyes, “Why did you..?”

He looks confused for a second, still cupping your cheeks as he looks into your watery eyes, “You really have no idea?” Your brows furrow immediately and you shake your head, “How I feel about you?”

“You feel..?” you dumbly repeat.

He smiles softly, thumb rubbing softly over your cheekbone, “You really think I don’t feel the same?”

“B-But when…when we were kids I…” you stumble over your words, the truth you’ve believed this entire time seemingly false, “You s-said you didn’t feel the same.”

“Jesus, love,” he huffs softly in disbelief, “You were fourteen. I was seventeen. You were way too fuckin’ young for me, it wouldn’t have been right.”

“B-But then…” you stutter, reaching up to wipe your cheek, “When did you..?”

He shrugs, “Not sure exactly. Suppose sometime after you turned 20 was when I realized I felt somethin’ for you.”

“So you really…” you whisper, snagging your hands into his hoodie to pull him close, “You really…I mean…”

“Love you?” he smiles softly, “Of course I do.”

You lean forward and press your lips to his. He hums, wrapping one strong arm around your middle to pull you even closer. His lips work magically over yours, taking control of the kiss with ease. You easily melt into it, following his lead. It’s not as easy as you thought it would be and you hope Simon doesn’t notice.

But he does, of course he does.

He pulls away and smooths the palm of his hand down your cheek before it comes to rest on your jaw. His thumb slides over your bottom lip and he hums.

“You ever kissed before?” he asks, voice calm and level with no teasing to it at all.

Still, heat explodes all over your face. Embarrassment overrides the euphoria of your requited feelings. You try to pull away but Simon’s much stronger and he won’t let go unless he wants to.

“Hey, don’t run,” he coos softly, turning your face to look back up at him, “I was just askin’.”

“No,” you mumble, still burning with embarrassment, “I-I’ve only ever liked you so…”

“Fuckin’ hell…” he whispers, letting you step back just a bit so he can look over you, “Is that right?”

“You should know that,” you mumble, feeling small under his scrutiny, “You know everything about me.”

“Didn’t think datin’ history was somethin’ you felt like sharin’,” he shrugged off.

“Well, now you know,” you mutter, your gaze glued to the floor.

“That I do,” he hums in agreement, reaching out to brush a hand down the length of your arm.

A soft, quietness falls over the two of you. You’re not sure what to do and it seems he’s content where he is. He’s watching you, tracking every little shift and fidget you make until he finally seems to take pity on you.

“Let’s get to bed,” he says softly, giving you a soft nudge towards the bed.

You take the opportunity to dive into bed, yanking the blanket over you as Simon strips himself out of his boots and hoodie. You go to look away as he yanks his belt free with practiced hands but you can’t seem to. He slips the belt out of the loops and drops it on the dresser before unbuttoning his jeans and slipping them off.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him in a tight pair of navy boxer-briefs slung low on his hips. You can make out the shape of his–

“Enjoyin’ the view?” he mumbles half-heartedly as he turns to root through the dresser to find some sweatpants.

“Sorry…” you mutter shamefully at being caught.

He chuckles under his breath, pulling the sweats on before he rounds to his side of the bed and drops onto the mattress, “Nothin’ to be sorry about.”

He leans over you and turns out the tableside lamp. Then he settles into his pillow with a soft sigh.

“Si..?” you whisper.

“Yeah?” you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Are we um…” you clear your throat, “I mean like…are we…together now..?”

You feel him roll over and toss his arms around you. You squeak when he tugs you towards him roughly, securing you against his chest before he kisses the top of your head.

“Do you want to be together?” he asks, muffled by his lips pressed against you.

“Yes,” you whisper quickly, wrapping yourself around him almost possessively.

He tilts your head up and carefully slots his mouth over yours again. You sigh happily at the feeling.

You notice that he keeps it a lot slower than he had before, moving his lips carefully against yours. Like he’s trying to make it easier for you to keep up. It makes your cheeks flush again but you sink into the pillow and let him kiss all he wants as you do your best to match his movements.

His body shifts, torso hovering over you as he rests his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. Your hands rest against his shoulders and simply get lost in the kiss.

After a moment, he deepens the kiss, sinking into you with his chest pressed against yours. You whimper and wrap your arms around his neck, carding your fingers through his cropped hair.

One of his hands moves, coming to grip your waist, fingers sliding up the hem of your shirt. It’s like a dream come true. Literally.

All those nights you spent with your hand between your thighs, thinking of him. Thinking of him touching you like this – with his hand sliding your shirt up a little further every second. You even feel that familiar wetness soaking your panties.

Then why was your heart racing from anxiety instead of excitement? Why did you feel a fearful tremble setting in your thighs, as if your knees would be knocking together if you were standing. Why were you scared?

Before you can stop yourself, you’re shoving your hands against his chest with a weak, “No!”

Simon is off of you in seconds but you can feel his gaze on you in the darkness. You struggle to catch your breath as you lay there, heart pounding in your ears. Your head hurts, you realize with a wince.

“Um…” you find yourself attempting to appease him, “I-I don’t…I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s alright,” he whispers sincerely, settling down into bed with a content hum, “Nothin’ to worry about, love.”

You scoot closer to him and hesitantly place your head on his chest. Simon’s arm wraps around your back and tucks you even more snug against him. You close your eyes and will yourself to relax and sleep as you feel Simon’s comforting hand rubbing your back.

Neither of you talk about it in the morning. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. You don’t bring it up, even though you want to, and Simon doesn’t try touching you like that again. Part of you wants him to, you’ve been dreaming about his touch for years but once you finally get it, you freak out?

You can’t stop beating yourself up over it.

But then you think about the anxiety that it had caused. The apprehension. How uncomfortable it felt – how you wanted his hands off of you.

You sighed, flopping onto your side on the couch where you sat. Your mind was buzzing annoyingly from your thoughts.

Regardless of your problems, you were happier than ever with him. He was finally yours. Wholly and truly yours. It was bliss.

“Got a call,” Simon says, snapping you out of your daze, “Gotta leave.”

That makes you sit up, “Leave?”

You finally notice that he’s got his bag packed – the one he only takes when he’s getting deployed. You’re on your feet in seconds, following him to the door. He’s wearing his skull balaclava so all you can see are his eyes – sad, apologetic.

“H-How long?” you ask, unable to ignore the ache in your chest as you watch him.

“Few weeks, probably,” he mutters, placing the bag down so he can tuck his feet into his boots.

He straightens up with a grunt before turning to you. He sighs, gloved hands cupping your cheeks when he sees how sad you look – like a kicked puppy. You wish you could feel his bare hands on you but can’t find it in you to ask.

“I don’t want you to go,” you find yourself mumbling.

It’s selfish and even a bit cruel of you to voice that desire. Simon’s thumb strokes your cheek in that sweet way he always does and you melt into him. He lets you thump your head against his chest as you suppress your cries, biting your lip so you can keep your tears at bay.

“I know,” he softly whispers, stroking your back as you cling to him, “I know, but I have to.”

“I know,” you mumble, finally looking up at him. You know your eyes are glassy and you make sure to blink back the tears so they never overflow, “Just be safe and come home, okay?”

He lifts his mask up just enough to expose his lips before he leans down to kiss you. It’s a whole body experience this time. He clutches you against him like his life depends on it, gloved hands fiercely gripping the back of your t-shirt. His lips move smoothly against yours, hand coming up to cup your jaw so he can tilt your head and pull you even deeper into his kiss. He pulls away when he needs to breathe, smiling when he sees the dazed, lovesick expression on your face. He tugs his mask down and lets you go but you stay as close to him as possible.

“Make sure you stay warm,” he coos, “Gonna start gettin’ real cold in a couple days.”

“I will, Si,” you assure him.

“Left some cash for you to do your shoppin’,” he adds, “I know you’re a shit cook but I left a list of some easy recipes. Don’t burn the flat down.”

You snort and playfully smack his shoulder, “I’ll just buy some cup noodles in that case.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching your side to make you gasp from the ticklish feeling, “Don’t even think about it.”

Your grin falters when his phone makes that obnoxious beeping noise that lets you know it’s something urgent. He sighs, the tranquil happiness between you two broken immediately. He kisses your forehead through his mask and pulls the front door open.

“Keep this locked,” he mutters, stepping past the threshold, “I’ll be home soon.”

He closes the door and you’re left with an emptiness that overcomes you. You’ve always been scared for him when he has to go off on missions – you know that his job is extremely dangerous and he could lose his life at any moment. That thought alone makes a nauseous pit settle in your stomach. You push down the feeling of bile rising in the back of your throat and click the lock on the door with a sigh before you go about your day, trying your best to keep your mind off of him and where he might be in the world.

True to his word, however, the temperature drops bitterly cold within 2 days after he leaves. There had already been a chill in the air that drove you to turn the heating on just a bit but now it was full blast. But now, it was dipping to freezing and you were anticipating the arrival of snow soon enough as well.

You wake up one morning, however, and your apartment is bitterly cold. You sit up, confused before climbing out of bed. Your feet are immediately freezing as you step onto the floor. You hiss, wrapping your arms around yourself as you stumble over to the radiator in your room. You touch it and find absolutely no heat emanating from it.

All the radiators are the same. Absolutely no heat.

You curse, realizing you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. You curl up on the couch under a heavy throw blanket as you type with bitterly cold fingers into Google, looking for anything that can help you. But it’s to no avail. You can’t understand a thing.

Your next thought is to call the building manager but you know that’s pointless. The useless man never actually helps with any work for his tenants.

There’s no way in hell that you can afford to call someone to come and fix the problem. You have money for groceries but if you spent that you wouldn’t have anything to eat. You sigh, resolving yourself to bundling up and trying to stay as warm as you can.

You pile all the blankets you have into bed and pick out only your thickest, warmest sweaters.

This is going to be miserable, you think.

The snow comes just a short week later and it feels even colder. You venture out of your flat to go to the grocery store, picking up ingredients for the dishes Simon wrote down for you and also some cans of soup that you can cook to stay warm. You also throw some boxes of tea and some hot chocolate in with it, figuring why not. Warm drinks will help.

It’s almost 3 weeks of living like that. It’s miserable and makes your bones ache from how stiff the cold makes you feel. You make sure to eat nice, hot food to keep yourself warm and make frequent cups of warm drinks so you can keep your hands warm for as long as you can. You do your best.

The worst is showers, though. When you’re standing under the blisteringly hot spray, it’s bliss. But the second you step out and your wet body is hit with the freezing air, you couldn’t have felt more miserable.

The night Simon walks through the door, he finds you bundled up on the couch sipping a cup of hot chocolate.

“Simon!” you gasp excitedly, tossing the blankets off to take a running leap at him.

He huffs contentedly when he catches you in his arms, letting you embrace him for as long as you need. He strips his mask off and brings you in for a delicate kiss.

“Let me wash up,” he mumbles, stalking through the apartment.

“Um, before you do, Si,” you catch him at the entrance to the hallway. He turns to you and looks at you with a brow raised, “The um…heating is broken so…just letting you know when you come out of the shower it’s gonna suck.”

“Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t dealt with before,” he mutters and pauses, “The fuck you mean it’s broken?”

“Heating cut off a few weeks ago…” you shrug, wrapping your arms around yourself as you start to feel the cold creep in again.

“A few weeks ago?” he hisses, running a stressed hand through his hair, “Fuckin’ hell. You didn’t call someone to fix it?”

You pout as he raises his voice, clearly frustrated, “I couldn’t afford it, Si! I had the money you gave me for food but I wasn’t gonna spend that to get the heating fixed. You know the building manager is a piece of shit, not like he was gonna call someone.”

He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, seemingly thinking something over. Then he turns on his heel and storms into the bathroom, slamming the door.

“I’m sorry, Simon!” you call through the door, “I didn’t know what else to do! Please, don’t be mad.”

The shower turns on and all you can do is look up and sigh in exasperation. The second he’s home and he’s already pissed at you.

You sulk over to the couch and flop down, tossing your blankets over you as you grab your mug. The hot chocolate is still warm but not as hot as it was. It’ll have to do.

Simon comes out of the shower, gets dressed warmly, and joins you in the living room. He doesn’t even look at you as he makes a move for his bag that he left by the door. You almost think he’s going to scoop the bag up and storm out the door. You sit up, ready to stop him but instead, he stoops down and zips it open. He pulls out his wallet and approaches you.

“What are you doing?” you mumble, watching him flip the thing open.

It’s old and worn, a simple black leather wallet. He’s had it for as long as you could remember and you’ve put the poor thing through the washer and dryer so many times that you’re shocked it's still intact.

He pulls out a bank card and promptly hands it to you. Your brain stutters to a stop as you look at it.

“Take it, fuck sake,” he mutters. He sounds annoyed but the way he looks away and his ears turn pink you can tell he’s…shy.

Simon Riley is fucking shy right now.

You take the bank card out of his hand and look at it, flipping over in your hands, “Why are you giving this to me?”

“So you can use it,” he mumbles, slamming his wallet shut and tossing it onto the table, “That way, in case anything happens you can withdraw from my account for what you need. If an emergency happens and I’m not around, use it.”

“Simon…” you mumble, looking up at him, “Are you sure..?”

“Course I’m sure,” he scoffs, taking a seat beside you before softly rattling off four digits.

“Huh?” you dumbly ask.

“It’s my pin,” he responds, grabbing one of the blankets you have piled on the couch and tossing it on his lap.

“That’s my birthday…” you say softly as you repeat the numbers over and over in your head, “Your bank pin is my birthday?”

He snatches the remote up from the table and turns the TV on without another word. But you can see how pink the tips of his ears are. It makes you beam and before you know it, you’re curling snugly into his side.

“Love you, Si,” you whisper, earning a kiss to the top of your head in response.

Simon calls the next morning to have someone come by and fix the damn heating. You listen to the man rattle off some information to Simon about what the problem was but it makes virtually no sense to you so you resolve yourself to sitting on the couch and waiting until it’s warm again.

But even when it’s nice and toasty inside, you still plaster yourself to Simon’s side, snuggling as close to him as you possibly can.

“I want you to meet my team,” Simon says one morning while he’s making some eggs.

You’re standing by the toaster, waiting for it to pop up but his words make you turn to him, “You mean 141?”

“Who else?” he huffs, flipping one of the eggs. It sizzles loudly in the pan, “They wanted me to go out with them tonight. Thought you could join us.”

“Really?” you realize how incredulous you sound and then try again, “I mean really? That’s okay with you?”

He nods, plating the eggs, “I think it’s time they met you.”

“I-I’d love to,” you say, unable to hide the excitement you feel.

You catch a slip of a smile on Simon’s face before the toast pops up and distracts you.

You have to dig into your closet that evening, after a shower, to find something nice to wear. You figure an occasion like this calls for something a little nicer than just jeans and a t-shirt like you usually wear. But you can’t find much of anything.

“What’re you huffin’ about in here?” Simon asks when he walks in, towel wrapped around his waist. He’s still dripping wet from the shower and you can feel the way your mouth fills with saliva at the sight.

“I uh…don’t know what to wear…” you respond, turning your back to him just as he slips the towel off. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, imagining Simon completely naked behind you.

“Wear those nice jeans you got,” he mumbles, grunting as he gets himself dressed, “And that little blue top you got.”

“The cropped one?” you ask incredulously, a brow raised as you turn to him. He’s got some jeans on now and he’s meticulously unfolding a black t-shirt so he can put it on, “I haven’t worn that in a while, how’d you even remember it?”

He shrugs, the muscles in his back rippling with his movement before he tosses the shirt over his head and pulls it down, covering his skin once again, “It’s cute. We’re just goin’ to the pub, love.”

“Okay,” you mumble, reaching into the back of your closet to pull the little shirt out, “If you’re sure this will be okay.”

“I’m sure,” he chuckles softly, grabbing his balaclava off the dresser. But he doesn’t put it on yet. Instead, he sits on the bed and watches you change.

You’re acutely aware of his eyes on you as you strip your shirt off. You keep your back to him, trying to ignore your racing heart. You don’t feel uncomfortable at all, instead you feel…excited.

Your mind runs wild, imagining him stepping up behind you, kissing your neck and cupping your bare breasts in his big hands. They’re a little rough from his line of work and you wonder what they’d feel like against the sensitive skin of your tits, thumbing your nipples and pinching them a little meanly.

“C-Can you hand me a bra?” you find yourself asking.

He grunts in acknowledgement and the bed creaks when his weight moves off it. He opens one of the drawers and is behind you in a second. His body heat permeates through his shirt as he presses his chest against your back.

He slings your bra over your shoulder, holding it with one finger by the strap. You can’t help but tilt your head back to look up at him. He’s towering over you, pretty, brown eyes looking down his nose at you.

You realize in this position, he could clearly see your breasts but he keeps his eyes on yours. You take the bra from him and he lets you, simply staring into your eyes with that stern silence he has about him.

“T-Thanks…” you find yourself whispering, mouth feeling particularly dry.

He grunts, lips quirked up just a bit before he turns his back and walks back to the bed. You let out a quiet, slow breath, willing your heart rate to go back to normal.

Simon was so exhilarating. Just being around him sets your heart racing and fingers trembling.

You put your bra on and slip your top over your head, ignoring the sticky feeling in your panties as you do.

“I don’t know, Si,” you mutter, turning to face him, “I-It’s a little tight on me now.”

The fabric once hugged you nicely but now it was snug. It molded around your breasts, even showing the lines of your bra. The neckline was low, giving a good show of cleavage – it didn’t help that Simon picked one of your more well padded bras.

Simon looks up, his eyes immediately falling to your breasts. He sucks in a quick breath and looks away, licking his lips.

“Looks fine,” he mutters, standing to pull one of the drawers open again. He searches for a second, brows furrowed until he pulls out the jeans he was talking about. The ‘nice jeans’ as he called them, were just some low rise jeans you’d only worn about 4 times.

You look dumbly at them as he drops them into your hands.

“These?” you scoff, “Simon, I can’t–”

He quiets you with a kiss to your forehead, “Trust me, love.”

He steps out of the room after that, leaving you to your own devices. You’re thankful that you can change your panties without him seeing how saturated and sticky they’ve become because of him. You bury them in the laundry basket and remind yourself that you should do the laundry before he does because you’d be mortified if he found them.

You don’t even look at yourself in the mirror, afraid you’ll feel too self-conscious if you see what you look like. But you trust Simon’s judgment on what he thinks would look good on you – and you can’t deny that dressing up how he likes feels nice.

You step into the living room, intent on pulling your shoes on when Simon catches you with an arm around your waist. You gasp as he turns you to face him.

“You look lovely,” he whispers, smoothing his hands up your sides, thumbs slipping under the hem of your shirt to stroke your skin.

You swallow thickly as your heart starts racing in your chest again. He leans down and pecks your lips but pulls back before you have the chance to kiss back.

“Let’s go,” is all he adds before walking away, leaving you no choice but to follow like the lovesick puppy you are.

Walking into the bar, your heart pounds painfully in your chest from pure anxiety. Your hand is clasped tightly in Simon’s as he easily moves through the crowd. You suppose his height makes it easy to see over people.

“You alright?” he asks, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Haven’t been in a bar since I worked at…” you trail off, giving him a half-hearted shrug.

“If you wanna leave, just say the word,” he mutters, giving your hand a squeeze.

“N-No,” you shake your head, shooting him a wobbly smile,”I wanna meet your team at least.”

He smiles reassuringly and gives your hand a tug to encourage you to follow him. He leads you right to a table situated in a corner, three men laughing and drinking.

“There he is!” the one with the mohawk cheeks, holding up his pint in celebration.

“Shut up, Soap,” Simon grumbles petulantly as he pulls out a chair for you.

Soap, you note to yourself. You know them by name but you’ve never actually seen the faces to put to them. Soap looks like you imagined, a broad grin and pretty, bright eyes – you imagined them green but they’re blue.

“And who is this lovely companion of yours, Simon?” an older man with a hat and mutton chops asks with a kind smile, eyes on you.

Simon says your name before he sits down with a grunt beside you.

“Price,” your boyfriend supplies when you look curiously at him.

The man in question holds out a hand which you take and softly shake, “Nice to meet you.”

“Had no idea Lt. had someone waitin’ for him at home,” Soap says, a teasing lilt in his voice.

So you’ve met Soap, Price, and that leaves; your eyes land on the quiet guy sitting back in his chair, a cool smile on his lips. He meets your gaze and his smile broadens – not teasing like Soap’s but purely kind.

“You can call me Kyle,” he gives you a polite nod.

“Gaz, then?” you question, tilting your head to the side. Kyle looks surprised, eyes flicking to Simon who shifts uncomfortably in his chair, “He’s talked about all of you before. I only know your call signs though.”

“John will do fine if you’d like,” Price says, tipping his beer back to take a chug.

“Simon calls me Johnny,” Soap adds, “You’re welcome to as well. Anyone important to the Lieutenant is important to us.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Simon roll his eyes. It makes you smile. He leans over, nudging you with his knee, “You want anything to drink? I need one.”

“No thank you, Si,” you reply, intent on having a clear head for the night. You’ve never been much of a drinker anyway.

When Simon’s gone from the table, you suddenly feel incredibly out of place. Price and Kyle have the decency to not stare you down but Soap seems keen on keeping his baby blue’s right on you and a goofy little smile on his face.

“Um…” you shift uncomfortably as you look back at him.

“We’ve never gotten to meet anyone from Ghost’s private life before,” Soap says, saving you from having to think of what to say, “Just shocked s’all.”

“You’re gonna start giving the poor thing the creeps with your ugly mug,” Kyle chuckles which also makes Soap laugh.

“Sorry about that,” Soap lifts his glass and cheers to you before tipping it back.

He grimaces slightly as it goes down before slamming his glass back on the table.

“It’s alright,” you respond, “Si’s not really the open book kind. So I understand.”

“How long have the two of you known each other?” Kyle asks.

You find yourself wondering where the hell Simon even is but answer regardless, “Since we were kids. Um, we lived next door. His mom and mine were friends, I guess.”

Soap nods his head, elbows on the table as he gives you his full attention, “You guess?”

You hum, “I’m 3 years younger than Simon. The way it was told to me by my mom is that…his mom came over and,” you couldn’t fight back the smile as you recalled the story.

“Oh this has got to be good,” Soap nudged Kyle excitedly at your grin.

“Told my mom that Simon didn’t have any friends and that he was a…soft-hearted boy and she wanted him to have some friends,” you giggle, holding a hand in front of your face to hide your laughter, “So she wanted to set up playdates with me even though I was still a baby. My mom didn’t have the heart to tell her no.”

Soap tosses his head back and laughs, “No fuckin’ way.”

“I’m shocked to say it but that actually makes him sound cute,” Kyle adds, unable to hide the laughter in his voice either.

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Price says, but there’s a smile on his face, “Simon’ll knock you out cold on this table.”

“So you and Simon have been together since?” Kyle asks, glass cupped in both hands.

You nod, “Only time we’ve been apart is when he enlisted and had to go off for a few years to train.”

Soap opens his mouth to say something but a large figure finally drops down into the seat next to you. Simon has a glass of bourbon and a glass that he slides over to Soap who catches it with ease.

“Thanks, Lt,” he nods, taking a sip before making that disgusted face again.

“What are you lot talkin’ about?” Simon asks, drumming his fingers against his glass.

“We were discussin’ all your dirty secrets,” Kyle teases with a charming grin.

“Nothin’ too damning I hope,” Simon huffs before he takes a large gulp of his drink.

The other three men all hide their grins behind their glasses.

The anxiety you had felt at the beginning of the night is long gone. The task force is full of jokes and laughs and even Simon seems like a different person.

With you, he’s kind and even soft. He’s by no means gentle or patient.

But this side of Simon is so jovial and comfortable that it warms your heart to see. He drinks a few glasses and by the end of the night, he’s got a relaxed, lidded look in his eyes that lets you know he’s got a bit of a buzz going on.

“It was lovely to meet you,” Price says when you all walk out of the bar.

“I really enjoyed meeting all of you as well,” you smile, letting Simon tuck you into his side with an arm wrapped around your waist.

“Get him home safe,” Soap teases, your smile only widening when you hear Simon huff in annoyance.

You bid goodbye to the three of them and make your way to the car with Simon, plucking his keys out of his hand and forcing him into the passenger seat despite his grumbled protests of how ‘he’s not that drunk’.

When the two of you finally get into your apartment, you let him lock up and turn out the lights while you go to the bedroom and get ready for bed.

“You looked really nice tonight,” Simon mutters when he finally walks in as you crawl into bed, “I’m glad you liked them.”

“I’m glad they liked me,” you huff, leaning back into the pillows, “They were all really nice guys.”

“Yeah,” Simon hums, tugging his shirt off of his head, taking his mask with it, “They’re good people.”

You nod your head and tuck your knees to your chest while he gets undressed. He slips on a plaid pair of pajama pants and shoves the drawer closed with his hip before yanking the blanket back to make room for his large body.

You bounce a little on the bed when he drops his weight onto it. He smacks his pillow a couple times before he lays back and sighs. It’s clear he’s still a little buzzed from the way he fights to keep his eyes open.

“Simon?” you ask, turning to face him.

That makes his eyes open back up before he looks at you, “What?”

“Can I kiss you?” you ask.

He snorts and it makes you smile. He reaches out and wraps his hand around the back of your head. You let him tug you down, pressing your hands against his firm chest as you kiss him.

His hand travels down your back as he sighs into your mouth. You pull away briefly to look into his eyes before you kiss him again, this time deepening it as much as you’re able. Simon sighs contentedly, his other hand coming up to caress your arm.

“I like kissin’ you…” you find yourself whispering against his lips.

He groans at that, the sound going straight to your core. You feel yourself clench around nothing, already starting to leak into your panties.

“Yeah?” he coos, cupping your cheek, thumbing over your lips, “You can kiss me all you want, love.”

You whimper, surging down to kiss him again. His hands grip your waist, intermittently squeezing you, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Suddenly, you feel the warm, slick slide of his tongue against your lips. You whimper and pull back, brows furrowed.

“Shh, love,” he coos, pulling you close again, “Jus’ relax and let me…”

You huff, struggling to catch your breath as he urges you to meet his lips again. You feel his tongue again and eagerly open your mouth, letting him taste the inside of your mouth. You shyly meet his tongue with yours and feel his grip on your waist tighten as he groans in his throat.

You’re sure you’ve soaked well through your panties by now. There’s an ache in your clit that you long to reach down and relieve – or better yet, have Simon relieve.

You bet his fingers would feel so damn good against you. You find yourself whimpering into the kiss at the thought alone. Simon lets out a husky laugh into your mouth before pulling away.

A string of spit connects your lips before it breaks and vanishes.

With a surge of confidence, you toss your leg over his waist. He grunts when your weight settles on his hips, on his cock. It’s chubbed up against his thigh from kissing you and he knows you can feel it.

“What’re you doin’, baby?” he huffs, unable to stop his hands from traveling up the front of your body.

You grab his wrist and boldly slide it under the hem of your shirt. He bites his lip to keep from moaning when he feels your bare breast fill his palm. You see the way his eyes start to roll back before he looks at you again. It makes you throb in your panties and you can’t resist grinding against him a little before he grabs your waist and stops you.

“Si…” you whimper, pressing your hands against his chest, “‘S wrong?”

“Can’t,” he clears his throat and sinks into the bed, “Can’t do this, love.”

“Why not?” you ask, feeling a pit of disappointment in your gut, “You don’t want to? I just thought…”

You feel your face burn with humiliation as you slide off of his lap. Simon lets you, simply laying there on his back, eyes closed and a knit between his brows, as he evens his breathing out. You fight back tears as you sit there, biting the inside of your lip anxiously.

“Not…not tonight, sweetheart,” he finally says, reaching over to pet your hair, “Been drinkin’ ‘nd I want to be sober for it, yeah?”

It would have been a solid excuse if it didn’t sound so flimsy coming from his lips. Like he doesn’t even believe it himself.

“Yeah…” you offer, giving him a wobbly smile before turning out the light.

You’re too embarrassed to cuddle into him that night.

“Can I ask you something?” you find yourself muttering as you relax on the couch with him, watching some old movie he picked out, “As long as you promise not to get mad.”

He snorts, taking a sip of his tea, “Won’t get mad.”

“I just want to know…” you clear your throat and sit up straight a little more, going over the question in your head, “Why did you leave that night…leave like that, just to have sex?”

He tenses up immediately, you can feel it. He shifts where he sits, spreading his legs just a little wider so he can sink deeper into the couch, “We already talked about this.”

You wince at his clipped tone, knowing you’re stepping into dangerous territory, “I know but…I want to know the real reason.”

He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and sighs, keeping his eyes trained on the TV, “You think I was lyin’ to you?”

Now he sounds mad. You quickly shake your head, “No, Si. I-I’m not trying to start a fight, I swear. I don’t think you were lying. I just think you…weren’t telling me everything.”

He sighs. You can see the way his jaw ticks when he clenches it, “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, scooting a little closer to him, placing your hands on his chest, smoothing his shirt down a bit, “It was just…out of character for you, Si. I was really upset and you knew that. It wasn’t like you to just…leave. Just to get laid.”

He finally looks at you, just out of the corner of his eye. You meet the look, offering him an encouraging smile to show that you’re not upset or anything.

“All night,” he finally mutters, “You��d been kickin’ in your sleep. Kept wakin’ me up.”

You nodded, a look of confusion on your face. You had no idea where this was going.

“You started sayin’ my name,'' he continued, “Moanin’ my name. Fuck, it was drivin’ me crazy.”

Your face flushes hot when you hear that. It all suddenly comes rushing back to you – what you’d been dreaming about.

“You threw your leg over mine and I could–” he cuts himself off, his throat moving with how hard he swallows.

“Could what?” your voice comes out shockingly breathy.

He catches it, looking at you. You can see the way his pupils widen immediately when he meets your gaze. It’s like he can see right through you, see the fact you’re dripping into your panties again. Just from this conversation alone.

“I could feel how fuckin’ wet you were,” he brings a shaky hand up and runs it through his hair before he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “Couldn’t fuckin’ deal with it. I had to…let it out somehow.”

“So you knew that I wanted you…like that?” you find yourself asking.

He scoffs and shakes his head, “Didn’t think about it like that. Figured it was just a dream and that’s all it was.”

“Wasn’t just a dream,” you assure, scooting closer to him.

Simon’s breath catches in his throat when you lean over him, resting your hand on the arm rest on his other side, letting it support your weight. You stand on your knees, making you just a little taller than him before you lean down and kiss him.

He remains completely still, like he’s processing. His hands flounder in the air for a second before he’s carefully pushing you to sit back down. You slump against your heels and look at him, perturbed.

“Why..?”

“I need to make dinner,” he says lamely.

“Simon…” you admonish, knowing he’s lying.

He gets up, knees cracking as he does. He winces a little bit before he bends down to pick up the blanket that fell to the floor when he stood. You kept your eyes on him, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. You almost let him go but before you can stop him, you grab his arm.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Simon,” you mutter, “I keep trying to make things go further with you but I just keep making a fool of myself and I–”

“‘S not you,” he assures softly, taking your hand in his, “‘S all me, baby.”

“So why…” you frown, “I want you.”

He shakes his head, “Night you told me how you felt. You sounded scared.”

You remember, the way his touch had made anxiety fill you. You had wanted him, of course, but for some reason it had just been so damn awful at the same time. You hadn’t really dwelled on why that was.

“It wasn’t ‘cause of you, Si,” you assured, shifting so your feet were on the floor rather than under you, “I promise. I-I was just nervous, I think. That’s all.”

“I don’t want…” he licks his lips, seemingly thinking over his next words carefully before he says them slowly, “I don’t to hear you sound like that with me again. ‘S why I’ve been avoidin’ it. ‘Cause I don’t want you to get scared again.”

You shake your head, rising to your feet, stepping in front of him. You take his hands in yours and squeeze them, “I don’t want to make a fool of myself with you, Simon.”

He frowns, “You know I would never think poorly of you.”

You smile and shrug, “I know that. I think…that time was just…too soon. After that night at the bar and everything that happened. And then the fact I’m so inexperienced that it’s laughable. I think…I just wasn’t ready for it. I needed to go at my own pace and I have been.”

“I don’t want you to push yourself,” he hums, “I know that night at the bar was terrifying,” he brings a hand up to brush over your cheek, “I understand if you’re not goin’ to be ready for a long time. It’s normal to not be ready after what happened to you.”

You huff, “I’ve been trying to show you that I’ve been ready for a while now, Si. I was anxious at first, yes. But now it’s…like a good kind of nervous.”

“A good kind of nervous?” he mutters, hands moving to your hips to pull you closer. Your breath hitches in your throat and you nod dumbly, “Tell me all about it.”

“L-Like my heart races,” you breathe, “And I feel scared that I’m gonna do something silly and embarrassing but like I want to learn and…and I want to do good for you.”

“Fuck,” Simon groans, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder, “Can’t say shit like that to a man like me, love.”

“Why not?” you whimper, feeling your knees tremble in excitement when you feel his hands start to wander.

“‘Cause…” he whispers, running his hands up your sides, “Makes me think some nasty shit, sweetheart.”

You swallow thickly at the promise in his voice, “Simon…”

You sound so wrecked already and it makes him moan softly in your ear, “Tell me about it, baby.”

Just like that, you’re spilling your guts to him, “Get so wet for you, Si, all the time. I want you so bad that it hurts.”

“Yeah?” he breathes, finally pulling his head from where he was hiding in your shoulder, tilting your chin up, “Where’s it hurt, baby? Hm? Right in that needy little cunt?”

You whimper immediately, looking up at him with wide, hazy eyes and nod, “T-Tried to touch myself. Thinkin’ about you made it hurt so I couldn’t help myself. Thought about you when I did.”

He hums as you babble to him but his mind latches onto one particular word, “Tried, baby? What do you mean "tried?”

Your cheeks burn hot at the slip up. Would he think you were silly for it?

“C-Can’t do it right,” you confess softly, hoping he doesn’t see how embarrassed you are, “Try so hard but n-nothin’ ever happens.”

Simon moans at that. Loud and unbridled, “What’re you sayin’, baby? That you can’t make yourself cum, s’that it?” You shake your head bashfully, “Fuckin’ hell. That’s adorable.”

“D-Don’t tease me, Si,” you whimper but the seat of your panties is so fucking wet that it’s sticking to you.

He hums, a predatory smile spreads across his face, “Am I bein’ mean, love?” You nod your head, tearfully staring up at him. It only makes his smile widen, canines popping out, “‘M sorry. Can’t help myself when you tell me ‘bout how you touch your pretty little pussy and just can’t make yourself cum like you need. Think I can do it for you, hm? Want me to try and make you cum?”

You vigorously nod your head, uncaring how fucking needy you look to him. He’s offering to give you what you’ve wanted for years – to give you a real, honest to God orgasm. And you weren’t going to let this chance slip away.

“Want you on the bed,” he suddenly whispers, “On your back, lose the pants but keep everything else on.”

With a jerk of his head in the direction of the bedroom, you take off. You hear him chuckle behind you at your excitement. He makes sure the door is locked before he heads back to the bedroom.

You’re there just like he asked, pants pooled on the floor, leaving you in nothing but an old t-shirt of his and a pair of the cutest little lilac colored panties he’s seen. You’ve got your knees pinned together, clenching your thighs but laying perfectly still in waiting for him.

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he praises, grinning when you whimper and tremble at his words, “Oh, sweet thing likes to be praised, huh?”

You nod your head, “Wanna be good for you, Si.”

“That’s sweet, baby,” he coos, reaching to the back of his collar so he can tug his shirt off of his head.

Your heart hammers away in your chest when he crawls onto the bed, hands on either side of your head. He looks so big like this, on top of you, completely blocking any view you had of your ceiling and instead filling your viewline with just him. He leans down and kisses you, humming contentedly when you eagerly kiss back. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders as he uses one hand to tug your legs open so he can slot himself between them.

You cry out when he presses himself against your core. He’s wearing nothing but his jeans but you can feel the heat radiating through the thick material.

“Shit, look at that,” he whispers, leaning back on his heels to admire the nice little wet patch that has stained your panties, “You already this wet, baby?”

“Kissin’ you always makes me this wet, Si,” you sweetly confess and oh, you are just so precious.

His hands slide up your stomach, moving your t-shirt up and up until it sits crumpled under your chin. Your tits are bare and move with every gasping breath that you take.

Simon’s hands are just as rough and warm as you’d expect them to be. His thumbs come up and glide over your nipples until they harden into stiff little peaks for him.

Then his mouth is wrapping around one, swirling his tongue around it before pulling off with a lewd pop. His hand pinches the other nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he listens to you whimper and sigh.

“Please, Si,” you whine, “I-It hurts, please.”

“It hurts?” he hums, leaving a fleeting kiss against the nipple his tongue was torturing just a moment ago, “Where? Hm?”

His hand travels down your body, cupping your cunt through your panties. You gasp, arching your hips just a bit to grind against his palm. He lets you, before he meanly pins your hips down with his other hand.

“Where, love?” he smooths the pad of his thumb over the seam of your cunt through your panties. The fabric is saturated with your slick, letting him see every part of you through shape alone. His thumb finds your clit, the little bud poking out through the fabric from how hard and swollen it's become, “Here? ‘S it your pretty clit that hurts, love?”

You nod, eyes rolling back in your head when he presses his thumb against the bud, trapping it under his finger so he can roll mean little circles over it. You’d be mindlessly rutting your hips by now if he didn’t have his other arm slung over your hips to keep you pinned nice and still like he wants.

It already feels so different than when you touched yourself. Maybe because it’s him or maybe because he’s so experienced.

That thought makes you equal parts jealous and equal parts turned on. He’d slept with plenty of people but now he was using that expertise to make you feel good.

“Can you take them off, please?” you whine, pitchy and sweet from arousal.

“Asked so sweetly for me,” he coos, hitching his thumbs into the band of your panties before giving them a firm tug.

You quickly lift your hips, letting him tug them down and off of your feet. You expect him to toss them away but instead he holds them up, thumbing over the slickness in the crotch. You watch him with wide eyes as he analyzes it. Your breath hitches when he suddenly brings them towards his face and licks a wide stripe of the fabric, moaning when he gets a good laste of your syrupy sweet slick.

“Simon!” you gasp – admonish, leaning up to snatch them out of his grasp.

His eyes open, he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them, to look at you. He licks his lips like a dog licking its chops when it tastes something real delicious.

He doesn’t even comment on what he just did or the pure embarrassment that is written all over your face. Instead, he grips underneath your knees and yanks you down the bed towards him so your hips are situated in his lap.

“Jus’ let me touch you, love,” he whispers, “I’ll work a nice little orgasm out of you in no time, yeah?”

You nod your head because you trust him. You know he’s going to be able to give you what you need so badly. You don’t even question it – especially when you feel how good it feels when he uses his thumbs to spread your folds open for him. He groans when he sees the sticky strings of slick that display just how turned on you are.

Pretty little hole clenching sporadically around nothing, dribbling more creamy arousal that makes his tongue feel like lead in his mouth. A pretty clit that twitches and throbs under his scrutinizing gaze. But you make no move to cover yourself and hide from his gaze.

He finally touches the bud directly and it’s like electricity strikes through you. You lose control of your body as your back arches and your thighs violently twitch. Your cheeks burn when you hear him chuckle softly at your reaction.

“Sensitive,” he huffs, a crooked little grin on his face as he brushes his thumb over your clit again, garnering the same reaction as before from you, “Fuck, can’t believe you’re this sensitive and can’t make yourself cum.”

“‘S cause it’s you, Si,” you sweetly confess.

And it’s true. Having him touch you like this directly – feeling his callused skin over the most sensitive little part of you is euphoric. It doesn’t feel anything like when you touch yourself at all. It feels magnified, you feel like a live wire and everything feels like too much. But you don’t do anything to impede him because you trust him more than anything – especially like this, with your body.

He replaced his thumb with his middle finger, prodding at your entrance. You almost think he’s going to press inside you but he doesn’t – instead, he gathers your slick up on his finger and drags it up to your clit. He softly circles the bud, cock kicking against his thigh when you sigh and croon so sweetly for him.

Your cunt makes sticky noises as he continues doing this, gathering your arousal and lathering your precious bud up with it so he can so softly play with it. His touches aren’t enough to actually work you to the edge, it’s much too slow and soft but it feels good. He waits for you to relax against the bed, lashes fluttering as you whimper and twitch on the bed for him.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss against your trembling thigh, “Relax f’me. Want you nice and soft for me so I can get my fingers in this tight little cunt.”

You gasp at that, partly in excitement and also in apprehension. You’ve never actually put anything inside yourself before – except once, you put your finger in and it burned so you never tried it again.

“D-Dont…” you find yourself muttering, making him freeze. He thinks you’ve changed your mind, anxiety getting the better of you and he’s fully prepared to propel himself away from you at a moment's notice, “Be gentle, okay?”

His gaze softens when he looks at you, “Won’t hurt you, love. I promise.”

You remain relaxed for him when he carefully prods you with his middle finger. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, not rubbing it or anything, just keeping a nice pressure that keeps you sagged against the pillows.

It doesn’t feel anything like when you tried that one time with yourself. Everything is so much wetter and more pliant. It’s like your walls just suck the digit in, even though it’s so much bigger than your own finger.

You sigh softly when you finally have something to clench around. Simon gives you a sweet kiss to the spot right underneath your belly button in silent praise. He keeps his lidded, brown eyes on your face, watching every little expression you make with rapt attention.

He slowly and carefully fucks his middle finger into you, feeling the way you slowly relax around him, soaking his skin with your arousal. He smooths his free hand up the length of your body, abandoning your clit to wrap his palm around your breast. You place your own hand over his, encouraging him to squeeze harder.

“How’s that feel, love?” he asks, still sliding his finger in and out of you.

“Okay…” you reply, keeping your hand over his on your chest, “But it…um…”

“What?” he urges, “Tell me what you feel.”

“I-It feels nice but…” you trail off and he hums, nodding his head.

“Doesn’t feel good?” he finishes for you. You nod your head and he laughs softly, “I know, baby. Jus’ tryin’ to get you used to the feeling and then I’ll make it feel real good, alright?”

“Okay,” you whisper but he can tell you’re not too convinced that it’s going to feel much better.

You’re worried that the same thing is going to happen – it’ll feel really good and then you’re never going to be able to climb over that wall. You hate to imagine disappointing him, failing to get off. You’d hate for him to put all this work in and you just can’t cum in the end.

“Hey,” he coos, “Get out of your head, pretty. Don’t worry about a thing, alright?”

You take a deep breath and slowly let it out, allowing yourself to relax against the bed again. Simon waits for you to be nice and pliant around his finger before he starts to fit his ring finger alongside it. He catches sight of the furrow in your brow when he stretches you around two of his fingers. It burns but when Simon brings his thumb back to your clit, tapping against the bud, it vanishes. Your thighs twitch and you whimper, walls clenching in time with the little taps until the burning vanishes completely.

“There we are,” he praises, “Knew you could do it, sweetheart.”

“A-Are you gonna add another?” you find yourself asking.

“Later,” he responds, scissoring the two fingers he has snug inside your cunt, “‘M a big man, love. Gonna need you nice and stretched for me.”

You whimper at that, walls clenching around his fingers as he slowly begins to fuck them in and out of you. Your cheeks burn when you hear the loud, squishing noises your hole makes every time he stuffs them back inside.

After a moment of just getting you used to being stretched on two of his thick digits, he suddenly crooks them up and hits something inside you that makes your back arch. It causes a tingling feeling that you’ve never experienced to heat your tummy every time he touches it.

“Simon!” you squeal, trying to clench your thighs closed but his broad shoulders keep them open, “Th-That feels-!”

“I know, baby,” he coos cockily, grinding his fingertips against that little spot that makes you so gooey and creamy around his fingers, “Feels real good right there, I know.”

Your back arches and your jaw drops. You can’t do anything but moan and cry out as he fucks against that spot. He’s urged on by your sounds of pure pleasure, eyes flicking between where he’s got your pretty cunt spread open and the euphoric expressions you can’t do anything to hide.

It’s so precious, seeing you so open and loud for him. You don’t do anything to hide your sounds of pleasure nor do you even think of faking any of them for his sake. Every little thing you’re feeling, you express, and you can’t help yourself because it’s all so new and so much.

That hot, tingling feeling in your core only intensifies with every experienced stroke of his fingers. Your eyes are rolling back every time he touches that magnificent spot inside you, abusing it with his fingers until your walls are soft and malleable for him again.

And then he brings his index finger into it. He’s even more slow and careful as he fits it in beside the other two fingers. It doesn’t burn like when he had given you his second finger but it’s a certain stretch that simply feels strange.

He gets you stuffed open on his three fingers, up to the third knuckle. You’re spread so wide and squeeze his fingers so tight that it makes him moan when he thinks about what it will feel like around his cock.

If you’re this tight around just his fingers then you’re going to feel positively euphoric around him.

“Simon…” you coo, reaching down to card your fingers through his hair.

He grunts in acknowledgement, but is unwilling to part his gaze from the sight of the creamy mess you’ve begun to leave on his fingers. Your pretty clit is twitching and so swollen, glistening from your juices and he suddenly has the inescapable desire to wrap his mouth around it.

You’re not even looking when he decides to do it. It’s like he can’t stop himself.

All you feel is something wet and hot wrap around the little bud. You practically wail at the feeling of his tongue sliding against it. Your feet kick aimlessly, hitting his back and shoulders as you flail beneath his body.

You sob his name, yanking harshly on his hair in a way that hurts but he’s not going to stop you. He knows it’s mean to do this, not even warning you or easing you into the feeling before he’s suckling your clit. His tongue slips in circles around it, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. His ears practically ring from how loud you’re crying out for him.

His three fingers remain buried inside you but he’s hardly able to move them from how tight you’re squeezing them. All he can do is grind his fingers against your g-spot but it only makes your pretty body more twitchy and makes you squirm even more beneath him. He has to hold you down so you can’t get away.

He doesn’t want your precious pussy to be ripped away from him, your juices are making his taste buds tingle – you taste so damn good.

That familiar heat begins to grow in your core – one you’ve experienced many times before by yourself. You cry and wail for him, sobbing his name and gripping his hair.

“S-Si, don’t stop, please, please, please–” you choke on your own cries, slamming your head into the pillows as your back arches painfully hard.

He grunts lowly, blonde lashes fluttering as he watches your body’s pure, unfiltered reactions to this pleasure. He knows you’re getting close, can feel you clenching around him and your clit pulsing on his tongue in time with your heartbeat.

You feel yourself reaching that wall, the one you can never overcome. But it feels different this time, the pleasure isn’t slowing. It’s not fading like it always does when you’ve got your own fingers on your bud.

It always seems to slip out of your grasp by this point.

This is it, you think. You’re going to cum. You’re finally going to fucking cum.

Then everything stops.

His tongue is gone from your clit and his fingers are nowhere to be found. Simon’s shoulders rise and fall as he watches your face flicker through a range of emotions before your eyes fill with tears and you look at him – utterly pitiful and hopeless.

“Wh-Why…” you finally whisper, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth.

Your cunt pulses and throbs around nothing, the heat of your orgasm quickly dissipating, leaving that horribly empty and unsatisfying feeling in its wake.

“Sorry, baby,” he coos, genuine and soft as he leans up to kiss your face, “That was mean, huh? ‘M sorry. Jus’ want you to have your first orgasm on a cock, love.”

That doesn’t do anything to quell your disappointment but you nod anyway, wiping away some stray tears that trickle from your eyes.

“Please,” you breathlessly whisper, “Please, Simon. Want your cock, please. I-I was so close. It felt so good,” you start babbling, eyes falling to the hard outline of his cock in his jeans, “I wanna cum so bad, Si. Y-You promised. Please, just give me your cock. Please? Please? Simon!”

Simon’s mouth goes dry as he hears your babbled begging. Fuck, you’re absolutely aching for it. All you can think about is cumming. He never thought he’d get to hear you beg for him like this, so pathetically. You should be embarrassed, begging for cock like this when you’ve only just now gotten your first taste of being stretched open. Yet here you are fuckin’ crying for it.

His cock drools pre down his thigh, he can feel how wet his boxers have become from how much he’s leaking it. He’s aching in his jeans – he can’t pretend he doesn’t want it just as badly as you do.

“Shit, alright!” he snarls, wrapping a hand around your throat to force you to look at him. You gasp at the rough treatment, “Jus’ shut up and I’ll give it to you, yeah?”

You obediently nod your head, still staring up at him with those wide, teary eyes. He tries to act like his hands aren’t fucking trembling when he yanks his belt off. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this needy – this excited to get his cock inside a pussy.

But it’s you. You’re special.

He loves you. This isn’t like the one night stands and hookups he’s had in the past. This is different.

He feels like a fumbling teenager the way he clumsily yanks his belt out of the loops and shoves his jeans down his thighs along with his underwear. His cock, big and heavy, hangs under its own weight – it never slaps up against his stomach. He wasn’t just chatting shit when he said he was a big guy.

He wrapped his hand around himself, giving it a few, firm tugs. He feels your eyes on him, watching the way he touches himself and it sends heat through him. He scoots closer to you again, pulling back his foreskin to show the fat, leaky head that he meanly taps against your clit.

You gasp a cute little ‘ah!’ when he does that brings a smile to his face. He can’t say he’s the best lay for a virgin because he’s so big and he’s a brute – it’s in his nature. But he’s trying his best for you.

“Alright, baby,” he coos, leaning on one forearm above your head, draping his big body over yours. He easily manhandles you into position, caging your knees against your chest and wrapping himself around you, “Just relax for me, hm? Can you do that f’me?”

You nod your head and shakily put your hands on his shoulders, cupping his jaw to bring him down to kiss you. He sighs into your lips, using his free hang to grip the base of his cock, prodding against your hole. You’re so slippery that it slides out of you and slips up your clit. You whimper at the feeling, thighs twitching at the stimulation.

When he finally starts to press inside, your nails bite into his shoulders. It stings – it hurts. He’s so big, making your poor little cunt burn the deeper he presses himself. The head pops in and your hips jump at the feeling, his cock slipping back out.

He huffs, dropping his forehead against your shoulder, “Fuck, sit still.”

“S-Sorry!” you whimper, “I’m sorry!”

“Shh,” he sighs, kissing your cheek, “‘S okay, baby. Hurts, huh?”

“A little,” you whimper, trying to downplay it so he won’t stop.

He hums and presses a kiss against the corner of your mouth. He knows that working an orgasm out of you before making you take his cock would be the nice thing to do but he’s selfish. He wants to feel your orgasm around his cock – where you deserve to have it.

It’s your very first orgasm after all. It needs to be good and he knows he can make it real good once he can get you speared on his cock.

So he grips himself again, sitting up for just a moment to lewdly spit on your pussy. It hits your clit and trickles down where he catches it with the head of his cock. He leans over your body and starts to push in again. This time he tucks his arms under your shoulders and pins you impossibly against him, leaving you with nowhere to run when he starts to press into you.

You whimper, feet kicking against his back when he pushes deeper than before – past the head. He knows it hurts, you’re stretched beyond your limit and he waits with bated breath for you to say the word and tell him to stop.

But you don’t.

You just grapple your arms around his waist and dig your nails in. His skin is sweaty by now and it makes getting any purchase on him difficult. You let out a watery little whimper that has him freezing. You’re speared on half his cock when he finally looks at you.

Your eyes are teary and they slowly drip down your cheeks.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks, brushing some away with his thumb.

You immediately shake your head, no hesitation, “No! K-Keep goin’, Si.”

“Don’t cry, pretty,” he shushes, keeping his grip under your shoulders and his hips pinned firmly against yours so you can’t squirm when he starts pressing in again. Your mouth opens in a silent gasp, eyes fluttering from the ache that settles where he’s stretching you wide, “‘S okay, just take a deep breath. ‘M almost in, love, you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me. Takin’ all of my cock so deep, just like you deserve. Hear me? This cock s’all yours now, yeah? Can have it whenever you need it.”

Your walls spasm around his cock as he talks, making him groan low in his chest. He’s almost there, can feel his balls starting to tap against you the deeper he gets until finally, his hips meet yours and you wail.

He prods painfully against your cervix and he knows that it’s uncomfortable but he’s not willing to pull back just yet. He needs you to get used to being stretched and stuffed full of every inch of him. He takes care to do slow, gentle grinds, his pelvis catching your clit that eventually makes you relax.

“That’s it,” he praises, “Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

He finally eases off of you, balancing his weight on his forearms on either side of your head, hovering over you. He slowly pulls his hips back, watching you slump against the bed when he finally stops pressing on your cervix.

He finally starts fucking you, sliding his cock out just a bit before rolling his hips forward again. It's slow and soft, just testing the waters and getting you used to this new stimulation.

It feels entirely different from his fingers. His cock is bigger, fills you so much more, touches deeper.

His cock reaches spots deep inside you that his fingers didn’t even reach. But he’s permanently pressing against that spot his fingers were torturing. It feels so fucking good.

Simon can see the way your eyes roll back as he carefully fucks you. Your first cock and you’re taking it so damn well. It makes him want to see how much more you can take but he knows he needs to ease you into it, he doesn't want to overwhelm you.

“Si…” you sigh softly, blinking as you struggle not to float off and become drunk with pleasure.

“I know, pretty,” he coos, kissing your cheek before leaning back on his heels, fastening the thrusts of his hips.

You can’t keep quiet now, mouth falling open to let out the most precious sounds of pure pleasure. You’re staring at him with wide eyes, like he’s hung the moon and stars in the sky just for you. His cock fucking throbs at the look of wonder that crosses your face. He knows you’re getting close, can feel how tight you’re clamping around him and he can see how much you’re creaming around him – making a mess at the base of his cock and in the thatch of curls there.

“You gonna cum?” he coos, grinning when you shake your head, “Of course you are. I can fuckin’ feel it, baby. Know you got one for me, go ahead. Cum on my cock real nice, c’mon.”

“C-Can’t,” you whimper. It’s too much. You’re so wet. It’s fucking messy but you feel yourself at that damn wall, hanging on a thread and waiting for euphoria to come but it doesn’t, “Please! Simon! Please, I-I can’t! Please, please, please…”

“Fuck,” his hisses when he hears you begging to cum on his cock, “Come on then, baby. You can do it. Just let it go, let me fuck it outta you.”

You toss your head back into the pillows as a sob is ripped from your chest. As if he can sense how much you’re struggling, he brings his thumb down to press against your clit. Your eyes fucking roll, only the whites of them visible. You clench down around him like a vice and it only takes a couple little swipes of his thumb for you to tumble over the edge.

It feels unlike anything you could have ever imagined. Pleasure soars through you and your hearing cuts out. It feels like you lose control of your body, unable to do anything but thrash and twitch as he fucks you through it. You’re not sure if you would prefer him to stop or keep going because it’s all so fucking much that it hurts.

You’re gushing around him, drenching his cock in sticky, creamy cum that drips in thick strings down his balls. Holy fuck.

It feels like hours that you’re speared on his cock, cumming and cumming before it finally leaves you and you collapse against the bed. You’re still twitching, entire body shivering until he finally slows his thrusts to soft little rolls of his hips. He takes his thumb off of your clit and you’re thankful because it was starting to become unpleasant.

You swallow despite how dry your mouth is, eyes finally focusing on him. His brows are furrowed and his bottom lip is tucked into his mouth. Pretty, brown eyes are locked on you and you suddenly feel shy.

Had he been watching you the whole time? You hoped you didn’t make any ugly faces or embarrassing noises.

“Fuck,” he coos, seemingly sensing your shame, “That was a fuckin’ orgasm, love.”

You’re panting, you realize. And you’re tired. You’ve never felt more relaxed in your life.

All you can think is that you’ve been missing out on that your whole life? Now you’re not sure you’ll be able to even live without it ever again.

Simon’s hands cup under your knees and pin them to your chest. You gasp as he bends you as he sees fit. You’re limp, so completely drunk on the pleasure you just experienced that you simply let him.

But you realize he’s even deeper like this – and it doesn’t hurt like it did before. He’s pressing against your back wall and it actually feels good. You feel so sensitive inside, like you can feel every twitch of his cock.

He’s still languidly dragging his cock in and out of you. It’s a fucking mess between your legs, you’ve cum so fucking much that it’s everywhere. He’s never been covered like this before and it’s fucking hot.

Your cum sticks between the two of you in little strings that break and reform every time his hips meet and leave yours. Your little clit is puffy and swollen from your orgasm and he wants to press his thumb against it again but he knows the poor little thing is much too sensitive still.

Your legs flop uselessly as he fucks you, eases you past overstimulation until you’re sweetly cooing for him again. He takes that chance to fuck you properly again, intent on finding his own orgasm deep in your cunt.

His heavy balls slap against your ass. He wants to cum. He plans to make himself cum like this, just using your pretty pussy. But then he sees your eyes widen again and your lips part almost curiously and his eyes narrow.

“You feel it again, huh, sweetheart?” he goads, shifting his weight on his knees so his hips are pressed even closer to yours.

“C-Can’t,” you whisper, the same thing you had before. But it’s different now, “W-Won’t be able to, Si.”

“S that a challenge, love?” he teases, a crooked little smile on his face. You sleepily shake your head, “Hmm, I think I can fuck another one out of you. One orgasm won’t be enough, two is a good number for now. Until I train this little cunt to cum for me all night long.”

You whimper, reaching out the claw at his forearms where he pins your knees to your chest. You’re held so uselessly open, cunt completely vulnerable to his fat cock stuffing you full. His pelvis hits your clit in a way that makes the little bud tingle and your cunt clenches pathetically around him with every thrust he gives you.

Sweet little ‘ah, ah, ah’s’ are punched from your lungs every time he sinks completely inside. He’s gripping your knees harshly, squeezing where he has a grip as his own orgasm starts to creep up on him but he’s going to give you another orgasm. He has to make you cum again, to see you lost in pleasure like that once more. He knows that will push him over the edge, give him what he needs. He wants to cum with you, fill you up while you’re in the throes of pure pleasure that only he has ever given you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps, fighting the feeling of his own eyes rolling back in favor of watching you.

He loves the way you wear everything you feel on your face. From the looks of wonder when it feels really good to the little rolls of your eyes when he makes it hurt just a bit. It’s so cute.

Makes him want to play around with that little part of you – be a little mean to you.

“Cum,” he growls, fighting his own orgasm down, “Fuckin’ cum right now.”

“I can’t!” you wail, kicking against his hold on your knees, pressing down to spread you open even further.

His hips slam against yours, loud slaps and slick noises of your gooey cunt filling his ears, “You can. You will. Cum, sweetheart. You better fuckin’ cum.”

But you shake your head. It’s so close, you can feel it. It’s creeping up on you and you want it so bad. You want to feel that pleasure again. But you’re not even sure you’re going to be able to cum again, it feels so much more sensitive than before. It’s too much.

Simon bares his teeth, letting go of one of your legs to drift between your thighs. Your eyes widen, you think he’s going to rub it again – it’s so sensitive that you’re not sure you’ll be able to take it.

But instead, he does something else.

You hear it before you feel it, a soft little slap followed by the feeling of being electrocuted. Simon watches you with lidded eyes to see how you react. Just like he expected, you wail and your body gives a mean twitch at the impact.

So he does it again.

And again.

Not too hard, just enough for it to hurt a little bit. A sting against a terribly sensitive little bud. It’s mean – he’s mean. But he can’t fucking help it.

He needs you to cum for him again.

“Cum,” he snarls, giving your clit another slap.

As if on command, it sends you over the edge. Your legs kick out and he has to abandon your clit to hold you down, pinning you harshly to the bed as he uses all his weight to fuck down into your spasming little cunt. You’re cumming so hard around him that you stop breathing. He hears the hitch of breath and doesn’t hear the exhale. All you do is lay there, cry for him and cum.

He finds his end just as violently, tossing his head back to moan into the room as cum erupts from his cock. His thrusts grow sloppy as he milks the orgasm out of himself, voice breaking as he whimpers from how fucking good it feels.

Like no orgasm he’s ever experienced. It’s like he can’t stop cumming, filling you up so much that it oozes out from around his cock.

You’re trembling underneath him when he finally comes down, tearfully gazing up at him with your mouth agape, struggling to catch your breath.

“N-No more,” you pathetically whimper, legs twitching from the aftershocks, “C-Can’t take anymore, Si.”

“Shh,” he shushes, letting your legs go so you can relax comfortably as he pulls his cock from your pussy.

It’s twitching and clenching sporadically, still coming down from your orgasm. It makes his cum drip out of your cunt, a mess that spreads to the already messy sheets. Your cum and his mix together to make a sticky, gooey mess that makes his mouth water. He wants to eat it up, stuff his tongue into your tight little hole and swallow it all down.

But he can’t. Maybe next time, he vows.

His cock gives a valiant kick at the thought of getting to do this again. He sits on his heels, gazing at his messy cock as if softens. He feels dazed, almost drunk.

Then he hears the softest little sniffle from you and his eyes snap up to your face to find your crumpled expression and tears falling down your face. You cover your face with your hands and earnestly begin to cry.

“Hey, it’s alright, love,” he coos, laying beside you to tuck you into his chest.

“I-I don’t know why I’m crying,” you sob, wrapping your arms around his waist as you cry into him.

“It happens,” he assures, “It was a lot and you’re just a little overwhelmed s’all. Just let it out, baby.”

And you do, weakly sobbing into his chest until it feels like you can’t cry anymore. He holds you through it all, rubbing your back and cooing sweet nothings in your ear until you grow silent.

“Alright, love?” he asks.

“S-Sorry, Si,” you sniffle, finally pulling out of the spot in his arms you were hiding in, “I-I don’t want you to think I didn’t want it or that it was bad. I just…”

He gives you a soft smile, leaning forward to kiss you. It’s short and sweet, “I don’t think that. Like I said, it happens. Sometimes people just cry after sex, nothin’ to worry about.”

“Are you sure?” you sniffle, wiping your cheeks dry when the tears finally stop.

“Positive,” he sits up, “Let’s get cleaned up, alright? We need to change the damn sheets, fuckin’ hell.”

You giggle as you look down at the sheets where a very visible dark spot is sitting where you once laid. You don’t even have time to be embarrassed before he’s swooping you off of the bed and escorting you to the bathroom.

It’s too small for both of you to fit but you make it work. He wipes you down with a warm cloth before hopping into the shower to rinse and clean himself before he gets out and lets you do the same. While you do that, he changes the bedding completely and replaces it with new sheets and blankets for the two of you to sleep in together.

When you finally stumble into the bedroom, he wraps his arms around you and urges you onto the bed. You giggle as you flop onto the bed before he crawls in after you and covers the both of you up, wrapping himself around you until you’re tucked securely against him.

“I take it you liked it?” he finally whispers.

You shyly nod, “I-It was um…fun.”

“Felt real good, huh?” he teases, grinning wolfishly when you whimper.

“Y-Yeah,” you whisper, “It felt really good. I already want to do it again.”

Simon groans, hugging you tightly before shaking his head, “You’re gonna be insatiable. Gonna give my cock a run for its money.”

You giggle, affectionately petting his hair before he looks at you with the softest expression you’ve ever seen. It’s like his eyes are sparkling in the low light of the bedroom. He leans forward and ever so softly kisses your forehead, then your nose, before he reaches your lips. He pecks them softly, pulling back for just a second before he kisses you again.

“I love you,” he whispers, so soft that you almost miss it.

And your heart begins to race. You almost struggle to find the words to reciprocate. But when you do, he smiles and tucks you against him again, big arms wrapped around you like a bear hug.

It’s almost surreal. You can’t believe you’re here after everything – with him.

Like you’ve dreamed your whole life, he loves you just like you love him.

PART ONE.

do not modify, translate, or repost

#simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod x reader

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solxamber · 7 months ago

Note

Had the thought of "Malleus helps the prefect with their crush on a NRC student by suggesting fae courtship advice" and realized how funny it sounded but I cannot for the life of me write. So I skitter to you

So! Maybe a request of Malleus listening to how his beloved little friend has a crush on azul or idia whoever you choose, and is too anxious of rejection to ask them out, but he tries his best to help, however he most likely has no idea on human courtship, so ends up giving reader advice that mostly correlates with fae courtship rituals, maybe with Lilia helping out somewhat with advice he knows would work better for humans and maybe it can be a fem or gn reader?/lh

Fae Courtship 101: Romance Gone Wrong || Idia Shroud

In your desperation to confess your feelings to Idia, you've recruited Malleus to help you. Except his help is mildly concerning at best and extremely alarming at worst.

a/n: so sorry for the extremely long wait, i hope you like it <3

You were deep in super hell.

Not just any hell—ultra-max difficulty hell with a boss fight at the end. Why? Because you were hopelessly, embarrassingly smitten with Idia Shroud. Every time he so much as muttered a sarcastic comment under his breath, your brain turned into static noise and you felt like you were pulling on a gacha with a rate up of 0.000001%.

Which is why, when Malleus Draconia suddenly appeared in the middle of Ramshackle like a fae bat signal, you didn’t even blink. You were too far gone. You just flung yourself onto the couch and unleashed your woes like a possessed infomercial host.

“HE’S TOO CUTE,” you screamed into a throw pillow. “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE. HIS HAIR GLOWS, MALLEUS. HIS. HAIR. GLOWS.”

Malleus, who had been standing ominously in the corner like a living gargoyle, tilted his head. “This sounds… grave.”

“IT IS,” you wailed. “Every time I see him, I want to just—ugh, I don’t know—hand him a limited-edition figure and tell him he’s my forever player two! But then I don’t because my brain decides to blue-screen instead! I’m a romantic coward!”

“Curious,” Malleus murmured.

You sat up, clutching the pillow like a lifeline. “Do you even know how bad it is? The other day, he tripped over his own shoelace and I almost confessed right then and there! I can’t keep living like this!”

Malleus’s glowing eyes narrowed in what could only be described as dramatic princely determination. “Say no more, child of man.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I shall aid you in this endeavor,” he announced, placing a hand over his chest like he was about to duel a dragon in your honor. “You have my solemn vow that your courtship will succeed.”

You blinked again, the words taking a few extra seconds to register. “Wait. What?”

“I have centuries of experience in matters of the heart,” Malleus declared with a completely straight face.

“You do?” you asked, very reasonably skeptical because the only “courtship” you could imagine him doing was with a gargoyle in a medieval tapestry.

“Indeed,” he continued, undeterred by your blatant disbelief. “Shroud will recognize your worth once we present him with a grand gesture of affection.”

“…Define ‘grand gesture,’” you said, suddenly wary.

“A trophy of unparalleled rarity,” Malleus suggested with the confidence of someone who had definitely never bought a gift before. “Or perhaps a demonstration of your magical prowess. You are quite skilled at… surviving near-death experiences, are you not?”

“That’s not a talent!” you yelped.

He ignored you, his enthusiasm building like a storm. “Yes. I shall teach you the ancient fae techniques of courtship. You shall sweep Shroud off his feet.”

You buried your face in your hands. “This is going to end in a lawsuit.”

“Nonsense,” Malleus said firmly. “It will end in love.”

You weren’t sure whether to cry, laugh, or start writing your will.

You stared at the piece of paper in your hand like it had personally wronged you. Because, honestly, it had.

Malleus was perched regally on your couch, sipping tea like this wasn’t entirely his fault. “This poem,” he said, voice brimming with pride, “will surely capture Idia Shroud’s heart. It is both heartfelt and… inventive.”

“It’s terrible,” you muttered, waving the paper at him. “It sounds like a rejected NPC dialogue option.”

“Nonsense,” Malleus replied, unbothered. “It is a masterpiece of raw emotion. Shall I read it to you again?”

“No!” you said, alarmed. “I still haven’t recovered from the first time!”

It had been a mess. Rhyming “gamer” with “flamer,” shoehorning in “Player Two,” and an overly dramatic stanza about “lighting up the dark like a 5-star pull.” It sounded like a bad RPG side quest.

“I can’t give this to him,” you whined. “He’ll think I wrote it drunk.”

Malleus, ever unshaken, tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Then I shall present it to him on your behalf. I am an excellent orator.”

Your brain lagged. “You what?!”

Before you could stop him, Malleus plucked the poem from your hands and practically glided out the door. You ran after him, panic bubbling in your chest.

You caught up to him just as he cornered Idia in the library. Poor Idia looked like he was questioning every life choice that had led him here.

“Child of man,” Malleus said gravely, holding the poem like it was an ancient scroll. “Your heart has crafted a most wondrous ode to Idia Shroud. Allow me to deliver your words of passion.”

“No. Nope. Nope,” you interrupted, lunging forward.

But Malleus had already begun. ��To the one whose hair glows like—”

You didn’t let him finish. Instinct took over. You snatched the paper out of his hand and, in one smooth motion, ate it.

Idia blinked. Then blinked again. “…Did you just eat paper?”

You gagged but managed to choke it down, wiping your mouth with as much dignity as you could muster. “Yup. Totally. Don’t even worry about it.”

Malleus looked genuinely offended. “Why would you consume such a heartfelt creation?”

“Because it was awful,” you hissed, yanking him by the sleeve.

Meanwhile, Idia just stood there, watching this unhinged disaster unfold. He glanced at Malleus, then at you, then at the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead. “Man,” he mumbled, “I should’ve just stayed in my room.”

Malleus stood in the middle of Ramshackle’s living room, radiating regal confidence and possibly a bit too much enthusiasm for someone whose advice had caused you to eat a poem in front of your crush just two days prior.

“I have considered our previous efforts,” Malleus began, pacing dramatically, “and I believe it is time to enact a traditional fae courtship ritual.”

You squinted at him from your spot on the couch. “Define ‘traditional.’”

Malleus clasped his hands behind his back. “It is quite simple. You must leave a series of carefully chosen gifts for Idia to discover. Each one should symbolize your intentions, culminating in an offer of eternal devotion.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you said cautiously. “What kind of gifts are we talking about?”

Malleus turned to you, his expression far too serious. “The first gift must be a bouquet of midnight roses—each petal dipped in the dew of the first frost. The second, a vial of your own tears, to show vulnerability. And the third, a token of your affection, forged in moonlit flames.”

You stared at him, horrified. “Malleus, I don’t know how to say this politely, but… are you nuts?!”

He frowned, clearly confused. “Is this not how humans express their love?”

“No!” you exclaimed. “Nobody’s out here crying into vials or setting up romantic blacksmith sessions!”

Malleus waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. It is a noble and time-honored method. Come, I will assist you.”

Step 1: Midnight Roses

Somehow, you found yourself sneaking into the Botanical Gardens late at night with Malleus, who had insisted on conjuring the “perfect” roses.

“These roses will shine with a light so soft, it will illuminate your sincerity,” he said as he gestured dramatically.

A small explosion followed.

When the smoke cleared, you were holding a bouquet of roses that were glowing like neon signs. “Malleus, these look radioactive. Are you trying to confess or give him superpowers?”

He looked affronted. “Their brilliance reflects your ardor!”

Your ardor looked like it would set off a Geiger counter.

Step 2: The Vial of Tears

“Now, you must cry into this vial,” Malleus instructed, handing you what looked like a fancy perfume bottle.

“Do you hear yourself?” you asked, utterly baffled.

“Think of your love for Shroud,” he said. “Surely the emotion will move you to tears.”

You tried. You really did. But after five minutes of sitting there awkwardly, all you had to offer was a single, pathetic sniffle.

“Perhaps I should assist,” Malleus said, reaching out. “Do you require a tragic tale? A dramatic betrayal?”

“No! Absolutely not!” you snapped, shoving the bottle back at him. “I am not sobbing into a vial for anyone!”

Step 3: The Moonlit Token

The final step involved an actual fire pit behind Ramshackle because, according to Malleus, the moonlit flames were essential.

“I shall forge your token,” Malleus declared, summoning a small inferno that nearly took out the lawn.

When the smoke cleared, you held a jagged piece of metal that looked like it was ripped off an air conditioning unit.

“What is this supposed to be?” you asked flatly.

“A medallion,” Malleus said proudly.

“It looks like I pulled it out of a scrap heap!”

You delivered the “gifts” to Idia during a moment of sheer madness, mostly because Malleus had already enchanted the roses to literally float behind you, and they weren’t going anywhere.

Idia opened his door and froze. His hair immediately flickered pink as he stared at you, the bouquet, the medallion, and—was that a perfume bottle?

“What… is happening right now?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“It’s—uh—fae courtship stuff?” you mumbled, trying to shove the glowing bouquet into his hands.

The roses sparked.

“Oh my god, is this thing going to explode?!” Idia yelped, throwing them across the room.

You panicked and shoved the medallion forward. “Here! It’s—it’s a token of my affection?”

Idia stared at the jagged metal piece. “Did you… dig this out of a junkyard?”

“NO!”

Finally, you shoved the vial of “tears” at him. Idia took one look at it, his face a mixture of disbelief and growing alarm.

“Did you just hand me a potion ingredient?!”

At this point, you were ready to die. Before you could explain yourself, Idia closed the door and slid down to the floor on the other side, clutching his heart.

“Fae Courtship...they like me,” he whispered, his hair a vibrant pink. “They're insane, but they like me.”

Meanwhile, you turned to Malleus outside Ramshackle, utterly mortified.

“I hate you,” you groaned.

Malleus only smiled. “An absolute success.”

Malleus was once again pacing in Ramshackle’s living room like a Victorian gentleman trying to solve the case of your disastrously one-sided love life.

“Here is what we shall do,” he said, hands clasped and gaze intense. “You will prepare a ceremonial feast. Cook for him using ingredients that symbolize your intentions. Lavender for devotion, honey for sweetness, and”—he paused dramatically—“a pheasant roasted under the light of the full moon. You must present it to him on a silver platter while reciting your feelings in the Fae tongue.”

You blinked. “Malleus. Where in Twisted Wonderland am I supposed to find a pheasant?!”

He looked mildly offended. “Surely you can catch one. Do you not have traps?”

“I live in Ramshackle, not the woods!” you snapped. “Also, I think Idia would keel over if I walked in with a roasted bird and started chanting in Fae.”

Malleus sighed. “Child of man, your lack of commitment is concerning.”

Before you could argue, Lilia materialized from who knows where with his usual mischievous grin. “Oh, don’t stop on my account,” he drawled. “This is incredibly entertaining.”

You glared at him. “Lilia, I’m in emotional distress, not a soap opera.”

“Exactly why I’m here,” Lilia said, flopping into a chair. “Malleus, your suggestions are delightful, but I’d prefer not to have Idia hospitalized from sheer terror. Allow me to offer some… balance.”

Malleus frowned. “Balance?”

“Yes,” Lilia said. “Like suggesting something sane, such as gifting him a rare figurine from one of his favorite animes. It’s thoughtful, meaningful, and most importantly, won’t require a midnight hunt.”

You thought getting a figurine would be easy. You were wrong.

You tried everything:

Azul offered to get it—if you signed a contract that basically gave him first claim on your future firstborn.

Ruggie smugly said he could “procure” it but asked for a kidney as collateral.

Just when you were about to accept your fate as figurine-less, Kalim swooped in like the sunshine prince he is, offering to buy it outright with his seemingly infinite wealth. “You want it? I’ll get it! It’ll be fun!” You could’ve cried.

Bless Kalim and his endless generosity.

When you finally gave the figurine to Idia, you were an exhausted wreck. It had taken days, multiple negotiations, and at least one near-death experience (Ruggie’s "payment terms" were aggressive).

Idia stared at the box, then at you, then back at the box. His hair flickered pink as his mind tried to process the situation.

“Is this—?” he started, his voice cracking.

You nodded. “It’s that limited-edition one you mentioned.”

Idia froze, clutching the box like it was the Holy Grail. “H-how did you even afford this?!” he stammered. “No offense, but have you seen Ramshackle?!”

“Bye!” you squeaked, panicking and bolting out the door before he could say anything else.

Malleus, watching you sprint away from Ignihyde like a spooked animal, nodded sagely. “Another success.”

Lilia shook his head, cackling. “If nothing else, this is fantastic entertainment.”

Meanwhile, back in his room, Idia sat on the floor, staring at the figurine. His hair was a fiery pink as his brain short-circuited.

“They remembered,” he whispered. “They actually remembered…”

Ortho popped into the room. “Big Brother, are you okay? Your vitals are—”

“LEAVE ME TO DIE IN PEACE!” Idia shrieked, clutching the figurine like a lifeline.

It was safe to say the figurine worked.

You were lying on the couch at Ramshackle, contemplating your life choices and whether Malleus or Lilia was the greater threat to your sanity, when Ortho appeared at your door.

“Big Brother has summoned you to Ignihyde!” he chirped, far too cheerful for your emotional state.

“What did I do now?” you groaned, throwing an arm over your face.

“I think it’s good news!” Ortho said, clearly hiding something.

Given that this was Idia, “good news” could mean anything from “I found a new game to play” to “you’re about to be the first human test subject for my latest invention.” Against your better judgment, you followed Ortho.

When you entered Idia’s room, he was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his hair flickering an anxious shade of pink. He didn’t even look up from his console, which was just a black screen because he’d obviously forgotten to turn it on in his panic.

“Uh, thanks for coming,” he mumbled.

“You did send your little brother to fetch me like I was being summoned to the Underworld,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms.

Idia winced. “Y-yeah, sorry about that. I panicked, okay?”

You sat down on the floor across from him, waiting. His hair crackled as he kept fidgeting, his gaze darting everywhere but you. Finally, he took a deep breath and blurted out:

“So, I’ve been analyzing your recent behavior, and it’s, uh… come to my attention that… maybe you like me?”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift from mumbling to outright accusations. “Analyzing my behavior?”

“Yes!” he squeaked, gripping his knees like his life depended on it. “The weird flustered thing you do when I talk to you, the whole ‘anime figurine extravaganza’ that nearly killed you—don’t think I didn’t hear about that, by the way—and the fact that you’ve willingly talked to me more than once. It all adds up!”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. He looked increasingly panicked.

“I mean, if you don’t like me, that’s fine! I’ll just—uh, go smite myself with a lightning bolt or something. Lemme call Malleus; he’ll be thrilled to help.”

“Idia—”

“But!” he interrupted, holding up a finger. “If you do like me, I… I think I should tell you that I… uh, I like you too.” His voice cracked on the last word, and his hair flared bright pink. “A lot. Like, an unhealthy amount of 'a lot.’”

You sat there, stunned, as his words hung in the air.

“And, uh, I’m confessing because… well, I’m not sure I’d survive another one of Malleus’s courtship rituals. No offense, but I think he’s trying to kill me. Ortho heard he suggested you bring me a lock of your hair dipped in a mild poison to solidify our bond?!”

At that, the floodgates broke. Exhausted, drained, and done with this entire saga, you leaned forward, cupped his face in your hands, and kissed him. His hair crackled as it flared a near-neon pink, and he froze like a system on the verge of a crash.

When you pulled back, you sighed. “Thank you for finally putting me out of my misery.”

“I—wait—what—” His brain was clearly blue-screening.

“Idia,” you said firmly, shaking him gently. “Yes, I like you. Yes, this whole thing has been a nightmare. And yes, if I have to call Malleus one more time for ‘help,’ I might smite myself.”

He blinked rapidly, finally rebooting. “Oh. Cool. Uh, can I—?” He gestured vaguely, his face red as a tomato.

You rolled your eyes and kissed him again, pulling him into a hug. Somewhere in the distance, you were pretty sure you heard Ortho cheering.

Back at Diasomnia, Malleus scribbled something into his journal. “Another successful courtship facilitated by me,” he muttered, thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Lilia said, chuckling from his spot on the couch.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia #idia shroud #platonic malleus x reader #malleus x reader #platonic malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus #malleus draconia

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copinghex · 1 year ago

Text

Family bonds | T.S

Summary: After a hurtful comment at a fundraising event, you wonder what really bonds Tommy to your child.

A/N: Ok, so as I previously mentioned, I edited some of my old stories and will be reposting one per week. This is the first selected!

"Do you want to sit?" Tommy whispered in your ear, your hand went straight to your belly, moving up and down, where you baby rests and patiently waits to be born.

"No, I'm fine, just take this gin away from me, otherwise I'll be tempted," you pushed his glass away, "are the cute kids working?"

"The wives look more excited than the men, but yeah, four huge donations until now,"

"In less than two hours? That's a new record!"

This was probably the best business idea you ever had. The inauguration ceremony of the Shelby Institute for orphaned children took place in a cozy room, with closed windows and lighted up fireplaces, the cold breeze freezing the bones of anyone who dared to attend without a coat.

Months later, spring came to warm your bones and put a self-giving feeling into Thomas Shelby's heart. In the middle of a boring, typical week, he arrived home planning to uplift the structure of the institute's building.

He told you the idea during the night, with his hand resting on your pregnant belly and although he didn't tell you what made him come up with it, you could clearly see his line of thought.

Tommy could rarely afford nice things, there was no gentleness in survival and for most of his life, that was all he did. Finally, with his rise to new money, he could provide something he never had to children who look too much like him - comfort. Also, being seen as a charitable person would do no harm to the business.

The small change of plans you suggested put a smile on his face, instead of making a typical fundraising dinner, why not make an afternoon tea? The invitations encourage couples to bring their children, seeing those innocent little humans running around shall make them remember why to donate.

A mansion with a huge garden was rented for the event, maids were hired to look after the children and butlers served biscuits and hot cups of tea. For your surprise, the event had more children than adults, most couples - including you and Tommy - were outnumbered by their children.

Your eyes ran through the garden trying to find your little ones, the younger one was the easiest, no place was safest than inside your own mama, but it was better to keep an eye on the other three. Marie Louise Adler, whose hair looked exactly like yours. The twins, Henry and William Shelby, except for the eyes, are small versions of Tommy, from the physical appearance to the mannerism.

Quickly, you found William trying to teach one of John's girls how to use a slingshot. A few steps away, Henry had a handful of biscuits and carried a toy car made of wood.

"Where is Loui-'' before you could ask, a collective ugh followed by a child's cry got your attention.

Louise was under a tree with her knees on the grass, the hem of her yellow dress covered in dirt and the left leg of her white stockings ruined, exposing her bruised knee. Tommy reacted faster than you, his hand slid through your waist as he ran in her direction. You quickly followed after, rolling up the sleeves of your dress.

He picked Louise up, she put her arms around his neck and seemed to calm down a bit. A maid tried to apologize for neglecting your little girl, but you were too focused on following Tommy inside to answer.

Curious eyes followed your trio while you crossed the hallway and once you were in a private room, Tommy tried to put Louise on a sofa, but she didn't want to let go.

"C'mon, love," he encouraged, making her lift her crying face from his neck and allow him to sit her down.

"What happened, Lou?" you took her hair off her face and her stockings off, watching out to not brush her bruised knee.

"I was trying to climb on the tree, but I got scared and slipped up," she brushed off tears with her tiny hands.

Tommy took a napkin and wetted it with gin, after kneeling in front of the girl, he asked, "And what did me and mama say, eh?"

She looked down, ashamed of disobeying.

"You can only climb trees when me or daddy are around to help," you rubbed her back, trying to comfort her.

"I'm sorry," she pouted.

"Now I have to clean your knee, it's full of dirt," Tommy held her leg.

"No! It 's gonna hurt!" she pulled her leg back.

"Just a little, but don't think about it," you sat at her side, holding her head to your chest, "think about the delicious cake I'll get you when we get home!"

"Can we get some too?!" William, who'd been peeking the whole scene from the door, suddenly yelled, Henry tried to shush him and ended up being dragged by the hand into the room.

"Boys! How long have you been there?"

"It was William! He had the idea of following you!" Henry quickly accused.

"That 's not true! You were curiou-"

"Alright, boys, it doesn't matter," Tommy silenced the argument before it started, playfully hitting the twins foreheads with the napkin.

While you were distracted by the kids, Tommy had taken care of Louise's knee and the five of you were finally allowed to go back to the event.

Louise insisted Tommy should carry her, Henry and William took your hands and the eyes of many guests softened to the vision of you walking together.

Soon, the kids dispersed in the garden, Tommy got the attention of charitable housewives, interested in donating to the institute, you leaned on an empty table, sipping your favorite juice and smiling at anyone who crossed your way.

"Mrs. Shelby!" an old woman walked to you with a huge smile, "I must say, this is the most diverse charity event I attended in years!"

"Oh, thank you so much, misses…"

"Thompson, Aline Thompson, nice to meet you," she shook your hand. "you don't drink?"

"Usually I do, but I'm pregnant,"

"Darling! That's lovely! Your husband is already so lucky to have two kids, now one more!"

"Three," you corrected her.

"Pardon?"

"Thomas and I have three children, Henry, William and Louise,"

"Well, if that's the case, I guess you're the lucky one, Mr. Shelby indeed treats the girl as if she's his,"

"Hm," you pressed your lips together. "may I ask who told you Louise isn't Tommy's?"

"It's written in the guest list, Y/N Adler Shelby and Louise Adler, I'm sorry for Mr. Adler, I'm sure he was a good man," she smiled, "now, if you excuse me,"

Aline left you with teary eyes, how dared she speak about your family like this? But what if…? What if she was right? Did Tommy really love Louise? Did he see her as his daughter or an extension of you?

"Seven, Louise falling over had a good effect on them," Tommy held your arm, telling you about the new huge donations.

"Really? That's great, love,"

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, just a bit tired,"

"I'll tell the driver to take you home,"

"No! There’s still a few hours to go,"

"Ada will take your place, most of the guests are leaving already anyway,"

"Oh, alright then," you drawled.

"Will you take the kids?"

"Yeah, I think," you looked around, searching for them, "just Louise, the boys look like they're having fun, can you look after them?"

"Sure."

The way home was quiet, Louise had asked to rest on your leg and fell into deep sleep, Frances helped you to carry her to bed. After a well-deserved bath, you had put some foundation's papers in order so Tommy could add today's profit without any problem. Night was falling and all you could do was wait for the rest of your family to arrive.

Heading upstairs, your eyes fixed in a spot they usually didn't, the family painting. It took months of persuasion for Tommy to agree to pose and even longer for it to be done, since he only agreed to give away two hours of his agenda.

Your heads leaned together in a sign of unquestionable affection, Louise sat in the middle, where your right and Tommy's left leg stuck together. William was on your left leg and Henry on Tommy's right, they were less than two years old and didn't get a characteristic Shelby haircut yet. All in all, you looked like a family, no one would dare to say otherwise, unless Aline Thompson.

The sound of the front door opening followed by the maid's heels told you Tommy arrived, you decided to wait in the stairs and he showed up alone.

"Where's Henry and William?" you asked with furrowed brows.

"At Ada's, they wanted a sleepover with Karl,"

While you both walked upstairs, he had a hand on your lower back and you realized he didn't ask about Louise, the very first thing you did when Tommy arrived was to ask about your kids, Tommy didn't even bother, probably because Louise wasn't his.

Time passed quietly, Tommy took a bath and asked a few questions about the paperwork, you told him to add today's profit and nodded to whatever else he said. Night could have been good, or at least, peaceful.

He sat on the bed looking through his paperwork and his sudden warning made your jaw clench, "You have a doctor's appointment scheduled for tomorrow, so be home when he arrives,"

"What for?"

"To check on our girl," he answered without paying attention.

"How do you know it's a girl?"

"This pregnancy it's different from the boy's,"

"Oh," you lay down, turning your back on him, "I'm glad you at least care about this girl,"

He sighed and you heard him writing something, a few seconds passed until he asked, "What did you say?"

You didn't answer.

"Y/n, what do you mean?" he touched your shoulder, trying to make you look at him.

"Nothing, Tommy, nothing,"

"No, what the fuck you mean with this girl?"

You sat up, taking a good look at his face before questioning, "How many children do we have, Tommy?"

"Three and another one on the way," he harshly answered and you sighed in relief.

"This is what you say to everyone else, right? Not just to me,"

"Yeah, y/n, of course, why would you fucking ask that?"

You teared up and Tommy's face softened, he cupped your face, catching some tears and patiently waiting for you to speak.

"You only have three, Tommy, the twins and this one," you rubbed your belly.

"Who said that?" he looked at you with disbelief.

"It's the truth,"

"Louise is my child,"

"You know she's not, I know it, you know it, and-"

"Y/n-"

"Aline Thompson fucking knows it,"

"Who 's Aline Thompson?"

"It doesn't matter, Tommy,"

"It fucking does, if there's someone around saying Louise isn't my child, then I have to know,"

"It won't change the facts."

"Listen," he moved closer to you and cupped your face again, "Louise is my child, I'm raising her, she's a Shelby."

"Then why didn't you ask about her when you arrived?"

"I asked Frances, she told me she's sleeping since evening,"

"Oh," your cheeks heated up, ashamed of this huge misunderstanding.

"Who's Aline Thompson?"

"A stupid woman at the charity tea, she said I was lucky for you treating Louise as your own,"

"Lucky, eh?" he nodded, "I bet her husband has a deal with the Shelby Company,"

"No, Tommy!" you giggle.

"Oh, just a few pounds to lose,"

"Tommy! You're mean! Not that she doesn't deserve it,"

Hesitant knocks on the door made you stop laughing, you and Tommy switched a look before he got up and opened the door.

"I'm sorry to bother, Mr. Shelby," a young maid holding Louise's hands apologized, "but Louise wants to sleep with you,"

Too sleepy to speak, your daughter rubbed her eyes and walked past Tommy, climbing on the bed and laying near you.

"Right, thank you-"

"Oh, also, Mrs. Thorne called, the twins want to come home."

#tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #reader insert

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taegimood · 11 months ago

Note

kitty or shark hybrid tyun thoughts pleasepleasepleaseplease

i already had kitty tyun in the works so you read my mind but omg SHARK TYUN ???!!!! i know we literally just talked abt this on discord but i never thought abt how it would actually work… i’ve never thought about marine hybrids before 🤔 would he need water ??? reverse sandy cheeks LMFAO but no the predatory aspect mmmmm we should talk abt this later

edit this is longer and kind of turned into more of actual writing (??) than the soobin one ugh sorry i’m so inconsistent i’m ekwkndndkfk almost don’t even wanna post it BUT ANYWAY ,,,,,

next on my agenda: cat hybrid!taehyun !!

cat hybrid!taehyun with perky dark brown ears that nearly blend in with his hair, and a sleek tail to match. he’d be reserved when you first bring him home, but not shy or nervous like soobin; taehyun would be cool, collected, on his guard but in a way that lets you know he still sees himself as one in control.

at first it would seem like he really couldn’t care less about your presence in the apartment; quickly getting comfortable enough to make it his own, but apparently you weren’t included in that sentiment, judging from the way he’d just side-eye you before carrying on with whatever he was doing as his only form of acknowledgement every time you attempt an interaction 🫠

it makes you nervous; was this the right decision? will we ever form a bond? little do you know… muehuehue

you knew that cat hybrids were notoriously hit or miss in terms of how affectionate or independent they’d turn out to be, but i mean come on — taehyun acts as though he doesn’t even need you at all !!

imagine the first time you try to pet his ears, him flattening them and immediately swatting your hand away to shrink back with a scowl; the way your stomach would drop as you quickly start to apologize 😭 but he’s already stalking away into the next room like a grumpy grouch >:(

it’s not that taehyun hates you or anything, it’s just that he doesn’t like his personal space invaded — or at least, that’s what he thinks at first, but more on that later 👀

him hearing you crying in your room one night cuz you’re just so frustrated and sad :(( wanting to build a happy comfortable life for him but he’s not even letting you try and you don’t know what you’re doing wrong 🥺 that’s the first time he’d feel a little twinge in his chest, an unfamiliar emotion that he can’t quite place as he finds himself wanting to… comfort you? hmm.. he decides that he doesn’t like this strange new feeling and continues on to his room instead.

but the next day you’d be shocked when you’re on the couch and he actually comes and…. sits.. in the same.. room.. as you ???? someone call oprah ✋🏼

he’d silently situate himself in the armchair away from the couch, opening up his book an educated mf and starting to read without a single word as you sit there gaping at him like 👁️👄👁️ not having any clue that this is his way of offering a small bridge for the gap you’re even a little suspicious tbh LOL but you get so excited regardless and even though you try to hide it, his sharp senses are quick to notice the change in your demeanor.

also you keep glancing over at him like every 10 seconds so that’s kind of a giveaway in itself

after that you’d begin to notice little things that he’d start to do that make you realize you need to let him be the one to decide when to come to you, when you’re allowed to touch him, etc — and honestly you’re just grateful to be making progress.

you’d be on the phone with a friend one day when they start asking about your new hybrid, taehyun’s ears perking up from the kitchen; (you glance over to see his head poking out and his boba eyes sparkling with interest before he catches you looking and instantly scowls, feigning indifference as he disappears again 😭😭 your heart clenching at the cuteness..)

him listening intently as you talk about him, surprised as you even defend him when your friend makes a comment about the cat hybrid stereotypes — “he’s not ‘hellish’ in the slightest. he’s been very good. he just likes his space, that’s all.”

but his favorite part of all would be when they ask you about his breed, what he looks like, etc; his chest swelling with pride as he hears you talk about how handsome he is, how strong and lithe he seems to be, and he finds a purr escaping from his throat at the praise as you boast about him.

after that, even more progress seems to be made; like him randomly coming up to you one day with an extra bit of his food in hand as he places it in front of you and says, “i brought this for you.” and walking away again before you can respond 💀

with how put-together he always seems, you’re finally starting to see how cat-like he truly is the more he opens up to you ❤️‍🩹

he starts speaking to you more often too, his voice a pleasant surprise to you; smooth and even-toned, inducing a bit of a blush from you whenever there’s a slight rasp or purr caught at the end of a phrase.

he perplexes you at first with how blunt or monotoned he can be, but you learn to read him better as time goes on, learn to understand his subtle undertones, and each flick of his ears or swish of his tail.

you’ve also learned that he can be won over with certain treats and presents… which ends up leading to the mess you’ve found yourself in now.

when you decided to buy a bunch of catnip, thinking it would be nice to bake him some desserts with it every now and then, you didn’t think you’d have to go out of your way to hide the stuff. since you brought him home taehyun has never acted out much aside from the occasional swipe of something off the edge of the counter when he’s bored; but he never scratches up your furniture or makes a mess of the apartment, so imagine your shock when you come home from a late shift one night to find your kitchen absolutely ransacked.

drawers and cabinets thrown open and their contents scattered everywhere, kitchen towels shredded to bits, and for a minute you’re terrified that someone broke in or something.. until you realize what you’re looking at.

catnip is strewn EVERYWHERE.

the tub of it fallen open on the floor has you gaping as your eyes follow the trail of it, from the cabinet taehyun must have smelled it from, to where it then spilled across the counter, before being knocked to the floor and.. rolled in??

with a start you suddenly realize that it’s too quiet.

taehyun is never one to come and greet you at the door, but this time, something feels.. different.

which is why you nearly jump out of your skin when you turn to go and look for him, ready to call out his name, only to find him standing in the entrance of the kitchen already watching you.

he’s so quiet that you didn’t even hear him approach and you’re convinced that in another life he would’ve made a great vampire or something.. taehyun salvatore has a nice ring to it iykyk

“holy shit, kitty, you scared me! why are you lurking like that? what the hell happened in.. here...”

your voice trailing off as you actually take in the sight of him and….

taehyun’s chest rising and falling at a quicker rate than usual, normally neat hair all tousled out of place, tail swishing sharply back and forth behind him, ears twitching — you meet his eyes and swallow hard. he’s never looked at you like this before.

his pupils are blown wide and taking in every inch of you, roaming over your body before locking onto your gaze, as if he’s looking straight into you, hyper-focused; silent and still and.…

predatory.

there’s a crackling tension in the air as something flickers in his eyes.

before you can process the speed that he moves forward with you’re being pushed against the kitchen counter with his body flush against yours, radiating heat as he rolls his hips, rubbing his face into your neck as a deep, growl-like purr reverberates in your ear.

you gasp, thighs pressing together instinctively, his tongue licking a rough stripe up to your jaw as he growls, “whose scent is this?”, and you barely even have time to remember the new coworker that he must be smelling let alone the time to answer him before he’s mouthing at your neck, muttering, “doesn’t matter.. i’ll just have to scent you myself.”

his tail curls around your waist and you inhale at the slight prickle of his sharp canines as he smirks against your throat;

“have to let him know that you’re mine.”

you don’t know how you got here, bent over the kitchen table as your previously aloof hybrid pounds you from behind, licking and biting at your shoulder and neck as he purrs roughly in your ear, your pussy clenching hard around his thick cock as he tugs your hair to bring your head up into a scorching kiss; whatever insane energy high that catnip gave him was all being released onto you right now, and you really can’t complain.. nor can you even remember whatever guilt you may have felt since at this point he’s fucked it right out of you.

he’d be telling you how your scent belongs to him, how no one else can have you like this; this sudden possessiveness coming out of seemingly no where, baffling you with the whiplash of taehyun’s deeper feelings coming out.

(feelings that he honestly didn’t even realize he had himself until that catnip got him good)

he’d so be the type to act completely nonchalant about it all the next day, to the point where you’d just about convince yourself that you went crazy and dreamed it all up until he’d do something to show you that no, you definitely did not.

standing at the sink washing dishes after lunch, lost in your swirling thoughts, when he’d come up behind you to place his own dish in the sink — chest ghosting against your back as he leans in just close enough for you to feel his smirk against one of the many love bites littered across your neck. quickly turning to face him but he’s already walking away, casually and without another glance in your direction;

later you’d be tidying up the apartment when he’d walk by you and his tail would curl sneakily around your waist, trailing over your ass as he passes by..

but it’s the last straw for you when you’re sitting on a conference call and taehyun slinks into the room, eyeing your computer, and you can already see the wheels turning in his head at the sound of your male coworkers going over their part of an example presentation.

your eyes widen marginally as his narrow — lip curling as he quickly deduces that one of them must be yesterday’s icky scent culprit — and you give him a stern warning look that he only ignores with a sly smile as he approaches where you’re sitting, your breath catching in your throat as he suddenly gets on his knees between your legs, just out of sight of the camera.

you’re about to mute your mic and ask him what the hell he’s doing when you hear your name being called from the screen, quickly averting your attention to answer your coworker’s question, when you feel the tip of taehyun’s claw begin to trace up your inner thigh.. ohhh boy you’re done for.

you’d be panicking as he’d tease his way under your skirt, flipping it up to reveal your panties that he’d so easily push aside, your voice coming out in a squeak when you try to continue talking as he nuzzles his face into your cunt.

trying to deter him by pushing his head away, but that only spurs him on more at the feeling of your fingers brushing past his mischievously twitching ears; your coworkers asking you if everything’s alright as the sudden warmth of taehyun’s tongue against your pussy sends a rush of electricity through you in the form of a choked-out moan that you can only disguise as a cough.

having to sit through the rest of your meeting as your naughty hybrid meticulously eats you out, his shameless rumbling purrs sending vibrations through your core while he laves at your juices, smug eyes glittering up at you the entire time as you try your absolute hardest not to squirm and moan.

it’s so filthy, so obscene, and he’s got you so so close to the point where you have no choice but to feign sickness and quickly hang up the call with reddened cheeks and labored breaths.

but taehyun pulls away immediately and you give a sharp whine before you can stop yourself.

you can see the satisfaction in his eyes as he poorly feigns indifference poorly on purpose ofc and states, “i’m bored,” with a move to stand up — but you’ve had enough of his teasing.

“nuh uh,” you breathe, your hand in his hair pulling him back in with a surprised little trill as your need to cum overpowers your conscience.

“finish what you started.”

and he’s more than happy to oblige as that same flicker from last night returns to his eyes, yanking you towards his waiting mouth as he ravishes your pussy with even more vigor than before.

“taehyun, y-you’ve been such a… bad.. k-kitty…”

and he eats it right up, the both of you knowing who really seems to be in control here despite your scolding words as you lose yourself on his tongue.

coming apart easily not once but twice before he finally sits back on his heels, licking the wetness from his lips and observing your spent form in satisfaction;

from then on it’s decided that taehyun does like his new owner after all, quick to jealousy but even quicker to remind you that you’re his; who’s the real owner here, to be honest? 🤔

and he even comes to realize that - you know what? - curling up with you for cuddles and head scratches really isn’t so bad after all. he could definitely get used to this ❤️‍🩹

my dom!taehyun agenda knows no bounds i couldn’t stop myself womp

also this feels to me like it had a much different vibe from the soobin one as in like a lot less detailed even tho it’s longer…? idk but later i wanna post more than just one thing for each member anyway so

#ask mj ♡#mj’s hard thoughts #txt #txt x reader #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #txt thoughts #hybrid!txt #dom!txt #taehyun #taehyun x reader #taehyun hard thoughts #taehyun smut #taehyun thoughts #hybrid!taehyun #cat hybrid!taehyun #dom!taehyun #taegimood #mootie lia! 💫

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kithtaehyung · 1 year ago

Text

bet wrong (3tan717) | myg

drabble: bet wrong pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | 3tan717 | one rating/genre: pg (18+) ; angst , fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: after seeing how comfortable yoongi is in his place with your brother and their friends, it’s hard for you to leave… but it’s also hard for you to stay. note: apologies for all the late postings! but kim yeji’s aura was so strong it made me write about her so here we are hahaha. it's not really edited cus i just wrote this up and posted so apologies for any mistakes! note 2: this is in a pocket universe in the three tangerines series, so if you haven’t read the series yet, these characters would make more sense if you did hehe. even though this is very heavily influenced by the olympics, i’m keeping it as easy to read as i can. you can imagine them watching any of the events happening lol warnings: 3tan yoongi as always, angst, olympics talk, yoongi fights back??, the Yearning is Strong, reader is a tease, shiv is back!, brother and jimin are dorks, but so is everyone else, yoongi on the phone, he's so down bad y'all i wanna cry :(( drop date: august 1st, 2024, 7:17pm est word count: 2.3k (just like the first drabble omg?)

—

“Hey, you made it!”

“Oh, shit, look who’s here!”

After a quick greeting to everyone in Yoongi’s living room, you slip off your shoes with a distracted, “I can’t stay long but, I’m here!”

Even though the handsome devil next to you shoots a look, it’s your brother that speaks up, “Wait, why?”

“I’m meeting my friends in a bit.” You hand a still-quiet Yoongi some snacks you brought for everyone, asking a question with a very obvious answer, “Where should I put these?”

He blinks before forcing out, “Over here.”

“K.”

Sounds of conversation and sports games spring about. Jimin’s clearly in some sort of squabble with your brother and Shiv is fanning the flames. There’s a couple guys you recognize but don’t really know talking on the opposite side of the coffee table, but they’re all watching the Olympics and giving their own comments.

Hopefully it’s noisy enough to shroud your dizzying thoughts. Because Yoongi looks damn good in his casual fit and his hair speaks volumes.

What you would give to run your fingers through those waves. Following him through his bustling apartment is already giving you the shivers, so what would a sudden touch feel like? A burst of fire?

“I’ll take those,” he instructs, taking the bags from you and pulling everything out with crinkles. When he sees a certain bag, his blinks make you giggle.

It’s a specific chip he likes, recently divulged during a long night of learning things about one another—like favorite foods, and how fast or slow he likes you riding.

So of course you threw it in your basket before heading over.

Commentators make conversation on the television as you shrug, “Don’t ask me, I dunno how those got in there.”

God, that smile always makes you melt. And he proceeds to turn you into mush as he shows gratitude under his breath,

“Thanks, doll.”

“Seriously, I think they just handed me those,” you joke, trying your best to not do any of the million and three things you want to. “Said I was cute or something.”

His laugh is immediate. But it’s shoved away by cheers and yells, and both of you pop out of the kitchen to see what happened on the tv.

Something big must have went down because even Yoongi reacts, scaring you with a delayed reaction,

“Holy shit, what happened? Sorry,” he immediately apologizes at your flinch, putting a daring but comforting hand on your lower back before making his way to the group.

Did he really just…

He is lucky your brother didn’t see from the other side of the couch.

That was the boldest Yoongi’s ever been and he’s quite literally kissed you in your kitchen.

“Yeji got silver.”

“What? Wait, run it back!”

“I thought she'd take it!"

Chill out. Relax, relax, relax. Everyone else is clearly entranced by whatever happened and no one is even looking at you. Relax.

But damn, that touch meant a lot more than an apology.

Seems like the one vocally surprised at the replay wants to do a million and three things, too.

On your emotional decrescendo, you scuttle back to grab a plastic cup. No use in trying to join them anyway. All you can do for now is get a drink in a kitchen you’re not supposed to know your way around.

Being in his place while your brother is too is quite the experience.

However.

This is absolutely the ideal situation you should be in. You would be the one showing up at Yoongi’s at the invitation of your brother, and it would be a small party where you blend right into the background with minimal interaction.

But of course, the feelings of distance and guilt creep onto your feet, rooting you in place and forcing you to watch from afar.

They’re all checking their phones and pointing at each other—accusingly? Excitedly?—before switching between different games on the tv and yelling at each other.

And while you adore them for being such lovable geeks about this, your eyes cannot stop pinning Yoongi with longing. He’s so radiant doing the most normal things, and his eyes have that sparkle they get when he’s comfortable and at home.

He’s perfect.

Your heart’s warm.

And the cup in your hand never touches your mouth.

—

After you take a seat at his dining table—yet another thing you should not know anything about—you cycle between watching them interact and scrolling on your apps.

At first, you thought you were safe. Staying in the back and letting them have their own time together is good enough for you, especially since you were invited by your brother to stop by.

Really, you were just a courier for food they wanted.

But it was on the way. And it’s a chance to see someone you’ve been missing.

So of course you faked reluctance to come.

The plan was to do exactly this. Hang back until you had to leave, maybe have a bite or two, and try hard not to yearn for Yoongi too long.

Failed step three.

But also now step one, because Shiv decides to twist around to yell, “Hey! Come join us!”

“I’m good over here,” you reply, smiling when he gives you a look.

“Suit yourself!”

One of the guys you recognize but don’t really know gets off the couch to head into the kitchen, asking a question as he opens the fridge.

Wait, he’s asking you something? You?

You leave your chair so you can hear him better, and when he repeats his question you respond.

“Want a drink?”

“Oh, uhh. Sure.”

“Pick your poison. Yoongi doesn’t have much but it’s all strong.”

He’s pretty cute. But then again, all your brother’s friends seem to end up this way. “Water’s fine,” you say with a light smile. “I have to be somewhere else in a minute.”

“Leaving so soon?” He grabs a cup to fill with your choice before handing it over. Leaning against the same counter Yoongi has smushed you against many times, the man takes a sip of his beer. “You just got here.”

“I was told to bring food.”

“Ah, come on. You can stay a bit.”

Uh huh.

Bold choice to be flirting with the company present today.

But you know what to do. Swerve. “What even happened back there? You guys scared the shit outta me.”

From the creases of his eyes, your plan works. “Oh, Yeji? She was supposed to win gold.”

“Feel like she won anyway.”

You both snap your heads over to the kitchen threshold, and your stomach could win a floor routine with the amount of flips it completes. “How come?” You decide to ask, throwing both guys for a loop.

It’s Yoongi that responds first, “She’s trending from a video back in May.”

“Oh, shit, really?”

“Fucking boss. But yeah, none of us got that one right,” his friend responds, which leaves you intrigued.

“Got it right?”

“Mmhmm. We picked her for gold.” Glancing over at Yoongi now crossing between to get to his fridge, he claps his back. “Even this guy bet wrong and he’s usually right.”

“Bet with my heart,” your secret drones as he cracks open a bottle.

“We all did, bro.”

Fucking hell, that move was hotter than it should’ve been.

But now you’re kinda invested in what they’re all doing, so you ask how the whole thing works.

Which leads you to sitting in the living room with everyone three whole minutes later.

“So all of these are events, and I pick what I think happens?”

“Yup!”

“Good luck.”

“Choose quick, the next games start soon.”

Everyone’s eyes are on your paper as you look at the options, with some laughs and comments as you circle your choices.

“Mm, I dunno about that one.”

“Hey, hey, no help.”

You glance at your brother and Yoongi before laughing, “I have no idea what I’m doing but this is fun.”

Their amusement is noticeable.

“If you get any of those right, I’ll be surprised,” your sibling teases, earning a laugh from Yoongi and a counterpoint from Jimin,

“Dark horse?”

“Nah, no chance.”

Park’s shoulders raise as he smirks. “It's all luck, you never know..”

Huffing, you pretend to have confidence for days, just happy that you get to be involved and not hang back like the initial plan. “Yeah, I have masterclass intuition, don’t you know?”

Reactions pop and fizz around you.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Master class, huh..”

“We have a hustler here!”

Your eyes drift to Yoongi’s at Shiv's comment, and you both share a quick, mirth-filled, intimate stare.

This really is a lot more fun already.

Your phone buzzing is the one thing that interrupts, and you immediately feel relieved and saddened by the fact that you have to go.

Finishing up, you hand your brother your picks before standing, heading to the door and saying that you have to leave.

“Wait, already?”

“Tell them you’re busy!”

“I kinda want to,” you admit, feeling a little shy at all the eyes on you. “But we’re watching a movie and tickets are stupid expensive now.”

Yoongi’s already next to you as he waits to let you out. “You okay to drive?”

“Me? Oh, yeah, I just had water.”

“K.”

Why does he have to be so considerate right now? Now you just wanna stay here instead of sit through whatever movie your friends picked!

“Be careful,” your brother comments from the living room, and you wave goodbye.

“I will. Y’all have fun!”

“Okay!”

Facing Yoongi, you wanna do so many things. Hug him, hold him, kiss the shit out of him for his exuding presence in the kitchen earlier.

“Thanks for the food.”

But you obviously can’t.

So you settle for giving him a smile. “Thanks for letting me come over,” you decide to say. “Have fun tonight.”

You get a small lift of his lips in return. “You, too.”

“Yeah.. I’ll try.”

Hearing sounds from outside as you walk to your car, you feel the loneliest imaginable.

But alas.

It’s still not your place to stay.

—

Much, much later, you check your phone after the movie ends and you’re all walking out. While the girls are busy discussing the movie and Taehyung's checking his phone, you're greeted with two very surprising keystrokes.

Yoongi [9:30pm]: :(

He texted that so long ago. Did something happen?

You [10:34pm]: you ok?

All of you talk for just a little longer. When you finally get into your car, you wave goodbye at everyone before looking at your device again, wondering what the heck warranted this rogue of a text.

Yoongi [10:40pm]: Yeah

Yoongi [10:40pm]: Just miss you

Well, fuck.

Heart clenching, your fingers skirt across the screen.

You [10:45pm]: i miss you too.. i didn’t wanna leave😭

Yoongi [10:45pm]: You did though😔

There are plenty of people in the lot. Many people walking past as you wait in your car.

And all you can do is stare at your screen.

Is… Is he drunk?

Yoongi [10:46pm]: So now you have to make it up to me :)

That catches you so off-guard you scoff at your screen through a smile.

You [10:46pm]: don’t be a loser!!

Yoongi [10:46pm]: I’m your loser

Cheeks hurting from your shy as hell grin, you bite your lip to keep your screams from alerting people in the nearby theatre.

How dare this man be this bold when your brother is over there!

If he’s gonna keep this shocking behavior up, who are you to not play into it? You fucking miss him and imagining being there and being yourselves—your true selves—makes your chest clench.

You [10:46pm]: not today you weren’t :\

And now you have to make the drive to a house that no one's occupying.

This is so hard. So, so hard.

But you have to keep going until that one day comes. If it ever does. The day you can do whatever you want with the man you’d fight the universe for? No one will know how to react, and frankly you don’t give a shit about that.

And then you wonder.

Does Yoongi feel the same?

Yoongi [10:48pm]: They're still here

Yoongi [10:48pm]: You down to come back?

Oh.

You are.

Yes, yes, yes you are.

Grateful eyes shut, forehead hitting your steering wheel and heart hurting but still burning lovingly.

There’s no fighting how desperately you want to see him. Especially after seeing him so happy earlier today. Of course you’re going to go. You’d cross mountains even if that meant you’d only get to see him from afar.

Because—and this you know for sure—he would do the same.

...But that doesn't mean you won't prank him just a little bit.

You [10:49pm]: don't bet on it w ur heart again💕

Buzzing with excitement, you start your car and pull out of the lot, calling your brother and letting him know you’re coming back.

“K! You gonna bring food again?”

Normally, you would say fuck no and hang up. But you’re so elated you get to go back, and imagining Yoongi's shock makes you laugh. “Yeah, yeah, what do y’all want?”

“Wait, really? Hey! What do we want for dinner—”

“Wait!” You interject, something pinging into your mind and igniting your curiosity. “How are my picks doing?”

There’s a scuffle on the line, and you can hear your brother complain, Jimin laugh, and a very, very familiar voice answer from your brother’s phone.

Because Yoongi’s voice drones so beautifully through the speaker, and you can’t stop your cackling when he responds,

“Turns out Jimin was right.”

“Damn, I'm the best,” you boast, earning a loud laugh from him and welcoming the way your cheeks hurt with open arms. “Show me that video you were talking about when I get there?”

This is safe to say. It's all you really can say.

There's a little bit of silence before he answers how he can, too.

“Yeah, I will.”

Mm. Maybe Yoongi does feel the same.

“Nice," you whisper. Lips curved up in hope, you keep your voice neutral, “See you soon!”

Again, he responds how he's supposed to. And right after, you both hang up exactly as expected.

For now.

“See you soon.”

—

fin. :)

how did the second 717 drabble go! | join the discord hehe | three tangerines

a/n: love you love you love you. that's really all i can say. but also, here's the video of kim yeji being an absolute badass in may and i cannot stop thinking about her GAHHHHHH and now the guy from turkey?? hello?? this year is so fun and interesting istg!!

#well hello LMAO #bts fic #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #three tangerines #3tan7172 #*ryenfictalk #yoongi fluff #*latest #ryenwrites #3tanextras #yoongi angst

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lazysoulwriter · 3 months ago

Text

standing tall. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you for sending. tall girls supremacy!!!!! (not a tall girl, just find them hot)

---

It started with one photo. Just one.

You and Pedro Pascal at an afterparty — him in a perfectly tailored suit, you towering over him in stilettos and a silk gown, laughing at something he whispered against your ear.

The internet lost its mind. “Tall girl supremacy!!” “Pedro with his goddess? I’m crying??” “He’s so real for this.”

And honestly? You loved every second of it.

You met Pedro on set — a supporting role in his new prestige series. From the very first table read, he made you feel seen. Literally seen.

While most people awkwardly commented on your height or made jokes, Pedro had simply looked up at you, grinned wide, and said, "Finally, someone who doesn’t make me feel like a giant."

It was easy after that. Late-night conversations on set. Inside jokes. Flirty glances over coffee cups. You tried to ignore the way your heart skipped when he laughed. Tried to pretend you didn’t notice the way he always found a reason to stand just a little closer to you.

Of course, Pedro made the first move. (Because you're gorgeous, and he’s not stupid.)

Dating Pedro was a whirlwind of soft affection and quiet understanding.

He loved how you wore heels without hesitation. He loved how you never apologized for taking up space — in a room, in a conversation, in his life.

"You’re statuesque, hermosa," he told you one night, tracing the line of your jaw with reverent fingers. "Like you were carved out of marble just to drive me crazy."

The only thing he didn’t love? Seeing you hesitate when the cameras were around.

Because no matter how confident you were, there was always that tiny voice in your head: Too tall. Too loud. Too much.

Pedro saw it. And he wasn’t having it.

The night of the afterparty, it all came to a head.

You hesitated before stepping onto the red carpet with him, shifting on your towering heels. Pedro caught your hand immediately, pulling you back into his chest.

"Hey," he said, voice low and sure. "You’re not dimming yourself for anyone tonight. You hear me?"

You smiled nervously. "I’m like... two inches taller than you right now."

Pedro chuckled, squeezing your hand. "And you look like a fucking queen. If anything, I should be wearing taller shoes to keep up with you."

You laughed, the tension breaking. He pressed a kiss to your temple, completely ignoring the flashing cameras.

"Let them talk," he murmured. "I’ve got the most beautiful woman in the room on my arm. I'm winning."

And just like that, you stood a little taller.

The next morning, you woke up to thousands of tweets, edits, and fan posts celebrating you both.

Pedro had even reposted one — a photoset of the two of you looking every bit like Hollywood royalty — with the caption: "Love when she looks at me like I hung the moon 🖤"

Cue the internet absolutely combusting.

Later that week, curled up on his couch in sweats and no makeup, you teased him, "You're really not bothered that I’m taller than you sometimes?"

Pedro set down his coffee, turning to you with that fond, devastating smile. "Sweetheart," he said, "I’m old enough to know when I'm blessed. You could be six feet tall or sixty feet tall — I'd still look at you like you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

You hid your burning face in his chest, laughing. He wrapped his arms around you tighter.

"Besides," he added with a wink, "I like having to look up at you. Keeps me humble."

You giggled, feeling weightless in a way you hadn't in a long time. And as he kissed the top of your head, murmuring sweet nothings into your hair, you realized —

Yeah. This was the real win. Not just for the tall girls. But for you. For the love you had found when you finally stopped shrinking yourself.

----

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfics #pp #x reader #pedro pascal fics #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal oneshot #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal blurb #pedro pascal x tall!reader #ficreq

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janovavalen · 1 year ago

Text

✧in her comments || walker scobell x fem!reader

—small warning: the faces that are shows as ‘y/n’ are just for the aesthetic…—

in her comments p.2

yourinstagram

liked by dior.n.goodjohn, leahsavajeffries, yourmom others

yourinstagram finally in vancouver guys OMGG?🧍🏽‍♀️

view all comments

dior.n.goodjohn good now hurry up and get here im bored

→ yourinstagram omg hello? can i get a hi?

user22 OMG WAIT IS Y/N FILMING IN PERCY JACKSON!?🤨🤨🤨

→ user37 WAIT MAYBE??

user11 guys don’t be quick to assume she could just be seeing her friends who r filming percy jackson…

_xochitl.gomez NOOO COME BACK I MISS YOU ALREADY😭😭😭

→ yourinstagram I MISS YOU TOO BABY I WAS LITERALLY GONNA CRY ON THE PLANE

→ user77 xochitl and y/n are so adorable 😭

jennaortega miss you already, have fun!

→ user44 dude jenna and y/n being friends is insane when did that even happen

yourinstagram

liked by jennaortega, dior.n.goodjohn, yourmom, and others

yourinstagram at the hotel!

view all comments

user222 y/n listening to sade is honestly a vibe, she’s literally wife material

→ yourinstagram yall flatter me sm🤭

user11 the messy get ready aesthetic is so real😭

→ yourinstagram i really be making messes like they get on the floor too

dior.n.goodjohn girl ik ur not making a mess in that hotel room already…

→ yourinstagram …i’m getting ready.

yourmom make sure you clean that up, AND BE SAFE!

→ yourinstagram i will‼️

user0 y/n’s mom caring for her over insta comments is adorable omg I WISH MY MOM DID THIS

user33 literally jealous☹️

dior.n.goodjohn

liked by yourinstagram, iamcharliebushnell, leahavajeffries and others

view all comments

iamcharliebushnell those are my shoes?🦼

→ dior.n.goodjohn you can share

→ yourinstagram sharing is caring🤲🏽

→ iamcharliebushnell OHH so when i asked for your food you threw paper at me..riiiight😒

user77 DID Y/N, CHARLIE AND DIOR JUST COMMENT ALL TOGETHER??

user2 nah guys i think y/n is filming in percy jackson…idc what yall say this is official

user66 nah bc ik something was going on when y/n posted she was flying to vancouver 😗🤲🏽

used82 THIS is insane and i’m so here for it all

leahavajeffries so beautifullll

→ dior.n.goodjohn AWH TYY<3

user01 throwing paper is so real when it comes to food‼️

yourinstagram

liked by walker.scobell, dior.n.goodjohn, leahavajeffries and others

yourinstagram these yellow pants are probably my fav by far, thanks walker for letting me hold your dog<3

view all comments

walker.scobell your welcome😭

user81 IF Y/N IS HOLDING WALKERS DOG AND WALKER JUST LIKED THE POST THEY DEFINITELY MET!!!

user11 i can practically smell the shipping edits through my phone right now

user68 guysss let two opposite genders be just friends they don’t have to be dating 😭

jennaortega is thought you said you’ll never come in a three mile radius of a chihuahua

→ yourinstagram just spill all my secrets it’s okay

dior.n.goodjohn my beautiful girll 💛

→ yourinstagram KISSES KISSES KISSES!

user19 their friendship is something i live for

iamcharliebushnell you wanted my sandwich so bad you took a pic

→ yourinstagram i meannnn…you can make one for me if you want i don’t mind at all🤲🏽🤭

walker.scobell

liked by iamcharliebushnell, leahavajeffries, aryansimhadri, yourinstagram and others

walker.scobell y/n recommended i wear blue striped shirts to embody percy what do you guys think?

view all comments

yourinstagram if you guys disagree with the blue shirts BURN IN HELL—IM JOKING OMG IM JOKING

→ walker.scobell Y/N YOU CANT SAY THAT ON HERE YOUR GONNA GET US IN TROUBLE

→ yourinstagram IM SORRY IM SORRY OMGGG😭😭😭

user22 y/n forgetting she’s like thirty million famous on insta and on nonstop movies is so comforting

user110 literally living for the walker and y/n duo hello?

user60 love them sm, LOVE THE BLUE SHIRT WLAKER KEEP IT ON KEEP IT ON

leahavajeffries guys walker listens to y/n regardless

→ walker.scobell leah it’s okay…you don’t have to act like annabeth anymore we’re off set

→ leahavajeffries this is me on a daily 😭!?

→aryansimhardi it’s true

→ yourinstagram literally rolling in the deep

→ argansimhardi STOP

user45 THEY KNOW GUYS THEY KNOW

user71 THATS INSANE Y/N OMGGGG😭😭

user51 GTFO OF HEREEEE AHAHAHAH

leahavajeffries

liked by yourinstagram, walker.scobell, dior.n.goodjohn, aryansamhardi and others

leahavajeffries y/n let me try her ice cream it was mid

view all comments

yourinstagram that’ll be the last time you take anything from me…food wise

→ leahavajeffries IM SORRY BUT WHAT? U ADDED TWO SEPARATE THINGS ON TOP OF ONE ANOTHER LIKE NO

→ yourinstagram last time.

walker.scobell i thought it was good?

→ yourinstagram thank you walker<3

→ iamcharliebushnell simp bro..

user17 THEY’RE SO CUTE?

user210 walker backing up that y/n’s ice cream combination to say it’s good was so cute to me idk why😭?!

dior.n.goodjohn see? i’m not the only one saying you guys are cute?!

→ walker.scobell i mean🤷🏼

→ user710 DIOR ALREADY SHIPS, ITS OFFICIAL AND WALKER NOT DENYING IS OMGGGGGGG

user619 WALKER DIDN’T DENY IT GUYS I REPORT HE DIDN’T DENY IT

user373 EVERY ONE STAY CALM

jennaortega y/n you’ve got some explaining to do🤨

→ yourinstagram WHAT?😭😭😭

yourinstagram

liked by walker.scobell, jennaortega, leahavajeffries, iamcharliebushnell , yourmom and others

yourinstagram walker wanted to be posted soo @ walker.scobell are you happy now? also thanks for dinner<3

view all comments

walker.scobell so happy 🤭

→ yourinstagram bro😭😭

dior.n.goodjohn THATS WHY YOU DITCHED ME AT THE HOTEL? u went to dinner with walker instead of me☹️!?

→ yourinstagram IM SORRY I THOUGHT YOU KNEW? — conrad fisher

→ dior.n.goodjohn not the time to be REFERENCING TSITP

iamcharliebushnell the ship is almost sailing guys 🏂

leahavajeffries they’re literally always taking pics of each other

mckennagraceful WHATTTTT

aryansimhadri guys literally help they are with me rn and they’re laughing so loud at a cat vid.

_xochitl.gomez Y/N AND WALKER WHAT? BRO BRO BRO BRO

user623 WHAT DID WE SAYYYY WHAT DID WE SAYYYYYY WERE RIGHT WE WERE RIGHTTT

user80 walker reminds me of a clingy pet the way he’s slapping y/n’s face like that😭

user100 HELP Y/N SHES BEING SLAPPED BY WALKER😭😭😭

user103 THEYRE SO CUTE I KNEW IT

user71 MAKING EDITS RN

dior.n.goodjohn

liked by walker.scobell, yourinstagram, leahavajeffries, iamcharliebushnell and others

dior.n.goodjohn i cannot express how much i love taking 05’s of everyone

view all comments

yourinstagram i’m glad u didn’t post the one of me sleeping bro.

→ dior.n.goodjohn never do u dirt like that<3

iamcharliebushnell she never can take mine bc i slap her phone she knows better — luke c.

→ dior.n.goodjohn CORNY AHHHHH

→ yourinstagram charlie that wasn’t it im sorry to have to inform you that your plate has been stolen.

walker.scobell bro send the one of y/n 🤲🏻

user148 WALKER WANTING Y/N’S PICS AWH

User189 yall get handed a snack and turn it into a meal😭

user1047 lowkey living for walker and y/n and the percy jackson family<3

_xochitl.gomez they’re all too cute im ngl

→yourinstagram YOUR CUTER

yourinstagram

liked by walker.scobell, leahavajeffries, yourmom, iamcharliebushnell and others

yourinstagram literally filming and i fell in dirt. walker gave me his jacket tho to it’s okay

view all comments

dior.n.goodjohn she fell so hard that her shoe half broke guys…

→ yourinstagram ALRIGHT ALRIGHT CALM DOWN

walker.scobell it’s okay y/n we can get more shoes tmr

→yourinstagram u better wake up too

user391 them going to the mall where i live while im at school is killing me

user616 they’re too cute, (shipname) for life

iamcharliebushnell I WANA GO?

→ aryansimhadri ME TOO!?!?

→ leahavajeffries SAME HERE

→ walker.scobell 🧍🏼…

user637 them tagging along when walker wanted to be alone with y/n is hilarious

yourinstagram

liked by walker.scobell, aryansimhadri, leahavajeffries and others

yourinstagram they took my phone SHOUT OUT TO ARYAN’S DAD BRUH😭

view all comments

leahavajeffries i wish i was there omg 😭

→ yourinstagram I WISH YOU WERE HERE TOO!

aryansimhadri my dad scared me so bad

walker.scobell who are these handsome men in your phone!?

user637 they’re too cute ALL OF THEM

user111 aryan turning around so fast is literally me

user7191 jealous ashhhh

#percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy pjo #grover underwood #percy series #walker scobell #aryansimhardi #leahavajeffries #dior goodjohn #charlie bushnell #jenna ortega #xochitl gomez #mckenna grace #social media #social media au

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oimitocat · 9 months ago

Text

BELOVED | OS

lee minho x m!reader

angst + breaking up & getting back together + fluff + crying + drunk minho + idol! au

a/n: loved writing this. i love writing for minho. also— s/n = stage name. n/n = nickname. i/n = idol name

the headline reads this— “stray kids rapper s/n seen talking to i/n a lot more recently. ever since their collaboration with their hit song ‘sing to me’ fans have seen them interact every show or-“

minho stops reading. he doesn’t want to read more. his mind is already working, y/n indeed has been interacting with i/n after their collab. he hasn’t seen anything more than their occasional hello’s or respectful bows, but what are these comments saying?

‘s/n definitely fell in love, like who wouldn’t? i/n is BEAUTIFUL!’

‘s/n once again proving he can pull’

‘the behind the scenes of sing to me was so wholesome!’

‘stop they get so gushy around each other! have you seen how she nervously rubs s/n’s arm when they interact?’

minho’s heart is heavy. genuinely, it seems like you’re taking a liking of i/n.

“y/n and i/n?” chan questions when the younger comes to him about his grievance. he literally didn’t know who else to go to. “minho aren’t you doubting y/n’s love for you?

minho scrunches his nose a bit, “i’m not. i’m just saying everyone is seeing things that i’m not sure about.”

chan drops the beat he’s making and spins around to face minho. he sighs discreetly, “have you talked to y/n about this?”

“yes.” he lies.

chan raises a brow, clearly not believing him. minho doesn’t like that, so he stands up and leaves. chan doesn’t bother with him, if minho doesn’t want to talk he won’t. he simply shakes his head and hopes for the best.

the best turns out to be the worst. two days later images and texts start circulating. it’s hard to decipher whether it’s true or not. to minho, the texts sound exactly like y/n. he hears you talk about your management trying to fix this but you’re too calm about it. it eats away at him. even when you pepper him with “reassuring” kisses, even when you call him to tell him about the latest updates. he doesn’t believe that there really isn’t anything between you and i/n. he finds himself looking at those (edited) pictures and he ends up believing that you two look good together.

better than what he and you would ever be.

after months of being at your place, which had become his as well, he moves his things bit by bit. you don’t notice at first, too drained from all the meetings and gatherings management has made you go through. your too tired to love him correctly. too tired to stay awake during a conversation. he feels abandoned.

when the final statement gets out the public, it says this— “we have come to announce that as much as we appreciate the support fans have given s/n, we ask fans to respect the idol’s wishes. he has no dating contract, but chooses to keep to himself and focus on his music career. s/n is willing to let fans know if he ever does have something to announce. until then, all images or content published to harm the idol’s reputation and career will be taken down and seeing foreseeable action….” minho stops reading.

he’s standing in the kitchen. there’s so many things going through his head. it’s been like that these last couple of weeks. why haven’t you talked to him about it? sure, he doesn’t mention it, but why haven’t you said anything to him?

could it be… true?

“hey, baby,” you chirp happily as you walk through the door.

maybe he’s overreacting. he should apologize and move all his things back.

“where were you at?” he asks as he receives the hug from you.

you always smell so good. he loves being engulfed by your cologne as much as by your big, warm hugs- he shoves you off.

“why do you smell like that?” he stares at you.

“huh? like what?” you question, taken aback by his change in mood. you sniff yourself, unsure of what he’s talking about? “do i smell different?”

“you smell like you have expensive perfume on. not cologne. you only wear cologne.”

you blink, perplexed. “uh, well maybe i/n’s perfume clung onto me? i mean we did hug goodbye before leaving the gathering-“

“gathering? what? why were you two at a gathering?”

“our managers just wanted a clear run down-“

“of what? your love lives? because clearly you two have something going on, right!?”

you look around, unsure of what the hell is happening. “what? no! minho what-“

“so you have been meeting up with her! ugh i’m so stupid! i should have known!” he pulls at his hair, frantic, “your the worst! i really hoped it wasn’t true! a-and you come home fucking smelling like her!?”

“minho-“ you try to reach for him but he steps aside and grabs his things— his phone, his wallet and his keys. yet, he throws his keys at you.

“i’m leaving. you and me are done, y/n. i’m clearly not what you want anyway. she’s pretty, famous, everyone sees it! i was just hoping you didn’t.”

his eyes are glassy. he’s going to cry the second he steps outside your apartment. yet, you can’t do anything. he’s not letting you.

he leaves you alone in your apartment, defeated.

abandoned.

“minho? what’s wrong-“ chan doesn’t finish when minho hugs him and bawls his eyes out.

it’s been years since minho had actually cried like this. he can’t believe what he’s hearing either. y/n? cheating? impossible, just yesterday you were telling me about your anniversary plan.

he stays silent though, soothing minho until the younger finishes crying. he won’t pry. he’ll just hope everything gets better….

“she’s a lot better than me, right hyung?” minho’s soft voice asks.

“hm?”

“is that why? because she’s better?” and he cries again, “i hope so…. he always did deserve better.”

“oh minho….” and he’s back to soothing him.

——

days pass. minho doesn’t answer your calls. he doesn’t even read your texts (he does, he just removed the send read receipts). he doesn’t come out to see you when you come to the dorms and try to talk to him.

at some point, he hears seungmin say “poor y/n.”

poor? why? clearly your living your best life, with i/n. he’s not in the way for your true love. he’s not a bother anymore. he’s not yours anymore.

“ugh,” he sniffles, wiping his nose. why does he keep crying over you?

well, he does know. he loves you. and reading the new articles of you and i/n making a new track for your upcoming album makes him feel even worse. what does she have that he doesn’t? are you happier with her than what you’ve ever been with him?

the spiraling.

he doesn’t want to deal with it anymore. yet, why does he believe your messages? he’s unsure, uncertainty drives him to drink it away.

jisung’s still at the studio. no one is witness to him leaving and taking a cab to your place. he doesn’t know why he’s going. there aren’t tears pouring down his eyes no more. it’s just a constant yearning for you even in his hazy state. he was in the wrong, wasn’t he?

for what? for seeking you out?

for breaking up with you?

for not telling you how he felt regarding everything?

“minho?”

oh. your voice. it’s just as good as he remembers it.

“baby, why are you crying?” you take his hand, “hey, minho? have you been drinking?”

he shakes his head, you place your other hand on his cheek and eye him. he is drunk, because he leans in for kiss. you accept it.

“come on, let’s get you inside.”

“no! what if she sees me-“

“no one but you and the guys are allowed in here.” you say strictly, knowing he’s drunk. “come in,” you bring him inside, careful because he’s stumbling over his own steps.

you tuck him into the couch. you and minho would always keep blankets in the living room in case you two spontaneously had movie or tv nights. so you take a blanket and put it over him after laying him down, he quickly huddles into the couch, curling in on himself. you know exactly what to do in this situation. you make him something warm, something he also did for you when you would come home drunk after a night with friends.

“n/n,” he calls out to you while you’re lost in your own thoughts in the kitchen.

“yes?” you walk over to him, peering over from behind the couch and looking at him.

he doesn’t notice, but he knows you’re listening. “i’m sorry….”

“for?”

“for thinking you cheated. for everything.” he sniffles.

“oh, baby,” you walk around the couch and squat down before him. his eyes are teary, nose stuffy. you kiss his nose, “i forgive you baby, i know you had your reasons, we didn’t talk about it.”

his bottom lip quivers, “can we sleep together?”

“of course baby, when you wake up…”

“there will be soup?”

you nod, “there will be soup…”

348 notes · View notes

nashusglasses · 4 months ago

Note

Hiiii can I request Sylus with 49 “Put on a show for them, baby.” and 11 “You’re fucking hot when you cry.” 🤭

posting this ahead of thursday bc i've kept you waiting long enough!!! here's amateur pornstar sylus AU <3

these prompts are from this list. if you'd like, send me two prompts and a lads man for next week :)

(NSFW, 18+, please read) mentions of subspace, orgasm torture, creampie, urination from oversensitivity

"My precious girl," Sylus croons. He kisses your sweaty hairline. "Where'd all your courage go?"

"Fuck if I know." You can't tell if it's anger or resignation that makes you want to bruise his chest with a hard punch. The rabbit vibrator is still hot from whirring three back-to-back orgasms out of you. "Where are we…?"

"Twelve," he answers.

You almost whine. Was this all your fault? Yes. But that didn't mean you weren't allowed to be pissed off. You'll just edit out all your unnecessary grumbling. An easy fix, especially if the angle of the camera is focused solely on your used pussy.

(You did get a comment on a recent video praising Sylus for his cooing, though. Too low for viewers' ears to pick up actual sentences, but it's the way you melt into him that gets the message across. pleeeeaaaseeeeeeeee don't edit out the part where he talks to u <3, it said. idek what hes saying but he sounds soooo hot!!!)

Sylus soothes your unease with a kiss, tapping the toy still notched inside you. "Want me to take it out?"

"Just—wait," you moan. It's the only thing grounding you to this bed. The floaty feeling in your head isn't enough to overwhelm you entirely, but you're well on your way to surrending your consciousness to the darkest shade of fucked-out. "Can you… kiss me?"

He presses you deeper into the mattress with how hard he gives it to you. His tongue catches your loud exhale, licking taut like he's fiending for your taste. You're breathless. Worn out, muscles already screaming with an ache you'll feel for days. You've only got ten minutes left to beat your record of how many orgasms Sylus can wrench out of you within an hour.

Whether you're conscious by the end of it or not doesn't matter. He'll always take care of you.

Sylus lets up from your kiss, taps the toy again. "Good now?"

You nod, cringing when you feel yourself loosen around nothing as it slides out under his guidance. You don't even need to look down to know that the toy shines, creamed with lube and your own wetness. Sylus twists it around for the camera lens, offering a flexed bicep just to double-up on eye candy.

"Two more, darling," he croons, tossing it far on the bed to clean up later. "Still got it in you?"

He says it loud enough for a tease, but no one else can glean the concern from his eyes. He sees it too, the way you're blinking too slow now. Throat caught with silence because you're thinking too much and not at all at the same time.

"Colour?" He whispers. He cups your face when you close your eyes for too long.

The warmth brings you back, bliss colouring your head into lax satisfaction. "Green."

You think he says good girl, but all your senses clam up when you feel his cock pressing up inside you, whining deep from the heat sparked in your gut. Sylus presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Put on a show for them, baby."

It starts with clenched toes, spasming thighs where he keeps his hands to tuck your knees up. The perfect shot for the wet piston of his cock because he knows you always come the hardest when he's inside you, and you've got the arch of your back to show for it.

Suddenly you can't help but shake with choked laughter, because of course you already feel the build of an orgasm threatening its eruption. "I'm—ha—already—"

"I know, sweetie." Sylus slaps his hips hard just to watch you curl with a gasp. "Let me feel you."

Your chest caves, breaths lost when you watch the way his dick creams at the base, sticky sounds you hope your viewers appreciate. You whine loud, almost too corny with the volume.

"Oh—" Sylus picks up to painful speed, hips a hard threat on your clit and you're throwing your head back— "fuck, oh my God coming—!"

There's thirteen. Nothing slow or careful about it, just a frenzy you squeeze your pussy through and you moan with every pulse. Senses heightened to clarity only an orgasm can help you achieve, and it crashes just as fast when Sylus whistles: "One more?"

You fog over into submission. He takes it from you, leaning up into straighter posture to guarantee harder thrusts you feel into your hair. You come again, writhing from the barrage, eyes pinched with hot tears.

"Oh, my darling." Sylus curls over where you lie limp, pumping through his own orgasm with a deep groan, cum sliding down your ass for a dirty grand finale. You heave with another sob. "My sweet girl. I'm proud of you. And you're fucking hot when you cry."

"Down. Now," you plead, and immediately he coils his arms around your shaking body, shushing you sweetly. "It's—hot…"

"Where?"

"There." You burn. It aches, and Sylus knows immediately.

"Go ahead," he coos. "I'm right here, it's okay."

You squeeze through another wave of tears, hiccuping, and suddenly your pussy is warm, too warm, way too wet, and you weep and mewl and cry as the embarrassment tips you over, the cum drying on your ass washing down with your own dirty heat.

When you finally feel empty, you cry even harder. "Sy-lus—"

"Sh-h." He pets your head. "No more of that. Focus on my voice. I love you with my entire soul. My darling baby, my sweetheart. You did so, so well…"

He kisses your tears away as your mind fades to black.

#love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace #lads #lads sylus #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #lads x you #lads smut #sylus smut #nashusglasses fic

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mikiruie · 7 months ago

Text

𓈒⠀⠀⠀⠀︵︵ ⠀◟ † ◞ ⠀︵︵ㅤ⠀⠀⠀⠀𓈒 ⠀

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ♫₊ ⊹ 𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓷𝔂 𝓽𝓪𝓹𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓻𝔂 : 𝓁𝒶𝓂𝓅 ﾟ。ꪆ୧. 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓴𝓼 𓂃 ˖ ˚◞✧

── HAYATO SUŌ ﹕ 蘇枋隼飛 ┊͙ WIND BREAKER ࿐

𓋜 wbk. masterlist // general masterlist.

premise. you thought it’d take a lot to frazzle hayato suo of all people, but a little downpour during your first date ends up proving you wrong.

content. hayato suō / f!reader. fluff — sfw. somewhat established relationship (first date). 1 petname (sweetheart). suo is taller than reader. suo is in love + a nervous wreck.

word count. 4.1k

soundtrack. rainy tapestry : lamp.

écoute chérie! ᰔ this is a repost from my old bloggie + edited a lil ‹𝟹 @luffysprincess @tetsuskei

19:57

“Attention all park-goers, the fireworks display for tonight is cancelled due to the untimely weather.”

The overhead speakers loudly declare several times to the entirety of the amusement park of the recent development, with a few still turning their heads in confusion at the sudden announcement.

“We’re sorry for the cancellation and we hope to see you again soon. Please make your exit out of the park, and have a great rest of your night."

Suo’s hand is grasped firmly in your own as he leads you out of the designated fireworks viewing zone, in tow behind you both are the several hundreds of other disappointed families making their way out.

“It’s really coming down now . . .” You heard their worried whispers and begruding moans as they hurriedly gathered up their kids, quickly brandishing whatever means they could scrounge up to shield the young children from the rain. Blankets, jackets, umbrellas, bags— whatever was available.

Unclear at first glance in the darkness of the night, rain clouds have already begun to form over the park. Your head cranes up to the sky to take a peak when a couple droplets of water hit the tip of your nose and slopes of your cheeks as light trickles of rain start to shower from above, quickly increasing in intensity at an alarming pace and drenching those who were unfortunately caught in it’s torrential downpour.

Dozens of children can be seen and heard crying into their mother's laps across the viewing area, covered in hastily bought clear plastics ponchos while holding extinguished sparklers in tiny, freezing cold hands.

Some quietly trudge behind their parents in sadness, their sneakers and socks getting soaked by the puddles of water that have begun to form on the ground while they walk while others wail and tug their relatives back towards the grassy clearing, whining and pleading for them to stay behind.

“You’re shivering,” Suo comments, concern lacing his voice. He pulls you closer to him, still walking along briskly as his hand begins to rub up and down your arm. Goosebumps stand to attention atop the surface of your skin underneath your sweatshirt, responding to the sudden change of temperature in the atmosphere.

What was predicted to be a clear, warm spring night ended up being a freezing, rain-filled one instead.

Suo pulls his damp jacket off his shoulders, draping it over your own instead. The scent of his jasmine-scented shampoo and hints of the oolong tea he drank at the café you two visited earlier in the day are immediately recognizable, wafting in the chilly air as you pull the fabric tighter around your figure.

“I’ll be fine,” You insist, still bowing your head lightly in response to his gratitude and trying to ignore the chill that has begun to sneak up your chest underneath your clothes. “Are you sure you’ll be okay, though?”

Suo’s jaw tightens at your question, before responding with a curt “Yeah.” It’s quick and terse, the tone of his voice unbefitting of his character.

“Just keep that on you, okay?” He asks, “Your parents won’t like it if I let you catch a cold.”

Passing by a small girl on the way out whose sitting on a bench crying to her parents about missing the fireworks show, the slight dip in Suo’s usually relaxed expression doesn't go unnoticed by you. His hold on your hand tightens ever so slightly the more saddened families he walks past, the pace of his footsteps quickening with each puddle he unintentionally splashes in.

The water kicks up and onto your socks and shins, a dull chill growing in your lower half each time.

“. . . I'm really sorry,” He manages to speak again after some time pondering in the silence, the exit of the amusement park becoming clearer in the distance with a sigh.

Your head tilts, pulling his jacket’s hoodie up and over your head to shield your neck from the downpour. For a split second, a part of you wonders if he’s apologizing for soaking your shoes.

“For what?”

"I didn't know it'd rain so hard tonight that they'd have to cancel the fireworks display."

You perk up to meet his face, deciding to give him a comforting smile. He reciprocates with a half hearted, polite one of his own— clearly annoyed but not wanting to take it out on you.

The Suo you know would never do something like that anyways.

“I said it’s okay.” You assure him gently, fastening your pace to keep up with his steps. “You couldn't have known this would happened in advance."

It was true, nobody had prepared for this outcome at all. The weather forecast for the night said it would only be a light drizzle; with the park's staff not even being aware of the cancellation until fifteen minutes before the viewing, when they were told to rush out the emergency ponchos and begin handing them out to the guests who were waiting for the fireworks show before one of the staff got on the loud speaker to address the viewers.

“I know, I know,” Suo runs a hand through his hair disheartenedly, eyebrows knitting in frustration when you finally exit the park. He quickly finds and pulls the both of you underneath a nearby overhang to shield you from the ensuing rain, making sure you’re the one closest to the wall despite being more drenched than you are thanks to his jacket.

“It’s just . . . awful that our first date ended up like this.”

Suo’s pristine, cleanly pressed and ironed white shirt is now littered and stained with little specks of rain, wrinkled with splotches of water lining the chest area, and his watch decorated in tiny shimmering droplets that slide off and drop to the ground into larger puddles below your feet.

Both your eyes shift around and towards the entrance, noticing the other families that slowly begin to trickle out group by group, each one just as disappointed as the others before them.

“Hey. Cheer up,” you tease, ripping your gaze away from the sour sight, nudging his shoulder with your own in an attempt to ease the tense atmosphere.

The drenched fabric clings to his muscles, slightly translucent and showcasing his flawless skin underneath as he pulls his jacket tighter around your body in haste.

“Well would you look at that,” You hum while he zips it up for you, it almost feels like he’s becoming one of the parents you saw in the park from earlier. “Mature, calm and collected Hayato Suo— getting all frustrated because of a little drizzle?”

“You know it’s not that,” he rebuffs, out of breath and shaking the wet strands of hair that stick to his cheeks and forehead with a heaving sigh. The crease in his eyebrows becomes more prominent than before, his frustration clearly showing with how he stares angrily at the soaked stone tiles beneath your feet with a huff.

"I just can't believe this,” you hear him mumble underneath his breath, looking up and around at your surroundings when the rain begins to pick up, several families standing around nearby as some are looking at signage for bus routes or getting into their cars in a hurry.

“Our first date, and I've already screwed it up."

Your stare quickly hardens at his self depricating words, feeling sympathetic for the usually put-together man whom you’d never guess could become so bothered by something quite literally out of his control, by nature’s circumstances.

“You’re being too hard on yourself.”

Your eyes flicker to meet his in the darkness as you take his cold face into your hands, where the only light that reveals him to you comes from a lone lamp post just shy of you two, reflected in the curtain of rain that blankets you on all sides.

“You didn't screw this up," you reassure him again, this time more firmly as you stand your ground, doing anything in your power to lighten his dreary disposition. “Stop beating yourself up, Suo. It isn’t going to be the end of the world that a little rain ended up crashing our date, you need to stop worrying yourself to death over this.”

Even in the chaos that surrounds the two of you, your quiet but firm words manage to reach his mind when you notice the way his gaze visibly softens upon seeing the concern your eyes hold for him.

Suo’s shoulders relax, his arms falling to his sides in defeat and fatigue. He looks tired, worn out and disappointed all in the same vein, so you let him rest his head on your shoulder, carding your fingers through his hair and separating the clumps from within while you do so.

“I’m sorry, I feel like I’m getting your clothes even more wet—” he begins to apologize yet again, attempting to pry himself from your hold quickly when you shove him back into your arms with a huff.

“If you say sorry one more time, Suo, I’m going to pinch you.”

For once since the rain had started, Suo lets out an amused chuckle. A genuine one.

“Alright, alright.” He concedes, letting himself rest once again atop your figure. Suo’s a decent amount taller than you, meaning he has to slump a little in order for him to lay his head on your shoulder. You try to stand on your tiptoes in an effort to reduce the distance, straining your legs to try and match his height.

“Is this uncomfortable for you?” You ask him hesitantly, worried that he might strain his neck or back if he keeps this up. He murmurs into your shoulder in response, his words muffled by both the sounds of rain around you and the fluffy material of your sweater.

“I’m alright,” you make out faintly in the silence, and you continue to brush through his wet hair as he takes the time to quietly regain his composure.

You've never seen Suo so frustrated before until now, and over something that he had nothing to do with. For as long as you had known him for, Suo had always been levelheaded no matter the circumstances, being the type of person who doesn't go undeterred when things don't go his way or how he intended.

Hayato Suo doesn’t get bothered at the little things.

Hayato Suo doesn’t get annoyed at the minor inconveniences.

But you can't deny the irritance displayed prominently on his face and in his body language when it's presented right in front of you. The way his knuckles clench and his fingers dig into the soft skin of his palms when he feels the rain beginning to come down harder around you two, bouncing off rocks and soaking into the grass below.

The calm mask that Suo normally wears seems to slip off for a brief moment when with you as he visibly swallows, finally lifting his head up and shoving his hands into the damp pockets of his pants.

He steps back from you, an awkward laugh bubbling it's way up his throat in his attempt to soothe over the situation as he beams down at you.

The smile he gives you doesn't even reach his eyes.

“Ah, I'm sorry things had to turn out like this.” He apologizes again, like he's been doing repeatedly in what only feels like the past fifteen minutes; an attempt to assure you that he genuinely is. He’s much more collected now though, you feel relieved in that aspect at least. "I really am, is there anyway I could make this up to you?"

You shake your head again, mouth pulling into a disgruntled frown. “I told you it's fine, you don't need to keep apologizing for this, Suo.”

“But it's not fine,” he laments, the facade of his effortlessly maintained persona slipping once again as he grimaces when the rain from his hair trickles and drips down onto his face, wiping the raindrops away with the crumpled up sleeve of his shirt.

“I wanted to do something special to end off tonight with you,” he confesses wearily, and you feel your heart sink. His voice is tinged with disappointment, a reflection of his own self-frustration.

He looks away, hoping to avoid eye contact whilst staring off to the paved parking lot beside you two, ashamed of himself. “Someone like you deserves a better first date than . . . this."

You scoff at his statement, huffing as he keeps depricating himself. It’s infuriating, and your words are pointed to embody that. “Suo, what's so bad about this first date, hm?"

Suo’s face morphs into one of startled confusion, stuttering lightly when he turns back to face you. He chuckles unsurely as if you've just told a good joke.

“What do you mean? Do you not see what's happening around us right now?"

He gestures to the still remaining families that surround the entrance of the amusement park nearby, most of the children having calmed down from their earlier states of despair but still appearing to he visibly deflated by the rain and cancellation of the fireworks. Most are preoccupied with a device or toy of their choosing while being shielded from the rain by coats, signage or the strollers of their younger siblings.

Disgruntled parents stand just out of reach trying to figure out the best routes to take home, arguing with the park's staff about refunds for the fireworks show while heckling them about the poor management and lack of communication with the staff and park-goeres.

The chill of the wind can be felt through your soaked clothes, goosebumps rising all over your arms that cause you to shudder. Everything begins to slow down to what seems like a barely moving standstill; anything from outside of your little bubble with Suo being reduced to a snail's pace in your eyes.

The quick movements of those surrounding you become like smear frames in the distance, the raindrops still raging on even more heavily now serving as the only remainder of reality; the only constants being the sounds they make when they fall from the darkened sky up above onto the two of you.

“Does this look like a perfect first date to you?”

Suo’s question snaps you back momentarily, the pace of the world resuming in an instant. He waits for your response; arms crossed over his damp shirt and wearing a skeptical expression on his face that is mixed with something else that you can't quite discern otherwise.

Confusion, frustration, anguish?

Your lips purse in thought for a brief moment, which he promptly takes as his answer as he rambles out another hasty apology before you can even properly respond. “See what I mean? Look, I'm so sorry about all this. I swear, if you let me take you out again next time I can do better—”

“Hayato.”

The sudden use of his first name stuns him into silence as he immediately stops. You stare at him only for a few seconds but they feel like a century, gulping down his dry throat as he waits for your reply. A sense of worry envelops him when you don't respond immediately, uneasiness in his voice when he speaks again.

“Yes?”

You step towards him to fill the space between you two, the feeling of the soaked soles of your shoes slosh around in the puddles underneath making shivers shoot up through the calfs of your legs. Suo’s gaze follows you expectantly, his eyes afraid to leave yours when you reach for his hands from deep inside of his pant pockets.

“What are you—” “Shh.”

They're cold to the touch from the cold rain and wind chills of the night when you hold them in your own, thumb brushing over his dry knuckles and settling into the folds of his palms.

“You were lying about being fine earlier,” you conclude, smoothing your fingers over the grey-blue veins underneath his skin. You press your hands over his, hoping to warm them up with what little body heat you have left.

“I wasn’t lying.” He quips, and you tut lightly. “You could’ve just kept your jacket on, you know.”

“But then you’d be cold if I didn’t give it to you.”

“Do you really think I can’t handle a little rain?”

“What makes you think that I can’t handle some rain myself too?”

This little back and forth of yours is getting nowhere you realize, and you instead shove both of your hands into the pockets of Suo’s jacket he wrapped you in earlier faster than he can oppose to. You feel his hands warming up instantly when combined with yours inside his jacket, the blood that runs through his veins slowly unfreezing as you intertwine your hand with his.

“Well, you know what upsets me?” Suo’s face drops at your words, shock overtaking his face for a moment before you finish your sentence.

“You haven't even asked me about how I felt about the date yet.”

Suo blinks owlishly, his eyebrows unfurrowing as confusion settles into his face again at your response, letting you continue your spiel.

“This whole time you’ve been going on n’ on about how you ruined our date, how you’re so sorry and everything,” the frustration in your voice is evident, and your nails dig lightly into his palms. Suo isn’t bothered by the feeling, instead clasping your hands together further as your voice begins to grow louder in annoyance.

“But if anything, you shouldn’t be saying that— I should be! So, ask me! Ask me, Suo! How did I feel about this supposedly awful date!”

It’s silent for a few beats after your voice trails off, and you’re suddenly reminded of the fact that you’re yelling at your date in a very public location.

Embarrassed, your heart thrums in your chest worriedly, wondering if you’ve accidentally said a few words you shouldn’t have before noticing Suo slowly breaking out into an unsteady laugh, shoulders shaking with mirth as you finally heave a sigh of relief at the fact that the timid smile he shows you this time does reach his eyes.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Suo apologizes for what seems to be the twenty-seventh time in the past hour alone, this time more freely before pulling you in closer by the hip. It’s a lot warmer with your bodies pressed up against each other, and his head settles into the crook of your neck again with a hum.

“What did you think of our date then, hm?"

Suo’s breath feels hot against your skin, a sharp contrast to the chill that circulates in the air around, carried through the rain and wind in it's journey. Bodies swaying blissfully in the darkness, hidden away from the blaring headlights of the cars pulling out of the parking lot underneath the overhang.

Sparkling specks of water drip and fall down around you, pooling into that puddles that have for sure already begun to ruin the bottoms of your shoes. Rainwater has begun to seep through the soles, your socks becoming victim to the nature of your circumstances.

The wet fabrics of your clothing clings to the sides of your figures, the image of Suo collarbone and upperhalf of his chest glazed underneath his shirt teasingly as you try to take a peak at what is hiding underneath.

Suo’s hair is fully drenched, no longer straightened and parted neatly in the middle, clumped and pushed to the side from when he ran his hand through it. Droplets of water drip from his cheekbones and eyelashes in perfect spheres, cascading down the edge of his jawline in a resemblance of tears.

Even when soaked to the core, like a frenzied housecat who got caught in the sudden rain; Suo looks just as handsome as the day you returned his feelings. As beautiful as the day you accepted his confession underneath the cherry blossom trees of the park nearby Furin High School.

Your voice is low, settling into the background sounds of the rainfall. “Well. I think that our date was wonderful," you reassure him yet again, smiling as your fingers dance over the nape of his neck and ghost over the sensitive skin mischievously. “Even without the fireworks."

Suo looks unsatisfied with your answer, confused and beginning to ask you questions in rapid-fire succession like you’re being interrogated for a job offering.

“But the fireworks were the whole reason you came here—” He begins to say, sucking in a cold breath of air, his tone laced with hesitance and uncertainty.

"Aren't you, disappointed . . . ? That you didn't get to see them?"

"No, Suo," you chuckle lightly, shaking your head in exasperation as to how he managed to come to that conclusion in the first place.

Logical, thoughtful and methodical Hayato Suo.

“I didn't come for the fireworks, I came for you.”

As wonderful and flashy as fireworks are, and indeed what could be considered major highlight of a trip for many of the visitors of Makochi’s amusement park, your heart was never dead set on seeing them.

“It was never about the fireworks in the first place.”

Fireworks can be seen anytime and anywhere, but your first date with Suo could never be repeated. Could never be replicated in the same genuine, wonderful, picture-esque way it is now to you.

“It was about you.”

Heat floods his cheeks immediately at your words, so genuine and sweet, dusting them a light shade of red as he smiles in tandem with you. “. . . Well, I'm pretty sure you didn't come here with me to get rained on towards the end of our date, though," he jokes, bringing a hand out of his pocket to cup your cheek. The warmth radiating from your skin defrosts the chill in his palm that grew when he pulled away from your hands almost instantaneously.

“It wasn’t about the fireworks for me either," he confesses slyly, his words piquing your interest.

“Oh?” You egg him on jestingly, prodding at his chest with light pokes that are increasingly exaggerated with each of your words. “What was it about for you, then?”

Suo’s head drops onto your shoulder again in quiet laughter. “Let’s just say this . . .”

His fingers smooth over your jawline tenderly, eyes soft and heart full of love— same as when he first confessed his feelings to you.

Hayato Suo, a man who you never thought could be so smooth before, whispering into your ear, “It was all about wanting to kiss the most beautiful girl underneath the fireworks as the perfect end to our date,” he teases.

“Well, how does that sound?”

“Who said it had to be under the fireworks?” You ask.

“No one,” he shrugs, “But it would've been quite romantic if we had.”

A grin of your own grows on your face immediately, tongue swiping over your lips in anticipation.

“We can . . . still kiss right now, if you want.”

“While we're soaking wet?” He laughs, drawing his face closer to yours while doing so. His hands itch to grab hold of your face and pull you in, to close the minuscule gap between you two, but he holds himself back in fear of overstepping his boundaries.

“Are you sure?”

Suo looks to you for permission, lips barely an inch away from your own. The steady rising and falling of his chest is accentuated by his sopped shirt clinging to his frame, hot breath fogging up in the cool night air.

You nod, without a doubt in your mind, finally connecting the distance between you two. Suo smiles into the kiss, eyes closing in satisfaction while his hands stay planted at your hips, respectfully and never straying away from their hold.

The taste of rainwater is evident on both of your tongues, the two of you giggling as the twinkling sounds of rain and ripples of the puddles flow through the atmosphere around.

Suo’s the first to pull away, hesitating when he chases your lips one final time before reeling his head back to catch his breath.

Even in the darkness, only illuminated by a street lamp several feet away; Suo’s cheeks are rosy with euphoria, eyes crinkling with sparks of happiness flying throughout.

His forehead leans against your own, the wet strands of his hair sticking to his head. The whites of his teeth gleam when he smiles, quietly whispering for your ears to hear only.

“Maybe I should make sure it's raining again when I take you out on our second date, then.”

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#wind breaker x reader #suo x reader #hayato suo x reader #wind breaker fluff #suo fluff #suo hayato #hayato suo #wind breaker imagines #wind breaker #𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝔂 ﹕ 𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 ৻ꪆ #ウインドブレイカー * ( wbk )

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