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celestie0 · 10 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | oneshot angst [18+]

title. let me be free of you

He would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

ᰔ pairing. friends to strangers au - best friend!gojo x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru, your love of a lifetime, tells you he’s engaged to another woman. inspired by the novel & netflix series “one day” created by david nicholls

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, angst, mentions of sex/explicit content, coming of age themes, reader & gojo are in their 30s, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, cheating, lots of mutual pining & longing, bittersweet ending

ᰔ word count. 4.8k

a/n. hellooo! i've had this finished in my wips folder for a long time but never got around to posting it sooo just wanted to let it see the light of day haha. hope you enjoyyy <33

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“I’m engaged.”

The words leave Gojo’s lips as much less of a confession and more like a blabber, like a toddler desperate to keep conversation going in the face of a disinterested adult. Wasn’t how he expected to share the news of a lifetime to the love of his lifetime, but he hopes it breaks your heart to hear it.

He watches your eyebrows flatten from the crease that was bothering them before, and then slowly raise into soft arches above your eyes–those damn beautiful eyes that, even when they twinkle with hurt, still make his heart skip a beat in his chest.

He recalls for a moment the night the two of you met, drunk and dizzy from drinking out of a shared bottle of Prosecco, which only had half of the liquor left in it to start when he had first found it bleeding out to dry on the grassy lawn at the front of your university. It was graduation night, the last day to celebrate finishing four years of hell, and he had nothing to his name other than a rolled up diploma shoved in the pocket of his suit pants and the charm left in the youth of his smile. He wanted to spend the night with Aiko Rei, which was not a unique desire as most men on campus did, and he had a fair shot of getting into bed with her just like all those times before. But instead he was sitting at the top of a staircase inside the campus’s English literature building, making history in the crisp year of 1986 by being the first man of the robust age of twenty-three to pass up sex with the school’s lady heartthrob for–well, conversation with a sort of ditsy girl that he just met a half hour ago.

“What do you plan to do with your life?” he heard you ask him, a hard enough question to stomach when one is sober, and an impossible question to stomach when one is already trying not to puke flat Prosecco.

“Pardon?” he asked, in hopes to dissuade you from the question. In hopes that you’d get the hint. But you don’t. And he’d soon learn throughout the years of your friendship to come that you never did.

“Your life!” you exclaim, “we’re graduates now! What do you want to do with it?” You pat harshly at his thigh, closer to his groin than to his pocket, most likely because you’re tipsy too, but he realizes you’re referring to the rolled up paper protruding at the pocket.

Truthfully, Gojo had never thought much about what he wanted to do after graduation. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d make it this far. Not once since he got here, not once since he flunked out of first-year history, not once since his father passed away during his third-year final examinations, and most certainly not after he got caught having “unethical affairs” with his communications professor just two months ago. And yet the esteemed board of scholars decided he was fit for a diploma anyway, and now he’s answering to, effectively, a stranger what he plans to do with said piece of paper.

“I don’t know,” he says to you, “I’ll do whatever.”

Gojo Satoru could get by with doing whatever. He was good at everything he did. But his teachers and mentors and his own father would always warn him– son, it’s better to be an expert at one than a half-assed show-off in all. Well, they wouldn’t use the expletives, but that’s what it had sounded like in his head.

His dad would’ve liked you. He was always telling him to find a girl that challenges him, asks him the right questions, and pushes him to become a better man, the kind of woman his mother was to his father. Much opposed to the airheaded girls of Gojo’s college campus he would sneak into the house and forget to shoo off before sunrise, an occurrence that happened enough times for the respect in his father’s eyes to dwindle with each woman he’d watch his son dispel from their residence. Until eventually, Gojo started paying rent as punishment.

So, twenty-three year old Gojo, what do you plan to do with your life? Or do you have no idea of anything that extends beyond where you are right now, sitting across this strange girl you’ve just met on the death of your educational youth, at the top of a stairwell lined with passed out, drunk newly grads at nearly 4 in the morning? Right now, he’s eyeing the hem of your dress, the way it’s ridden up slightly but the mesh overskirt still tickles the skin of your thigh. He’s certainly able to picture what’s beyond that fabric, and maybe imagine the color of your panties, but what’s to come for his life? No. As previously mentioned, he never thought he’d get this far.

Gojo is thirty-four now, eleven years since that night the two of you met. And he sits next to you on a garden bench under a pitch black sky with stars speckled across, but only dimly visible.

It’s been years since he’s seen you. You two had a “falling out” at the cusp of thirty, almost a decade of friendship fizzled away, because of his selfish actions. He couldn’t let you go, but he couldn’t want you the way you wanted him either. He didn’t feel like he deserved to have you. You were too good for him, and he knew it. So he wasted a decade chasing after other women, and in return, he lost the one he knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.

It’s the night of your college roommate‘s wedding, all gathered here today to celebrate their love, and he knew he’d run into you here. You were the bride’s maiden of honor, and you looked beautiful. With your hair half tied up, a pretty clip twinkling with every movement of your head, and with strands falling down over the smooth curve of your neck, bare skin of your chest tightly covered by the nude fabric of your dress. He was fully lusting after you, and he has been all night, the picture of beauty and grace, and it was wrong. Because, again, he’s–

“You’re engaged?” you finally break through his thoughts, break through the trance that he was lost in by the sea of your eyes. Forever pulling him in like you were a wicked siren for his soul, when all you’ve ever wanted from him was his love.

He shifts a little, the thick fabric of his navy blue suit stretching with the movement as he fidgets with his hands in his lap. He’s sitting close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the contrast of his broad masculinity so evident against the feminine curve of your bare arm, the thin strap holding up your dress threatening to fall down the hill. His thumb twitches, because he wants to pull it back up into place for you like a gentleman, but he’s not sure if that’s what his hand would actually do. Because all he really wants to do is peel the dress off of you.

“Yes,” he says, still tantalized by the glow of your skin under pale moonlight, “engaged.”

“To be married?”

“Well, what other kind of engaged is there?”

“You’re not allowed to get married.”

He snorts. “Says who?”

“Says me!” you exclaim, sitting up straighter, "I turn my back for one moment, and you've gone an got engaged? You're awful!" The strap of your dress falls down over your shoulder, his eyes immediately darting to it. He sees you pull the strap up back into place, and a flit of his eyes to your face reveals to him the slight dusting of an embarrassed pink to your cheeks.

There’s a silence that settles between the two of you. Distant commotion is heard, likely from the wedding venue as people engage in reception activities and dances and cheers, while the two of you remain in this garden escape, the wall of primly trimmed bushes sheltering you two from having to pretend to be people you’re not amongst a crowd.

“Aiko…” he hears you say beside him, and although the name of the woman that has rolled off your tongue is the name of the woman he’s supposed to love, it only makes him feel sick to his stomach to hear you say her name. “She seems lovely.”

“She is,” is all he can manage to say. And he also knows this seemingly lovely woman is probably drunk off her face back at the reception hall, giggling at all the men that approach her from the sight of her flushed face, and he should feel some sort of jealousy or possessiveness over that, but he can’t seem to muster any. Unlike the grit he had to his jaw an hour ago when he saw you dancing with a man he heard you introduce to your friends as just an “old friend” of yours from college. He felt more anger in that moment than he’d ever felt watching his soon-to-be-wife getting talked up to by the sleazy men twice her age.

“She must be very rich,” you say. “She looks it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Her family’s very well off,” Gojo says.

“So will you become rich too?” you ask him, “when you marry her.”

His eyes flit to the sky briefly. “Doubt it.”

“How come?”

“The old man doesn’t like me very much. I imagine he’ll cut ties after the wedding.”

“Her father?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“Well. I guess it’s not every father’s dream to find out his prim and proper daughter’s been knocked up by the good-for-nothing boyfriend he’s been threatening her to say good riddance to for months now.”

The silence finds the two of you again, but this time haunting and gutting. That was a blabber, if anything. So nonchalantly said, with no emotion or spirit, to the one person in this world who he’s always felt like he can be himself around.

“She’s pregnant?” you say beside him, voice breaking slightly at the end, and he can’t bear to look at you for some reason. Some sort of admission of guilt, but what for? What exactly was he repenting for?

He lets out a small laugh, like the absurdity of the situation finds him all the same. “Yeah.”

“That–” you start, stiff next to him, before he feels the tension relax but only rigidly, “that’s wonderful, Satoru. I’m–...I’m really happy for you.” You turn your torso to wrap your arms around him, and his lips brush the sweet skin on your forehead as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wraps one arm around you, a sort of friendly hug as he rubs the skin of your arm soothingly, and his heart aches from the emptiness when you release him.

“Wow…” you say, looking up at him with pretty eyes, eyelashes fluttering as you blink rapidly to process the information, and he wonders if you really are happy for him. He doesn’t want you to be. He wants you to be furious, to tell him off for getting another woman pregnant after leading you on for so many years, maybe he wants you to slap him, or grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until all he sees is a million of you through dizzy vision like some paradise. He wants you to be mad, because it’d mean that you still care. It’d mean that you still think there’s something here to salvage between the two of you.

But he’s engaged. And he’s having a baby. What was more final than that?

“So…are you marrying her because of–”

“The wedding is in four weeks,” he cuts you off, but he knows the statement answers your question regardless.

“Satoru…”

He leans off to the side a little to reach into the pocket of his suit pants, and he pulls out what is now a slightly bent envelope and he hands it to you. You take it from him gently, holding it weakly like it was something beyond you. Like something distant and foreign and strange. When all it was, is a wedding invitation.

“Listen…” he starts.

He sees your eyes dazed as you stare at the lettering on the outside of the envelope.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, y/n. And I know the last time we saw each other was–” Hostile. Angry. Disappointing. Ended with you cussing him out on the street and then saying you never want to see him again. “...not ideal, but I still care a lot about you, and, uh, so, it would mean a lot to me if you came to the wedding.” For fucks sake, even on the brink of losing you forever, he still can’t find the right words to say. “Aiko, she–” He tastes bitter in his mouth, “well, I’ve told her a lot about you, and she’d really love it if you came as well.”

You’re silent as you gently peel back the opening of the letter and then pull out the small card stock invitation. The gold printed letters shine as you inspect it, fingers tracing the patterns of words that profess the Rei family’s intent to wed their daughter to Gojo Satoru. Your Gojo Satoru. Your best friend in this whole wide world. He watches your eyes carefully, but he can’t discern what he finds in them.

“Gojo Satoru…” you drone off, “to be wed. And to be a father.” Years of late night talks of the future, of kids and Christmas and love, with reality seemingly sly on the horizon only to have crept up so abruptly. It was pinched between your fingers right now. That reality.

His shoulders sulk slightly. And when you look up at him again, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.

“I can’t come to this,” you whisper, “and you know that, Satoru.”

His heart breaks. A physical pain that twists in his chest so tight at just the sight of seeing you sad. Sad again over the actions of his own. They say you always hurt the one you love, and he had always wondered what sort of evil person would do such a thing, only to find out he’s only ever hurt you this entire time.

He should’ve kissed you that night the two of you met at graduation. Should’ve shut you up and all your existential questions by pinning you to a wall and pressing his lips against yours. He should’ve taken you to bed and fucked you, and then held you in his arms until you woke up in the morning. Should’ve listened to you talk his ear off about how he’s just like all the other guys, who pretend to care, but only want to have sex and then never to speak to the girl ever again. And he should’ve laid there in bed, nose nuzzled in your hair, taking all the scolding despite having no intent to ever leave you.

Instead, he wasted so much time. Sure, he had your friendship. His best friend for years, but the two of you could’ve been something more. Could’ve spent the years together, instead of writing stained letters or leaving messages on answering machines while the two of you were miles away. He could’ve been waking up with you every morning with the scent of your shampoo on his sheets, instead of clinging to pillows in foreign motel rooms. He could’ve been engaged to you, and he could be whispering sweet nothings in your ear of how much he wishes the baby will have your eyes.

But his thoughts are lost in fantasy. He is what he’s done, nothing more and nothing less. His eyes fall to your lap, the invitation still held loosely in your hand, and then a droplet of water falls onto it.

“I–” you stutter, wiping at the tears spilling down your cheeks with a hesitant swipe of your hand, “I need to go.”

You stand up off the bench and he quickly stands up with you, grabbing your wrist to keep you here with him, and you halt but only with you facing away from him. He yanks at your wrist harshly, pulling you into him so his chest is flush to your back, his arms wrapping strongly around you and his nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in greedily like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.

“Satoru–” you gasp, your hands immediately grabbing at his forearms that are tightly crossed across your collarbone. “What are you doing–”

“Say it,” he whispers, gruff and impatient, “tell me to do it, and I will.”

“T-Tell you to do what?” you stutter, struggling a little in his hold but he only holds you tighter.

“Tell me to leave her, and I will,” he says, his lips brushing at your ear now, the scent of your perfume maddening to his senses, and one of his hands slowly trails down and the knuckle of his thumb presses into the softness of your breast.

You squirm, a small and soft moan leaving your lips.

“T–” you breathe in harshly, “this is wrong.”

“I don’t care,” he growls, arms sliding lower to hold you under your breasts, so tightly that your heels lift off the ground. “Just say the word, and I’ll leave everything behind for you. I promise,” he breathes in deep, the desperation making his head hazy, “that I’ll do things right this time. Just you and me–”

“You’re going to be a father,” you remind him, and he shuts his eyes closed tightly, the responsibility of the word bearing on his shoulders but his desire for you overshadows every shred of sense or dignity or integrity he has left in him, because he felt like he was losing his mind after wanting you for years just to never have you.

He turns you around in his hold so that you face him, and he crashes his lips to yours, muffling the surprised mmf! that dies in your throat in surprise as his hands hold your waist, relishing in the feeling of satin fabric pulled taut over your curves.

Forbidden, yet a taste that he’ll risk because there was no curse that was worse than the fate of having to pine after you for years.

Ah.

But.

But it was all fantasy, this moment in his head, where he takes you on the freshly cut grass of this garden.

Something that only briefly flashes through his mind as his warm hand wraps around your wrist, from where he was still seated on the stone bench, and not on his feet holding you like he dreamed for. Like he longed for.

He feels the weight of his arm so heavily, as if it weren’t his own, and he slowly lets go of your wrist.

When he looks up at you, there’s longing in your eyes. A hurt that he didn’t even know he was capable of causing, just for him to realize that you’ve always looked at him that way, and he’s never been keen enough to know it until now. He grew up too late. He took too long.

His phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches in for it, then flips it open and sees his soon-to-be-wife’s name on it. He feels nothing at the sight.

“Hello?” he speaks into the device when he holds it to his ear, and he sees you take a couple steps away, rubbing anxiously at your elbow as you pretend to busy yourself with the study of the lamp. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. I, uh, I’m just with a friend. A couple of friends, actually. We’re having drinks by the pond. Mhm. Yes. I will. Okay, see you soon. I—…I love you too. Bye.” And then he snaps the phone shut.

“Heading back?” he hears you ask.

He stands. “I’ve got to.”

“Okay.”

You two walk down the shrubbery of the garden that was arranged like a maze, him a few paces behind you, and he watches the delicate line of your posture as your hand brushes against the green walls of foliage that encase the two of you, the feeling of wanting to touch you and hold you almost suffocating.

“Hey,” he calls out to you, and he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. You turn around immediately to face him, like his voice was permission to do so.

“Yes?” you ask.

He blinks up at the starry sky, and then looks at you again. The soft cast of distant warm lighting falls over your face, making you appear like a renaissance painting, similar to those that you would point out to him at museums when you two would see each other on holiday back in your early twenties. He could never understand the charm of those paintings, no matter how many times you tried to explain it to him, but seeing you in this light right now, he finally understands the beauty that you saw.

“I’m, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, and then scoffs out a small laugh, “I’m a little drunk right now, but–” He stops himself. What was he trying to say? And was it of conscious mind? “I just need to tell you that…I really regret…not speaking to you. I mean, for letting the silence drag on for years. You’re my–...my best friend. We’re a pair, you know? The two of us. For years, people would ask me where you were. And why they haven’t seen us together at all recently. And it was hard to admit that we hadn’t spoken in years.”

You take the smallest of steps towards him, and look up at him with empty eyes.

“What I’m trying to say is, is that, well,” he finds himself tripping over his words, “I miss you. And I miss our friendship. And–...I miss having you around.” He glances down at his shoes, polished and reflecting off the moonlight directly above him. He rocks back and forth on his heels ever so slightly. “I know you said that I piss you off to lengths unimaginable to my tiny pea-sized brain, but I can’t help myself, y/n,” he admits, “I think you and I, we’re just meant to always be. In some how, or some way…”

You purse your lips together, gaze shifting lower to eye at the silk of his tie.

“Can we be friends again?” he asks, the words feeling juvenile on his tongue. Like whispered apologies between children on a playground after shoving one another onto wooden chips, except the wounds he’s left on you run much deeper than a superficial scrape.

You blink slowly, tilting your head up at him. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

You wipe your palm off on the satin of your dress. “I missed you too, you know.”

His eyes widened slightly.

Your hand finds its way up your arm, until you weakly cup your elbow with your palm and look off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. “There were so many years where I thought that there was something between us. And maybe I was foolish for thinking that way, that you would ever see me that way–”

“y/n,” he tries to interrupt you.

“But…the pain of not having you the way I wanted to was much less worse than the pain of not having you at all,” you say, your gaze finally shifting towards him. “But, the thing is, I needed to feel that pain to get over you. I had to.”

His heart stills at those words.

You glance down at the ground now. “I missed being able to tell you things. To laugh, and cry, and argue. I miss humbling your stupid ego. I miss being able to call you at any time, knowing you’d pick up when I needed you.”

His heart aches so much he wants to reach into his chest and hold it.

“The thing is,” you continue, “you would’ve been the first person I would’ve run to to tell them that I lost my best friend.” There were tears shining in your eyes. “But what could I do when you were the one that I had lost? Who could I have turned to then?”

He lets out a shaky breath, and in a swift motion, his arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you to him in an embrace.

You’re stiff in his hold, mechanical and rigid, so contrary to the soft tears you leave behind on the fabric of his sleeve, but slowly and surely, you warm and thaw. Your hands slide up past his shoulders, linking behind his neck. And his head drops to the curve of your neck, swaying you with him slowly as if it were a first dance.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hurting you.”

You breathe out slowly. “Just let me go, Satoru. Let me be free. Let me be free of you.”

He feels the air knock out of his lungs, and the two of you slowly pull your heads away from the embrace to look at one another, although your hands still find a place on his shoulders, and he still holds you close to him by a delicate hold of your waist.

He wonders if in another life, you two were happy. He wonders if he could ever take back all the decisions he made, and start all over again. On that day the two of you met on that staircase in the west wing of the literature building, he would make a different choice. If he could, he would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

“It’s time for me to go,” you whisper, eyes darting across the features of his face, studying them but with a familiarity that only you know, because you held his entire life in your palm. Your gaze meets his again, faces just inches apart, and the sweet curl of your eyelashes makes him weak in the knees. “It’s time.”

He nods slowly, his own eyes studying your face as well, except it looks foreign to him now.

It’s all been said and done. There was nothing he could do to right the wrongs, or undo all the pain. He was to be a father now, and his duties were now towards his wife and unborn child. And no longer to the woman he holds in his arms, one he’s sure he will never stop loving for as long as he lives.

It’s a sweet moment, the two of you gazing at one another. You look so pretty from this angle, looking up at him with the smallest tilt to your head and round searching eyes. His head subconsciously dips down towards yours in the second that he glances at your lips, but he stops himself. And when you make no move to create distance, he finds himself closing it again, until his lips brush against yours ever so softly. And then he captures them in a kiss, firm and unmistaken, finding solace in the way your lips move against his too, unsure yet passionately at the same time. Your fingers ever so slightly dig into his shoulders while his thumbs soothe at the skin of your waist, the two of you savoring the last moments of a kiss that’ll be the sweetest one you’ll ever know.

You pull away first, a small puff of air leaving your lips as you glance downwards. He rests his forehead against yours, never once looking away from your face. And you both breathe slowly, the soul of the chaste kiss entirely vanishing into the air along with all the hope that the two of you had left to make anything of the way you feel about one another. It was a kiss that almost disqualified any level of sin or guilt or wrong, because it was like one you two owed each other, after years of familiarity and longing. It was the goodbye that the two of you deserved.

His hands slowly let go of your waist, and he takes a step back away from you, softly clearing his throat. The distance feels like a galaxy away, and he briefly runs his thumb along his bottom lip, because the ghostly feeling of your lips on his still remains.

“Shall we head back?” you ask him, prim and proper in posture and eyes widened in a formal gaze.

His lips are parted, and he finds that he’s panting slightly. And then he slowly nods his head. “Yes.”

[the end]

a/n. i am sooooo freaking obsessed w "one day" by david nicholls and really wanted to write something inspired by it!! the book literally ripped my heart out and stomped on it like there were so many scenes where i just longingly stared out the window because of how shattering it was but dear god i really enjoyed it, and the show was also so dfkjhsfkhs i had sm feels watching it. so yea this was fun to write!! i hope you enjoyedd n thanks so much for reading :)

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3K notes · View notes

jj-one · 15 days ago

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r/offmychest: gooning to your friend’s/roommate’s girlfriend is a DISEASE !

this is smut, do not interact if under 18 !

pairing: skz x fem!reader genre/tags: smut, crack(?), perv!skz, they’re all losers in this tbh, chan is aged up to 31 bc that’s #hot, lots of gooning (obvi), obsessive thoughts, questionable morals, jealousy, breeding kink, just overall weirdo behavior words: 5.5k

[ note. ] — this is what i write instead of working on my wips LMAO, i’ve always wanted to do a reddit-style fic so this was sm fun to make :3 lmk what y’all think guys, i’m kinda nervous to post this aghhh </3 (i also kinda wanna make a part 2 of this where reader finds out what they’ve been doing but we’ll see lol)

u/Gnab0325 • posted 2h ago

She’s my best friend’s girl and I edge for hours to the thought of breeding her. I think I’ve broken my brain.

I shouldn’t want her. I know that. She’s not mine. She never has been. But the way she‘ll randomly tug at her lip mid-conversation? The way she stretches when she wakes up on our couch? The way she looks at him like he’s everything. God, I’d kill to be on the receiving end of that look..

And it’s not just want anymore. It’s undying need. I jerk off to her like it’s my fucking religion.

I don’t even touch myself normally now, I prepare. Lights dimmed, music low, lotion warmed. I open a private folder that’s titled “hers” which have subfolders that include:

“T-shirt & no bra”

“Sleepy morning voice”

“When she wore my hoodie once and I couldn’t breathe for 3 days”

I’ve got notes, man. I script it all out in my head like I’m directing some porno. Her on top while she’s riding me, nails dragging down my chest, stuffing her little cunt full while she’s telling me, “it’s okay, baby. You can cum inside, I want it.”

That line alone has made me edge for 4 hours straight. No breaks. No finish. Just throbbing, leaking, begging myself like I was under some spell, I didn’t even realize how much time had passed until the sun came up. My sleep schedule was already fucked before this but now I’m lucky if I even get 3 hours.

The worst part? I’m not some dumb teenager. I’m (31M), I lift, I meal prep. I give actual advice to friends about love and self-control. But then she shows up in those tight yoga pants and calls me “Chris” all soft and playful and my dick’s like, “time to worship.”

I had to excuse myself last weekend during game night because she licked whipped cream off her thumb and I felt precum soak through my boxers. I lied and told them I had a call. I was in the bathroom for 45 minutes with her Instagram page open, stroking it in silence like a fucking monk.

I’ve whispered her name into my pillow while cumming so hard my vision went white. I’ve imagined hitting it from the back while I pull her hair and slap her ass and she’s screaming, “fill me up, daddy,” like I won’t put in a baby in her.

Sometimes I imagine her going through my phone and accidentally stumbling upon my secret folder, but instead of her being disgusted by it she’s intrigued. She climbs onto my lap saying, “let me help you finish this time.” If that ever happened? I’d probably pass out mid stroke and die with a hard-on. Bury me in it.

She’s not mine. But in my head, she always calls me first.

Top Comments 💬

u/FertilizedToes: The secret stash of folders was sooo real. Every man has been guilty of having doing it but none of us wanna actually admit it. Thanks for your honesty. You are our prophet.

u/TiredLawStudent: so you imagined her watching you jork it and helping you finish? that’s not edging my guy, that’s astral projection into sin.

u/IfYouSeekAmy123: Wait this is so relatable bc I stroked myself to my friend’s wife yesterday. She was sitting around the corner at the kitchen table and I was around the corner in the hallway. It was a little risky but don’t regret it, would 100% do it again.

u/Lino.Saurus • posted 8h ago

I humped a pillow thinking about my best friend’s girlfriend and cried out of frustration after. I’m not okay.

She’s always touching him and it drives me fucking nuts. She’ll just casually grab his arm during conversation and rest her head on his shoulder, whispering shit in his ear that makes him laugh when I know for a fact I would’ve laughed harder.

I shouldn’t even like her. She wasn’t initially my type (not looks wise), it’s just she’s annoying. She talks too much. She calls everyone “sweetie” or “honey” and chews gum way too loudly, but when she walks into a room, I can’t think straight. When she calls me the nickname she gave me in that soft teasing voice, I get hard so fast it makes me dizzy.

Last week was hell for me. It was like she was purposefully provoking me just to get a rise out of me. And it worked. I vividly remember the other day where she leaned over to pick something up, I saw the outline of her panties through her leggings due to how sheer they were and I had to dip out of there before I did something irreversibly criminal.

I can’t even remember how long I was jerking off that night, but I didn’t stop until my hand physically cramped up. I thought about roughly fucking her on my friend’s bed while he was in the shower. Imagined her whispering “don’t stop, don’t tell him” while I’m balls deep inside. I came dry. No lube. Just my palm and pathetic desperation.

I’ve gooned to her laugh, her stupid lip gloss, her chewing the end of a straw, even her biting her nail. I’m so far down the rabbit hole I’m jerking off to things that aren’t even sexual anymore. Her sneezing once turned me on. I wish I was joking.

Two nights ago, I humped my pillow imagining it was her like some freak virgin. I came so hard I got lightheaded. Then I cried into the same pillow that I just violated. Not because I felt guilty, but because I know she’ll never fuck me the way I want her to.

The thing is… it’s not just sex. I’m jealous. I see the little glimmer in her eye when her gaze flickers up at him, looking at him like he holds her entire world in his hands and I want to scream because I want her to look at me like that. I want her in my bed, wearing my hoodie, lying under me as she’s calling me an asshole for making her cheat but continues to furiously make out with me.

But instead, I’ll just keep pretending to be the sarcastic best friend while I edge to her voice memo from two weeks ago like it’s my last drop of water in a desert.

Top Comments 💬

u/IJustStoleUrBitchx: holy shit this is disgusting. no amount of torture would ever get this kinda info out of me. u still got my upvote tho.

u/ChiliChiliCrabCrab: You fantasized about fucking her on your best friend’s bed while he’s in the shower??? Nah dude that’s not horny that’s top ten anime betrayals.

u/WinterSoldier24: tbh i can’t even laugh at this bc i’ve BEEN there. i’ve wept into the same pillow i defiled. i’ve heard my own moans echo off my laptop screen like a haunting. guess we’re all rotting together.

u/Jutdwaee99 • posted 10h ago

I goon to my roommate’s girlfriend for hours like it’s a full-time job and I think I’m losing my grip on reality.

I don’t even know how I got to this point.

It started normal. Just a little crush, harmless admiration. She’s sweet, always super polite. Wears those cute little pajama shorts when she spends the night, has this habit of playing with her hair while she’s talking, calls my roommate cringey petnames in this sugary, sleepy voice that makes me wanna gnaw on drywall.

But now it’s out of control. I edge to her every night. Every. Single. Night. I’m not even horny anymore— I’m possessed. There’s no porn. No nudes. Just the memory of her walking down the hallway half asleep, shirt riding up, no panties, scratching lazily at her thigh. She didn’t even know I was behind her. She didn’t know I stood there, frozen in the dark, watching the sway of her hips like some sick, twisted perv.

I stay up for hours scrolling through her page, looking at her pics. Sometimes I watch the same Boomerangs on loop like it’s some high-art cinema. I even synced one of them to my goon playlist. I set a timer and 37 minutes in, her hair flips in time with the beat drop, and that’s when I tighten my grip and almost pass out.

She kissed my roommate goodbye this morning and I speed ran to the bathroom and jerked off with the hand lotion he keeps under the sink. I’ve been edging for so long my balls hurt and feel like they’re gonna explode in protest.

The most fucked up part of it all is that I don’t even want to stop. I like the torture. I like sitting in my dark room, whispering her name while I stroke it like some goddamn lunatic.

If she ever finds out what I’ve done, what I’ve imagined, I’ll be on a list. Hell, I’ll make the list.

But right now? I’m getting hard again just thinking about her leaving her toothbrush in the sink.

She’ll never be mine yet I treat her like a shrine.

I need help. Or maybe I need her to break up with him so I can ruin her properly.

Top Comments 💬

u/GojosLeftTesticle: Nah that’s a new level of disrespect. You came and moisturized with your roommate’s lotion?? I hope he kicks you out LMAO

u/DeezNuts7: i started this post giggling. then i got scared, then aroused, then scared again. i wish i never read this. you win.

u/SuperSmashUrBro: be honest bro, are you trolling? is this satire? are you karma farming? bc if not… you are edging to boomerangs. like… vertically looped 1.5 second clips. send the flood.

u/HHJThrowaway • posted 5h ago

My best friend’s girl is my obsession and I’ve ruined my life over it.

This will be my first and last post in this sub (hence why I’m using a throwaway account) because I intend on taking this shit to the grave with me. I don’t know if this is a cry for help or some final confession before I self destruct, but it’s been eating me up inside and I need to get it out. She’s my best friend’s girlfriend, but she’s perfect.

The minute she walks in it’s like the lighting changes. I’m not even exaggerating, there was this one day where the sun hit her skin like she was some glowing goddess and I literally forgot how to breathe. Her scents intoxicating, like warm sugar and vanilla. She laughs at all my jokes, even the shitty ones. She called me pretty before and I think I saw God.

And I’ve been edging to her every night since March.

I don’t use porn anymore (not that I watched it a lot anyway). Just the flashback of one night where she licked salt off her wrist before downing a tequila shot. The way she presses her thighs together when she’s cold. The time she hugged me goodbye and the scent of her perfume still lingered on my shirt for two days and I didn’t wash it until I’d cum in it twice.

I don’t just jerk off. I goon. Long sessions. Hours sometimes. I hum her name, talk to myself like she’s watching, I’ve even came to the thought of her crying while coming undone on my cock more times than I can count.

There was one night she fell asleep on our couch in those tiny short shorts she always wears and I stared at her thighs for so long I nearly passed out from holding my breath. I got so aroused that I immediately went to my room and stroked my dick with one hand and held my phone looking at the pics I snapped of her with the other. I just kept chanting , “You’d let me ruin you, wouldn’t you?” to myself like I was in a trance.

She told my friend I’m “sweet” and “artsy” and now I can’t get the image out of my head of painting her nude and licking the brush clean. I’m so far gone that if she ever moaned my name on accident, I think I’d just nut on the spot and die. Heart attack. Instant cremation.

I have dreams where she kisses me in secret, all desperate and trembling, telling me she wishes she was dating me instead. I wake up hard and aching, tip already leaking, so sensitive I have to breathe through it like labor.

I can’t keep doing this. But also? I’ll never stop. I’ll die gooning for her.

Top Comments 💬

u/YoMama43: ngl i once nutted to a voicemail my coworker left me by accident and i thought i was down bad LMAO. but you? you’re the goon king. i kneel to you.

u/ObscureLemonXx: so no one’s gonna talk about the part where he said breathing through his hard-on like labor??? like SIR. why is this the most erotic and deeply upsetting thing i’ve ever read?

u/IFucktUranus: Bro. I read this shit twice. Once as a gooner, once as a romantic. You ever edge so long you feel like you could speak in tongues?? You’re not sick. You’re transcendent. I’ve moaned into a towel while looking at my neighbor’s old vacation photos. You’re not alone.

u/_DoolSetNett • posted 11h ago

I’ve created an entire goon archive for my friend’s girlfriend and idk who I am anymore.

I (24M) think I blacked out the first time I saw her. Not even kidding. She walked in wearing a giant hoodie and the tiniest shorts that barely covered the crease of her ass, I felt faint just from the sight alone. My friend introduced her all casual like, “hey, this is y/n,” and I shook her hand with the same fingers I jerked off with not even ten minutes earlier. I deserve jail time for that.

I told myself it was a one time thing and it would never happen again, but now I have 13 folders— and that’s just on my laptop. There’s more on the cloud, a backup drive, on my phone, etc. I even made a fucking spreadsheet to track them.

They’re all labeled in alphabetical order:

Folder A: candid pics she’s posted (IG stories, old selfies, this one pic where she’s wearing nothing else but his shirt)

Folder B: voice clips I secretly recorded of her saying random shit, laughing, talking to the dog.

Folder C: audios I spliced together to sound like she’s moaning.

Folder D: my own goon notes that include detailed fantasies. I treat them like mini fanfics.

There’s a “date night” folder. A “nap time” folder. One called “bite marks I wish I gave her.” The worst is a private one just called “sacred.” That one has screenshots of the way she sits, the curve of her waist when she leans over, the outline of her tits when she’s not wearing a bra under those thin tank tops she loves.

I edge to her for hours. No music needed, just her voice. I put her on loop. Thinking about her face, wearing those little fucking shorts. I swear she’s doing it on purpose because the entire bottom curve of her ass cheek is always out. Every time she bends down to get something my dick jumps. I’ve memorized the way the fabric rides up. Sometimes I start at 10 pm and don’t cum until 3 am. I’ve hallucinated her saying, “cum for me, baby,” in her cute, whimpery voice. That happened about a weeks ago and I still think about it every time I touch myself.

Half the time I don’t even cum, I just leak and whimper and catalogue. I edge until my thighs tremble, timestamp my leaks and track how many fap sessions I’ve had in one day. I’ve become a professional goon archivist. I’d jerk off to her selfies and pretend like she’s watching. I stare at my screen like it’s a portal, fisting my cock with one hand, breath shallow, and blow my load like I’m marking her. One time I came so hard to her pics I didn’t even aim, I just let it hit the screen. Watched it drip down her face like I’d bred the pixels.

I try and concentrate on other things too but I can’t, all I can think about is fucking her cute little pussy. What it looks like under those shorts, whether or not she’s shaved (it doesn’t matter, I’d still eat her out anyway). She probably tastes so good, I wanna fuck her until her voice is hoarse and her thighs are shaking. I’d be so gentle at first, but once I get inside her? I’d lose my fucking mind. Every time she leans over and her shirt dips low I can’t help but wanna know what it’s like to fuck her pretty tits. I wanna make her cry on my cock and then I’d apologize but still keep going.

I never act suspicious around her, I talk to her normally like a regular person. I held the elevator for her yesterday and when she smiled at me I nearly jizzed in my pants. She hugged me once after I helped her carry groceries and I had to walk backwards out of the kitchen like some Victorian virgin. I was leaking pre all the way to my room.

I know it’s wrong. I know I’m sick. But she’s become this deity that I worship in my head. I serve her. I spill for her without her ever asking. If she ever found my folders, the audio edits, the moan loops? I’d have to legally change my name, burn all my hard drives, go off the grid, and live in the woods.

But until then? I’ll keep building my archive. For her. For me. For the goon gods.

Top Comments 💬

u/NoticeMeSenpai69: Bruh… you’re not alone in this. I goon to my homie’s girl daily. She walks around in those tight ass leggings and calls me “dude” like I won’t nut thinking about it for the next 3 days straight. You’re just chronically down bad, it’s honestly normal. We’re visual creatures. Ain’t our fault they’re walking around looking like bait.

u/1diotS4ndwich: This might be the most mentally unwell thing I’ve ever read. You’re edging to voice clips you secretly recorded?? Man.. that’s not down bad, that’s felony flavored. Go outside. Touch grass. Eat it. Bake it into bread. You need something holy in your system.

u/Rizzler420: yo drop the link to folder C thooo. i ain’t even mad. i just wanna see how real your splice game is maybe we can edge together. virtual goon circle. you bring the audios, i’ll bring lotion and red bulls.

u/Y0ngLixx • posted 9h ago

I jerk off to her laugh. Just her laugh. That’s all it takes.

It started off with pure intentions, just as a joke. I (24M) recorded her once on my phone because she made a dumb pun and my friend (the one she’s dating), wasn’t there to hear it. She has a cute laugh, it was harmless.

Then I listened to it again, and again like it was some lullaby that would put me to sleep.

Fast forward a month later and now I’ve accumulated over 40 audio clips. Its nothing sexual, just her laughing, her soft giggles and stupid jokes. Her doing that little gasp-then-snort combo when she really loses it. There’s one clip I have where she says my name mid-laugh and I kid you not I almost passed out from how hard I got. I thought my cock was gonna split open.

I used to not masturbate a lot, but now I’m doing it practically everyday. Just to the sound of her being happy. I’ll close my eyes, pull up her laugh, and stroke myself into oblivion while whispering things like “you sound so pretty,” and “keep laughing, angel. I’ll make you moan next.” It’s not even about sex anymore. I’m addicted to the idea of her, the sound of her.

One time she tripped over something and fell right into my lap, purely innocent, she’s a clumsy little thing. She looked up at me with those big doe eyes and said, “oops, you okay?” and I just simply said yes, but I got an insta boner.

I edged for four hours straight that night, didn’t stop until my thighs were trembling and my toes were cramping. There were no visual, just her voice on continuous loop. I was begging the ceiling for permission to cum like she had me tied up and giggling over me. She doesn’t even know the power she possesses.

She asked me once if I had a girlfriend. I told her the truth and said no and she was shocked, telling me how someone as sweet as me shouldn’t be single. I smiled at that. Then later, I stroked it raw to the idea of her calling me sweet while bouncing on my cock and tugging my hair.

I have this sick fantasy where she catches me in the act and finds the audio clips. But instead of being mad, she kisses me softly and says, “I’ve always wondered what your moans sound like,” I think I’d cry, or cum, or both at the same time.

I’m a soft gooner.

I light candles, put on a playlist full of her favorite songs, and stroke myself slow and romantic like we’re in love. I know she’s taken, but in my imagination we’ve been dating for months.

Then after I cum, that’s when reality hits. I sit there in silence, staring at my phone screen and can’t help but feel ashamed and disgusted with myself. Her laughter still plays on loop in the background, but now it sounds far away, like I’m hearing her from behind a door I’ll never be allowed to open. I wipe up the mess, lock my phone, then tell myself I’m done.

Until the next time she smiles at me and the cycle continues all over again.

I’ve thought about stealing a pair of her panties. My favorite is the pink lacy ones she likes to wear, I’ve seen the waistband peek out when she wore baggy sweats that sat below her waist. I’ve fantasized about pressing them up to my face, even stroking myself with the fabric wrapped around the base of my cock.

But I haven’t done it, at least not yet. I’m scared she’ll find out, that I’ll get caught or that if I succeed it’ll become a habit. Maybe one day that’ll change and I finally build up the courage.

Or maybe I’ll just keep edging to the sound of her joy, pretending I’m the cause of it.

Top Comments 💬

u/CumSlushiez: Been there before. Not with the laugh stuff but… I’ve got 12 folders for my coworker’s wife. The “I think I’d cry and cum at the same time” line? Too real. You’re not the only building archives. Stay strong, edge long.

u/LonelyyVirgin234: 40 laugh clips is crazy but also… not enough. you gotta diversify the catalog. get some sighs. a yawn. a sleepy hum. build a soundscape. turn her voice into a fucking symphony while you leak into your sheets. this is art tbh, unholy art, but still art.

u/Only1BrainCell: This feels like reading someone’s diary in a psych ward. You’re not soft. You’re sick. You fantasize about sniffing used panties and whispering her name like you’re in a cult. You are one pair of lacy underwear away from a Netflix doc.

u/Minivrse • posted 16h ago

I edge to my roommate’s girlfriend while she reads books on the couch. Fully clothed. I’ve officially lost it.

She was wearing sweatpants and an oversized hoodie with a coffee stain on it. The blanket was half-tucked under her thighs and had a chipped mug with tea balanced on her knee with a book resting in her lap.

And I came in my fucking boxers just from watching her turn a page.

She hadn’t even spoken a word or anything, just the sound of her breathing and flipping through a paperback was enough. I had to lean against the kitchen counter pretending to scroll on my phone, but my cock was already stiff as a board. I muttered “Jesus Christ” under my breath and shuffled back into my room like I just committed something illegal.

I’ve been gooning to her every night since. Just to the idea of her. Fully dressed and completely oblivious. She’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen and she doesn’t even try.

She’s not just pretty though, she’s extremely smart. Brains and beauty, the complete package. She’s always reading something dense, annotating margins, scribbling thoughts like her brain runs on overdrive. And every time she shares one of those little ideas with me, some fact about dolphins or a throwaway line from a novel, I get hard. Instantly. It’s like she weaponized intelligence and wrapped it in cozy clothes and Burt’s Bee’s chapstick.

She collects these stupid little trinkets that I think are kinda ugly. Like ceramic frogs, miniature teapots, one of them is just a rock with googly eyes glued onto it?? But I think it’s adorable because it’s hers. I want to fuck her next to them on the bed while they watch.

I never really gave a shit about relationships. Never cared to be in one. Until I met her. I’m constantly fantasizing about making her mine in the most depraved ways possible. Ripping her hoodie off, spitting on her tits, fucking her so dumb until she forgets her own name and only remembers mine. I wanna hear her beg, make her say “please” while I ruin her slowly. I wanna press my hand over her mouth while I’m cumming deep inside her and whispering a bunch of filthy shit in her ear.

It’s gotten to a point where I’ve developed a whole routine. 9:30 pm: she usually comes over after work. 9:42 pm: She kicks off her shoes and says something like “God, I’m so exhausted,” and I’m already hard. 10:00 pm: I’m in my room preparing my little set up and edging myself to the sound of her voice echoing from the living room.

Last night I jerked off for three hours just listening to her eat chips and argue about movie plots with my roommate. Once, she laughed so hard she snorted and I had to physically stop myself from jerking off or I would’ve blown my load without permission. I tried to take a break but it only lasted for day and a half, I couldn’t control the urges anymore.

I feel like such a shithead for doing this because she genuinely thinks I’m a good guy. She talks to me like I’m safe. Calls me “the funny one” or “so chill.” One time she ruffled my hair and said, “you’d make such a good boyfriend,” and I blacked out mid-convo. Couldn’t remember what I said back. I just nodded and prayed my boner didn’t show.

I treat her like my girlfriend in my head. Goon scenarios where she climbs on top of me in those baggy clothes she always wears, telling me, “I need you” where she rides me slow and sleepy while my fingers strum down her back and say, “you’ve got no idea what you do to me.”

But then I walk out to refill my water and see her cuddling and kissing my roommate. Laughing with him like she’s not the sole reason why I haven’t cum properly in weeks. I just go right back into my room, lock the door, and edge to her reflection in the microwave glass.

She isn’t mine, but my cock doesn’t know that. And at this point, I’m not even sure I do anymore.

Top Comments 💬

u/PizzaSlut662: bros a hopeless romantic and a sex criminal at the same time. “she collects trinkets that are ugly but i still love them bc they’re hers” had me kicking my feet until the next sentence said “i wanna fuck her next time while they watch.” i need to go lie down.

u/StrawberrySodaaa: “9:42pm she kicks off her shoes” Um, are you tracking her like she’s the moon?? I’ve never been this aroused and terrified simultaneously.

u/ChrolloLuciferStan: every day i log into this app thinking “surely it can’t get worse” and then i read shit like this..

u/I.2.N.8 • posted 4h ago

I nutted in my pants when she tied her shoe. I didn’t touch myself, just vibes.

We were walking from the convenience store and she bent down to tie her sneaker. That’s it. I didn’t get a peak of her cleavage, didn’t touch her, nothing. She was just bent at the waist, ass slightly arched while she softly grunted and double knotted her laces. I creamed my pants on the spot. Hands stuffed in my pockets, my sweatshirt covering the damage, but there was a wet spot and everything. I walked back home like I’d been shot in the dick.

She’s dating my best friend and he brings her over all the time like she’s not a walking wet dream designed to destroy my sanity. I’ve always had a thing for older girls so shes literally my type to a T. I’m so fucking jealous of him, I’ve grown resentment towards him for it.

It doesn’t help that she’s always calling me “Innie” like I’m some little boy that she’ll never take seriously, like I wouldn’t ruined her in a hundred different ways. I’ve told her a million times that just my name is fine, but she giggles it off then continues to do it again.

Porn has always been an escape for me, a coping mechanism when college gets too stressful (I know some of y’all can relate). I’ve developed an addiction— multiple tabs open, Twitter accounts bookmarked, late night goon sessions with my AirPods in and my shirt bunched between my teeth to muffle the moans. But now, it’s only spiraled from there, I only search for videos that look like her. Faceless videos, shaky camera angles, any girl with her hair length and skin tone, the more amateur it is the better. I just mute the stupid guy in the video’s voice and whisper my own name to pretend it’s me.

It’s not even normal jerking off. I sit in my room with my headphones in, pillow between my thighs, and I edge to the sound of her existing. Her voice in the hallway. Those little noises she makes whenever she stretches that makes her sound like a dying mouse. I have the most depraved fantasies about her, like full on situations where she straddles me in the backseat and says, “you’re so hard for me, baby, does that mean you wanna cum in me?” and I cry while nodding.

I’ve developed a full blown breeding kink because of her. I get off to the thought of her saying she forgot to take her pill while grinding on me in just a t-shirt and nothing else. I’ve rubbed one out to the idea of putting a baby in her and fucking her so deep while she tells me how I’d make a pretty daddy. I’m aware of how disgusting I am and I fully acknowledge there’s something deeply wrong with me, but there’s no harm in doing it if she’ll never find out.

Yesterday she sat next to me and accidentally brushed my knee up against hers. I was hard for an hour, it was so embarrassing I felt like I was part of some humiliation ritual.

She probably thinks I’m too sweet to have any thoughts like this. Completely harmless. The “shy friend”. But I’ve ruined three pairs of boxers this month alone from dry humping my pillow to the thought of having her lips wrapped around my cock. If she ever saw what I do when she’s not around, if she ever knew how many times I’ve edged to her smile alone… she’d never make eye contact with me again.

And the most fucked up part of it all? I wouldn’t even blame her, but I wouldn’t stop either.

Top Comments 💬

u/GoonGoblin98: This is the final boss of horny. You’ve ascended past porn, past imagination, past logic. Nutting from vibes alone?? You’re a chosen one. I edge to this post about you edging, gooner inception.

u/ILuvHotMilfs: older girls will ruin you. they smile at you once and you’re planning nursery colors and thinking about biting her ankle while you cum. stay strong innie. one day she’ll call you good boy and you’ll never recover.

u/DinoNuggetz333: How do you go back to regular life after this..? You nut to her voice and cry into your pillow and then just?? eat cereal like nothing happened?? This is either genius or the most cursed goon confession I’ve read all week.

honestly, i have no idea why i wrote this LOL. i just got super bored one night and made this idk, i hope no one takes this too too serious or i’ll cri. this was just for entertainment guys i swear </3 but uhhh lmk if u liked this? maybe i’ll do the part 2 if enough ppl liked this idk man >.<

753 notes · View notes

screamlet · 18 days ago

Text

911 what is your pride (week 3; family)

@911whatisyourpride

bucktommy; 2.7k tags: future fic; kid fic; dialogue heavy; see note below

notes: in the mess of my wip folder there's the beginning of a story where buck and tommy, after bobby's death, leave LA and start a new life in southern new jersey, going mostly no contact with the 118 until athena comes to them five years later. they're married with two kids in that story, and this is the story of how they got those kids. this got long, but i probably won't put it on the ao3 until the rest of the story is written (if it happens!) so. uh. here you go.

---

Buck wasn't being held hostage in his captain's office by a six-year-old girl, but he wasn't… not being held hostage by a six-year-old girl.

"Who's there?" Layla demands, pointing at the door.

"That's my captain," Buck says easily, meeting Captain Reynolds's eyes. He minutely shakes his head, so Cap holds up a big transparent Ziploc bag to the door's window. "Looks like he brought lunch for us. I can go get it, and you and Bailey stay right here."

"Okay but he can't come in," Layla says. Bailey, her two-year-old brother, sniffles and holds onto Buck's belt loop as he tries to get up. "Bailey, he's coming back, he's bringing lunch."

Buck gently pries Bailey's hand off his belt, holds it between his own for a second, then walks carefully to the door and opens it just wide enough for the bag to slip through.

"Tommy's here, so are the state adoption officials," Reynolds whispers. "You sure about this?"

"Buck!" Layla screams. "He can't come in!"

Buck nods, takes the bag and shuts the door securely behind him. "Alright, how do we feel about applesauce? Ooh, I haven't seen this before: blueberry applesauce? I don't get it. Huh. It's applesauce that tastes like blueberries?"

He sits on the floor again, Bailey between him and Layla. Bailey eagerly gets close to Buck again and looks into the bag, pulling things out and holding them out to Layla curiously. Layla doesn't like being on the outside, though, so she comes around and sits in front of them.

"Alright, so, while we eat," Buck says, popping open some veggies and hummus for Bailey. Layla examines the sandwiches inside and settles on tuna fish, which surprises him. "My husband's here. Tommy. I told you about Tommy."

"You can't leave," Layla says immediately.

"I didn't say I was gonna," Buck says. "But he'd like to meet you guys, if you want."

"Why?"

Buck didn't think this is how it would happen, but it's not like anything else in his life has gone normally before. Ever. Ever.

"Last year, we put ourselves in the state adoption registry," Buck says, keeping cool. "And maybe… maybe we could adopt both of you."

Layla stops chewing and stares at him. Bailey wants another carrot stick and another fistful of hummus, so Buck helps him with that.

"Both of us," Layla says. "Or no deal."

"We want both of you," Buck agrees. "I grew up with a big sister and I wouldn't be who I am without her. She's everything to me. Tommy doesn't have any brothers or sisters, but he wanted them as a kid, so we said that in our paperwork: we want to adopt siblings, if we could." Buck smiles at her. "So maybe this is a good deal for all four of us."

Layla takes another bite of her sandwich, watching him suspiciously. "Bailey likes you," she says finally. "He hasn't yelled since we got here."

"I like him, too," Buck says. "And I like you. Maybe you guys will like Tommy. I hope you do. I like him a lot. I love him."

"Why don't you already have kids?" Layla asks.

"Well, we didn't feel ready until now. Kinda feels like things are lining up for us, all of us."

Layla hmphs to herself. She looks at Bailey, who's thrilled with his hummus situation and sitting in Buck's lap. "Bailey, let's meet this other guy. Maybe he's not so bad, either."

"He's great," Buck says. "Best guy I know. Wouldn't have married him if he wasn't."

"Yeah, okay," Layla says.

"I'm gonna use my radio," Buck says, reaching for the mic clipped on his shirt. "Cap, this is Buck. Tommy can come in, just Tommy, over."

"Copy that, sending him in, over."

"You guys really talk like that? Why don't you just say okay?"

"Easier for emergencies," Buck says. "Okay sounds like too many things; copy that, roger, over, not a lot of words that sound like that. It's important when things around you are too loud or you can't say much."

Layla nods and then whips around when there's a knock at the door. Tommy has both his hands up and Layla flips back to Buck. "That's him?"

"Yup, that's Tommy," Buck says. "Can I let him in?"

"Okay, but if he tries to take us away—"

"He's just here to sit with us, get to know you guys," Buck replies. He tries to get Bailey out of his lap, but he fusses and clutches Buck tighter. "Okay, let's both—"

"Don't go anywhere," Layla says sharply. "Don't take him anywhere. Open the door and then come back."

Buck leans in close and meets her eyes. "I'm not leaving, okay? And neither are you, until you and Bailey want to. I promise."

She stares right back at him. "I don't believe you."

Buck's only met her twice, but he knows that face and how much she wants to believe him.

"Believe me a little, please." She doesn't agree, but doesn't argue either, so Buck stands up and balances Bailey on his hip. "Boy, you are a big guy," Buck says, bouncing him a little. He lets Tommy in, then shuts the door behind him again. "Come on in, we're just having lunch."

It must have been a classroom day for Tommy in his (relatively) new job training medevac pilots, so he's dressed in his best responsible nerd chic: a button down shirt with a V-neck sweater over it. Perfect for convincing the state adoption agency that they're responsible potential parents, even if one of them has been trapped in the captain's office for almost two hours. As they look at each other, though, the mature silver fox instructor look gives way to pure Tommy: what the fuck are you doing/are we doing this/alright I guess we're doing this/christ now we're here aren't we/guess we're rolling with it. His face takes a real journey as they cross the room to where Layla is still sitting, watching them suspiciously.

"Layla, Bailey, this is Tommy Kinard," Buck says. "Tommy, this is Layla Hoffman, age six, and Bailey Hoffman, age two."

Tommy nods, hands at his sides. "Nice to meet you. Can I sit?"

"Fine," Layla says. She doesn't make room for Tommy, so Tommy folds himself up the best he can next to her, across from Buck and Bailey. "Tommy, why do you want kids?"

"Right out the gate, huh?" To Tommy's credit, he doesn't blink. Buck could swoon if he wasn't playing it so, so cool.

Layla points at Buck. "He's really nice and hasn't lied to us yet, and Bailey likes him. What about you?"

"Well, I also don't lie to children," Tommy says. "And…" He looks across to Buck, eyebrows up by his hairline. "And it's not just me. We both want kids. We want a family."

"You like kids?"

"I do."

"Someone at the adoption center told me to stop being a little jerk or I'd never get adopted," Layla says. "Are you gonna get rid of us if I'm a little jerk?"

"Absolutely not, and I can't believe someone said that," Tommy says, glancing with horror at Buck, who's hearing this for the first time, too. "You're kids. You're going through stuff for the first time. Of course it's gonna be a lot. You're gonna feel how you feel."

Layla looks at Buck seriously. "Good answer."

Buck can't help preening a little. "Told you. He's a good guy."

"Yeah, maybe," Layla says. "Okay. You can hold Bailey."

Tommy hums to himself as he takes in Bailey, who's getting his face wiped clean of hummus while the conversation goes on around him. "Seems like he's busy."

Layla tugs at Bailey's hand and points at Tommy. Buck watches him turn curious, so he gets him to stand up near Tommy. He fusses a little to be away from Buck, but Tommy's solid and steadies him right away. He stands behind Tommy and drapes his arms on Tommy's shoulders, chin leaning against Tommy's head. He looks at Layla and Buck like, okay, this guy's fine.

"Tommy's got that effect on everyone," Buck says to Layla. "He's so cool."

Tommy gives Buck a look as he answers dryly, "I put my socks on one at a time, just like anyone else. And I make really good pancakes."

Layla's skeptical. "Better than IHOP? What makes them really good?"

"Love, patience, and more butter than I should admit to," Tommy says, glancing at Buck. "Sorry. That's my secret."

"Yeah, not that much of a secret," Buck replies, then assures Layla, "but they're really good."

She nods and then, to Buck's surprise, comes around and sits next to Buck, side-by-side. "So what happens now?"

"Well, I'd like to eat this sandwich, and maybe you and me can watch Tommy try to win Bailey over."

"He already did. Bailey screams right away if he doesn't like someone."

"Good to know," Tommy says, still in Bailey's clutches.

"But what happens to us? Are we getting in trouble?" Layla looks into Buck's face with her piercing eyes. "Are you really gonna try to adopt us or are you just saying that so we get out of here?"

"So, I talked to the state adoption people outside," Tommy says, motioning to the door. "We had a home visit before we submitted our paperwork so…" He glances at Buck, who nods. No time like the present. "So we can take you home, if you want to come with us. Both of you."

"You'd have to share a room for tonight, both of you, but we have a room for each of you," Buck says. "We can shop for stuff tomorrow. Pick out your own bed, sheets and blankets, whatever you need. Your stuff."

"And Bailey's," Layla says.

"And Bailey's," Tommy agrees.

"Are you gonna get fired?" Layla asks Buck, eyes glancing at the door. "Because I locked us in here?"

"Nah, Cap loves kids, he's got three," Buck replies. "No one got hurt, you didn't set any fires—"

"It's a firehouse, you can handle fires," Layla says.

"Yeah, but we didn't have to," Buck replies. "So what do you say? Do you want to try us out as your adopted dads?"

"I finally have a good excuse to put that tire swing in the yard," Tommy says.

Buck gasps. "I'm not a good excuse?"

"That's not what I meant."

Layla touches Buck's shoulder to get his attention. "You drive a hard bargain, but okay."

"Yeah? Okay?"

"Yeah," Layla says, standing up. "Let's see how good you guys are at this dad thing."

Buck's trying not to scream or cry as he stands up from the floor. One minute he was Buck, the next he was a dad. Isn't that how it always happens? "First thing's first: let's clean all this up and put it in the trash."

"Is this a chore?" She thinks of something. "Do we get an allowance?"

"We'll talk about it," Buck says. "Do you think Bailey can be paid off in celery sticks?"

"Can you be paid off in celery sticks?" Tommy asks Layla.

"Cash only," she says.

Buck helps Tommy stand, too, and gets Bailey situated on his hip. "You've got an incredible vocabulary," Tommy informs her.

"Thanks! I hate reading and I love TV."

"You haven't met our book collection," Buck says. "We'll find you something you like."

"Yeah, and no Seinfeld until you're 12," Tommy replies.

"I don't know what that is."

"Fantastic."

When they emerge from the office onto the main floor of the firehouse, there's a wave of applause from everyone gathered: Buck's usual crew and the staff from the state adoption agency.

"Remember what you said," Layla whispers as she grabs Buck's hand tightly, then Tommy's, too. "You said you're keeping us, both of us."

"We are," Buck says, his heart quietly breaking and mending itself, all at once. He looks behind at Tommy; exhaustion and lunch have suddenly hit Bailey, so he's on Tommy's hip and dozing on his shoulder like he belongs there.

"Congratulations," Captain Reynolds informs them. "Looks like negotiations went well?" He says to Layla, "Thank you for giving me my lieutenant back. And my office."

"So far so good," Buck says, Layla gripping his hand with all of her strength. "Okay if I take some time off, Cap?"

He nods at Buck, and at Tommy, too; they like each other a lot, and he looks just as happy for Tommy as he does for Buck. "Give us a call if you need anything, like another rescue."

"You got it," Buck says, then meets Tommy's eyes. "But I don't think we will."

"I don't think we will," Tommy agrees.

---

Buck doesn't think it'll happen again, but Bailey and Layla are asleep in the guest room by 9:30, completely conked out. Buck and Tommy leave the door ajar behind them with two nightlights gently glowing in the dark room, then head down the hall to their room.

"Okay, so what the hell did we do today?" Tommy whispers as he shuts the door most of the way closed. "I got to the office at 8 AM, no kids, and I got home at 7 PM, plus two kids. What."

"Life comes at you fast," Buck says, though he forgot the movie it's from. "Are—"

"Am I okay with it? Yeah, for the 500th time today: yes. Yes." He rests his hands on both sides of Buck's face and kisses him. "Yes, absolutely yes."

Buck kisses him, too, then pulls away laughing. "Oh, wow, she's—Layla's a handful."

"You're already so in love with the six-year-old who took you hostage in your own station."

"She reminds me of you," Buck says, joking and not. She does, though. Those sharp edges, that tough shell to crack, the way she finally sidled up to Buck and let him take care of her—that's a Tommy girl, through and through.

As Buck understood it and relayed to Tommy, with help from the state adoption officials: Layla and Bailey had been orphaned close to a year ago and had no other living relatives, but they had yet to find a long-term family. People were scared off by Layla, and Bailey was (according to Layla) too sensitive for the temporary locations where they had already been placed.

Today happened because they had already met Buck before on a scene last week, when there was a small fire at the adoption center where Layla and Bailey were staying. Captain Reynolds had invited all the kids to Engine Co. 19 for a special visit and safety presentation, where they ran into Buck again.

"And Bailey remembered you?" Tommy asks.

"I think it's the tattoo on my arm. He spotted it and waved me down, then Layla recognized me."

"And then she disappeared with her toddler brother, you found them in Reynolds's office, and she took you hostage in your own station. Got it. And now they're our kids."

"And now they're our kids," Buck agrees.

Tommy nods and takes Buck's hand. "Our usual hardware store doesn't open until nine tomorrow, so I'm gonna drive to the big box store when they open at seven so I can get as much babyproofing and kid stuff as I can find. I'll come right back and I can make breakfast, as promised."

"Hey." Buck tucks his finger under Tommy's chin and turns his face to him. "Thanks for following my lead. For—for this."

"Are you kidding? Bypass the whole waiting process and get two kids dropped right in our laps? It could only happen to you. I'm just lucky I'm here."

"I'm lucky you're here," Buck says, kissing him again.

"Alright, if you insist."

Buck laughs against his mouth and kisses Tommy again, lost in the kiss until his phone is in his hand and he can start making a list of supplies Tommy will be picking up before breakfast tomorrow. "Eyes down here, Kinard," Buck says, waving his phone, but Tommy has to sneak one more kiss before focusing on the first of their many, many checklists.

#911 fic #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan #tevan fic #my writing #my fic #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911whatisyourpride #kid fic #future fic #fic: runaway

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delphi-shield · 11 months ago

Text

SAY IT BACK ↪ letting them leave without an ily

finishing up some smaller things from my wip folder before i buckle down and work on the big stuff again. here's this doofy little fluff piece.

characters included: chris redfield, leon kennedy, jill valentine, ada wong

content: fluff. just fluff. established relationship. mildly ooc behavior for the sake of fluff (also known as being in a relationship and acting stupid)

You found it on TikTok - or maybe it was Instagram, or Facebook - doesn't matter. One of the media conglomerates had given you a horrible idea about how to tease your loving, devoted partner.

It's simple - when they said 'I love you' before they left for work, you just wouldn't say it back. What could go wrong?

Chris Redfield ↪

Did not notice. Secure. In his lane. Unbothered. Probably not moisturized. (Get him a nice oil, fragrance free. He'll like it more if you massage it into his muscles for him, spend a little extra time smoothing along the curve of his spine, up and over the tightness of his shoulders.)

If you're at the point with Chris where he's saying “I love you” in place of a goodbye, he doesn't need to hear you say it back. He's confident in your relationship. Hearing it is just a nice bonus.

You're going to get your own feelings hurt here. Sent yourself into a spiral. Like, damn, does he not listen? Does he not care? What the fuck is his deal?

Chris is legitimately confused when you bring it up to him later. Doesn't get the point of the whole thing. “Why wouldn't you just say you love me?” Head cocked to the side, so puppy-like you can practically see the velvety ears flopping over.

Really doesn't do the whole social media thing. Even when you show him videos as an example, he's just shrugging. "I'm pretty sure those are skits, honey. No one really reacts like that."

If only he knew. Hey - at least now you know that Chris is perfectly content in your relationship and won't let anything silly like this bother him. It's just a sign to ramp up the pranks - more practical jokes, less subtle, harmless emotional manipulation.

That's what you thought, at least, but when Chris flips the light off that night and sidles up behind you in bed, strong arms slipping around your middle and tugging you back to him, his voice rumbles in your ear - "You gonna tell me you love me, or is this gonna be a problem?"

And Chris is really good at extracting confessions. How badly do you actually want to get some sleep tonight?

Jill Valentine ↪

Doesn't seem to have noticed that you ignored her. Walked right out the door without missing a step, didn't even glance back. Her car pulls out of the garage, her sunglasses on - she seems entirely unbothered.

Oh, she’s bothered.

Jill Valentine is Not Petty™️. And she does not pout when her partner doesn't say ‘I love you’ back. She's in a pissy mood at work for a completely unrelated reason. She's not returning your texts because she's busy at work, not because she's trying (and failing) to give you a taste of your own medicine.

She definitely doesn't carry that storm cloud all the way home with her, doesn't rain on your parade when you cheerfully announce that dinner's ready and on the table.

You're trying everything you can think of to cheer her up. Asking about work got you a noncommittal shrug. You'd offered to draw a bath for her - or (preferably) for the both of you, but she'd dismissed the idea, talking about how it would take up too much time.

She didn't have the heart to shrug you off when you started massaging her shoulders. Despite your silence in the morning, you were clearly intent on taking care of her. Maybe nothing was wrong. Maybe you just hadn't heard her.

Her palm presses against your cheek, turns you to face her. She searches your eyes for a moment, her gaze unreadable. "Thanks for dinner. I love you."

Nothing. Fucking nothing. "You're welcome."

Jill knows that look on your face, that shit-eating grin that you're trying to cover up by glancing down, by pretending to be flustered. Her hands grip your hips. She manhandles you into her lap, chair scraping against the floor to make room for the both of you.

"Okay - spill. What's up with you?"

Once you explain, she's not mad about the whole thing, not really. But you can't help but notice that she's been withholding kisses lately, and-- wait.

Fuck. Now she's turned the tables on you.

Leon Kennedy ↪

Keeps finding new and inventive ways to double back inside the house. He's not going to outright ask you what's up - that would make him look desperate, which he’s totally not. He’s definitely not concerned at all that you didn’t complete your morning ritual and send him out the door with an ‘I love you’. He’s a big boy - this isn’t high school, this is his very mature, very adult relationship.

Excuse number one: “Sorry, forgot my keys,” as he makes a show of dropping his keys out of his pocket, onto the living room floor. His eyes are on you when he reaches to grab them. Leon tosses them in his hand, making as much noise as he possibly can. “All right, love you.”

You hold strong. Still no ‘love you’ back. He’s gone for all of 60 seconds when he comes back with excuse number two: “Ah, damn, forgot my badge. I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached.”

His badge is attached to his belt. You can literally see it. When you point that out to him, he makes a show of being relieved, goes so far as to press a kiss to your temple, and says, “God, what would I do without you? Love ya. Have a good day.”

But you hold strong. Until excuse number three:

“Babe, have you seen my gun?”

You laugh, which only makes him laugh - and then he hits you with ‘no, seriously’ while he leans against the doorway, hip cocked. He’s got you figured out by now, knows that if he can make you laugh then you’re not doing this because you’re mad at him or anything. He can't even be mad when you explain it to him. He can only warn you:

"I'm gonna get you for this. Now, c'mon - say it."

Ada Wong ↪

I don't know why you would do this to her to be honest. She just said ‘I love you’. You should be marking your calendar and turning this into a holiday.

She doesn't say it often, at least not while you're conscious. Whether she presses her sentiments into your hair while you sleep against her, drooling against her collar bone, is up for debate. You have no hard evidence and she'll deny the allegations.

It simultaneously is and is not a big deal. She didn't say it because she craved the validation of having you repeat it to her. She said it because she meant it. There's so few concrete truths about herself that she can share with you, but that was one of them. Does it sting a little not to have it returned? Maybe.

She turns the moment over and over in her head, letting it haunt her. You had given her time, she thinks, why can't she give you yours? But your silence is a specter that tinges every moment. It creeps at the edges of every thought, it–

“Hey, you forgot your coffee.”

She turns to see you in the door of your apartment, hanging from the frame with one hand, her cup extended to her in the other. She clicks back to you in her stilettos, and your press a kiss to her cheek when she claims her drink. The guilt of it all ate at you before you could let her leave your sight. “Love you. Be safe.”

She'd spiraled before she even got down to the parking lot. Total loser in love.

#leon kennedy x reader #chris redfield x reader #jill valentine x reader #ada wong x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil fluff #resident evil headcanons #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #chris redfield x you #jill valentine x you #leon kennedy #jill valentine #chris redfield #ada wong #leon kennedy fluff

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j3lly-fish · 15 days ago

Text

Welcome to me locking the fuck in these past few weeks and just pulling out every wip that was practically molding from how long it'd been sitting in my folders. This was technically a simblreen treat I never released, but let's ignore that shall we? 🤣

Unisex

All LODS

New Mesh

Teen to Elder

Polys: 620

Found under Hats and Occult Details

Disallowed for Random (At least im 99% sure I fixed that)

5 Swatches

Known issues: These horns use a small portion of the Hat texture slot, meaning hats will most likely not be compatible with this. If you can't find some of my cc in your game, its likely you'll need CAS Unlocks for it (like occult detail slots).

You can recolor and edit my meshes, but please just link back to my original post! ♡

DON’T reupload, claim as your own or put behind a paywall

You can tag me so I can see what you do with my cc!

✦ DOWNLOAD (SFS) ✦ DOWNLOAD (PATREON) ✦

#sims 4 cc #sims 4 #ts4 #ts4 cc #j3llycc #sims 4 custom content #custom content #sims 4 mods #ts4 mods #j3llyccoccult #j3llyccaccessories

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ahotmesswithprivilege · 5 months ago

Text

Ocean Eyes

paring: Bob Floyd x female!bartender!reader

wordcount: 2642 (scandalously short for me, I know)

prompt: “It’s like you never really see me. I’m standing right in front of you and you don’t see me!” requested by @gretagerwigsmuse (I am sorry this took so long. I hope it was worth the wait)

note: I couldn't write so I started cleaning up my WIP folder and I found this. I forgot that it was practically done and so I thought, let's share my Bob debut with the world. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Trigger Warning(If I forgot something or you want me to add to the list, my inbox is wide open. You are responsible for your media consumption, so proceed with caution, you know the drill): none, I think. Unless you consider canon Hangster one. Also idiots in love.

|| Masterlist ||

divider by @sweetmelodygraphics banner by @firefly-graphics

Reblogs, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome

!!!Minors do not interact; empty/ageless/minors will get blocked!!!

You love Bob Floyd. It’s pretty obvious to anyone who has eyes. At least that’s what you always hear from your best friend and yet he showed never any interest in you at all. There is a part of you that realises that this could only mean one thing but acknowledging the hard truth would hurt more than anything. So you ignore it and keep living in the blissful illusion that maybe one day Lieutenant Robert Floyd will wake up and finally see you.

That is until tonight when that hope should be shattered for good. The night at the Hard Deck when you are dealt the final blow.

“Is that Baby on Board in that booth? Flirting with a woman?”, Hangman is leaning against the bar waiting for you to get a fresh round of drinks ready. The question is directed at Rooster to his right and your gaze follows his and you see Bob sitting in a booth with an absolutely gorgeous redhead.

“Yeah. Phoenix set him up with her old college friend”, Rooster answers, giving you that kind of cautious look that he always sent your way whenever he thought you were in a fragile state and could implode any second. And as if to justify his worries you slam their beers down a little harder than intended and when your gaze meets his, all you see is pity in his pretty brown eyes.

“Rooster”, your voice is barely there, more a growl rumbling in your chest than anything else. It's a warning for your best friend to keep his fucking mouth shut and leave you be.

Not that it would help.

It's something you both love and hate about Bradley Bradshaw. He was not someone who gave up on people. No, he stayed even when shit got hard and you knew he'd be right there by your side through it all, holding your hand and keeping you close because that's just who he is.

And considering the look you get from his worse half, you know the same is true for him. The irony that fucking Jake Seresin would one day be one of your best friends was not lost on you. Especially considering how the two of you started off, but having Hangman cover your back was apparently a perk that came with being Rooster's best friend.

"Don't"

But Brad just lifts his hands in surrender and then they head over to the pool tables where the others are already waiting for them, leaving you behind the bar with the feeling that the shards of your shattered heart were just digging deeper into your flesh with every breath.

“Hey, sunshine”, your head snaps to the side and there you see him sitting at the end of the bar smiling at you the way he always did. The way that made your heart skip a beat and you hated that fucking traitor of an organ. And then your brain intercepts and reminds you of the images of last night. The way she had her hands all over him, turning him into a blushing mess as they stumbled out of the bar.

You have to shake your head or you'd lose focus and you cannot afford that. Not on a Saturday night.

It's not like you need to wait for him to order something, you know it all by heart, so you set his usual virgin drink in front of him and put some nuts in a bowl. Both containers are hitting the bartop a tad bit harder than necessary and before he could get another word in you were already gone.

Your behaviour took him off guard. His eyes are still following you when you already busied yourself with the order of another patron at the other end of the bar as if you wanted to get as much space between you and him as you physically could and he couldn't help the unsettling feeling that crept up on him.

This was so not you. There's a reason why they call you sunshine and that's not just because Rooster introduced you like that. You were always sweet and kind and won over the position of the patron’s favourite from Penny within the first week. You always had a lovely smile on your lips and a nice comment for everyone.

But the thing he had always liked most about you was how protective you were, looking out for the people around you. You were just the kind of person who truly cared and didn't just turn it into a performance.

The longer you are lingering on the other end of the bar without giving him even as much of a glace the more uneasy he becomes ultimately deciding to pick up his things and make his way over to the quiet corner by the pool tables that had been dubbed his even back during his Top Gun time. And from over there he has the perfect view of the bar without the hustle and bustle that would only distract from his actual mission. Figure out what was wrong with you.

You seemed tense and your interactions were colder than usual even with people that he knew you loved to bits.

Dave, one of the veterans who frequented the bar had made it a habit to propose to you whenever he saw you. It was a running gag between the two of you but even he couldn't bring an honest smile to your face.

That sure as hell was a first.

Maybe something happened?

Had someone hurt you?

Or did something happen with your family?

The best way to find out was to talk to Rooster.

He was your best friend after all and if someone knew what was going on, then it would be him.

So, Bob waited patiently until he took a break from the pool game before approaching him.

“Is something wrong with sunshine?”

Rooster arches his brow at the question, stops drinking mid-swig and puts his bottle back down.

“What should be wrong with her?”

Bob tilts his head while he studies the other's features.

He couldn't be serious about that question. Rooster always claimed to know you best of them all and he honest-to-goodness wanted to tell Bob he didn't see what was going on.

“She’s curt and tense. She didn’t even smile at Dave's proposal”

Rooster’s brow arched even more.

God for someone as observant as Robert fucking Floyd he was pretty goddamn blind when it came to you.

“Even if there was something it wouldn't be my story to tell”, he raises his bottle back up and takes a sip of his beer, watching Bob’s mind running 100 miles an hour while he tried to figure out how to proceed.

“If you wanna know what’s going on there is a simple solution”, he prompts him. He had sworn to keep his mouth shut about your feelings for Bob but helping him figure it out on his own was not breaking that promise.

At least not in his book.

“And that would be?”

“Fucking ask her, Baby on board”

Jake groaned over from the pool table and rolled his eyes.

He was so done with this kindergarten bullshit. Watching you and Bob was worse than his dance with Rooster pre-uranium mission and he knew they had been unbearable to watch.

His boyfriend shoots Hangman an angry look as if to remind him of their promise but he just rolls his eyes and sighs.

Hangman likes you, a lot. Some might even go so far as to say he loves you. Very much platonic but it's love nonetheless.

You were a major part of Rooster’s life and therefore you became a fixture in his and if he had to listen to you crying yourself to sleep one more goddamn night over fucking Baby on Board then he’d be the one going on a bloody rampage.

So Jake stalked over to Bob and stared him right in his blue eyes, his green gaze cutting like a knife.

“That wasn’t a suggestion Floyd”, he growled, nodding over to where you handed out drinks at the bar, doing everything within your power to not look their way.

Bob had no idea why the other ganged up on him like that but he couldn’t remember the last time Hangman had been this mad. With his gaze flittering between the two men and you at the bar he decided it was indeed probably smartest to talk to you as soon as possible.

“Can you please get a box of whiskey from storage?”, you barely hear Penny’s voice over the constant chatter of the bar and the music coming from the jukebox when she hands you the key.

You had tried to keep your brain busy all night and lucky for you, the Saturday had provided you with enough to do to grant yourself a small reprieve from the pain that had settled in what was left of your heart after last night.

You nod at Penny and weave through the crowd in front of the bar, attempting to smile at the patrons that greeted you but you knew that this was just a facade and considering the many concerned looks, they knew too.

When you finally got to unlock the door of the storage closet stepping inside and pulling the door closed behind you as you were heaving a sigh the muffled sounds of the bar were still echoing in your ear. You loved this place and the Hard Deck had always felt more like home than the house you shared with Rooster and Hangman. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. The air was stuffy and full of dust but it was the closest to a break you could get just about now.

That was until the sudden creaking of the door made your heart rate pick up.

"This is for staff only", your eyes are wandering around to find something to use as a makeshift weapon just in case one of the guys got so drunk he forgot his manners and basic human decency. You find a large vodka bottle, pick it up from the shelf as you turn around, almost dropping it when you are met with blue eyes.

"Fuck Bob, you scared me", you place your free hand over your heart, putting the Vodka bottle on a small table.

"I'm sorry, sunshine", your eyes wander over him and it's only then that you see how he's not really daring to look into your eyes and he's fidgeting with his hands.

"What are you doing back here Bob?", you are crossing your arms over your chest and take another step back from him, almost making you hit the shelves full of liquor behind you.

He had never seen you so distanced and borderline standoffish around any of the daggers. You were someone who needed to be close, someone who thrived on touch and physical forms of affection, but you were fleeing from him and he couldn't have imagined something as simple as a step back to hurt that bad.

"I... I was wondering...", he started and then you were the third person today looking at him with an arched eyebrow and he felt like a first grader who's supposed to take his SAT.

"What were you wondering?", you said, the tense edge still audible in your voice sent a shiver down his spine.

Bob had never met this cold version of you and he hated every second of it. He loved your warmth, the way you were lighting up even the darkest room. You were the embodiment of a sweet summer day, full of sunshine and blooming flowers with enough of a breeze to make it perfect but right now you rivalled the worst arctic winter.

"Why are you so cold with everyone?"

"I am not"

"Of course you are. You didn't even smile at Dave's proposal", he sees the way your eyes get wider for only a moment before you put that facade back in place. So the real you was hiding somewhere behind that mask you put on.

"Yes I did"

"No, you didn't. Not for real"

The fact he had actually noticed took you by surprise, but the dull ache in your chest reminded you that just because he happened to notice one thing today it didn't mean that anything changed.

The silence hanging between the two of you was deafening and the longer it lasted the more nervous Bob got.

You two had never had an issue with talking. You were probably the one person he always felt like he could talk to even if he didn't feel like interacting with anyone else. But now it felt like you were two ships in the night, drifting farther and farther away apart.

"Please. I just want to...", his voice sounds pleading and the way he reaches his hand out for you prompts you to take another step back. You cannot handle his touch, that much you know but in your desperate attempt to keep the tears from running down your cheeks you forget that you have a mouth too.

“It’s like you never really see me", the words are spilling from your lips before you even realise it, hands flying to your mouth to stop yourself. The tears that were pricking at your lashline before began to run down your cheek when you see the way his eyes widen mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally finds his voice again.

"There hasn't been a single day when I didn't"

You force your eyes shut to stop the tears from running, shaking your head as you hear him take step after step closer into your space and crowd you against the shelves.

"I don't think I couldn't"

"Then why does it feel like I’m standing right in front of you. and you don’t see me?”, your voice is small and quiet, almost drowned out by the muffled sounds from the bar but once they sink in, Bob's eyes are darting all over your face, trying to figure out what you truly meant.

You open your eyes, tears still glittering as you look up at him. He sees so many emotions swirl in them ranging from pain and fear to something softer. Something he never dared to dream of finding in your eyes when you looked at him. And then he caught your eyes wandering from his to his lips and back up.

It was not much more than a flicker, something easily missed if he had blinked at the wrong moment.

"I always see you, sunshine", his voice is soft as he takes another step closer and leans down, slow and cautious as if he's trying to gauge if he had gotten what you implied right, but you stayed frozen in your place, closing your eyes again until you feel his nose brushing against yours and your foreheads touching.

"And what about last night?", you feel like you are caught up in a dream, fearing the moment your alarm would go off and you'd have to get up and back to a reality where Bob dated someone else and you were damned to only stand there and watch.

"Jolene is nice but all she's ever seen is the uniform and the glasses. She never bothered to really look at me. She didn't see me", he lifts his hands and rests them on your cheeks, thumbs gently caressing your skin as his eyes search yours for any sign that you do not want this.

"Not the way you did when we first met", you feel like you are getting lost in the endless blue of his ocean eyes, warm breath fanning over your face as you lean in to kiss him.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated as always

If you want to read more you can find my masterlist here

#robert floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert floyd x you #bob floyd fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #my writing

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

Text

On Good Behaviour 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn't much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

Note: :)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your sweat dampens the folder in your hands. You shift in the chair and wiggle one foot, a leg hooked over the other to keep you from jittering all over. You look up and down the hall. Men in suits and women in dresses and skirts strut by now and again, silent as they're preoccupied with their business. Just as you are with the task before you.

You don't remember being this uneasy before... well... you take a breath and steady yourself. You uncross your legs and set your feet flat. You stare at the gold plaque mounted on the door. You used the cheap Polaroid phone to confirm your arrival as noted in the email. You press the cell to the folder, gripping both tightly. You've faced worse than a man in a designer tie.

The door opens and you flinch. You stand up as a man emerges. You recognise him from the website where you found the job posting. You offer your hand. He ignores it and says your name.

"Mr. Laufeyson," you reply, checking the door plaque to be sure.

"Let's not waste any more time," he waves you inside.

You nod and step past him. You grit your teeth as you enter the office. It's small and the windows brighten the space from behind plain white curtains. There's not much to the small space; an empty desk, a short filing cabinet, and a chair. There's only one other door.

"In there, please," he directs with a point over your shoulder.

He shuts the door behind him with a snap. You wince again and keep going. You enter the dimly lit office. Only the vintage table lamp gives light to the space next to a fancy monitor, unlike the boxy ones you're used to.

He sidles past you as you stop short. He goes around the desk and drags his hand down his tie. He sits and gestures to the chair across from him. You admire the sleek pen in its gold holder and paper weight in layered jade.

"Um, oh," you come forward in your rubber-soled flats, "I have a copy of my resume. And cover letter."

"I've both," he assures as he wiggles his mouse beneath his long fingers. It's one of those smooth white ones where you can't even see the buttons.

You watch him as you wet your dry lips. He's a tall man, slender but not gawkily so, and his dark hair is long but well-kempt, tucked back behind his ears. His cheekbones are sharp, his nose aquiline, and his eyes are a bold green, giving colour to an otherwise pale face.

"I've got quite a bit here," he intones as you hug the fold, the phone slipping into your lap. "Hm, rather much..." his eyes scan the screen. He's not looked at you since he came out to get you but you don't even know that he did then.

"Sir," your eyes drift guiltily. You already know what's going on.

"Armed robbery," he slithers. "Five years."

You nod and swallow, "sir, I-- that was-- I'm out now."

"Hm, so you are," he lifts his chin.

"Mr. Laufeyson, I spent my time in prison learning. I took several courses in administration, including personal and corporate accounting--"

"Yes, I'm certain you are eager to see the numbers," he turns and his eyes meet yours. His accusation stings.

"I'm... not into that anymore. I made a mistake--"

"With a gun. And fellow mistake-makers," he insists.

You deflate and blink as your eyes fall to the front of his desk. You swallow. "You're right, sir. It was more than a mistake. A crime. Which I served time for. I'm so thankful no one was hurt but I am aware that it was dangerous and unfair to everyone involved."

"Well, you certainly are eloquent," he muses.

You scrunch up your mouth. If you were the girl that was sentenced in cuffs, you'd tell him to shove it up his ass. That girl is gone, that fire extinguished. The outside is so different now. It's like another prison where you can't do anything without permission.

"Thank you, I guess." You stand. "Thank you for your time."

"I didn't say we were done."

"You didn't, sir, but, respectfully, I don't have the time to waste. I have to report to my parole officer and find some more interviews." You sigh, "I need a job and if this isn't it, then I'd hate to waste both our time."

He snickers, "and when did I say you didn't get it?"

You lift your eyes, "you didn't..."

"Please, sit. I suppose you did come all the way here. You are... behaving. So, let us proceed at least with a few real questions," he sits back, and elbow on the armrest as he twiddles his fingers. "Not to twist the knife but you mentioned parole. Would that interfere with fulltime hours?"

"No, sir, I only need to submit the schedule," you say as you sit back down.

"Mm, sir. You took some etiquette class in prison?" He wonders.

"Not formally," you reply.

He snorts, "right then. I did review your credentials. You'll be providing mostly admin support, not much accountancy, you see that is my role. I am certified in the matter and my clients are rather important. I can't have a convict at the bank roll."

"Yes, sir, I understand."

"Mm, well," he leans his chin in his hand and taps his fingers thoughtfully. He sits up and rolls closer to the desk. "I rather abhor these interviews. I suppose we all deserve second chances."

Your lashes flick in surprise, "are you offering my the job?"

"I am," he affirms.

You push your shoulders up and can't help but smile, "I promise, you won't regret this."

"Yes, I hope not," he drones. "Go on, I've work to do. Not least of all, drawing up your employment contract."

"Sir," you stand and juggle the folder and your phone. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. There is a probationary period. I expect you on time and professional." He sniffs, "oh, and dressed to office standards."

You look down at your borrowed clothes. The blouse is plain beige, the pants heavy wool, and the shoes a bit clunky. You thought it was okay.

"My clients expect a certain level of class."

"Yes, sir."

"I will provide an advance for this purpose. I understand you might not be in a position to afford it as yet," he looks back to his screen, "it will be in the contract."

He doesn't glance at you again. You take that as a dismissal. You thank him once more and spin on your heel.

As you get to the next office, you exhale in relief. You don't know what Dina would say if you came back with another rejection. If you don't meet parole terms, you could end up right back where you started.

💼

The email comes and dispels the last of your disbelief. It's real. You have a job. It might not be the best. The work and the pay isn't what worries you, rather your boss. He reminds you of a warden himself. You were hoping to be done with those.

Dina congratulates you but not without a stern warning. Don't mess it up. She looks over the contract with you, commenting positively on the advance. She suggests that some employers are sympathetic to people like you.

You take the money and head out to buy work clothes. You're uncertain at first. You don't think the thrift shop or Walmart fits the bill. He sure wrote a big check. After cashing the check, you bring up google maps and wait at the bus stop.

As another person comes to the shelter, you move away from it. Now that you're out, you get claustrophobic a lot easier, yet dizzy at how open everything is. You're still getting used to this all. Especially the idea that you're only responsible for yourself.

You hop on when the bus rolls up and transfer to the next. You get off and find yourself before a boutique. A woman struts out and you shy away. You see your reflection in the window and sigh.

Mr. Laufeyson didn't hire you to look like those women. You just have to get some nice clothes. You enter and give a sheepish smile as a woman perks up behind the counter. Reticence shades her expression, then disapproval. She stomps out in her heels.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

"Uh, sure, yeah," you look down at your feet and back at her again. Prison was easy compared to this. You could steel yourself against the guards, even Millie when she tried to steal your brownie, but this makes you feel small. "I just got a job and I need some clothes. I could really use some help."

Honesty seems the best tactic. It was the lack of which got you into all of this. That and your own bad decisions. Your selfishness. If that gun hadn't jammed.

"Work? Well, that's nice. A new job," her eyes flutter, her voice brittle. "I suppose we have what you're looking for. What kind of work?"

"Admin," you answer and clutch the strap of your satchel. "It's uptown, so..."

"Ah, I see. Executive Assistant?"

"Not quite," you answer. "I'm not... I'm not really... into fashion."

For five years, you wore a uniform. All these wraps and frills and slits are confusing. She guides you toward the wall where a rack of blouses hangs in white to just slightly beige. You look at her, she looks good, her clothes are stylish, you'll have to trust her on this.

"So, what kind of admin?" She asks.

"Accounting," you answer.

"Mm, stuffy," she chuckles. "Well, let's see. White. Always need a white blouse. A black pair of pants, and a skirt too, then you can build from there." She pauses and glances at you, "we don't have sales in here."

You don't take it personally.

"I have money," you assure her and take out your debit card.

"Hm, well, these are very expensive pieces. You might find a department store at the mall?"

"I came all the way here," you counter, bristling. If this was inside, you wouldn't back down, so you won't now. "I need clothes, you sell clothes."

"Alright, sure, hun," she grins sardonically

"Thanks, hun," you shoot back.

She turns and selects a grey satin skirt. It's pretty enough. You cross your arms as annoyance ticks in your cheek. You try to remember the exercises they gave you in the release program. Count and breathe. It's not worth it to get mad.

"If you see anything, feel free to let me know," she trills.

"Is there anything, I don't know, some patterns?" You ask.

"Ah, I didn't see you in polka dots," she intones.

"This is nice," you touch the brown plaid blazer.

"Oh, very... chic," she comments dryly. You're not liking her attitude. Heat gathers under your collar as you trail her. "Are we trying these on?"

"You don't think I'll pop the tags off and run for it?" You snip. "I'll just pay."

"Exchange only."

"Whatever," you huff.

You go to the counter and tap your card on top. She comes up behind it and gently folds each piece. Three blouses, the blazer, two skirts, and two pants. It will do.

"I hate to ask anything else of you but do you know where I can get a nice bag?" You take the debit machine and insert your card.

"Oh, sure, there's the shop across the street. Make sure to leave your bags at the front."

You shake your head and put away your card. You accept the two shopping bags and receipt. You thank her despite her attitude. If she only knew what that would get her inside. You almost want to give it to her.

Calm. Be calm. You're not her anymore. You're changing. Beating up a shop clerk won't help you keep this job.

You leave and cross the street. You get much the same reaction as before. You pick out a brown leather bag with a gold emblem and two pairs of heels you think you can handle. You leave, defeated but not without your prize.

You walk back to the stop and sit on the bench. You stare off into traffic as you wait. You'll have to get used to it. You sort of are. Lots of inmates stared you down and you learned not to show any fear. Not if you wanted to survive.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #on good behaviour #series #thor #avengers #mcu #marvel

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ughdontbeboring · 6 months ago

Text

young newlywed games

Feyd Rautha x WoC Reader (can be read by anyone)

Giedi Prime’s young newlyweds and their Feyd approve games.

warnings: Feyd-let’s be honest the man is a menace. Public sex-ish. Almost murder.

note: thank you to all my babes for all the love and encouragement to get some of these wisp done 😅 especially to my Feyd girlies! and to @peggyao3 for being the best! Seriously your work and your encouragement keeps me wanting to push myself more. And we’re getting closer to those 2 other fics day by day babe! 😂 @austinbutlerslovers hope you babes enjoy 🤎

just so yal know this has been in my folders as a wip since early August 🙃🥲

If yall like it, love it or fucks with it please share and comment! I love talking to y’all about our mans.

I give no permission for my work to be used anywhere.

⚔️

it’s seemed like fate honestly so you don’t feel all that bad at the situation the young unmarried lord of house Moritani finds himself in. Not that being unmarried would matter to your husband.

He is slightly bent since he is taller then you just a bit. His eyes peering softly into yours asking for your permission as his hand points downward to the useless cloth you dropped -rushing away to find somewhere to continue your sulking even if it was petty and partly unfounded.

Your breathless from you rush across the fortress so your “you may” comes out a lot more inviting then maybe you initially intended it to. You were ok testing the waters a bit but you had no desire to risk true punishment for either of you.

Not when you couldn’t grantee the safety of the young kind man before. Who may be a little too kind for the dark cold walls of this fortress.

He nods with a pleasant smile as he starts to lean forward.

But the movement that happens at the end of large moonlit hand is swift. He doesn’t utter a single word but a gasp as you hear clear and promising the swoosh of a very familiar blade and growl as the metal is gently laid at the man’s neck.

You know the blade is too sharp to actually press against his neck he would draw blood too soon and if you know your husband if only for a short time you know he likes a little fear before blood is drawn.

Just something to whet his appetite before the main meal.

He likes to get his point across if anyone is unclear.

You don’t look at your husband though you can feel him burning a hole into the side of your face as there’s no need for him to look at the man before you, he doesn’t matter to Feyd, honestly couldn’t matter less to either of you, you think sadly. Not during this little stare down that’s left boiling over from this mornings bickering -more on your side then his- while you laid in your husband’s warm strong embrace.

“You may” you repeat while straightening your spine to convey more authority and not have your disappointed in the man who’s clearly afraid of your husband displayed so openly, he would just gloat.

Even if his sudden fear and immobility is completely justified and necessary for his survival, you were hoping for a little more from him.

Just enough to get you what you wanted without having to ask. You were better than that or so you’ve told yourself a million times since laying eyes on your future husband as he stood covered in blood on the area floor 4 months ago.

You weren’t supposed to be enjoying him let alone this. Especially not by the hands of a feared psychotic man. The man that plagues everyone’s nightmares even your parents. What would they think if they could see you now?

But none of that matters now, not when desire pools hot as this plants sun low in your core threatening to drip down your legs any moment from the sight of the lethal and slightly unhinged man before you. Your husband the na-Baron Feyd Rautha Harkonnen.

Feyd says nothing but pushes the knife up just a bit so the young lord is standing at his full height, the fear of the blade or Feyd your not sure maybe both causing him to stretch his neck as much as possible trying to create as some space.

Space you know Feyd will not afford him. The simple act of him trying to pull away would cause Feyd to react and the knife would most likely end up in his neck anyway.

You sigh in defeat when you see the man is clearly too scared to do anything.

“You may leave” You relent with an eyes roll.

Though he doesn’t move his eyes trained on the knife at his throat. His face is red and he’s starting to sweat.

Feyd turns the blade flat against his throat and pushes into his neck harshly causing a little blood to pearl along his skin in silent permission for the man to leave with his life.

Much to your displeasure he is quick to flee.

You are slightly irritated, but luckily your husband is too irritated with you also to be as smug as he would normally be. He loves to get you worked up. Loves to watch you react to him.

Like a child you stomp your foot and huff before you glance at him, rolling your eyes then heading in the opposite direction of him. You’ve had enough of his games today. You have yet to have anything you consider win under your belt.

“Do you think they desire your affection more then they fear me wife?” He asks his long legs keeping him smoothly on your heels, pride heavy in his raspy voice. Satisfaction pouring off of him in waves. Oh so now comes the smug bastard.

You smirk knowing your next words could end very badly but you want to take him down a notch he’s too high on his horse for you right now. To please with his ability to instill fear into others.

“Well na-Baron I know had I offered my tight wet cunt he’d gladly lay down his life just for a taste, like most men in this very hall would, and the same as all the other planets I’ve been too” you speak openly but in a normal conversational tone in the greats halls were your both passing those of noble houses and status in GP and servants of the fortress who accompany them.

You want your husband -though you know he’s aware, very little if anything gets past him- and everyone else to know that you do in fact know you effect you have on men. Even the men here who act as if they are unaffected by your beauty simply because it is not the standard here.

You and your husband know they lust for you secretly but only you know the true extent of their desire and how far they’d be willing to take it if only you gave them the impression you were interested from their open stares when your husband is no where in sight. They fill their greed of you openly when Feyd is safely on the other side of the fortress or in the arena or better yet on another planet for his duties, which you haven’t accompanied him with yet in the few times he’s had to leave you because it’s recommended you stay to keep helping your body get adjusted to the atmosphere here so you have a better chance at conceiving sooner.

You hear the growl before you feel yourself roughly pushed into the black wall, a gasp leaving you at the force and surprise. It wasn’t hard enough to truly hurt but enough to get your attention about how closely you were playing with fire.

Nothing stops in the busy hall but you know they’re curious and nervously watching as they try to act nonchalant.

“You can’t be talking about my cunt little wife” Feyd grits with barely controlled rage covering his handsome face that you know those passing can hear, he’s shaking, the thought alone of all the men who’d gladly die for a chance to have your sweet royal cunt.

Yes he knew this but he chose not to think about such things unless he hears or see something he doesn’t like. Something he would take a man’s life for thinking or saying. Like what just happened and what disgusting filth has left your pretty mouth about another ever having you.

No. He would remind you. Remind everyone. He always does.

You’re staring up at him breathlessly and your round eyes give away your excitement as he nudges a strong thigh between your legs.

His hand is quick to follow, as he hikes up your skirt, your bare leg coming into view in the hallway were anyone is too scared to actually watch directly, before his long rough finger tips meet your damp panties.

You roll your hips while letting a whimper escape as your cunt presses into his fingers more, suddenly desperate to feel him.

“Because this cunt” He emphasizes by rubbing while adding more pressure, digging into your clothed lips to get to that pearl he loves so much. Damn these panties you curse, you wanted to feel his bare skin on you. “Because this cunt is my cunt. And any man or woman who even thinks of this cunt will die in such a horribly creative way people will avoid you to try and spare their lives. I will wipe them, their family and any indication of them from the memory of this universe and the next. A whole family line gone because someone thought of my pretty tight little wet cunt” He rasps above you as you shake, you bite into your lip so hard so no one actually hears your moaning as you cum in your panties and all over his fingers. It was too easy how you fell apart for him.

His other hand is hold your jaw in a death grip so you don’t look away from his blue eyes. You don’t even remember when he had grabbed your face in the first place.

But your face burns bright red with embarrassment as you continue to chase the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm on his long thick fingers. Your body shakes pinned under his as wave after wave of your pleasure washes over you.

You try to turn your face to hide from just how much you love this but he doesn’t let you.

He tugs on your lips your puffy clit trapped within with just enough pressure to rip a yelp from you and people start to scurry away. Men with tight trousers, and women hot and soaked from the open display of ownership their desperate for the na-baron to show them. Such affection he’s never shown, not until you. They’re quick to be out of sight, all afraid to still be around when the na-Baron is done with you and what anger may still linger.

Giedi Prime nobles and foreigners trying to flee and not bask too much in the erotic tension that has sudden started to suffocate the hallway from the young na-Baron and na-Baronness.

Newlyweds unlike anything Giedi Prime has seen.

Feyd brings up his wet fingers, catching your attention, you’re even dripping down his hand. How you’ve managed that through your underwear you’re not sure but not surprised with the man hovering above you. He rubs it along your bottom lip, his eyes smoldering as he follow his fingers, it’s then when realized you had broken skin and your bottom lip was bleeding. You smell the metallic just under your nose mixed with your essence.

He’s swift when he moves in. Groaning with deep pleasure as he kisses you passionately without restraint, the taste of your wetness and your blood mixing over both of your tongues as you both fight for dominance. His body chases yours back into the wall and you feel his hard cock grind into your stomach.

You could cum again in this hallway just from the friction of his hot heavy cock against you.

You pull away from the delicious taste and his soft full lips, he makes a noise of protest as he moves back in and starts to suck on your neck.

You and Feyd have not always or mostly even seen eye to eye since your families married you and as much as you’ve avoided trying to feel anything for him the games have gotten hard to resist. He’s been hard to resist. You don’t know if you can call it love yet or ever but his desire and devotion to you is clear and been consistent since your wedding night.

Even so it still kills you to say this to him because you’ve never openly admitted how much you enjoyed being with Feyd all those times he’s made you cum crying on his cock, fingers and tongue. Even some toys. You’ve never been the one to initiate anything sexual between you two but you couldn’t stop yourself if you tried as you feel the words leap off your tongue in a hurry. Completely desperate and full of need. A need only he could tame. You think he has broken you for any other man.

“Husband” you plead in his ear as your fingers caress his head.

He grunts into your neck as he moves lower to your cleavage, his tongue licking over your exposed skin before trying to dip below the hem of your neckline.

“Husband, please take me to your bed chambers” you beg.

His motion stops and his head shooks up trying to gauge you. Piercing Blue eyes like the ocean of your home planet watch you in only a way he could. And when he see the desire and no trace of uncertainty he quickly picks up cradling you in his arms as you squeal and wrap your around his neck.

Maybe this life full of fear, death and games wrapped in the na-Baron arms and snug on his cock wouldn’t be so bad.

⚔️

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