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Things To Expect From Jupiter Roofing Contractor
When you have to engage with a roofing contractor operating in Jupiter, you may have several expectations. From professionalism and expertise to quality workmanship, the reliable roofing contractor would rightly match all your expectations. Here is all about what one can expect from the professional Jupiter roofing contractor.Â
Professionalism and Effective CommunicationÂ
A reliable roofing contactor will deal with clients thoroughly and professionally. This can be exhibited from the initiation of the deal. With clear communication and prompt response, the professional roofer can ease your concerns while meeting all your expectations. They also answer your questions as they have detailed information regarding the current market condition and the material they are going to use with your roofing project. Effective and transparent communication is key to getting your job done.Â
Expertise and ExperienceÂ
A reputable roofing contractor in Jupiter possesses the required expertise and experience to handle different types of roofing projects, including repairs, replacement of the existing roof, and new installations. They have deep knowledge of the same domain and can let you know details about the different roofing materials, local building codes, and industry best practices.Â
Valid License and Insurance
It is essential to know that the roofing contractor has an appropriate license and it has valid insurance so that, if there is any type of issue, it will be easy to get things that you expect from these contractors. In the case of damage or accidents, they can assist the client to come out clean.Â
Quality Material with WorkmanshipÂ
High-quality materials and expert craftsmanship are essential to the roof's endurance and durability. Reputable Jupiter roofers mainly utilize premium roofing supplies and hire skilled roofers who follow industry best practices and standards.
Adhere to the DeadlineÂ
Deadline is the most important thing that a homeowner wants to know regarding the roofing project. When you contact the professional roofing contractor in Jupiter, it becomes easy for you to know that they adhere to the deadline and they ensure that, there will be no issues will arise during the work till completion. In this way, it is the peace of mind for the homeowners.Â
Attention to DetailÂ
With a reputed roofing contractor, you can rest assured that they will prioritize the detailed roofing techniques that would significantly contribute to the roofing project, and when it is completed within the deadline, you will remain peace of mind knowing that there will be no issues face regarding roof in the near future.Â
Warranty and Guarantee on RoofÂ
A reliable and reputed roofer should provide warranties or guarantees on both labor and materials, as well as stand behind their work. This gives homeowners comfort in knowing that they are covered in the event that problems or flaws develop after the project is finished.
Following Proper Safety MeasuresÂ
Every roofing job should always have safety as its first priority. Strict safety procedures will be put in place by a reputable contractor to safeguard both the homeowner's belongings and their employees throughout the job.
Customer SatisfactionÂ
In the end, a reliable Jupiter roofer always puts the needs of their clients first. This entails paying attention to the requirements and worries of the homeowner, taking swift action to resolve any problems, and making sure that the end product meets or beyond expectations. An expert roofer only leaves after the job is finished. They should offer advice on how to maintain the roof and, if necessary, follow-up services to guarantee the roof's long-term integrity.
One can expect these things from a reliable Jupiter roofing contractor. Using their long reputation and workmanship, they can easily make your roofing task a success. This is why getting the right kind of service from a reliable Jupiter roofer is always a great thing.Â
Resource: https://expertroofingfl.wordpress.com/2024/04/23/things-to-expect-from-jupiter-roofing-contractor/Â
#Port St Lucie Roofing#Port St Lucie Roofers#Port St Lucie Roofing Contractor#Port St Lucie Roofing Service#Port St Lucie Roof Repair#Port St Lucie Roof Replacement#Palm City Roofing#Palm City Roofers#Palm City Roofing Contractor#Palm City Roofing Service#Palm City Roof Repair#Palm City Roof Replacement#Jupiter Roofing#Jupiter Roofers#Jupiter Roofing Contractor#Jupiter Roofing Service#Jupiter Roof Repair#Jupiter Roof Replacement#Palm Beach Roofing#Palm Beach Roofers#Palm Beach Roofing Contractor#Palm Beach Roofing Service#Palm Beach Roof Repair#Palm Beach Roof Replacement#Expert Roofing Services#Roof repair near me#Roof replacement near me#Roofing services near me
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I love the idea of both Kaeya and Diluc being like. Constantly freaking ppl out back in their knight days bc theyâd climb fucken anywhere and everywhere unprompted, no matter how dangerous or impossible it seemed
#//Madlads abt parkour jdhfbf#â â ( .ooc. );#//Sb talking abt how Kaeya got overwhelmed and ran off; and Luc is just âHold my grape juice; in know where he isâ#//Fucken takes a running start and scales the closest windmill and chill up there with Kae until heâs good#//Crepus asks Kae to get Kuc to help with grape picking#//Doesnt even bother going inside; mans heckin hops and climbs his way up the Winery until heâs reached the roof#//And proceeds to forget why he was even there bc Luc started gushing over how FAST Kae climbed and they start chatting#//Crepus later is playfully exasperated like âI donât know why I didnât see that comingâ#//Sometimes Diluc likes to climb up onto Angelâs Share roof bc the effort helps still his nerves#//Esp if he and Kaeya bickered that night. just chills up there to cool his head; process what was said; and stew a bit in regret over it#//Resolve to try and find the right time to approach and talk abt it (he never does; keeps getting too unsure)#//Kaeya loves making his way up to the top of knights HQ; where and Luc sometimes chilled during their Knight Days while tryna evade Varka#//He was up there a LOT when Diluc left; replaying their fight in his mind over and over#//Hes not looking for solutions or could have beens. just reminding himself of what he did; and what he ruined#//Hes a bit hopeless in that regard#//Both aspire to take a significant other to the palms of the Barbatos statue#//THATS how you know they really have their heart set on you; if one makes the offer#//They both love the idea of chilling with a significant other in his statueâs hands; admiring the view of the city#//Kaeya especially loves it bc itâs so close to the stars and easier to see them#//Luc likes it bc itâs just them together; in a way isolated from the world#hc; diluc#hc; kaeya#//almost forgot that bit jdhfb
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heart s. johnson | los angeles
#heartjohnsonart#heart s johnson#los angeles#la#palm trees#roof#industrial#city#photography#artists on tumblr#urban photography#urban
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"With âgreen corridorsâ that mimic the natural forest, the Colombian city is driving down temperatures â and could become five degrees cooler over the next few decades.
In the face of a rapidly heating planet, the City of Eternal Spring â nicknamed so thanks to its year-round temperate climate â has found a way to keep its cool.
Previously, MedellĂn had undergone years of rapid urban expansion, which led to a severe urban heat island effect â raising temperatures in the city to significantly higher than in the surrounding suburban and rural areas. Roads and other concrete infrastructure absorb and maintain the sunâs heat for much longer than green infrastructure.
âMedellĂn grew at the expense of green spaces and vegetation,â says Pilar Vargas, a forest engineer working for City Hall. âWe built and built and built. There wasnât a lot of thought about the impact on the climate. It became obvious that had to change.â
Efforts began in 2016 under MedellĂnâs then mayor, Federico GutiĂ©rrez (who, after completing one term in 2019, was re-elected at the end of 2023). The city launched a new approach to its urban development â one that focused on people and plants.
The $16.3 million initiative led to the creation of 30 Green Corridors along the cityâs roads and waterways, improving or producing more than 70 hectares of green space, which includes 20 kilometers of shaded routes with cycle lanes and pedestrian paths.
These plant and tree-filled spaces â which connect all sorts of green areas such as the curb strips, squares, parks, vertical gardens, sidewalks, and even some of the seven hills that surround the city â produce fresh, cooling air in the face of urban heat. The corridors are also designed to mimic a natural forest with levels of low, medium and high plants, including native and tropical plants, bamboo grasses and palm trees.
Heat-trapping infrastructure like metro stations and bridges has also been greened as part of the project and government buildings have been adorned with green roofs and vertical gardens to beat the heat. The first of those was installed at MedellĂnâs City Hall, where nearly 100,000 plants and 12 species span the 1,810 square meter surface.
âItâs like urban acupuncture,â says Paula Zapata, advisor for MedellĂn at C40 Cities, a global network of about 100 of the worldâs leading mayors. âThe city is making these small interventions that together act to make a big impact.â
At the launch of the project, 120,000 individual plants and 12,500 trees were added to roads and parks across the city. By 2021, the figure had reached 2.5 million plants and 880,000 trees. Each has been carefully chosen to maximize their impact.
âThe technical team thought a lot about the species used. They selected endemic ones that have a functional use,â explains Zapata.
The 72 species of plants and trees selected provide food for wildlife, help biodiversity to spread and fight air pollution. A study, for example, identified Mangifera indica as the best among six plant species found in MedellĂn at absorbing PM2.5 pollution â particulate matter that can cause asthma, bronchitis and heart disease â and surviving in polluted areas due to its âbiochemical and biological mechanisms.â
And the urban planting continues to this day.
The groundwork is carried out by 150 citizen-gardeners like Pineda, who come from disadvantaged and minority backgrounds, with the support of 15 specialized forest engineers. Pineda is now the leader of a team of seven other gardeners who attend to corridors all across the city, shifting depending on the current priorities...
âIâm completely in favor of the corridors,â says [Victoria Perez, another citizen-gardener], who grew up in a poor suburb in the city of 2.5 million people. âIt really improves the quality of life here.â
Wilmar Jesus, a 48-year-old Afro-Colombian farmer on his first day of the job, is pleased about the projectâs possibilities for his own future. âI want to learn more and become better,â he says. âThis gives me the opportunity to advance myself.â
The projectâs wider impacts are like a breath of fresh air. MedellĂnâs temperatures fell by 2°C in the first three years of the program, and officials expect a further decrease of 4 to 5C over the next few decades, even taking into account climate change. In turn, City Hall says this will minimize the need for energy-intensive air conditioning...
In addition, the project has had a significant impact on air pollution. Between 2016 and 2019, the level of PM2.5 fell significantly, and in turn the cityâs morbidity rate from acute respiratory infections decreased from 159.8 to 95.3 per 1,000 people [Note: That means the city's rate of people getting sick with lung/throat/respiratory infections.]
Thereâs also been a 34.6 percent rise in cycling in the city, likely due to the new bike paths built for the project, and biodiversity studies show that wildlife is coming back â one sample of five Green Corridors identified 30 different species of butterïŹy.
Other cities are already taking note. BogotĂĄ and Barranquilla have adopted similar plans, among other Colombian cities, and last year SĂŁo Paulo, Brazil, the largest city in South America, began expanding its corridors after launching them in 2022.
âFor sure, Green Corridors could work in many other places,â says Zapata."
-via Reasons to Be Cheerful, March 4, 2024
#colombia#brazil#urban#urban landscape#urban planning#cities#civil engineering#green architecture#green spaces#urban heat#urban heat island effect#weather#meteorology#global warming#climate change#climate hope#climate optimism#climate emergency#climate action#environment#environmental news#city architecture#bicycling#native plants#biodiversity#good news#hope#solarpunk#ecopunk#hopepunk
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Random Headcannons
Ahem, now that the event is over, here are some of my personal Jason Todd headcannons for your consideration:
He's always going to be taller than you. Doesn't matter if you're 5'2" or 6'0". He's simply taller than you, and he's buying boots with 4" platforms to really seal the deal
Jason loves any nickname you call him. Call him Jay, Jace, or any pet name and term of endearment. It'll make his heart skip a beat, and his eyes go starry. His name never sounds so pretty than when it's falling from your lips
Serial Hand Kisser. He's kissing your knuckles, your fingertips, the back of your hand, your palm, your wrist. He doesn't even need an excuse or reason to do it. He'll just be sitting on the couch reading, and your palm is pressed to his mouth the entire time.
Drags you out into the rain with him to dance. Yes, you introduced him to the joy of spinning under the cloudy skies, but he's the one who pulls you out from under cover every time it starts to drizzle.
This happens even if you're in your apartment, when the storm starts. You have a fire escape and a roof for a reason, and you're going to use it
He has a bit of sweet tooth, and it's entirely Alfreds fault. Even if you dont like sweets, he's going to convert you. Jason will find the recipe that changes your mind to at least enjoying his baking
You'll have to actively convince him to let you backpack on his motorcycle. Bikes can be dangerous, no matter how safe he is, other drivers won't always be
If you manage to convince him, you're going to wear all the protective gear, and he's taking you onto back roads outside of Gotham to practice leaning into turns safely before he drives you anywhere near the city streets
Will fully lay on top of you when you start sharing a bed. He's a cuddler, and that's not a crime. (Sure, he won't do it every night, he likes it when you sleep on his chest, too. But he will smother sleep on you)
#you can tell me if im wrong tbh#jason todd x reader#headcannons#jason todd#x reader#jason todd x y/n#jason todd x you
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Catcalling the Devil
Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 3.4k
Warnings/tags: drunk Reader, humor, terrible flirtatious comments, and lots of appreciation for the Ass of Hell's Kitchen
Summary: A night out takes an amusing turn when you accidentally and drunkenly catcall the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.
a/n: This little one shot is brought to you thanks to the Murdock Tuna Team who not only inspired the idea, but helped create some of the flirtatious banter. I just couldn't resist the idea of catcalling the Devil in the black suit, okay? Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!
Pushing open the door of Alchemy, you stepped outside and onto the sidewalk. The sweltering heat of Hellâs Kitchen greeted you, the humidity mixing with the sticky sweat already coating your skin and adding another uncomfortable layer of dampness. But it still felt far more refreshing outside in the humid evening air than it did inside the busy bar with countless other sweaty bodies packed together. The usual buzz of the city at night was even welcoming in comparison to the loud music that had been steadily aggravating the pounding in your head for the past twenty minutes.Â
Walking unsteadily in your heels, you turned to the right and made your way over towards the corner of the building and away from Alchemy's main doors and thumping music. One of your hands reached up as you stumble-walked, grabbing at the neck of your dress and peeling it off of your wet skin to allow some air to flow inside and cool your heated body. Youâd spent a good portion of your evening drunkenly dancing with your friends as you celebrated Eliseâs birthday tonight, which was why you'd decided to wait for your Uber outside of the barâso you could catch your breath before heading home.Â
As you neared the alley, your ankle unexpectedly twisted when your heel caught in a crack along the sidewalk. A surprised gasp slipped past your lips as you began falling forward face-first towards the pavement. Your hand released the neck of your dress and instinctively flew out to your side, your palm landing against the brick of the building just in time to awkwardly catch yourself. Struggling to steady your inebriated self, you stayed bent in half as the pavement swirled beneath your black heels.Â
Once the spinning had finally stopped, you threw your other hand out and began to desperately claw your way back upright with both hands along the brick. Limping forward, you leant up against the side of the bar and tried to ease the pressure off your now sore ankle. With a low groan you attempted to find a comfortable position against the brick, supporting your weight more fully along the wall and resigning yourself to waiting right here for your Uber. Internally you cursed yourself for wearing such tall heels and drinking as much as you had tonightâhopefully you hadnât actually injured your ankle. Youâd probably be regretting your decisions in the morning, especially since you still had to go into work.Â
Reaching up, you ran the back of your hand across your forehead in an attempt to remove some of the sweat that had accumulated there. But just as youâd begun to lower your hand back to your side, movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention. Your head turned in the direction of it, your vision spinning momentarily before everything came back into focus. Though the second your brain managed to make sense of the black blur on the rooftop, your mouth fell open. Because there on the roof just above you was the infamous Devil of Hellâs Kitchen.Â
âThereâs no way Iâm this drunk,â you muttered to yourself.Â
You watched as the dark figure crouched down low on the corner of the building, his body hunched like a gargoyle overlooking the street below. He was only a few floors above you and seemingly searching for something with the way his head was scanning the street below as it moved back and forth in sharp movements. With his back turned towards you while he was lowered in a crouch, you had been left with a perfect view of his backside under the city lights. Whether it was due to how absolutely glorious the Devil of Hellâs Kitchenâs ass looked in his black pants while you were almost directly beneath him, or due to the handful of shots and cocktails youâd recently drank down, youâd suddenly loosed a long, low whistle out into the night.
Immediately the Devilâs head snapped over his shoulder the second youâd whistled. Eyes growing wide in shock, your body straightened against the wall behind you instantly. You hadnât even realized youâd just catcalled the Devil until youâd actually done it. And now he was crouched atop the roof and staring right down at you.
For a long time you stood there locking eyes with the masked manâor so you assumed, considering you couldnât see his eyes beneath the black on his face. Neither of you moved, neither of you spoke, yet a tension had quickly formed in the air.Â
Until a peel of laughter bubbled right up out of your mouth.
The Devilâs head tilted sharply to the side as the sound echoed through the alley beside you. You threw a hand up to cover your mouth, trying to stifle the noise, but somehow that only made you laugh harder. Because no one would believe you about this later. But your laughter fell short when the Devil rose to his full height on the rooftop, spinning around to face you with a fluid grace that had made your head spin in return. Biting down on your lip, you fought back another round of laughter as tears began to form in your eyes. Youâd only managed to reduce your amusement at the situation to barely restrained giggles before he spoke.
âSomething wrong?â the deep voice called out.
You shook your head quickly, the Devil briefly blurring into three Devils above you. Throwing your hand up into the air, you sent him a single thumbâs up. âNo!â you answered, stifling another giggle. âEverythingâs fine, Devil. Justâjust appreciating the view.â
His head cocked to the side even further, the sight reminding you of a dog. Another giggle slipped out of you before you could stop it. Though you once more bit down on your lip when the vigilante began to expertly climb his way down the side of the building. Openly admiring his body as you readjusted your position against the wallâwhich was currently still single-handedly keeping you upright at the momentâyou watched as he easily made his way from the roof to the alley. If it hadnât been for the curious, pleased smile that was clearly spread across his lips when he came to stand just a few feet away, you mightâve felt nervous that heâd suddenly taken as much of an interest in you as you had in him.Â
âAppreciating the view?â he asked.
âYeah,â you replied. âYour ass.â
The Devilâs lips twitched at your bold honesty and you bit back another giggle. This whole situation was so unbelievable it was actually absurdly hilarious.
âSo youâre saying that you interrupted me solely just to whistle at my ass?â the Devil inquired. âDid I hear that right?â
Pushing away from the wall, you stumbled forward a step, squaring your shoulders and looking him straight in the eyesâor where you thought they were. âYeah. Couldnât exactly resist,â you answered, your words slurring a bit as you spoke. âYouâre carryinâ an entire bakeryâs worth of devilâs food cake back there.â
You wildly waved a hand towards the Devilâs lower half, sloppily gesturing towards his ass. His head once more tilted curiously to the side, the grin on his lips growing even wider in clear amusement.Â
âDevilâs food cake?â he questioned.
âYâknow,â you said, waggling your eyebrows suggestively at him. ââCause of all thatâthat cake you got back there. Wouldnât mind a piece, personally.â
A huff of laughter slipped past the Devilâs lips and you brightened at the sound as it registered in your intoxicated ears. His positive reaction was only going to encourage you now.
âAre youâŠÂ flirting with me?â he asked incredulously. âBecause you do realize who I am, right?â
âWouldnât be the worst guy Iâve hit on tonight,â you replied with a shrug.
The Devil laughed, shaking his head as his attention dropped down towards his boots. A grin lingered along his lips, something almost bashful. But your focus openly shifted back down to the profile of his ass, your eyes appreciating the way the dark fabric stretched over him.Â
âYâknow itâs my friendâs birthday tonight,â you told him, swaying unsteadily on the sidewalk. âDidnât realize you were the one bringinâ the cake.â
A snort of laughter met your comment, your smile growing wide as you watched the Devilâs head rise back up. He was smirking now, something mischievous in the way his mouth had twisted beneath the hard line of his mask.Â
Grinning back at him, your right hand cupped around your mouth as you leaned forward towards him. âBut maybe you can let me blow out the candle,â you drunkenly half-whispered.
He shook his head at you, but the mischievous twist of his lips remained beneath the black fabric of his mask. âYou're a bold drunk, aren't you?â he asked.
âMaybe,â you mumbled back, your eyes fixing along his lips. Without even thinking, you blurted next, âWouldnât mind climbing you like a building.â
Another surprised snort of amusement fell out of him as he shook his head at you once more. âYouâre full of so many terrible lines,â he teased back with a chuckle. âYou do realize that, right?â
âOh Iâve got plenty more,â you assured him with a nod, exaggeratingly waving a dismissive hand in the air between you both. âDonât you worry. Could totally do this all night.â
âOh really?â he asked. âIs that right? Because I certainly can make time for this.â
Your hand stopped flapping in the air between you both, a single finger raising up. âOkay, wait,â you amended. âI have an Uber coming. So maybe not all night, but probably a few more minutes.â
âMmm,â he hummed out, his smile briefly slipping. âShame because this is turning out to be the most fun Iâve had so far in the mask.â
âWanna make it more fun?â you asked, grinning suggestively at him.
The Devilâs bottom lip rolled between his teeth as he tried to bite back his growing smile. Something warm heated you, starting at the base of your skull and trickling down to your toes. Your eyes focused back on his mouth as your tongue slid out, licking your lips. You'd only been jokingly flirting, but nowâŠ
âHate to be the voice of reason here,â the Devil began, âbut I don't sleep with intoxicated women that I meet in alleys. I much prefer sober consent.â
âWhat a pity,â you mumbled, face contorting into a pout. âNever would've thought the Devil was a gentleman .â
âI'm full of surprises,â he teased.
You hummed thoughtfully in response, taking a step into the alley towards him and stumbling a little in your heels. Ignoring the growing throbbing of your ankle, you focused on the thrill of the Devil of Hellâs Kitchen actually letting you flirt with him. You wanted to enjoy every minute of it, even if you probably wouldn't remember this moment too clearly in the morning.
âAnyone tell you youâve got a pretty mouth?â you asked him.Â
The Devil shook his head, his smile returning. âNo. Can't say the criminals I meet are too fond of passing out compliments when I'm hitting them,â he replied.
âWell you do ,â you assured him. âYou really, really do .â Eyes narrowing at the plush lips of his still quirked into a smile, you studied the shape of them amongst the faint bit of dark stubble. âReminds me of my boss. Now that's a mouth I'd love to do things with,â you drunkenly confessed. âBut see,â you continued, pointing a firm finger at the Devilâs chest, â heâs an asshole. Not fun like you.âÂ
The Devilâs head tilted to the side again, his grin growing into a smirk. âOh he is, is he?â he asked.
âYes,â you answered. âGreat ass, huge asshole. IâmâIâm sure thereâs a stick shoved in there somewhere.â
The Devil barked out a laugh into the night as you reached into your purse and pulled out your phone. Squinting as the bright light assaulted your eyes, you saw that your Uber was mere minutes away. You loosed a disappointed sigh.
âYour ride almost here?â the Devil asked.
âUnfortunately,â you answered, returning your phone to your purse. âUnless you wanna be my ride tonight?â
Zipping your purse back up, you heard the Devil let out another laugh. Your smile grew along with your surprise at this whole interaction. You hadnât anticipated just how fun the masked vigilante actually was considering how he spent his evenings. It was a shame youâd never meet him again.
âHave you fallen tonight?â the Devil asked, still grinning at you.
You held up a hand, preventing him from continuing his thought. âIf you're about to ask if I fell from heaven,â you slurred, âthen I'm disappointed in your lines, Devil man.â
âNo,â he said, shaking his head and laughing softly. âIâm just concerned you might have a concussion because of your continued flirting with a known vigilante. You should probably get your head checked out.â
â You can check me out,â you teased coyly, sending him an exaggerated wink.
The Devilâs mouth opened, about to reply, but then his face darted over your shoulder, the corner of his lip twitching. You frowned when he took a step back, aware the gesture meant this entire interaction was quickly coming to an end. You didnât want it to.
âThink your rideâs about here, actually,â the Devil said, further backing up into the alley. âSeems this is where I say goodnight.â
âOh câmon, donât go yet!â you begged his retreating form. âI didnât get any devilâs food cake!â you called after him. âHow âbout a piece to-go? Sharing is caring!â
But somehow the Devil had quickly disappeared into the darkened alley, the only proof of his presence the echo of his laughter bouncing off the brick walls. The sound sent a pleasant chill up your body, a smile still lingering along your lips as you teetered on the spot staring after him.
The pounding in your head hit you almost immediately after the sound of your alarm hit your ears. Groaning miserably as your entire body protested waking, your hand blindly flew out from beneath the sheets and felt around for your phone. Opening your eyes, you immediately hissed in pain as the bright light in your bedroom burned them. You blinked rapidly, trying to push past the growing throbbing in your head in order to shut off your irritating alarm.Â
Silence finally settling once more in your room, you tossed your phone back down onto your nightstand and rolled onto your side before immediately halting. A wave of nausea hit you instantly and you squeezed your eyes closed, hoping to fight the feeling back. You needed to get up and get ready for work. You had twenty minutes to wash up, brush your teeth, and throw on clothes before you had to be out the door or you'd be late, and you could only imagine how irate your one boss would be if you were. You didnât have time to get sick.
After a few moments, you were grateful when the nausea subsided. Cautiously you tested things, slowly opening your eyes again before tentatively pushing yourself upright in bed. The pounding in your head continued to rage on, another pathetic groan slipping past your lips. Drinking like you'd done on a weeknight last night had been a horrible idea. Vaguely you recalled the evening in flashesâdoing rounds of shots, dancing with your friends, flirting with some guy. Most of the night remained a blur, though.
Feeling half-alive, you climbed out of bed and focused on getting ready for work. You'd briefly washed off in the shower, scrubbing yourself just clean enough to remove the scent of alcohol that felt like it was seeping out from your pores. Then you brushed your teeth vigorously before swirling some mouthwash around in your mouth, the taste of which had you fighting bile once more back down. Then you threw on whatever clean blouse and slacks your hands touched first, shuffling through your apartment towards your shoes as you pulled your pants on.
It had ultimately taken you more than twenty minutes to get ready for work and to get out the door since you'd had to stop and brace yourself against a wall or piece of furniture multiple timesâeither due to the pain in your head or the roiling in your gut. Then you'd been in a hurry making your way out of your building and towards the office, the morning sun and the usual city traffic only further aggravating your headache. By the time you'd finally gotten to work, you were more than ten minutes late and out of breath.Â
âI amââ you pushed open the door to the office, panting hard as you spotted one of your bosses leaning against your desk, ââso sorry. Was trying to get here on time but I went out last night. This morning was a struggle.â
âWell you're here now, at least,â Foggy said, glancing up from a paper in his hands at you. His brows creased together as he eyed you, his nose visibly scrunching in distaste. âThough you smell like you slept in a bathtub of liquor and you look like you woke up to fight a pissed off honey badger.â
You laughed lightly, the noise further irritating your head as you hurried over towards your desk before making your way around it. âYeah. I'm aware,â you replied. âI'm sorry. My friend had a birthday last night and I went out to celebrate. I definitely drank too much and I completely regret it. I promise I learned my lesson.â
âCertainly not the best decision,â Foggy agreed. âBut I'm glad to hear that. Maybe next timeââ
âYou're late.â
Your head darted over your shoulder at the sound of your other boss. Grimacing at the stern look on Mattâs face, your shoulders slumped as you set your bag down onto the top of your desk. Â
âI know, I'm sorry, Mr. Murdock,â you apologized. âIt was a one time thing, it won't happen again, I promise.â
âGood, it better not,â he said, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe to his office. The corner of his lip twitched upwards for a second before he raised his coffee cup to his mouth, hiding the smile threatening to spread onto his lips. âFog's right though, you smell like you bathed in the alcohol instead of drinking it. Can you even remember your night out?â
Chewing your lip awkwardly, your brows furrowed as you tried to recall last night. Though the sight of Matt standing there casually leaning against the doorframe drinking his coffee, the buttons of his sage green dress shirt struggling as he did, was making it hard for you to focus.
âUh, bits and pieces of it?â you answered.Â
âMmm,â he hummed out, lowering his coffee cup. âWell, hopefully your evening was worth showing up late for. I certainly enjoyed my night, though. Woke up in a good mood this morning, actually.â
Your eyes narrowed at the smile on his face, something tickling at the back of your mind at the sight of it. But Matt smiling instead of scolding you when you messed up was an unusual occurrence, one that had you hesitantly and distractedly lowering down into your desk chair.Â
âWhich is why I brought doughnuts for everyone this morning,â Matt continued, gesturing a hand towards your desk. âI hope you still have an appetite after all the alcohol.â
âThey're so good,â Foggy told you. âTheyâre from that new bakery a block over.â
Foggy slid the white box you hadnât noticed on your desk over towards you. You watched as he flipped the lid open, the strong and sweet aroma of sugar and chocolate hitting your nose. Your stomach rumbled hungrily as you eyed the delicious chocolate pastries.
âSince when do you bring in doughnuts?â you asked, glancing back over at Matt.
He pushed off the doorframe, shrugging his shoulder. âI don't know,â he said, a strange smile drawing itself wide across his lips. âFor some reason I woke up with a craving for devil's food cake and I just thought Iâd share.â
With a deep chuckle Matt turned around, making his way back into his office. Head tilting curiously to the side, your eyes lingered along his backside as that strange feeling of something trying to reach the forefront of your mind returned.
Matt Murdock One Shot/Shorts Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @sleepysleepymom @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1 @scriptedmoon @ardent-crow @lucienofthelakes @sarahskywalker-amidala @flowher @loves0phelia @a-half-empty-g1rl
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COME REST YOUR BONES NEXT TO ME ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO
synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most.Â
word count; 4.6k
contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoruâs pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues
a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33
âholy shit!â
the raspy tilt of satoruâs voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguruâs lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace â smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.
âsatoru, itâs too early for this...â
âitâs snowing!â said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. heâs standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes.Â
your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.
(snowing.)
with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguruâs grasp â a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine â allowing you to scramble out of bed. âreally?â you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.
satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen â brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks.Â
maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the windowâs glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguruâs long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth.Â
itâs beautiful.Â
satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory â blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded.Â
all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere.Â
the first snow of the year.
and heâs loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers â a reminder of his capacity for ache.
there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.
like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.
and before either of you know it, satoruâs pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again.Â
(probably by satoru himself, though heâll always insist it was suguruâs doing. overcome by his jealousy, surely, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does â he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3â0 cat plushie of yours.
and, sure, maybe once or twice heâs been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumonâs subsequent fall to the floor â but heâll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if heâs really lucky.)
high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands donât fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.
and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling.Â
a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering â but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.
he feels you let go of him, but doesnât mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguruâs poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.
â until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.
satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.
(youâre cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)
âoh, so thatâs how you wanna play?â he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. âfine by me.âÂ
he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair â and you waste no time in making your own.
itâs a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoruâs arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.
so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasnât even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal â falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.
satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. youâre out of breath, and your hands are red, and heâs fairly certain youâre gonna catch a cold. suguruâs going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown youâre wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.
âready to admit defeat, sweetheart?â he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.
ânever.â
a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.
a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. âfine, fineâŠâ a soft pout forms on your lips. âyou win.â
and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. thereâs a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. âthatâs all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,â he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.
his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ânow, for my prizeâŠâ
his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste â a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoruâs smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.
he lingers, for a bit. like heâs trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face.Â
when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. theyâre not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.
you canât help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips.Â
hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.
satoru loves winter. always has. but now, heâs certain he loves it even more.
because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people whoâll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs.Â
what more could a man want?
âhey, idiots!âÂ
the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguruâs got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. thereâs a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.
âiâm making breakfast,â he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. âcome in and warm up before you catch a cold.â
âis that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?â satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.
suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoruâs lips, as if they were always meant to be there.Â
(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)
with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husbandâs chest.
âlook, suguru. isnât it pretty?â you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors â brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.
then he exhales. a fond hum. âit is.â
satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. âsuguru, my hands are cold,â he whines. âwarm âem up for me?â
a click of his tongue. âshouldâve put some gloves on, satoru.â
a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. âmy hands are also cold.â
and, like clockwork, suguruâs eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. âaw, câmere, my loveâŠâ his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. âletâs get you warmed up, hm?â
satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. heâs acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows youâre just exaggerating suguruâs double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.
despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. âoh, i see how it is,â he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. âyou hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.â
âsatoru,â you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do â a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.
âweâre just joking around,â you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. âlove you sooo much. you know that.â
satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguruâs gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes â a meaningful look.
suguru sighs.
âyes, yes. we love you oh so much.â he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ânow behave and go change out of your pyjamas. theyâre soaked.â
his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but itâs suguru, so satoru accepts it â following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.
he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguruâs cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot.Â
when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. heâs not as slick as he thinks.
the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.
(yours and satoruâs are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguruâs is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things heâd like for himself.
and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)
suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate â topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.
when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.
thatâs when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.
âstill sleepy, baby?â he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.
satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping itâll come off as endearing. âmhm.âÂ
but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ânot you,â he tuts, patting your arm, âthis baby. i wasnât asking you.â
a pout. âwhy are you so mean to me?â he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. âsweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.â
you smile. indulgent, as always. âdon't be so mean to him, suguru. you know heâs sensitive.â
a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you â stifling a shared chuckle at suguruâs exasperation.
and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he canât deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguruâs spine. so he only inches closer, without a word.Â
his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.
and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear â an excuse to touch him. a silent apology.Â
(i'm sorry, you big baby.)
satoru grins.
you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husbandâs gaze.
âsatoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?â
he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp â followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. â⊠which sweeteners do you mean, honey?â
âdonât pull the âhoneyâ card.â
âand donât play dumb, either.â
a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. âsuguru, whoâs side are you even on?â
said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoruâs way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the worldâs biggest clown.Â
and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.
âdonât steal their sweeteners.â he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. âbuy your own.â
satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. âah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?â he clicks his tongue. âchivalry is dead.â
you bite back a little chuckle â satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do â and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. âremind me next time i go to the store and iâll consider it.â
âhmph.â
suguru is smiling. itâs small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguruâs back.
and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again.Â
that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago â watered by the sweet looks on your faces.
this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that heâs been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.
(married.)
sometimes he still canât believe it.Â
âitâll be done in a minute,â suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. âyou two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.âÂ
and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but itâs laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.
and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home youâve built for yourselves.
your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.
his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. itâs decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.
(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. heâs a simple man.)
and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguruâs hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year â but satoru couldnât be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heartâs content.
a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.
and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.
âcâmere, suguru! sit on santaâs lap.â
ââ youâre disgusting.â
the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoruâs lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you â sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.
and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.
you curl up in satoruâs lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.
then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. âthere we go,â he coos. âwhat does my angel want for christmas, hm?âÂ
âi want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,â comes your answer. instantaneous.
silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.
â⊠santa can only do so much, baby.â
two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.
âjust kidding!â he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. âdonât you worry. santaâll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.âÂ
you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. âand he wonât end up using them all himself?â
âof course not! blasphemy.âÂ
a moment passes.
â⊠maybe one or two. as a treat.â
a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste â pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.
then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesnât melt his heart down to the marrow.Â
he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguruâs lips.
and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.
he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a womanâs voice.Â
for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?
(look, satoru. isnât it pretty?)
â he canât recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.
it shouldâve been frightening, but it wasnât. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.
and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety â a ghost he doesnât need to chase anymore.
warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoruâs favorite thing about winter.Â
he looks at the two of you, hoping you wonât pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes youâll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguruâs face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself.Â
and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest.Â
he hopes it never goes away.
#genuinely fucked up that suguru geto isnt in my kitchen rn </3#i just think sugu is such a caretaker. makes u breakfast and peels ur satsumas w/o u even asking. bc it makes him happy :â3 hes so Mother#i think he lowkey gets just a little bit uncomfortable when u or gojo try to do the same for him⊠he likes doting on u#but obv he deserves to be pampered too!! just gotta ease him into it#and i think gojo has a hole in his heart where love should be. bc he wasnt given enough as a child#im not sure what to think when it comes to his parents (since we know literally nothing abt them) but...#the idea of him finding some comfort in the memory of his momâŠ. maybe not realizing that he misses herâŠ..⊠i think its very sad. and good.#listened to ricky montgomery while writing this i think it mightve healed me#geto suguru x you#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x y/n#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo x reader#geto x reader#geto x reader x gojo#gojo fluff#geto fluff#satosugu x reader#satosugu x you#satosugu x y/n#jjk fluff#jjk x reader#âŠâŠâŠ thats⊠a lot of tags.
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wish you'd make me cry | c.h./the ghoul
â„ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader â„ word count | 2.3k â„ warning(s) | đ smut; rough, dom!cooper, frottage, sitting missionary, dirty talk, degradation kink, pet names, teasing, dacryphilia, bareback, drug/chem use (jet), shotgunning, high sex â„ summary | "Youâre such a needy fucking brat." :3c â„ notes | drabble (that's no longer a drabble lol) request for @tearueful, thank you bby!! this one really got away from me... i had to stop myself from writing lol. un-beta'd atm. masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated â€ïž
Setting up camp for the night in an abandoned warehouse, you and Cooper wait out a radstorm that blows in off the horizon. Because while he loves sitting outside with a smoke, soaking in the rads until heâs buzzing with frenetic energy, you donât feel like hunting down RadAway tomorrow.
Itâs quiet apart from the distant sound of super mutants and ferals roaming the city, the sporadic roar of thunder, and rain tinging off the sheet metal roof. Thereâs still hours left until daylight, and it doesnât seem like the volatile weather will break soon.
Unfortunately, youâve read all the Grognak comics you could get your grubby hands on three times over, and thereâs not much else to pass the time besides scuff your boot along the concrete floor, and pluck at a stray thread hanging off your tattered sleeping bag.
Meanwhile, Cooper lounges on his side, unbothered. His hand - bare for once - props up his head, the unscarred skin of a commandeered digit stark against angry rad burns and ropey scars. Between the knuckles of his other hand, he rolls a vial of chem over and over in a mesmerizing flick of deft fingers.
A lantern sputters between you as the old battery struggles to keep it lit. Its jaundiced glow banishes the thick darkness; a fuzzy halo of light that elongates shadows and deepens the cuts of his face.
You kiss your teeth, and say, âHey, you got any more Jet?â
Lazy eyes slide towards you. A hairless brow quirks. âAnd if I did,â he asks, the vial pausing between his fingers, âwhy you wanna know?â
âDunno, Iâm bored⊠wanna get high?â
âWell, shit,â he whistles, bares his teeth. A low, crackling laugh rumbles from his chest. âWhy the fuck didnât you ask sooner.â
You shrug and crack a knuckle.
To be honest, the idea hadnât occurred to you at first. Now that it has, anticipation curls low in your belly. Not only has it been a long, long time since you last got high (the sensation a hazy, half-remembered dream of fuzzy warmth and whirling thoughts), you know Cooper always carries a top-notch stash.
The little chem fiend, you think fondly.
âSo,â you prompt. âWanna get high together or what?â
âSure as shit, darlinâ. Letâs party.â
He settles against the pockmarked wall beside you with a soft grunt, the grit of concrete digging into his back. Thigh to thigh, his body is a rad warm line of heat. A bloom of suffocating heat in the otherwise biting chill of a wasteland night. Gunpowder and smoke tickle your nose when he leans over to rifle through his bag, leather creaking.
Muted, mellow; everything fades into a silent companionship as you pass the red inhaler between you. With every puff, whorls of smoke curl from your mouths until a murky gray cloud hovers in the air; defining the edges of your crafted universe.
The acrid vapor of chem burns its way through your lungs and into your bloodstream. A bitter taste coats your fattened tongue, lips tingling as your palm smothers little coughs. A flood of static rushes down your nerve endings, sends your head spinning.
As your vision blurs, the tension leeches from rounded shoulders with a bone weary sigh. And with every slow clicking blink, colors spark to life in a distorted kaleidoscope. Head lolling to the side, you watch through heavy eyes as Cooper rattles the inhaler and takes a shallow hit.
When he exhales, little tendrils of smoke caress the plains of his cheek. Dance along the hollow nasal ridge. âAlmost out.â He grunts, your fingers brushing when he passes the cartridge back. âGo on, now. Finish it.â
The kind gesture (for him) touches you.
Then a faraway thought flutters.
Snags - settles into a nebulous desire.
And before you can second guess yourself, a rumble of thunder shakes the building. Wipes away the last of your common sense, and reservations. After all, why not? He was nice enough to share. You can too.
To his credit, Cooper doesnât startle when you slink into his lap - not that you expect him to, even without being chem-addled. He tracks your movements from beneath a heavy brow bone, the dark Nuka Cola of his eyes glittering like shattered glass in the wane light.
âHeh, this that kinda party then, darlinâ?â he asks once you settle, your thighs draped over his hips and your ass flush with his crotch. ââCuz youâll be wanting ta extricate yourself if it ainât.â
âBefore I do it for you.
Humming, you dip forward until your breasts brush over the wide expanse of his chest. Interest flickers to life behind your navel; cinders cracking and popping along your spine. While youâd never considered Cooper a sexual availability beforehand (what with his never-ending search for family), the laden weight of his gaze as it pauses on your chin before dropping lower sings through your blood.
Kickstarts your heart into a galloping stutter that thuds against your ribcage as longing hooks behind your navel, tugs sudden and sharp. The world spins.
Maybe, you think, peering at him from beneath the fan of your lashes. MaybeâŠ
âPervert,â you murmur, biting down on a small smile.
The knife-sharp smirk falls from his lips faster than a comedown from Psycho when your fingertips ghost over the curve of his jaw, turning his head towards you. Like this, you share breath, the scant space between you thrumming with energy.
So close you can see flecks of gold in the amber whiskey of his eyes.
Your forehead brushes over his; the rough drag of gnarled skin sending a shiver through your limbs. âLetâs share the last hit. Sâonly fair.â
Pausing, he considers you for several long moments.
His gaze bounces from yours to the playful curve of your mouth and back. A small eternity passes like this. And then - when youâre about to crawl away to lick your wounded pride - the most imperceptible of nods grants his assent.
Thereâs a hiss of aerosol, a lung burning inhale, and then youâre exhaling into the open gash of his mouth.
Wisps of smoke dance off your tongue onto his, the bow of your lips glancing off the swell of his top lip as you squirm closer. You feed him chem in a slow, steady stream until all the air has left you.
He groans - a wounded, low-throated sound.
Your eyes flutter open to find him already staring, his iris a thin ring around the Blackhole of his wide blown pupils. Hooded, hungry: a caged predator. You lick your lips, and in doing so, flick your tongue over his.
Your stomach swoops, âI --â
âYouâre such a needy fuckinâ brat, yâknow that, sweetheart?â
Whether it was an apology or some other retort stuck to the back of your teeth like hard candy, youâll never know because in the next moment a rough hand knocks the Jet out of your hand. The inhaler cracks against the concrete with a plastic smack before skidding off into the darkness.
A burning palm curls around your wrist, calloused fingers digging into your fluttering pulse point. âHey â hngg!â
He yanks you close, and you taste the violence in his kiss.
Harsh lips map out the softness of yours as teeth pinch and roll until your mouth is a swollen mess of tender flesh and smeared spit. Keeping up with the frenzied scrape of his tongue and the deep pulls of his kisses is like trying to weather a hurricane or fight off a Yao Guai with a single bullet.
âW-Wait,â you gasp, fingers twined through the lapels of his duster. âI donât --â
âShut up,â Cooper growls, worrying the swell of your bottom lip until a bead of blood bubbles to the surface. He sucks it away with a stifled moan, his hips kicking up against the plush of your ass.
âShut the fuck up right now. You know what you was doing - trying ta act innocent when youâve been gagginâ for it.â
Flustered, you pull back, âNo, thatâs not true!â
Itâs hard to keep your balance with chem pumping through your veins, and you sway to the side. The only thing keeping you upright is the bruising grip Cooper has on your wrist. âI havenât been â youâre wr-rong.â
He spits out a mean spirited chuckle. âIf thatâs what you need ta tell yourself, sweetheart.â A critical eye drags down the pathetic sight you make, crumbled as you are in his lap. âBut I know the truth. I felt you looking - pantinâ after me like a bitch in heat.â
â...â
Panic grips you by the throat, your pulse thundering against the thumb he strokes along the curve of your shoulder. You shouldâve known better.
Of course, heâd notice.
He was The Ghoul after all - best bounty hunter from this coast to the next. It was his job to perceive everything around him, sus out friend from foe.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
âIâm⊠Iâm sorry.â
What else can you say?
He brought you along (for whatever reason, fuck if you know why), and youâve caused nothing but trouble every step of the way. Itâs a wasteland miracle he hasnât kicked your ass and left you bleeding in the dirt by now.
I have to fix this. Whatever it takes.
âI ainât wanting you sorry.â
Gulping, you will away the sting of tears, and say, âPlease, donât kick me out.â
âYâknow, sometimes I think itâs a miracle you survived this long at all.â
âYou donât have to be so rude about itâŠâÂ
âListen good and well, sugar,â he says with a roll of his eyes, that tender hand brushing over your neck turning into a collar as he drags you close. His lips whisper over yours with every word. âI didnât go through all of this bullshit just ta get rid of you. Now--â
Hips rut up into you, dragging the firm line of his growing erection along the soft globes of your ass. âStop teasinâ and make yourself useful,â he says. âOr you will be sorry.â
Everything after that flicks in and out of focus like a zoetrope: the burning clasp of hands, the slick glide of hungry mouths, the frantic rock of your hips as you both chase after dry friction with a desperation that borders on madness.
Your hands donât know where to settle, fluttering from the nape of his neck to the breadth of his shoulders to the rippling muscle of his stomach as he rocks into you. Bites at any exposed skin that he can until his teeth leave marks youâll carry for days.
All the while the hard edges of his body crash into your softness like waves against an eroding shore. Liquid fire blazes in your belly like a raging wildfire, scorching you from the inside out until youâre dumb and dripping.
The chem snaking through your body enhances the littlest of sensations until you feel like one giant exposed nerve. Slick drenched and sweaty, you moan weakly and rest your forehead against his cheek.
âPlease,â you slur, thighs trembling where they squeeze at his live-wire hips. âSânot enough - need more. Wanna cum. Please, please, please. Make me cum.â
Cooper bites out a curse, his fingers biting into the fat of your ass. âYeah, sâthat right, sweetheart - dâyou think you deserve it for beinâ such a lil brat?â
âYes, yes, please, Iâll do anything. Just - hhahh, fuck!â
The fabric of your panties clings to your folds, and your pants chafe.
Your clit throbs with every thud of your heartbeat, every firm grind of his cock and low husk of his voice. Want him seated so deep inside you choke - your poor pussy struggling to take his cock as he rides you so hard you cry.
âAnything?â he asks with a breathless chuckle.
The devilish gleam of his eyes rattles your bones, shivers of electric anticipation fizzing through your veins like Quantum.
âWell, shit. Donât come cryinâ ta me when you regret it. Now, take off those fucking pants and ride my cock like a good girl.â
And when he bullies his way inside, those thick ridges dragging along gummy walls, you almost swallow your tongue. Heâs so big - the biggest youâve ever had.
Every inch is a struggle, a victory. Heâs not patient, heâs not kind. You donât want it any other way, spread so wide your pussy flutters pathetically, trying to push him out.
Then the fat head grazes past the rough patch of your g-spot, sliding home to kiss your cervix. Your knees lock around his ribs, your head tossing back as a high-pitched whine punches its way out of your throat.
âA-Ah! I canât â oh shit â youâre so,â you babble. âToo much!â
An ache spears deep, roots behind your navel.
âHeh, you asked for it, sweetheart. Look at me.â A scarred thumb wicks away a tear as you peel your eyes open with a sniffle. âThatâs it. Shit, you look sâpretty when you cry.â
He licks his skin clean, uses his wet thumb to reach between you and roll the pad over your abused clit. You jump, sliding up on his shaft only for gravity to drag you back down with a solid smack of skin, your limbs jello soft.
The motion slams him deeper and slick drips from you in a sticky gush to soak his balls. You cry out, reedy thin.
Cooper grunts, warns, âYou keep doing that and weâre not stoppinâ til youâre dripping cum.â
Though the thick haze of chem and syrupy sweet pleasure, you cobble together a grin and lick your way into his mouth. Tangle your tongues and suck as your hips arch into his. âPlease, ruin me,â you breathe.
A possessive greed glints at you from the depths of his hangman eyes.
âDonât go sayinâ I didnât warn you, sweetheart,â he promises.
#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#the ghoul x you#the ghoul x reader#cooper howard smut#the ghoul smut#cooper howard#the ghoul#fallout smut#fallout fanfic
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supermassive blackhole â jay park pt. 1
â non-idol! spiderman! jay x fem!reader
â summary: You and Jay Park couldn't stand each other. But after a drunk makeout session at your university's annual soccer mixer, combined with Jay's secret identity as the city's friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, the two of you are pushed closer to each other than ever, challenging your long-time status as 'enemies.'
âgenre: enemies to lovers, suggestive but no nsfw/smut, angst, fluff, spiderman! au, college! au, so incredibly american HELP, reader has glasses bc it's cute and jay has a lip piercing bc i said so
â warning(s) ? many mentions and instances of alcohol (all characters are of age) , this is very suggestive but there is no smut
â word count: Â 13.7k
â a/n: my dumbass didn't factor in character block limit when i wrote this shit so i'm gonna split this fic up into two parts... sorry guys :( lmk if you want me to tag you in part 2, also this has a diff style so lmk how we feel abt it đ
part 2
âOh, thank you so much, Spider-Man!â
It was a warm spring evening, and Spider-Man had been on his evening city patrol. When he found a little old lady calling for help, who was he to refuse her? Her cat had been stuck in a tree, and she needed someone to help her. Hopping up on the tree, he safely retrieved the ball of fluff.
âOf course, Maâam,â the superhero chuckled. If only she could see him through his mask, he would be grinning. âGet home safely.â
Watching the little ladyâs retreating back, Spider-Man shot a web to the top of a building, and hoisted himself up into the air.
On late-spring nights like this, it was peaceful. He liked the breeze that hit his masked face as he swung from building to building. Around this time, rush hour would be beginning, and all the university students would be getting out. Speaking ofâŠ
Peeking over a billboard, Spider-Man peered down to the university campus. His own university campus.
There was no reason in particular for this, but he liked to watch the university around evening time. Most people were beginning their commute home or to the dorms, but campus crime was not rare at all. It could be small offenses like graffiti or theft, but he would prefer those types of things to just not exist at all at a place like the university. And, he just liked to check up on his friends or people he knew, to make sure they were getting home safely.
His eyes narrowed at a familiar figure that made its way across campus. Even from a tall building, he could recognize that head. His jaw clenched, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip before shooting another web and slinging away.
By the time it was fully dark out, Spider-Man had finished his night patrol.Â
Sitting on the roof of his apartment complex, he didnât quite want to go in yet. He liked freedom: the physical freedom yielded from spider-like abilitiesâ practically flying through the airâ and the social freedom of anonymity. Leaning back on his palms, Spider-Man took a deep breath.
The clouds were beginning to clear up because of the weather, so the moon and stars were extra visible tonight. Clothed fingers creeped up to his neck, carefully pulling up the red mask that covered his face.
He was lucky that no one else casually sat on top of apartment complexes, or else his identity would be revealed.
Jay Park.
The moonlight glimmered on his honey-gold tan skin. The night breeze was cool, kissing his hot cheeks. He ran a hand through his tousled coal-ebony hair, letting his sweaty forehead that had been covered for hours air out.
Truth be told, he was a tad exhausted. Itâs not common for the safety of a city to lie on the shoulders of a struggling university student like himself. Throwing his head back and letting dark locks fall over his eyebrows, he let out a huff.
Shit, thereâs a party tomorrow.
Everyone liked to boast about the idea of soulmates.Â
The idea that fate existed as the binding force that drew lovers of all disparate backgrounds together was prolific, pervading in all parts of history. From severed limbs that shared the same primordial origin, to congenital tattoos containing initials, to even timers that counted down every second until meeting, the concept of soulmates has been longed for, craved for, lusted for- for centuries.
Unfortunately, for you, the notion that everyone had an innate and pre-destined lover was a tad ridiculous.
There was no way that you could believe in soulmates.
âWhy the fuck are you here?â
But you did believe in natural enemies.
âI can ask you the same thing, Park.â
Tonight was the soccer team mixer, an end-of-the-year party that the universityâs team hosted to celebrate yet another exciting school year. Courtesy of your friends, you and your thick-ass glasses ended up attending.Â
Tonight was supposed to be a nice night. It really was. Junior year of university was a stressful one, and you were more than ready to party all your worries away: you figured that you earned it.Â
Much to your misfortune, though, there was someone else that decided to attend: the most insufferable, loud, and obnoxious person to ever exist, Jay Park.
There were several reasons to despise him and his funky, tousled hair. He was loud, rowdy, fiery, rambunctious, unruly, uncouth, uncivilized, hot-headed, talked way too much, had no sense of volume, and in your very personal opinion, just sucked. And, apparently, he was a total freak. He would show up to parties and socials, cause a ruckus with his presence, and then randomly disappear. He stood weirdly, and his mannerisms were just strange.
If you could go back and change history, you would have never allowed yourself to even meet such a person. Unfortunately, you two had intersecting friend groups and many mutual friends; there was no avoiding him given your social circles.
It started back in freshman year of highschool. The two of you were sat next to each other on the first day of fourth period English Honors. Your teacher must have seen something that you didnât, because it was almost impossible for you to even talk to each other. Jay, the pubescent boy he was, would crack a few jokes. You, though, would stare at him vacantly, as if you were expecting him to add on.Â
âCan you stop talking?â you asked him once. âYour jokes arenât funny.â
You had meant it in a helpful way.
âIf you want to make it funnier, maybe have a set-up and punchline? Your jokes donât land.â
Really.
You were genuinely trying to be helpful.Â
The only issue was that, like everyone else in the world, Jay didnât take that well.
From then until the second quarter, you and Jay would only talk to each other if specifically asked to. You would turn around to the girl that sat behind you, and Jay would talk to the guy that sat diagonally in front of him. And when you guys did speak Jay would be unnecessarily dry, and in response, you would get irritated and snap at him.
When you finally moved seats next quarter, you still managed to see each other around. Too much. Your only interactions were limited to a few judgy glances, and occasionally, glares.
During the fourth quarter, Jay made an attempt to mend your relationship when you guys were placed adjacent to each other again.Â
Except, now it was your turn to be offended.Â
âHey, I know I was a dick and you were a bitch, but-â
âI was a bitch?â
Youâd kick his chair in class, and when the two of you were inevitably forced to talk, itâd be short and curt.
Truly, it was the summer of freshman year that really catapulted your relationship into what it was today.Â
When you hung out with your friends over the summer, Jay was always (and truly, always) there.Â
Initially, it was awkward.
But when you learned that Jay liked the same band as youâ Museâ you thought that you could finally put your terse relationship to an end.Â
âYou listen to Muse?â You had tapped his shoulder one day at the beach. He was hunched over, listening to his music with earphones jammed into his ears peacefully. He looked bemused, cocking a brow at you.
It must have been the way that you said it. Poor, slightly socially-inept you, who, up until that point, couldnât control your tone of voice. It was no surprise that Jay thought you were making fun of him.
Brusquely standing up, he snatched his earbuds up to go somewhere [Name]-free, grumbling something under his breath.
From then on, you two rarely got along.
âSomething about his face pisses me off.â
âI donât like how she says things.â
âHe makes me so angry for some reason.â
âSheâs a total nerdo freak.â
âI need to fight him.â
âI need to fight her.â
For the first two years of high school, there was non-stop bickering. Not necessarily malicious in intent, but it was clear that neither of you liked each other.
The closest thing to a âfriendshipâ that the two of you formed was during the second semester of sophomore year, when your friend started liking his friend, and vice versa.
Both of you were getting tired of seeing your friends so cluelessly in love with each other, so you and Jay joined forces to push them together. Secret in-class texting, after-school discussions, shared knowing looks, and when they finally got together on the last day of school, a perfectly-timed fist-bump. As much as youâd hate to admit it, you and Jay Park made a wonderful team.
After that, you were just on your way to becoming great friends. Obviously, not as close as other friends, but it was undoubted that you had incredible potential to become very good friends.
Until one midsummer night.
âYou knew that Taehyun Kang was cheating on Isaâ with the girl that he swore up and down she shouldn't worry aboutâ and said nothing?âÂ
It was a difficult night. Especially when you had to console a weeping friend on one call and yell at Jay Park on the other.Â
âHeâs my best friend, too,â was all Jay had said.
âAnd?â You had been incredulous. âTaehyunâs been making googly-eyes at that girl since way before he got with Isa! You knew. Youâve known this entire time and you still-â
âI didnât know.â
You remembered the anger that began to bubble inside of you. You had spent the past few weeks trying to fix your aggression issues, because it was Jay that told you about your first interaction that got you guys off on the wrong foot. But now, you really couldnât suppress it.
âYes you fucking did!â you yelled over the phone. âI know you did. Donât try to pull this shit on me, Jay.â
He didnât respond.
âYouâve known this entire time, and you didnât say anything.â
He had huffed over the phone, grumbling something incoherent. âI didnât know until a few days before school ended.â
âA few days before school ended?--â You had sunken your teeth into your bottom lip, for the anger that was just beginning to heat up was now rising to a boilâ âThat was a few days before they got together! You had time to say somethingâ but you didnât.â
âWhat did you want me to do?â Jay was now getting angry. âYou wanted me to speak up and ruin everything?â
âYou could have. You should have. But you didnât.â
âItâs not my responsibility, [Name]. Itâs not your or my responsibility.â
The boiling anger was now seething. âYes, it fucking was!â
âNo, it wasn-â
If Jay could have seen your face over the phone, it would have been twisted with both disbelief and indignation.
âWhen you and I teamed up to get Taehyun and Isa together,â you asserted through clenched teeth, âthere were some things we took responsibility for. And when they got together, we had the responsibility to be good friends. Good fucking people, Park! Youââ
You had to take a few moments to breathe. âYou had the powerâ You had the knowledge that your best friend was a cheating bastard that wouldâ You know what? Youâre just like him. You couldâve been a normal fucking person and did things the right way, but you lack responsibility and basic intelligence to do so.â
Through the course of that messy break-up, a few more screaming matches between you and Jay came about. Really, it should have been an argument for your friends to have, but you and Jay had had enough of each other. The floodgate that had held your relationship finally broke.
For the rest of your high school years, every interaction would just be blows at each other. It started as subtle, harmless jabs. But over time, those jabs became hostile. Petty actions, like light shoves or stealing pens, evolved into spiteful and calculated attacks, such as purposefully tripping the other or intentionally cutting the other out of a group photo.
Eventually, your friends made up and the break-up rift was resolved, but not you and Jayâs rocky relationship.Â
The horror you and Jay must have felt when you found out you were going to the same university.
At the present, pushing up the metal-framed glasses that delicately laid on your nose, you could feel Jayâs dark eyes boring into you. Giving him a once-over, your nose scrunched. Once again, youâre reminded of why you could not stand this guy.
Tonight was a soccer mixer. A college mixer. Looking around, everyone was dressed as if they were college students at a college party. Because thatâs what they were.
Girls, including yourself, wore small dresses and short skirts with plunging necklines and fat, wedged heels. They did their hair in all kinds of elaborate stylesâ you tied your hair into a half-down-half-up style. The guys wore ripped jeans, form-fitting button-ups, leather jackets, and if you were a soccer player, the iconic soccer team jacket- but really anything that was casual and easy to move in.
Jay Park, on the other hand, swore a deep-green hoodie with ripped jeans, like the uncultured villain he was.
Okay, maybe you were being biased.
A few of your friends did come in wearing hoodies and ripped jeans, and you did, in fact, come through the door of this frat house with an oversized hoodie draped over your shoulders. But, the difference was that this was Jay Park. Everything that he did was uncultured and barbaric.
âI donât know why youâre so surprised,â you remarked, glaring up at him through your lashes. You were on your way to grab a few drinks for your friends in the kitchen when you bumped into none other than Jay Park. âYou hang around Jake Sim, I hang around Jake Sim. Use your critical thinking.â
Jake Sim was a mutual friend between you and Jay, who just so happened to be on the universityâs soccer team. Great guy, but the only thing that you would complain about was the fact that every time you hung out with him, you would inevitably meet Jay.
Jay scoffed. âDidnât think a prude like you would actually show up to a party like this.â
âPrude?â Of all times to be calling you prude, it really shouldnât be now, when you were wearing possibly the shortest and tightest dress with the most risque neckline that youâve ever worn in your entire life. Those thin spaghetti straps were not doing you any justice. And especially because you couldnât help but notice the way his eyes would linger around your silhouette. âWhoâs the one who hasnât been laid in months? Whoâs the one with the worst box-dyed hair on the entire campus? Whoâs the one that lacks any social awareness and says the most uncomfortable shit in a voice at 260 fucking decibels? Who randomly disappears? Who moves around like a goddamn insect?â
âThatâs not even fucking true!â The man waved his hands in front of himself defensively. âGod, youâre so fucking annoying.â
âIâm annoying? Youâre the creep that follows me around everywhere.â
âYou said it yourself! We have a mutual friend so we always end up-â
âYeah, but I get the feeling that we end up in the same places because you choose to follow me-â
âI can assure you that no one wants to follow your nerdo freak ass-â
âOh wow! How creative. Youâve been calling me that since we were fourteenââ
âBecause thatâs what you are! A nerdo freak that canât do shitââ
âWhy are you even here? You always have that job that you leave to-â
âHey, hey, hey, party people!â a new voice interjected.Â
Jake Sim, your mutual friend, with sleek sunglasses resting on his nose and a beer in his hand, suddenly appeared between your arguing bodies, throwing an arm around each of you.
âJakey!â you exclaimed.
ââSup.â Jake was a suave guy, not a wonder that so many people liked him. âWhat were the two of you talking about? Looked like you were having fun!â
Jay cringed, his lips curling. Of all words, âfunâ would be the furthest from a good descriptor of your interaction. You seemed to think the same.
âNothing,â you said through clenched teeth and brief glare to the ebony-haired man.Â
Jake frowned. âAwww, donât tell me you guys were fighting again!â
You and Jay locked eyes.
âDonât you fucking dare,' his eyes said.
âWasnât going to,â yours replied.
Jake Sim was a sociable guy. Unfortunately, it made him a little obsessed with making everyone get along. So when he found out that you and Jay deeply disliked each other in junior year of high school, he made it his lifeâs mission to make you get along.
Didnât work. It really only made you hate each other more.
âWe werenât,â Jay affirmed, swiping a tongue over his pierced bottom lip.Â
When Jake cocked a brow, you added, âYeah, we werenât.â
When Jake left you two alone again, there was a thick silence that fell over you (as silent as a rowdy college party could get). You took your drink, and turned to leave.
âGo fuck yourself, by the way,â you spat.
Thereâs many issues with college parties. A few hundred bodies of sweaty late-teen-early-twenty-somethings all squished together in a single frat house with alcohol and drugs was just a recipe for disaster. Alas, that was simply the college way.
To Jay Park, other than the fact that there was, ahem, usually the presence of people that he didnât like at college parties, there was the fact alcohol was practically everywhere. No matter how many times he could vow to not drink on one particular night, he always ended up slightly buzzed or full-out drunk.
Like right now.
It was late into the night, but the party hadnât died down even a little bit. His friends pulled him onto the dance floor. Normally, he would scurry off, probably scared that he might lose control of his spider abilities, but with the booming techno music, blinding LED lights, and alcohol that had happily found its way into his system, Jayâs mind was completely hazy. He could barely feel his own feet below him.
The next thing he knew, there was a body up against him. Definitely smaller than him, but plush and soft, moving fluidly to the music. His mind was completely fuzzy, but Jay could smell a familiar scent. Sweet and almost citrusy, like a summer orange. His arm slithered around the personâs waist, pulling them closer to his own body. His fingers found themselves snaking toward the personâs hip. His larger hands gave it squeeze, earning him a barely-audible squeal.Â
If only he knew that the person was you.
Maybe it was the alcohol getting to him, but he felt a shock of fervor and excitement rake through his body.
Bodies moving closely together, he could feel a ghost of your warmth where there was clothes; where clothing was, he could only feel a touch of warmth.Â
Jay could feel everything, thanks to his heightened spidey senses and the alcohol. Every motion of your body against his, every breath you took. Which is why even when intoxicated, he could clearly hear the song change from techno to punk rockâ Muscle Museum by that one band heâs liked since freshman year of highschool. Muse, was it?
âFuck, I love this song,â he heard you mutter in your own tipsy state.
Jay was sure you couldnât hear him, but he slurred back, âMe too.â
His hands explored.
A bare thigh, soft and creamy. An exposed neck, an unclad arm, an ample uncovered chest. Something metal on your faceâ a piercing? glasses? You must have been wearing jewelry, because he could feel cold metal hanging from your neck and splaying across your chest.
(The amount of practice it took for him to be able to ensure no sticky webs came out of his palms was out of this world. Sober Jay would have been a little more careful, but it was a good thing that he practiced so much.)
When his hand gave your waist another squeeze, something must have clicked in your mind, because you slid your arms around his neck, turning your body to press your chests together. Pedicured fingers ran across his chest through the fabric of his hoodie, ending up at his shoulders. Another jolt of warmth and electricity coursed through his veins.
Jayâs head was way too blurred to really take a look at you in front of him, but again, that familiar scent filled his senses.Â
When the lights dimmed and music slowed, you rested your head on his shoulder. He could feel your breath fanning against his neck, lip brushing against his skin. Your lips were half-moist; it must have been gloss that made it sticky, but there was a hint of dryness that he could tell was from being swollenâ you were biting your lip so much it was becoming swollen. A warm chill rushed down his spine.Â
How drunk was he at this point? He didnât care, because the next thing he knew, he was pushed up against a wall in a dark hallway.
âFuck, youâre so hot,â he muttered under his breath, as you shoved your pedicured hands up his hoodie and played with the belt loops of his ripped jeans. Throwing his head back against the wall, he heard you giggle, before you ghosted your hand over his lower abdomen, effectively sending waves of warmth down his body. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, flinching. He cursed his spidey senses for making him so sensitive to touch. âDonât fucking do that- donât tease me.â
He heard another giggle, before he felt a few nimble fingers grasping his chin gently, pulling his face down for a better reach.
It was a soft, but crazily attractive, voice that whined in his ear, âBut youâre so cute like this.â
And then you continued, slipping your hand up and down his bare abdomen, occasionally stopping near his collarbone to tug on the metal necklace that laid so delicately. Meanwhile, you pressed open-mouth kisses on his neck, eliciting the softest sighs of satisfaction.
Truth be told, Jay had no idea that it was you who was all pressed up against him, but for some reason, the fact that he didnât know turned him on even more.Â
The wet kisses, which he was sure left sparkly pink traces of lip gloss, littered all over his skin, trailing from the part where his jaw and ear met, to his collarbones, to his Adamâs apple, and finally, to his chin.
With a squeeze to his bicep, you gently cupped his cheek, pulling him closer. With an experimental hand, you swiped your thumb over his bottom lip, pressing onto the cold metal piercing that adorned his lip.
It was a dark hallway, but it was now that Jay noticed the light that reflected off of your glassesâ lens. When he tried to look for your eyes, he was only met with the sleek shine that reflected off your glasses.
âLet me kiss you,â you purred into his ear as you ran your thumb over his lips. It was now that he could smell the tequila from your breath. âPlease?â
Jay, all in his equally-drunken glory, threw his head back again against the wall, making a thud sound. âFuuuuck,â he cursed under his breath. âYeah. Youâre hot.â
You giggled. You gave his lip piercing one more tap of the finger before entangling your hands in his dark hair, giving it a soft tug. It was a good thing that he was pushed so close against a wall, because Jay swore his knees were going to give out.Â
âThank you, baby.â
You gave his hair another tug, staring straight into his eyes. The half-panicked expression that spread across his face made you crack a small grin of satisfaction, and Jay felt embarrassed under your gaze. Gently holding his face, you pressed soft butterfly kisses along his jawline before you ended up at his chin. You pulled him closer so that your chests were pushed all the way against each other, the majority of your weight on him against the wall.
Jay swiped a tongue over his lip, sucking in a sharp and shallow breath. His chest rose and fell, swallowing so hard in anticipation that his Adamâs apple bobbed. You brushed your nails along his bicep before clasping hands with him; in a swift movement, you pinned his hands flat on the wall next to his head.Â
The gap between your faces was closing. You were only a few inches apart at this point. Hot breaths and glassy eyes.
Hands still pinned against the wall, Jay could not tear his eyes away from that glossy sheen on your glasses. He wanted so badly to see your eyes, lock onto them. Usually, the inability to see someoneâs eyes would make a kiss less appealing, but for some reason, it only made things more intimate for him. Combined with the darkness and intoxicated state, the anonymity was a turn-on.
Almost as if to tease him, you peppered soft kisses along his chin and around his lips. Freeing his hand from your grip, Jay snuck it around your waist, pressing you all the way up against him. He could feel every curve and divot of your body now; with the softness and plush skin, he wanted to explore it once again with his touch. His big hand traveled down your waist to your hips, caressed your ass, and ended up on the backside of your thigh. He freed his other hand to do the same, resulting in two hands on your thighs.
Jay parted his lips, peering down at you through lidded eyes. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.
The music had faded in the background, but his heart pounded to the beat of the slow R&B.Â
Ba-dum, ba-dum.Â
So close. You were so close.
Ba-dum, ba-dum.Â
Sliding his hands up your back to your shoulders, Jay gave it a squeeze. In a swift movement, he flipped your positions around, pushing you gently against the wall and placing a flat palm above you head.
Ba-dum, ba-dum.Â
You giggled, grappling for his hair once again.Â
Again, he could smell that sweet, citrusy scent.
Ba-dum, ba-dum.Â
Jay leaned in.Â
There was a sort of tendernessâintimacyâ that he suddenly craved for. Closing that gap, having skin on skin, lip to lip, he needed it.
Ba-dum, ba-dum.Â
If he just got a little closer⊠a few more centimeters, and your lips would-
Beep beep!
What-
Beep beep!
Bewildered, Jay flinched back.
It was his watch, which lit up the dark hallway.
You held his bicep, trying to pull him back in. He resisted.
Beep beep! Time to go! his watch went on.
âBaby,â you breathed. âIs everything okay?â
Jay bit his tongue. As sensible as an intoxicated person can be, his eyes narrowed at his glowing wristwatch.Â
Fuck.
âI-I have to go.â Jay pushed off the wall, turning toward the hallway entrance. He was feeling dizzy.
âWhat? But-â
He eyed his watch, which was now glowing a red color.
âShit, shit-â He turned over his shoulder, slurring out, âIâm so sorry.â
He couldnât see your face but he could feel disappointed and confused eyes boring into his back.
On his way out of the frat house, Jay took a bottle of water and chugged it, sobering up (though still feeling shitfaced and nasty). He rushed out of the house, and the moment he stepped out onto the pavement, his phone rang.
âWhat happened this time, Jungwon?â he grumbled into his phone, still catching his breath. His hand came up to touch his neck. Even out here and sobered up, he could still feel the sticky kisses pressed against his skin, setting his cheeks aflame against the cold night air.
On the other side of the phone, a childish voice spoke. âDoctor Discotheque!â
âWhat?â
He heard a huff. âDoctor Discotheque! Remember? That villain guy! Heâs here!â
Jay scoffed. âWhereâs âhereâ?â
âAt home, you dummy!â
Sometimes, Jay wondered why he employed his eight-year-old kid brother, Jungwon, or Wonnie, to help him with his Spider-Man endeavors. Given the fact that the kid was literally eight years old, it might have been a little pathetic to enlist the help of someone who couldnât even do basic math. But honestly, Wonnie was the best he hadâ the kid was terribly excited to find out that his big brother was a superhero and he promised not to tell anyone only if Jay 1) told him everything that happened (correction: everything cool that happened, the kid didnât want to hear about helping old people use the subway) and 2) let him be intel. There wasnât much a grade-schooler could do to be a valuable informant (what was Jay going to let him do, run around the street at night?), but he sure did have a lot of time on his hands.
âOkay, okay,â Jay rubbed the scar on his nose. âWhere at home? Like, in the complex? Outside?â
âTwo floors below us.â
âWhat.â
Just as Jay was outside the general vicinity of mixer-goers, he heard a slew of heavy footsteps and then suddenly felt two arms wrap around his torso.
âWhat the-â
A very, very, very familiar voice began sobbing into his back. âWhyâd you leeeavvvvveee?â
You.
You tightened your hold on him, burying your face in his hoodie-clad back. âWhyyyyyyyyyy?â you drawled.
âThe fuck-?â Jay, cringing into his skin, tried to pull away. However, his nose picked up a scent that he was more than mortified to recognize. It was sweet and citrusy. And when his eyes caught the outline of your metal-framed glasses and the illumination that was strewn across the lens, all hell broke loose.
âJay?â Wonnieâs voice called over the line. âJay! Spider-Man! Is everything okay?â
âHold on-â Jay replied. âFuck, just give me a second.â
You, [Name] [Last Name], possibly one of the most insufferable people ever, was the one that he was all over just five minutes ago. You were the one that had him pressed up against the wall. You were the one that was touching and kissing him all over. You were the one that sent chills down his spine. You were the one that he was minutes away from taking into a spare bedroom and-
He sucked in a sharp breath. Not the time to think about that.
Now that he had soaked in the fresh air outside the frat house, the smell of alcohol was strong on your person. It consoled him that everything happened because both of you were drunk, at least.
â[N-Name],â he muttered. â[Name], let go.â
You were fuckfaced drunk, holding and clinging onto him like your life depended on it and wailing. Jay never thought that heâd find a day where you would be like this to him.
âI want youuuuu,â you slurred. âCome baaaaack insiiiideeee.â
âJesus Christ, you college kids,â Wonnie clicked his tongue on the other side of the line. âGet a room.â
âShut it,â Jay spat. Turning his attention to you sobbing in his arms, he figured that you had no idea that the person you were all over was him. If you did, you would be kicking and screaming at him.Â
As much as he needed to go, he didnât feel great about leaving a drunk woman (no matter how much he disliked you) alone at night at the side of a road.
â[Name], where are your friends?â
You sniffled. âI donât knowww.â
Jay huffed. He couldnât find your phone, and he wasnât going to hang up on his brotherâ who he honestly really needed to get to, like, right now.
He had a few options: fail at his job as Spider-Man by leaving a drunk woman unattended, go inside and physically look for your friends which will delay him going to Wonnie, or take you home himself. He did not have a lot of time.
Which is why he was currently carrying you, his worst enemy, bridal style as he shoots webs across the sky, all the while being on call with his kid brother.
âWhen are you getting home again?â Wonnie asked.
âGive me, like-â Jay looked around the city- âFive minutes.â
A lucky feat of being Spider-Man was that he had incredible speed and agility.Â
It wasnât going to take much longer to get to your apartment, which he now realized was very close to his own apartment complex.
Actually, he was heading straight towards his apartment complex.Â
Weird.Â
Maybe yours is the one behind it?Â
Nope, thereâs just an old construction site behind it.
Wait, so then whereâs your apartmentâŠ?
Oh my god, you lived in the same apartment complex as him.
Speaking of, you were asleep in his arms.Â
âWon, what is Doctor Discotheque doing?â
âHaving tea with our downstairs neighbors.â
âWhat?â
âWhat kind of question is that?!â Wonnie yelled over the phone. âHeâs a supervillain! What do you think heâs doing? Wreaking havoc, duh!â
Jay took a deep breath so as to not yell back at this kid. âYeah, I know. What in particular is he doing?â
âHeâs being rude to the apartment staff.â When he was met with a judgmental silence, Wonnie groaned. âIâm serious. I think heâs waiting for you. Heâs just being super mean to people right now.â
Damnit.
Jay took a look at the unconscious you in his arms. âWonnie, Iâm going to drop someone by the balcony. Take her in, will ya?â
Before Wonnie could blow up on him for bringing a âherâ home, Jay brusquely said, âIâm going down to kick Doctor Discothequeâs ass.â
Of all things in the world, you did not expect to wake up in Jay Parkâs bed.Â
The next morning, you woke up with probably the worst headache youâve ever had. You were never one to drink, but maybe the university stress was really getting to you. Groaning, you sunk your face into the freshly-washed white sheets. All seemed normal, until you realized a few things:
First, who took you home last night? You had no memory of anything that happened at the mixer that night. If you thought about it hard, you could probably remember getting ready for it, meeting some, ahem, unpleasant people, talking to a few friends⊠and really nothing more. In fact, the bedroom you were in right now didnât look like it belonged to any of your friends.Â
Second, you were still in your clothes from last night. And makeup. And hair.
How did you get home last night?Â
This was probably the worst hangover youâve had in a while. Nevertheless, when you realized that there was talking outside the room, you got out of bed to investigate.Â
Which led you to possibly the worst thing to ever witness.
Jay Park, with wet hair, shirtless on the couch.
The shrill scream you let out was enough to get a complaint from the neighbors.
âOh my fuck, calm down,â Jay, in all his bitch-faced glory, rolled his eyes.
âYou- You want me to calm down?â You were scandalized. Horrified. âYouâre literally- Youâre-â
âThis is my house,â his eyes bored into you. âI can do whatever I want.â
âThis- This is your house?â
He blinked. âYeah.â
There was another ear-splitting scream before Jay convinced you to sit down so he could explain.
âYou donât need to sit so far away from me,â Jay dead-panned when you sat at the very edge of the couch.
âI donât want to be near you,â you murmured.
âThat's rich coming from someone that was all over me yesterday.â
The utmost and utter horror painted across your face was nearly laughable.Â
You?
All over Jay?
Was that why you woke up in his home� In his bed?
âOh my god,â you clasped a hand over your mouth. âDid weâŠâ
âNo.â
You breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
âThen how am I here then?â
Jay sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.
If you weren't completely stunned into silence from the fact that you woke up in Jay Parkâs bed, then you were now. Jay recounted a rather detailed account of what happened the night beforeâ the two of you got drunk, and ended up more than touchy with each other. Your face heated up, with both embarrassment and⊠anger?Â
Frowning, you asked, âThen whyâd you bring me home?â
âYou were crying and begging me to come back inside with you, but I had to go.âÂ
You glared at him, crossing your arms.
âGo on.â
âI wasnât going to leave you out there drunk, you know,â Jay shrugged. âI was going to bring you to your apartment, but I had to fightâ I meanâ Spider-Man had to fight some.. Um, villain downstairs.â
You nodded slowly, but skeptically. Sensing your cynicism, Jay added quickly, âYou can check the news. The fight was on the seventh floor.â
Your ears perked up. âSeventh floor?â
âYeah-â
âThatâs where I live.â
Jayâs eyes widened a fraction. âShit.â
A great thing about being Spider-Man was that he was technically a government worker, a public service provider. The government paid for all the casualties caused by his work, luckily. Gone were the days that heâd be considered a masked menace.
As great as this was, it led to Jay being more or less reckless. Not that he was throwing shit around and purposefully breaking property when protecting citizens, but he had the freedom to do whatever was necessary. If he had to break down walls to save people, then so be it.
Speaking up, Spider-Man went a little.. Err⊠crazy last night. Maybe it was the alcohol still lingering in his system, or the fact that Doctor Discotheque the supervillain was literally insane. Safe to say, when fighting in the hallway of the seventh floor, Jay got a little aggressive and broke a few more things than usual.
If you found out that he-- Jay-- was Spiderman, a.k.a. the one that probably damaged your home, heâd be dead. Luckily, you wouldn't find out. Unluckily, your apartment was among those that were damaged last night.
âCan you stop that?â Jay said.
There were many reasons that Jay Park deeply disdained you. You were nit-picky, snobby, arrogant, pretentious, overly-critical, fussy, and extremely judgmental. Everyone thought you were some sort of genius, and he could tell that you liked the fact that they did.Â
âIâm fuckinâ stressed,â you spat as you paced around the floor. âI donât think I can really âstop.ââ
Not that he was a sick person, but the expression of genuine distress spread all over your face was almost satisfying. But then Jay realized the situation you were in and he knew it was his fault, so he felt just a little bad.Â
You lost your phone last night, and your apartment was more than a little damaged, the entire seventh floor being tarped and taped off. Sitting on the couch, you chewed on your bottom lip. It wasnât even noon yet. Given your group of friends and the events last night, it wasnât likely that any of them were awake at this time. And you didnât have your phone- it wasnât like you could just easily phone someone that wasnât there last night.
You had a massive headache, feeling lightheaded with a throbbing sensation up there. You felt gross, with smudged makeup and the same tiny dress from last night. You could definitely walk to a friendâs place and wait there, but the heels you wore last night were the tallest, most painful, party-purposed stilettos. You were absolutely not walking around the city in those shoes.
The worst part about it all was that you were stuck in the apartment of none other than Jay Park.Â
Could you appreciate the fact that he looked out for you by taking you home? Yeah, sure.
But could you stand him? Absolutely not.
âWhy are you walking around like that?â He was getting persnickety, as payback for all the times that youâd been nit-picky towards him. âYouâre going to ruin my floorboards.â
You sent him a glare. Some empathy would be nice, you thought, rolling your eyes.
There really was only one person that was accessible to you if you wanted to get out of here, and it was Jay himself. You never really thought that there would be a day where you would need to ask for his help, but here you were, practically stranded. Speaking of, he was ignoring you, occasionally looking up from his phone to give you a weird look.
If you wanted to go home, you would need to swallow your pride and just ask for help.
You prided yourself in your ability to be blunt. You were a natural leader, ambitious and aggressive. You never had an issue with announcing your wants or needs. But now faced with the piercing silence of Jay Park, you simply could not open your mouth to speak. It wasnât like you couldn't ask him, but that you wouldn't. Curling your lips, you let the glum, nearly shameful, feeling fall over yourself.
Eyes tracing the manâs outline carefully, you swallowed the lump in your throat.Â
â[Name], you can do this,â you recited to yourself. âYou can do this. Just talk to him, just talk to-â
You pressed your lips together, before taking a deep breath and opening your mouth to speak. As you attempted to say his name, no sound came out. When he glanced up at you suspiciously,you quickly averted your gaze and closed your mouth.
When he looked away, your eyes flickered back to him, simply drilling into him. You licked your lips. For the second time, you opened your mouth to say his name, bracing yourself for the sound of your voice, but Jay spoke before you did.
âWhat are you looking at?âÂ
You stood up straight like a board, pushing up your glasses clumsily.
âI- Well-âyou cursed yourself for stammering. You never stammered like this. âIâŠâ
He looked at you expectantly.
Your ego, that fat chunk of an ego, was crumbling.
âPark,â you brusquely said.Â
He leered at you. âWhat?â
You stared at him awkwardly, lips pressed into a line as thin as paper. âI⊠I.. um.â
He clicked his tongue impatiently. âOn with it.â
You huffed loudly.Â
âCan I please use your phone?â
The second last thing that you expected to happen ever was to be sitting on Jay Parkâs bed with wet hair wearing his hoodie and sweatpants. And that other than asking him for help.
Never have you felt so ashamed of yourself, sitting on the soft bed with your knees up to your chest.Â
The judgy glance that Jay gave you was absolutely soul-crushing, and after a humiliating stutter-filled explanation, he simply said, âGo take a shower.â
Were you initially mortified? Absolutely. But after soaking in the warm water for a few minutes, you begrudgingly thanked him. But only in your head.
Staring at a spot on the floor, you pressed your face into your knee, reflecting upon everything that had happened. As you were lost in thought, what startled you was a loud beeping sound, the slamming of a window, and yelling. You jumped to your feet in reaction, but before you could creep out of the bedroom, someone else came in.
Instead of a tall, well-built man with black hair, it was a young boy no older than ten holding a massive walkie talkie.
âWho- Who are you?â
The boy blinked owlishly, before cracking a grin. âOh, itâs you!â
You recoiled. âWh-What?â
âYouâre the lady from last night!â he laughed, revealing sharp canine teeth. When you only looked more bewildered, he continued, âThe lady that Jjongsaeng brought home last night!â
Jjongsaeng? âYou mean Parkâ er, Jay?â
The boy frowned. âHe didnât tell me he had a girlfriend,â he murmured to himself quietly, before turning over to you. âMhm!â
âIâm sorry, who are you?â You were a little concerned. Who was this child and why was he in Jay Parkâs apartment?
âOh!â The boy laughed again, throwing his head back. He came closer to you, extending a small hand towards you. âJungwon! But just call me Wonnie!â
Okay, but your question wasnât answered exactly. âAre youâŠâ you took a better look at Wonnie. He was just so small! Though, he looked an awful lot like Jay Park⊠â âAre you his son⊠orâŠ?â
The boy put an offended hand over his chest, scowling deeply.Â
âSon?â he gawked. âIâm his brother!!â
Your lips formed an âo.â
âAnd whatâs your name?â Wonnie looked at you curiously.
â[Name] [Last Name]â Justâ Just call me [Name].â
A silence fell over you two.
âDo you- Do you know where your brother is?â When Wonnie gave you a suspicious look, you quickly added, âI need to use his phone.â
He gave you another long stare, before saying simply, âHeâs not here.â
How could he not be here? Jay was just here, like, twenty minutes ago? âWhat do you mean?â you narrowed your eyes.
âHe-â Wonnieâs large eyes hovered over to the window quickly, before fluttering back to you. âHe went to work.â
âDoesnât he have a night internship?â
Wonnie grumbled something under his breath, almost looking stressed, gripping the walkie talkie. âYyyyyessss,â he nodded slowly. âBut he has a day job tooâŠ. As an.. Um, photographer?â
You nodded slowly. âRight. When do you expect heâll be back?â
Wonnie glanced at the window again. âIn, like, fifteen minutes-â
Crash!
You two rushed over to the living room window, peering across to the construction site behind the apartment complex. There, there were news reporters, blaring ambulances and police cars, and rubble and dust everywhere. Not to mention the elephant in the room: Spider-Man and two criminals.
âOh my god, is that Spider-Man?â
Wonnie didnât seem as impressed as you, opting to toy with his walkie talkie. âYeah, heâs here all the time. Cool guy.â
You frowned. You lived only a few floors down and you wouldnât say that Spider-Man was âhere all the time.âÂ
âReally? This is my first time seeing him.â
Fingering the window handle, you pushed it open.
Youâd heard all the stories. Your friends talk about seeing the red-and-blue-clad hero with his iconic spider logo. He was some neighborhood hero. According to a few of your friends, heâd help them fight off muggers and creeps, swinging in with his sticky white webs just moments before all hell broke loose. Apparently, he was a super suave guy, and according to a few, really hot.Â
âAs hot as a masked hero can be,â you would laugh with your friends. Now watching from a few stories up, you could definitely see the appeal. The sun was out, casting a harsh shadow on Spider-Manâs defined back muscles. The skin-tight suit hugged his strong arms and sturdy build.Â
There was something so fascinating about Spider-Man. He was strong, friendly, dutiful, sure. But what made him so alluring was that you wanted to study himâ dissect him. It was only in your nature to want to know every single inner-workings of a figure like him.
You then felt a poke at your side. It was Wonnie.
âWhat, are you in love with him or something?â
You tore your eyes from Spider-Manâs figure. âWhat? No!â
Wonnie raised his brows. âHmmm⊠Okay.â
You turned back over to the window, except when you scanned for Spider-Man, he had disappeared completely.
âHey, where did he-â
The front door of the Park apartment flew right open, revealing a disheveled Jay Park.Â
âY-Youâre back already?â Wasnât he just at a jobâŠ.?
Jay waved his hand in front of him, taking off his shoes. âYeah. Why? Were you gonna do something?â
Your nose scrunched. âNo! I just thought you were at a job.â
Jay scoffed. âWho told you that-â He cut himself off when he noticed the awkward expression painted across Wonnieâs face.Â
âFuckinâ dumbass,â he muttered.
Jay Park would have never guessed that you would be sleeping in his bed. For the second night. In a row. None of your friends had enough space for you to crash, and if not, they just didnât pick up the phone.Â
âYou need better friends,â Jay had told you in a matter-of-fact way, earning a sharp glare.Â
And it wasnât an easy decision to let you stay with him either.
The apartment was a 2-bedroom one. One for himself, one for his kid brother. He sure as hell wasnât going to make Wonnie leave his room or you and Wonnie share a room, and he most definitely was not sharing a bed with you. Heâd make you sleep on the couch, but the Spider-Man in him told him not to. So very grudgingly, Jay let you take his room.
He was only allowing this because it was him that practically destroyed your apartment. Even if he didnât like you, he did take responsibility for what happened.
Maybe that one argument you had the summer of sophomore year got to him.Â
And plus, he could not stand you. All the little jabs you made at him, even down to your facial expressions, had him riled up. But, for the sake of the child in the room, Jay made no big attempt to fight back.
Curled up on the couch, Jay couldnât shake off the glum feeling that settled on his chest.
Jay Park never realized how many qualms he would have with another person living in his house.Â
He was okay with Wonnie, because Wonnie knew his identity as Spider-Man. And plus, Wonnie was his brotherâ that little squirt was tolerable. When itâs just the two of them, Jay could do basically anything he wanted. Wonnie was more than enthusiastic when he would use his webs to pull objects toward him or hang on the ceiling just because he could, and it was a rather common occurrence for you two to make a ruckus whenever there was crime in town. Jay could go do Spider-Man things whenever he needed to, and Wonnie would be okay with it.
But now with you living with him temporarily, he had to be a lot more careful.
Especially with your nitpicking everything he does.
âWhy do you cut your bread like that?â
âEw, your butter is so hard.â
âCan you stop chewing so loud?â
âWhy does your face look like that?-- Oh, hi Wonnie!â
âHi, [Name]!â
It seemed like Wonnie and you got along better.Â
âHey, where are you going?â you asked from the kitchen table.
Jay, who was putting on his coat and shoes at the door, made a face. Swinging his backpack over his shoulders, he took Wonnieâs hand. âWhat do you think weâre doing?â
It was a rhetorical question, but you answered matter-of-factly. âClass doesnât start until nine though!â
Jay pointed to Wonnie. âGotta take him to school.â
That was only partially the truth. He did indeed take Wonnie to elementary school, but like every morning, he went on a morning patrol. The amount of small robberies and little school children walking into traffic was a bit staggering, but not to worry, Spider-Man was on his way.
Like right now.
As Jay swung from building to building, he carefully scanned the alleyways and streets to possibly catch any crime. When he stopped to rest atop a mix-use flower shop, crouching in his iconic pose, he spotted two children and a man.
Jayâs enhanced senses allowed him to hear the conversation-
âLet go!â one of the children pleaded, pulling away from the man. The other child, clearly the younger one, confusedly held onto the other.
âKids, kids!â the man chuckled, continuing his tightened grip. âJust come with me. Iâm your parentsâ friend!â
The older of the two scrunched her nose, continuing to resist the man.
Jay observed from above. Clearly, these children had no idea who this man was. By the looks of it, there wasnât anyone else around. Even if the kids screamed, no one would come to the rescue quick enough. This weird kidnapper guy could definitely take these kids without a doubt.
Cue the screaming and crying.
Panicked, the man tightened his grip on the kids, jerking them along as he began to walk towards the alleyway.
Fuckinâ creep, Jay thought before shooting a white web at the lampost a few meters down the pavement, swinging down. Extending a leg, he held onto the web as he suspended across the air. As he closed in on the man, he heard the two children let out shrill gasps just as Jay's foot made impact with the manâs cheek.
The brief moment of surprise made the man loosen his grip on the two children, allowing for them to scurry back. Now on the ground, Jay stood over his fallen figure.
Disgusting, he thought as he peered down at the man. Just thinking about what he would have done to the children made him angry. The man groaned in pain. Jay leaned down to the man, bringing a masked, yet somehow patronizing, face to him.
âHey, buddy!â His words were ordinary, but very clearly filled with contempt. âWhatcha doinâ over there with those kids?â
When the man didnât answer, Jay stamped a foot right between the manâs legs, impossibly close to his crotch. âCâmon, man. Wontcha explain?â
The panic in the manâs eyes was satisfying, as he began to draw out a pocket knife.Â
âS-Spider-Man?!â
Under his mask, Jay cracked a smirk. âHonored to be at your service.â
The man ogled at Spider-Manâs built figureïżœïżœ he stood no chance against the hero. Regardless, he stumbled to his feet, pointing the blade at Jay. âStay back!â
Jay laughed.
âOh no! A knife! Anything but the knife!â Jay feigned fear, cowering into himself. âIâm so scared! Please! My biggest weakness is a tiny little knife!â
The man faltered, staring hesitantly at the hero. Jay took this moment to shoot one more web at the street light, giving him momentum to jump in and kick this guy in the face again.
âOh, man,â Jay chuckled. âThat knife really got me.â
âI-Iâm sorry!â The man gawked at the heroâs figure standing over him, spluttering as he struggled to his feet and finally scuttling away.
Jay watched his running back carefully.
âThank you so much, Spider-Man!â he heard the children cheering behind him. Turning over his shoulder, Jay gave them a salute, before shooting a web and swinging away.
When classes for the day ended, Jay Park wanted a head-start on patrolling. The sun was only beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the city. He liked this time of day the most. There was always a faint citrusy smell in the air, and he wished he could take off his mask to feel the wind rake through his hair.Â
He checked all the important placesâ the bank, the university, the bus station, and especially the central business district. The alleyways were crazy notorious for being crime-ridden, so he was extra attentive with the patrol.Â
Speaking of, there seemed to be a bit of a conundrum right now. From the top of a high-rise building, Jayâs eyes zeroed in on the figures a few hundred feet below him. It was no uncommon occurrence for there to be some sort of assault (with Spider-Man here, attempted assault) in a dark alleyway. Jay always followed a basic procedure:
Step one: identify whatâs happening.
From above, he could see thatâ oh shitâ a woman was going to be mugged.Â
Little did he know, much to both of your luck, that woman was you.
Step two: identify the threat.
Two guys, both disheveled, one with a pocket-knife. Even though he couldnât see your face, just by the looks of it, you were clearly disadvantagedâ these two guys were massive compared to you.
âWe see ya wallet, girl,â one of the men said. For two people who were very much advantaged, they were rather shy with the knife, holding it low and with little confidence. âHand ovah the money.â
When you didnât respond, they got a little more vindictive, slamming the rusted brick wall, demanding for money.
Step three: swoop in and-
Jay was bewildered by the raucous clanking of metal trash can tops against the dirty pavement. Gaping down, he could see one of the men crashed up against the trash cans, and the other one taken aback.Â
Did you just�
Jay was taken by surprise once again when he heard grunting and groaning in pain. You were kicking these men when they were down. With heeled shoes. And it was now that he finally noticed your physicality: [H/C] hair. Glasses. Big attitude. Oh my god, how did he not realize that it was you?
âWho the fuck do you think you are?â you landed a kick at the crotch. Jay hissed in pain just at the sight of that. âHuh? You think you own this fuckinâ place?â Another kick. âFuckinâ scum.â
Jay was contemplating whether or not he should go down there and give youâ [Name]-fucking-[Last Name]â a hand. He was going to decide against it, when his spidey senses picked up the very crisp sound of a blade scraping across the pavement. While you were busy cussing out one of the assailants, you didnât notice the way one of the men unsheathed the pocket-knife.Â
Jay could see itâ In a matter of seconds, the guyâd bare the blade and shank your right in the abdomen. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, tongue swiping right over his metal lip piercing.
âHey, fuckface!â In one fell swoop, Jay landed a powerful punch to the blade-bearing assailantâs cheek, sending him flying down the alleyway. you let out a shriek. âSpider-Man?!â
It was weird to see you startled like this. âHey, Gorgeous.â
In his defense, there was not a bone in his body that thought that you were gorgeous. It was simply a habit he took on when he assumed the role of Spider-Man. He said that to everyone.
The second assailant, the one that you had basically beat up with words, was still keeled against the trash cans, eyes widened and fearful of what the friendly neighborhood hero could do.
Jay leaned down to be at eye-level with the man. âNice day, isnât it?â
The man spluttered, and Jay sneered. The kick that the hero gave to the man square in the chest subsequently propelled him down the alleyway, joining his friend at the back.Â
âMaybe donât try to mug someone in broad daylight, bud.â
When Jay heard a few clanking sounds and groans of pain, he turned to you.
You were looking at him with large, shiny eyes, utterly consumed in admiration. Jay cringed at the silence that fell over the two of you. It wasnât normal for there to be such a calm silence between him and you. If there wasnât arguing, then thereâd be an uncomfortable and tense atmosphere.
âI- Spider-ManâŠâ you said, looking up at him through your glasses. The way that your eyes were practically glued to his masked face had Jay scrunching his nose. After a long silence of you just staring at him, you quickly avert your gaze, finding interest in your shoes instead. God, why were you getting so shy? Seeing the abashed expression on your face was like seeing a police officer get a parking ticketâ so fucking out-of-character and just pure unnatural.
Jay wanted badly to make a jab at you, to say, âHey, Jay Park just saved your sorry ass.âÂ
But he didnât.Â
Because thatâs not what friendly neighborhood Spider-Mans do.
You bit your lip before glancing up at him. It was almost like you could feel his eyes questioning you from behind his mask, and once again, avert your gaze, pushing up your metal frames.Â
It was now that Jay truly realized what was going onâ Did you have a crush on Spider-Man?
You were acting really shy, and you were looking at him like he was some kind of god.Â
The thought made him want to shrink into his own skin, but for some reason, it also made him grin. Grin a smug grin. Because now he had something to dangle over your head.
He didnât have any sinister intentions other than the fact that he wanted an opportunity to be petty with you.
âThank you, Spider-Man,â you finally blurted, that bashful look still casted on your face.Â
Jesus Christ, the way you were acting soft-spoken and coy was so weird.Â
He could do one of two things to fuck with you.
He could be extremely cold and distant, making you feel embarrassed. It would definitely be satisfying to see you panicked and flustered. But then again, Spider-Manâs job was to keep the city safe, not be mean to civilians. Even if said civilian was someone he couldnât stand.
The second he could do was fluster you in a different kind of way: enthrall you with charm to mess with you. It was certainly a more ethical way to fuck with you, but Jay wasnât sure if heâd be up for practically flirting with the person he hated more than anything else.
You shyly looked at him, expecting a response.
On second thought, he might be up for it.
He didnât want to break you. Just fuck with that strong head of yours a little bit.
âAnything for you,â Jay took a step closer to you, just close enough that you would be taken aback, âBeautiful.â
Okay, maybe he should never do that again. Jay was not a lady-charmer. He had no game. There was a reason that he didnât have a girlfriend, and it was because he could not flirt for shit. His skin was crawling with cringeâ what he would do to have the ground open up and eat him whole because that shit was the worst thing heâs probably ever done.
His internal squirming was cut short when he saw the way your eyes widened a fraction, before letting a slight abashed curve settle on your lips.Â
âOh- I-â you lowered your head, your glasses laying on the very tip of your nose.Â
âThanks,â you stammered.
.
.
.
Now it was awkward.
What was he supposed to do now? Kiss you? No! What the fuck?
âIâm gonna go now,â Jay muttered. Extending his arm and aiming it at the top of the adjacent building, he prepared to shoot a web. However, he was stopped when you gently grabbed onto his bicep.
âWait.â Your voice was uncharacteristically quiet, meek almost. âI-I donât feel safe going home now.â
Jay blinked.
Jay Park never seemed to expect anything.Â
For the second time ever, in the same week, he was carrying you across the sky to his own home.
This time, though, you were wide awake instead of black-out drunk.
With your arms wrapped around his neck, you clung to him as he held onto your body tightly in the bridal-style. It wasnât abnormal for him to be carrying a damsel in distress like this, but Jay never thought that he would be carrying you of all people.Â
With you clinging so close to him, Jay could smell that sweet, citrusy scent again. He grimaced when he was once again reminded of the events that had transpired a few nights ago. Whenever he thought about it, Jay could almost feel his skin crawl, remembering the wet and sticky kisses placed on his skin.
Jay tried to ignore the way you stared at him so incredulously, wide and glinted as if he was some sort of idol.
As Jay approached the edge of the high-rise office building, he noticed you bracing yourself for the jump Youâd been shutting your eyes tightly and letting out a little peep every time heâd jump across buildings.
Maybe he should try fucking with you right now.
Launching off his feet, Jay had propelled the two of you into the wide valley between office buildings. Usually, heâd shoot a web within a few milliseconds of just being the air. However, with you in his armsâŠ
âS-Spider-ManâŠ!â you squeezed his bicep. You were fallingâŠ!Â
Jay was taking his sweet time with shooting another web, waiting for them to be just a few hundred meters from the bustling and traffic-filled road, giving you the illusion that you were about to topple to your death.Â
âSpider-Man, weâre gonnaâ!â
When you were practically dangling over the cars, Jay shot a web up to the next building, hoisting you two up and away.
âWhat, you donât trust me, Beautiful?â Jay got some sick satisfaction from shaking up the usually-controlled you. If he was Jay, he probably would have made a jab, say something like âI told you so,â but since he was Spider-Man he stuck to the flashy and charming persona that the hero built himself.
âI⊠I trust you, Spider-Man, justâ Eep!âÂ
Jay threw his head back, laughing. It was funny when you got scared.
âStop making fun of me, Spider-Man!â you lightly slapped his chest. âIâm justâŠâ Eep!--âyou squeezed his bicep againâ âScared of heights.â
Jay gave your waist a squeeze. âI got you, Angel.â
It was weird to pull up to his own apartment and pretend that it wasnât his.
âThis your place?â
Jay was curious as to what you would say. He dropped you off on the balcony, before going into his iconic crouching pose on the thin metal railing.
You shook your head. âItâs my⊠friendâs. Iâm staying with him becauseâŠ.â
You trailed off, before your eyes fluttered over to Jayâs masked face. âHey, didnât you fight some villain the other day?â
Oh.
Right.
The reason that you were even staying with him was because⊠Well, him.
Jay nodded slowly.
âOh- Well, um,â you wrung your fingers. âMy apartment, it got⊠Yeah.â
It was like you could sense the uneasiness behind the mask.Â
For the heinous amount of crime-fighting that Jay did, he did feel a little bad for the amount of infrastructure that got ruined. It seemed like every other week there were glass shards strewn all across the streets. He couldnât imagine the type of work that would go into rebuilding homes and infrastructure after so much damage.
That, he will take responsibility for.
He lowered his head. âYeah, fuck, Iâm sorry about that.â
A civilian is a civilian.
âNo, no, no!â you said rather brusquely, almost in a hostile way, waving your hands in front of yourself.Â
Ah, there it was. The [Name] that he knew.
When you realized your tone of voice, you quickly back-tracked, clearing your throat and pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.Â
âI mean- Itâs okay, Spider-Man,â you said, looking up at him through your lashes. âYou did what you had to do.â
If you knew his identity ,you wouldn't say that. You would probably file a lawsuit against him.
But he appreciated the sentiment.
âWhatâs your name, Pretty?â He needed you to formally introduce yourself so he could stop using those cheesy nicknames.
You smiled bashfully again. â[Name].â
âThen Iâll see you later,â Jay jumped to his feet, balancing on the metal railing. He looked over his shoulder, raising a hand up, â[Name].â
With that he began swinging away.
You blinked slowly, eyes trailing his slowly disappearing figure.
When he was out of your sight, your lips immediately broke out into a wide grin. Taking off your glasses, you used a hand to cover your eyes, feeling your cheeks heat up and pull upward.Â
Oh, you understood it now. Why everyone said Spider-Man was so charming.
Using both hands to cover your warm face, you let a few giggles out into your palms.Â
God, Spider-Man was attractive.
Your momentary fluster was cut short when the screen door of the balcony slammed open.
âAre you gonna come in orâŠ.?â
You turned to look over your shoulder.
Jay Park. Always had to ruin everything, didnât he?
You huffed, removing your hands from your face. âYeah⊠Just, give me a second.â
âOkay.â
When you turned back, you failed to notice the smug grin plastered across Jayâs face.
You heard from many people that Jay Park had an issue with disappearing. You understood what they meant. In the classes that you shared with him (which was few because your majors were different but similar enough), he would be absent for a few days at a time. At parties, even if you didn't actively seek him out, youâd see him at the beginning and after a few minutes, heâd just completely vanish. Even at some get-togethers that your mutual friends hosted, youâd hear some people complain about Jay always needing to âgo to his job.âÂ
Now that you, more or less, lived under the same roof as him, you understood to a whole other degree what people meant.
According to what his own friends said, Jay had a night internship, and according to his brother, he also had a day job. He didnât show up to his classes some days, but you would see him in the morning before class alive and well, so he clearly wasnât having health issues. How crazy was his schedule? You had friends in his major with jobs of their own, and they werenât flaky in the way that Jay was.
Jay would be up early, completely disappear for the entire day, and come home late.
It was weird.Â
Not that you cared.
You could care less what happened to him.
You just found it strange.
Like right now.
It was late at night. Finals were coming up soon, and you simply couldnât sleep.Â
See, Wonnie was normal. Wonnie had an ordinary, completely sane, schedule. In the morning, Jay would take him to school, and in the afternoon (you assumed that) Jay either picked him up or Wonnie walked home. Either way, the kid had a much more tangible daily schedule, yet his brotherâs was the complete opposite. But it didnât seem like Wonnie questioned anything either.
You saw Wonnie come in and out of rooms, heard him get a glass of milk, you even said good night to him.Â
The yellow-white lights that illuminated the apartment were blinding now, wearing down your eyes to the point that they felt watery. There was a sort of morose feeling that set over you as you sat at the cold kitchen counter. From final exams to the fact that your apartment was under reconstruction to the fact that you were practically intruding on our greatest enemyâs home was frustrating.
It would be completely bitchy and ungrateful of you to not recognize the sort of generosity that Jay displayed toward you. You really, genuinely, truly, could not stand him. He was someone who constantly made your day worse, someone who you'd never been able to agree with for years, someone who went out of his way to bother youâ and vice versa. It wasnât like you had no idea why heâd try to help you: he might be a supervillain to you, but he was no monster. It was clear that you were on a âI-only-doing-this-because-itâs-courteousâ basis, but even then, for him to give you his own bedroom was more than courteous.
You didnât like it.
Of all people in the world, why did he have to be so⊠hospitable?
You didnât like the fact that you felt so dependent and almost helpless.Â
You must have sat at that kitchen counter for a good chunk of time, because the next time you really moved from your lethargic position was when there was a sudden bang against the window. Lost in thought, you violently jerked up, jumping to your feet.
Eyes quivering to the windows, which were blackened by the dark night sky, there was nothing there.Â
Strange.
You had your tongue dig into the inside of your cheek, frozen in place. Just when you thought your mind was just playing games, another loud bang against the window resounded through the room, followed by a few jumbled curse words.
You werenât exactly happy that the one time you would get robbed it would be in your enemy's house.
Shit.
Except, instead of a masked burglar comically dressed in black, someone completely unexpected bursted through the window.
Red and blue spandex suit, complete masked-over face, and that unmistakable spider icon.
âSpider-Man?!â
Oh.
My.
God.
Why was Spider-Man landing in Jay Parkâs apartment at this time?
And when you looked down at what you were wearingâ a thin tank-top and pajama shortsâyou suddenly became a lot more alarmed and self-conscious than you initially were.
â[Name]?â Spider-Man gaped. Except instead of that friendly and playful tone he was known for, it sounded sour. âWhat are you doing up at this time?â
You, who was now very consciously covering yourself up, gawked. âIâmâ I was studyingâ What are you doing here, Spider-Man?â
âWhat do you mean? This is my hoââ Spider-Man stopped himself, before clearing his throat. Like a switch had been flipped, the hero began again, âIâm, um, stopping by to see my friend.â
You blinked.
âYâknow, Jay Parkâ dark hair, lip-piercing, super handsome and cool.â
Your nose scrunched at the description.
âI didnât know you lived with him, Beautiful,â Spider-Man continued. âYou said you lived with a friend, right?â
You pushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear. âI mean, I wouldnât say friend. Weâre like, acquaintances⊠by association.â
âYou donât sound like you like âem very much, yeah, Gorgeous?â
You werenât about to lambaste Jay Park in front of Spider-man, who was apparently his friend. That would be discourteous, and you werenât about to flame the guy that was letting you sleep in his house.
âHeâsâŠâ You didnât want to make it seem like you were buddies, especially in front of Spider-Man. âHeâs all right.â
Spider-Man was now inching toward you. âJust all right?â
You eyed the heroâs well-built figure as he came closer and closer to you, suddenly feeling shy and exposed. You felt even more shy and exposed when he very clearly lingered around the sight of your silhouette. The way his voice resounded throughout the room, slightly raspy from the yelling he must have done and low due to his exhaustion, sent a chill down your spine.Â
âHeâs okay,â you responded curtly. âHowâ How do you know him? How do you know Park?â
You could feel Spider-Manâs eyes on you even through his mask.Â
âHow do I know him?â Spider-Man crouched down next to your feet at the kitchen island, looking up at you. You could hear the grin in his voice. âHe met me in senior year of high school.â
Oh wow. Theyâve known each other for a while.
âA spider bit him, or something,â the masked hero continued. âAnd I found him all sick and sad when his uncle passed.â
Thatâs right. In senior year of high school, Jayâs uncle, the person who took on a father figure after his parents unfortunately passed. It had taken a toll on him at the time. You remembered passing him in the hallways, seeing the messy black hair overgrown over his brows and dark eye bags. The one person that you regularly debated in AP Macro was no longer interested. At the time, you had contemplated whether or not to reach out to him, but heâd completely shut everyone out.
âThatâs great,â you murmured. No matter how much you didnât like him, it didnât mean that he should lose someone important to him. âThatâs great that he had someone there for him. I rememberââ
Spider-Man looked up at you.
âI rememberâ I tried to talk to him about it once, in⊠I think it was in Stats?â you recounted. Your lips pressed together before forming a slight curve. âHe yelled at me.â
âHe yelled at you?â
You almost laughed. âYeah, he did. Oh man, we never got along in high schoolâ even nowâ but⊠Itâs not nice to lose someone you love, is it?â
Spider-Man stared at you silently, before quickly agreeingâ âYeah, it isnât.â
You bit your lip as you recounted. âI wanted to comfort him, but I donât think he wanted me of all people to do that. At least I tried.â Your eyes fluttered over to Spider-Man. âIâm glad he had someone like you to be there for him.â
Spider-Man didnât speak.
âAre you and Park close?â you asked.
âYeah, we are.â
You hummed. âOh. Do you see each other a lot?â
âEveryday.â
.
.
.
Spider-Man got to his feet.
â[Name], do you want to go on an adventure with me?â
Sometimes you thought you were stupid. Not all the time because you knew you were smart, but some time like now, where you allowed a masked man who may or may have not broken into your enemy's apartment claiming to be his friend to take you around the city at night. And you did it without even telling anyone, so if you got killed in an alleyway no one would know.
Not to worry, though.
Jay Park thought he was pretty stupid, too.
Staying out late at night right before finals week and completely forgetting about the workaholic nerd freak that lived with him temporarily (you). And to make it worse, he mentioned his own civilian self!-- and he obviously couldnât be in two places at once.Â
He needed a way to deflect.
âWooooh!â Jay hooted as he swung from building to building.
âSpider-Manâ Slow downâŠ!â
Unlike the last two times heâd taken you out on some sort of aerial excursion, you had your arms and legs wrapped tightly around his neck and torso, hugging him from the back instead of Jay holding you bridal-style.Â
It was nice for a change. For the first time, you were hanging off his back instead of being directly held by him. Jay couldnât help the snicker that he let out when you would squeeze him and squeal in his ear out of fear.
âI thought ya said you trusted me,â he beamed. Jay could feel the way your face pressed into his back as you dangled in the sky. âCâmon, Gorgeous, donât get all scared on me now.â
âItâs not fair- Eep!â
âWhatâs not fair, hm?â He shot another web. You didn't respond, opting to squeeze him harder. âWhatâs not fair, [Name]?â
âThis!â you chided in his ear. âYou-Youâre not scared because you do this every day!â
âWell, maybe you should do this more then.â
To Jay, it was really weird to carry a frightened you around. He never took you for the clingy type, but maybe thereâs a lot he didnât know about you. It was especially weird when he was Spider-Man, because you were oddly nice to him. When heâs Jay, thereâs no denying that youâre hostile.
âWhy are you so nervous?â Jay sneered when you two landed on top of the central clock tower. Youâd sat down at the top, letting the cool late-Spring night hit you. For someone notorious for their crazy confidence, it was absurd to see such a person all feeble and fiddling with their fingers.
 âItâs just finals,â you mumbled.
Jay nearly laughed. âWow, you really are a nerdo freak.â
Your cheeks visibly heated up, folding your arms over your chest. âHey! Iâm not a nerdo freââ You stopped yourself, before you brought your eyes up to the hero. âDid he tell you that?â
The man narrowed his eyes. âW-What?â
âPark is the only person that calls me ânerdo freak,ââ you frowned, raising up your fingers to make air-quotes. âHeâs been calling me that since highschool.â
Oh.
Shit.
âY-Yeah,â the man responded, sucking in a shallow breath. âHe talks to me about you a lot.â
Not true.Â
Jay Park doesnât talk to Spider-Man about anything.Â
Because theyâre the same person.
You swiped your tongue over your bottom lip. âReally? What does he say about me?â
Oh, this would be awkward.
âJay thinks youâre really⊠UhmâŠâ
Thereâs two things Jay could do. Tell you his (Jayâs) honest thoughts about you as Spider-Man and effectively make the entire atmosphere both now and at home awkward. Though, it wouldnât be much of a loss because he (Jay) already made it loud and clear how he felt about you through his words and actions toward you. It would only be awkward because he as Spider-Man was the one expressing it.
The second thing he could do was lie.
âHe thinks youâre hot as fuck.â
Oh my fucking god what was he doing.
âOh⊠uh⊠Really?â
Jay wanted to kill himself.
Of all things he could have said, he said thats?â Oh my god, and now you were shifting uncomfortably in your seatâ What does he do?
Jay Park was not attracted to you and he will never be! Never! Ever!
It was the first thing that came to his mind! He doesnât mean it! Jay Park hates you! He thinks youâre ugly and- Well, actually, thatâs not true. Youâre a very pretty woman, he did indeed get crazy butterflies the night of the soccer mixer, and he did catch himself staring at you a few times, because letâs be honest, the tiny tank-top and pajama shorts looked good as fuck on youâ but still-!
âDid he tell you that⊠orâŠ?â
âYeah, thatâs a direct quote.â
Jay Park! What are you doing?
part 2 here
#enhypen#enhypen x reader#enhypen fluff#park jongseong#park jay#jay x reader#jay enhypen x reader#jay fluff#star-sim#vanya-writes#enhypen smut#park jongseong fluff#park jongseong x reader
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just you and me, alone in the dark
note : divider is from @/thecutestgrotto. ermmm idrk. Leon is ooc again I know, Iâm trying to write a few Leon summer fics over the next few weeks, if you have any ideas please let me know I only have like two more đ mdni
wc : 3.8k
tags : @lottiies
desc : Leonâs back in town, that couldnât be too hard on the gigantic crush you have on your best friend, right? friends to lovers, smut!! - unprotected p in v, little bit of fingering. not proofread, fem!reader, post re2r!Leon
Leon was back home for one week this summer, heâs been a cop in Raccoon City for almost a year now, the two of you have been calling and writing each other, trying to keep up with each others lives, but itâs nothing like being face-to-face again. Youâve been hosting him at your house for the past few days, Leonâs been going to catch up with a few other friends, but heâs always back at your place by at least midnight.
It wasnât like when you were kids. Some of your friends had moved away, that arcade a mile or two away that you and Leon would always walk to had closed down and was now a fancy restaurant, the old lady who ran the laundromat and would give the two of you quarters for the arcade games had passed away. But your crush on Leon had stayed, maybe even grew a bit. The two of you had been changing bit by bit, too. Leon was a big city cop now, and compared to him, you felt like the friend who went to college and immediately ran back home.
Leonâs always been handsome to you, but since leaving for the academy and becoming an actual cop, he looks more grown-up. Seeing him in the mornings, his hair all messy and still half-asleep, was proving to be a problem. Along with when the two of you would watch movies at night, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, sharing whatever food you were eating like you did when you were kids.
Youâre starting to think that Leon might like you back.
You catch the way his eyes follow you when you walk through the house with wet hair, damp skin, and clothes that cling to your skin just a bit more after you get out of the shower. Or how he scoots closer to you when you both sit down together. Especially when he accidentally hugged you goodnight the second night he was over and pulled away with a red face. Not that you really mind being close to him, or his attraction to you.
Anyway, Leonâs leaving in two days, and the two of you are going camping for the night.
Itâs not gonna be anything crazy, the two of you werenât much for setting up tents and rocky roads riddled with pot-holes and roadkill. Youâre staying the night at a smaller campground, thereâs a lake, a playground for any kids there, and a camp store. Thereâs no need to bring a tent unless youâve got more than three people with you. Each campsite comes with a small shelter that can hold a few people, each shelter has three walls and a roof, the opening faces the site.
Leon and you would come here with your family when you were kids, it was only an hour away from where you lived, the two of you wanted something a bit more fun to do than sit around at your house or go to dinner.
Leon hasnât gone camping since before he left for the police academy, not that what the two of you are doing is anything difficult. But thereâs no hotdogs cooked over the fire, just a pizza you had picked up a few hours ago and sâmores.
Thereâs chocolate around Leonâs lips as he chews on his sâmore, yours goes ignored for a few minutes as you stare at him. The fire in front of you is low, you and Leon face it and lean back against the table part of the wooden bench, your knees knocking together.
âI know I got shit on my face.â He says to you, turning to look at you as he licks the marshmallow off of his fingers.
You smile at him and shake your head softly, taking a small bite of your sâmore. âIâm just looking at you.â Leon only giggles, wiping his mouth with his palm.
âYouâve had plenty of time to look at me.â
âI know that, doesnât mean I have to stop. And besides, you look at me all the time.â
âYeah, thatâs because Iâm talking to you, you just stare at me sometimes.â
âBecause I missed you terribly, and Iâm happy to have you back home.â You joke a little bit, finishing off the dessert in your hand. âIâm still gonna miss you when you go back to the city.â
âWell, maybe you wouldnât miss me so much if you came to visit every once-in-a-while. You know it wouldnât kill you to drive three hours to see me. Youâd like the city, anyway.â Leon scooted even closer to you and nudged your shoulder with his, still keeping his eyes on you.
âI know, I know. Just goddamn, I donât get why you couldnât have been a local sheriff or deputy or some shit. You could give me parking tickets everyday.â You laugh, his smile drops a little.
âRaccoon City is as good as it gets for me, I could give you parking tickets everyday of the year if you lived there.â
You drop a hand to his knee, squeezing it gently and leaning in closer to him. âHey, I wasnât trying to be mean. I know the cityâs a big deal for you, and Iâm really, really happy for you. You worked really hard.â
âYou flatter me,â Leonâs smile brightened a bit again, your heart fluttered. âYou havenât seen me in action yet.â
âYeah? And what exactly is âactionâ for you? Helping old ladies cross the street? Maybe pulling someone over for speeding?â You chuckle, letting go of his knee and pushing against him.
âGod, when did you get so mean?â Leon snickered and rolled his eyes, grabbing your bicep and pushing you away from him.
âOh, come on, Iâm supposed to be mean to you, thatâs what best friends do. Youâve never complained before.â
âYeah, you complain constantly when I do it.â
âBecause boys arenât supposed to be mean to girls. Thatâs the rule, arenât you supposed to know all the rules, officer?â
âDonât call me that!â Leon laughs, pushing you further away. âListen, just- just come over. I just wanna see you, even if itâs for a couple of hours. I miss you a lot.â
You can feel your heart clench a little at his words. You know he means it, heâs always tried to come over and visit when he was able to, even when he was in the academy. You just didnât want to be a bother to him, heâs living his dream, and you donât want to get in the way of it.
âIâll try, I promise. Maybe I can come over for a weekend in September.â
âGood, Iâll hold you to it. I was starting to think you didnât like me anymore.â He jested, turning his gaze to the fire that was almost completely gone now.
âJesus, donât say that. Iâll always like you.â
That caught him off guard a little bit, you watched as his cheeks turned red and how his Adamâs apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed.
âThat- thatâs good.â
You smile at him, scooting closer once again and bringing your hand to rest on his shoulder to shake him gently. âDonât forget it.â Thereâs a pause. Leon looks back up to you from the fire, his eyes bore into yours for a few long seconds before they trail down to your lips. It doesnât go unnoticed. âLetâs go to the lake, itâs fun to swim when itâs getting dark.â
â
Leon had raced you back to your campsite three hours later and won. It was dark now, nearing eleven p.m., the fire was now completely out and all the other campers were asleep. The campground is illuminated by streetlights placed sparingly along the road, you can hardly see anything on your site besides your car and the outside of your shelter.
The lake had been fun, it was different from when youâd come here together a decade ago and push each other off the dock and into the water, but it was fun in a new kind of way. Luckily, there werenât many people there due to the late hour, not that either of you wouldâve really stopped even if it had been packed. Yours and Leonâs swimsuits cling to your skin, you probably wouldâve run the race, but once he got in front of you you couldnât tear your gaze away from the way his back muscles looked when they were wet.
âFuck, I didnât set up my air mattress.â You chuckle as you follow Leon into your campsites shelter, shuffling your bare feet along the ground to try to keep yourself from tripping.
âWell, hurry up then.â He giggles but waves you off, his back turned to you as he runs his towel over his wet hair once again. You scoff at him half-heartedly, turning away and going to get your air mattress out of the trunk of your car.
You discover that Leonâs air mattress is bigger than yours once you finally pull it back into the shelter and lay it down next to his. The air-pump is already attached to the nozzle, Leon sits at the bench and watches as you try to inflate the mattress.
âThis isnât working,â You groan, rising up from your squatting position and letting go of the air-pump to shake your arms free of the strain. Leon just shrugs at you, you roll your eyes and squat down again, patting down the air mattress, looking for rips, and you find one that you can fit your entire fist inside. You groan again, more loudly this time. âMy mattress is trashed, I donât have tape or any patches thatâll fix this.â
Leon rises from his seat at the bench, stepping into the shelter along side you and looking down at your air mattress. âYou can share with me.â
âReally? You sure?â
âYeah, of course. I donât mind, itâs probably gonna be a bit colder tonight, anyway.â Leon offers you a small smirk, offering a hand to you to help you stand up.
âThanks,â You say as you take his hand, he pulls you to your feet, holding onto your hand for a second before he pulls away. The two of you put your hands on your hips at the same time, glancing around the site. âI gotta get changed.â
âAlright,â
âI donât wanna walk all the way to the bathroom, though.â You sigh, Leon chuckles and looks towards you.
âYou gonna change here?â
âYeah,â You donât miss how his face drops slightly, the color returning to his cheeks. âCan you hold the flashlight for me?â
âWh-â He cuts himself off when you reach for the hem of your wet shirt, already pulling it up over your head and revealing the one piece you wore underneath.
âYou donât gotta look at me, dumbass. Just hold it so I can see what Iâm doing.â You donât see Leon nod, but you see the bright flashlight turn on and shine against you. You drop your wet shirt to the ground and reach for the straps of your swimsuit, beginning to pull it down over your shoulders.
You make the mistake of glancing over at Leon, he hadnât turned away in the slightest, his gaze was locked onto you like it was absolutely necessary for him to watch you undress. Despite this, you donât stop. You donât know if he saw you look at him, but he keeps watching you as you begin to peel to wet swimsuit off your body.
He swallows thickly, his Adamâs apple goes up and down once again as he does so. The flashlight in his hand shakes slightly as you pull the swimsuit off your body completely.
Leon looks back up at your face for the first time and immediately winces, his free hand goes to his eyes as if to cover it and pretend he hadnât seen you fully naked.
âLeon-â
âNo, I-Iâm sorry. You just- no, goddamnit, that was- shit, y-youâre just really pretty and I-I get it if youâre mad.â His apology stumbles out of his mouth, his face is even more flushed and his hand that he had moved to cover his eyes now runs through his damp hair. You trail your eyes up and down his body, unsure where to focus, but your gaze keeps landing on the tent forming in his swim trunks.
âIâm not mad.â
â⊠S-Seriously?â Leonâs gaze meets yours again, he looks a little dumbfounded and awestruck, you canât help but grin at him.
âNo.â
âOh,â He chuckles awkwardly, clearing his throat and looking down at his feet. âThis is just k-kinda embarrassing.â
â⊠Sorry.â You mumble, looking from him out at the dark campsite.
âWhat? No- donât apologize. You just look pretty, I mean, youâve always been really fucking pretty and Iâm just looking at you like- God, I donât even know. Just donât apologize.â
âThanks,â You look back at him, you canât help the smile on your face when he calls you pretty.
âI mean it, Iâve thought you were the prettiest since like, high school.â
âActually?â
âYeah. I donât wanna sound weird or anything, but Iâve always kinda⊠liked you? Like, more than a-a friend. And Iâm sorry for telling you this when youâre naked in front of me, I just-â You donât let Leon finish his sentence, shutting him up with a kiss instead of letting him get his thoughts out.
He melts against you almost instantly, his hands finding their way to your hips as the flashlight is discarded onto the floor. Your hands anchor themselves in his hair, keeping his head in place as the kiss goes on for another five seconds before the two of you split apart for air.
âI shouldâve asked, Iâm sorry-â Your own apology is cut short when Leon pulls you against him even closer, kissing you again but only for two seconds.
âI told you not to say sorry.â You smile at him, your hands moving from his hair to the back of his neck. Before you can even stop yourself, your lips attach themselves to his neck, kissing and sucking along the skin you find there.
Leon groans, his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as his head tilts back to give you more skin to work with, which you happily accept. Your hands move again, this time going from his neck to graze over his bare chest. Leon takes that as a sign to move his hands, leaving your hips to grip just underneath your ass. You giggle and push yourself up against him more, he gives a soft chuckle in response.
âThis okay with you?â He asks, one hand moves up to cup your ass and squeeze it gently.
âYeah, itâd be better if we werenât standing, though.â You pull away from him, his grip on you loosens as he takes your hint and sits himself on the ground at the foot of his air mattress.
You wanted to straddle his lap, but when you lower yourself down to do so, Leon grabs hold of your hips once again and flips you so the upper half of your back rests on top of his air mattress as he hovers over you. He kisses you again, this time tracing the seam of your lips with his tongue to ask for entry. That doesnât take any negotiation for you, his tongue meets yours, your arms find their way around his neck as he lowers himself down on top of you more, your breasts pressing against his chest.
âWe need to be quiet,â You whisper to him once you pull away from his lips.
âEveryoneâs asleep by now, and thereâs only like, two other campsites near us.â He chuckles slightly, pulling back a few inches to get a better look at you.
âLeon.â You scold quietly, his chuckle turns into a snicker as his hands find their ways up to your breasts.
âOkay, okay,â Leon shakes his head slightly as he brushes his thumbs over your nipples. âDonât ruin my fun just yet, Iâve been wanting to do this for years.â
âHave you now?â Your arms kissed around his neck, you push yourself further into his touch.
âYouâve got no idea,â He looks up from where your tits rest in his hands to your face, leaning in to kiss you again. The kiss goes on for what feels like thirty minutes before one of your arms unwraps itself from his neck and goes down to the hem of his swim trunks, you tug on it lightly.
Leon pulls back to look at you, his hands leave your breasts to rest on your thighs. The teasing smile on his face is gone, now replaced with a look of concern.
âYouâre absolutely sure youâre okay with this?â
âAbsolutely.â You smile at him, you cup his face in your hands and give him a small peck on the lips, feeling him smile against your mouth as his hands leave your thighs to pull down his trunks. Leonâs hands are back on you two seconds later, dipping in between your thighs to run his fingers through your slick folds.
âFuck,â He murmurs, leaning his head down to press kisses to your cheek as his thumb presses against your clit, gently probing against your entrance with his middle finger. You whine softly, it only seems to spur him on, he gently pushes his finger inside you, continuing the soft amount of pressure on your clit. âYouâre really pretty.â
âYou keep saying that.â You giggle a little bit, your hands move to rest on his shoulders as your head tips to the right.
âBecause I mean it.â Youâre not sure why he groans, but he does once his finger slides deeper inside of you. âI missed you so much, I didnât think that this was gonna happen when I came back to town, but Iâm so happy it is.â
âM-Me too,â You agree a bit breathlessly, Leonâs kisses trail down to your throat as his pointer finger slowly joins his middle finger. Youâre not even really sure how to feel right now, youâve been craving this for so long, maybe not in a campground with a shelter that hardly concealed any noise, but you really hoped that this wasnât going to be where things ended for you and Leon.
Leonâs kisses turns into gentle bites as his ministrations continue and the pressure on your clit increases. You bite down on your lip, trying to not let yourself get too loud, but the noises that do slip past your lips, Leon responds to with his own.
âLeon, please.â Your small whimper makes him stop, his fingers come to a halt inside you and he pulls back again to look down at your face.
âYou sure?â You only close your eyes and nod, your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders as you wait. âOkay, I got you, I- Iâm gonna be gentle.â
His fingers slip out of you, you whine quietly at the loss, earning a tiny snort from him as he pulls back to sit on his knees, keeping one hand attached to your thigh, longing himself up with your entrance. Leon pushes in slowly, watching your face and how your mouth falls open at the intrusion. He lets you adjust for maybe fifteen seconds before he starts moving slowly, keeping one hand on your thigh and slipping the other underneath your back to hold you up a bit.
âHoly shit, you feel s-so good.â He mumbles to you, biting down on his own lip to keep his groans from getting too loud. You nod, unable to find any words to respond with while you begin rocking your hips gently to try and meet his movements.
Leonâs thrusts donât get much faster than this, heâs trying his best to be gentle and quiet, youâre sure it would be a different story if you were back home. You let your whines get a bit louder as you let the feeling of him pushing in and out of you take over, the soft squelching noises donât help.
Your hands roam over his chest and shoulders as he continues on for the next few minutes. You canât make any complaints, youâre sure he canât, either.
His hand that had been on your thigh had left to trail in between once again, finding your clit and circling it, letting strained pants and whimpers fall from his lips as he hovered above you. Neither of you can find words to say to each other, too focused on how the both of you feel as you move together.
After a few more minutes, the feeling coiling up in your lower abdomen is beginning to become unbearable. âL-Leon, mm fuck- Leon, âM gonna-â
âItâs okay, âM not gonna stop just y-yet.â Only then does his hips snap forward a bit harder, determined to push you over the edge.
The moan you let out when you came was louder than any other noises you had made that night, Leon seemed to appreciate it, you could tell by the grin that grew on his face as you began to calm down, not that he stopped moving. He pulled out before he came, instead, cumming on the shelter floor and your thighs, you couldnât say that it bugged you.
The two of you laid there for maybe five minutes, trying to catch your breath as you pressed kisses against each others skin. The floor was a mess but Leon only focused on wiping his release off of you, a stupid smile was painted on his face as he did so.
After the two of you went to piss on separate sides of the site, you met back up in the shelter and actually got dressed this time around. Leon didnât push you away when you crawled onto his air mattress with him, and he was more than happy to wrap his arms around you and share his blanket with you. Your hands rested on his shoulder blades, head pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the rise and fall of his chest. One of his hands was in your hair and the other rested on the small of your back, holding you close to him.
âI donât⊠want to leave you just yet.â He said quietly.
âWeâve got a couple more days.â
âNo, I know. What I mean is I- I want you to come to the city with me. Just for a few days. I just wanna figure things out between us because I think thereâs a lot we should probably discuss and I just really, really donât want things to end here.â Leonâs voice was a bit louder, you could hear the slight tremble in his words as he spoke, but you didnât look up at him.
âWould you really be okay with me coming over?â
âAll I want is for you to come over. Please.â
âAlright,â You smile against his chest, closing your eyes. âJust donât keep me waiting with your fancy job.â
âIâm sure my bosses would understand me needing to put a few things on hold for my dream girl.â
#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy#leon s kennedy x reader#resident evil#resident evil x reader#leon kennedy smut
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Is It Really You? | Joost Klein
description: Based on the song Is It Really You? by Loathe (aka one of the most beautiful songs of all time i'm being so serious) Following a breakup with your long-term boyfriend, the man you were certain you would marry, a night with your best friend, Joost proves that love may lie elsewhere for you.
content: Joost Klein x f! reader, 18+ suggestive content (no smut), RPF, smoking, mention of drinking, angst, hurt/comfort, breakups, cheating, fluff, best friends to lovers(?).
word count: 3363
"Is it really you...? Let's search the sky for a while, you and I, collide like two stars for a while, you and I."
Your eyes burn as another bitter tear falls down your cheeks, the taste of salt grazing your quivering lips as the droplet drips off your chin. The early summer air was getting cooler as the sun had long been set, a small breeze stinging your tearful eyes as it blew past your face.
"Oh," The word drops painfully from the mouth of the man beside you, as if you had just broken his heart right then and there, "Oh, don't cry." The familiar voice of your best friend was of little comfort now.
You suck in a deep breath, shaky as your chest spasms, struggling to maintain composure. You gaze out at the city that surrounds you, bright and alive with a bustling nightlife, a nightlife you had found yourself so often partaking in. But tonight, as you sat on the roof of your apartment, you were merely an observer, far removed from the fun of the city.
"Five years, Joost." You turn to face the blonde next to you, "five, down the drain."
His face is pained, pink lips pulled downwards as his eyelids fall and eyebrows furrow, "Het spijt me." (I am sorry) He shakes his head.
The last three weeks had been nothing but sorries, to the point the phrase had begun to make you nauseous, your stomach churning as the condolence had left Joost's mouth. Everything about him told you that he actually meant it, but still- you couldn't bear to hear any more sorries.
"I thought I was going to marry him," You turn away from Joost, facing back to the skyline that surrounded you, observing the buildings, and the multitudes of colors that shone from their windows. Your chest ached, you didn't understand how someone you had loved so much and for so long could leave in an instant, seemingly so nonchalantly, with not so much as to even give you a face-to-face goodbye, "Fuck." You mutter, feeling a familiar anger begin to bubble inside you- what a fucking coward.
A trembling hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes that sits beside you, grabbing the warped cardboard, and pulling out another cigarette. Looking into the box, only one remained, had you not been so consumed by your emotions you probably would have felt bad smoking almost the entire pack, considering they weren't yours.
"There's one left," You mutter, tipping the box in Joost's direction, offering him the remaining cigarette, despite the entire pack having been his in the first place.
"I'm ok," He shakes his head, "It's yours."
A small smile pulls at your lips in response to the gesture, but you just cannot take that response,
"No," You push the open cardboard towards him, "Take it. Humor me please." You had hoped he would accept, and indulge you in your shared bad habit together.
Joost reluctantly takes the pack from you, slowly pulling out the single remaining cigarette, and placing it between his lips. You watch as he struggles with the lighter in his hand that is clearly on its last life. With a flick, he's finally able to produce a small, orange flame, just enough to light the end of the cigarette.
He passes the lighter to you, his fingertips lightly brushing your palms as he hands the small, black object over to you. His slight touch sends shivers down your spine, almost making you forget your unfortunate situation for a split second.
Tilting your head down, and using a cupped hand to shield you from the gentle breeze, you attempt to light the cigarette that hangs from your lips. Your finger swipes down the cool metal, but you're unable to produce a spark, the serrated metal wheel is unturning as it bores into your skin. You attempt a few more times, left only with your thumb sore from its rough movements against the hardness of the metal.
"Here," Joost says, clocking your lack of success with the lighter. He leans in towards you, touching the end of his cigarette to yours. You note the proximity between you, his face so close to yours. You can't help but take a moment to admire him, the way his blue eyes glimmer behind the lens of his glasses, how his hair is just the perfect amount of messy, and how the warm colored city lights highlight the angles of his face against the backdrop of night.
Your spark of admiration reminds you of simpler times, of younger years, spent pining over your best friend in all of your teenage awkwardness. You had spent most of your childhood with an insatiable crush on Joost, one that went absolutely nowhere. Minus that one time, the two of you shared a drunken kiss four years ago, but it had meant nothing other than the fact that you were angry at your then-boyfriend, and you had had far too much to drink.
Still, you remember it like it was yesterday, having found out just days prior your boyfriend, Christian, had been hooking up with his ex-girlfriend the whole year you had been together. If you had known then what you know now, you would have left him, but having been dumb and 21 the answer to your problems was fighting fire with fire.
You and Christian had been at a party thrown by a mutual friend, having not spoken to him since you had found out what he had done, you showed up to the party with Joost, who you had, subsequently spent the entire night with. The kiss had taken place after god only knows how many drinks, and a night spent dancing with Joost like he was your boyfriend. You and Joost had found yourselves on a couch in the living room, Christian staring dead at the pair of you from across the room, his eyes burning into you- it had felt as good of a time as ever, Heartless by The Weeknd boomed over the speakers, to give him a taste of his own medicine.
To make a short story even shorter, you and Joost had become the focal point of the party for the remaining length of the song, having had him pushed back on the couch as you laid straddled on top of him, lips locked in a furious kiss, wandering hands exploring each other's bodies in a way that hadn't been entirely appropriate for such a public setting.
Following a heated argument after that incident, you and Christian considered each other even, willing to move on with the relationship as if nothing had happened. Joost didn't feel quite the same, the two of them had been on rocky waters ever since then, which, he didn't mind, he was far from fond of the man you swore up and down you were going to marry one day.
Blinking a few times you return yourself to the present moment, watching as Joost's chest rises, sucking in a breath, stoking the flame of his own cigarette so he can light yours. You inhale as well, which finally allows your cigarette to light.
You smile to thank him, the cigarette still pressed between your lips. You place two fingers on either side of the cigarette, taking a proper drag, feeling a familiar warm prickling in your throat as the smoke enters your lungs.
You face away from Joost to exhale, grey smoke dancing around you as another gust of wind approaches.
"I just don't understand," You start, your voice beginning to waver as memories of the last five years you spent with Christian came back to you, "How could he?" You inhale once more, deeply, hoping that you can receive at least some vague headrush from the nicotine. Exhale. "After all the shit I put up with, he leaves me." You face back to Joost, a grimace forming on your face, "With a text."
You bite at the inside of your cheeks, attempting to suppress the way your lips quiver as a sob threatens to escape you.
Joost's head hangs to the side, sympathy spread across his face,
"I don't think there's anything to understand." He presses the cigarette in his hand up against his lips, taking a quick inhale before speaking again, "He's just a dick."
"Easy for you to say," You sigh, "You're biased, you never liked him."
"Yeah," Joost says, matter-of-factly, "He spent the first year of your relationship fucking his ex-girlfriend."
"I cheated too," You mumble, you had never quite forgiven yourself for that incident, no matter how perfect it had felt in the moment.
"We kissed once while we were drunk." He furrows his eyebrows to take another drag of his cigarette.
"Still cheating," You shrug, even if he did have a fair point, you having kissed Joost in pure spite didn't exactly equal a year's worth of hooking up with someone else, "I mean," You pause to take a drag of your cigarette, "If I was your girlfriend, would you want me kissing other guys- even if it was because you had done something too?"
"If you were my girlfriend I wouldn't have sex with anyone else in the first place."
"That's not my point." You shake your head
"But that's my point." He says in earnest.
You flick your eyes up to look at him to find him staring back at you, his gaze unwavering from where it meets yours. He was right and you shouldn't have let the relationship go on for as long as it did.
With a blink more tears are spilling out of your eyes, unable to hold back your cries much longer.
"I wasted five years of my life," The tears continue to pour down your cheeks, "Five years is a long time."
A small smile appears on Joost's face, a sign of encouragement,
"Someday being with someone for five years will feel like nothing," You watch as the end of his cigarette burns down with another drag, a puff of grey smoke exiting his mouth as he speaks again, his voice softening, "But I know it hurts now."
"Yeah," You concede, hanging your head. "It does."
"I know the last thing you want is the 'it gets better with time' speech, but i promise you, it will."
"I believe you." You cannot look at Joost as you take another drag from the cigarette between your fingers, continuing to stare at the concrete roof of your apartment building as the tears continue to stream down your face. Deep down you know he's right, that one day you'll be with someone for far longer than five years, but it was hard to imagine all of the grief you'd have to push yourself through before getting to that point, mourning the last five years of your life seemed like a daunting challenge ahead.
You push what remains of your cigarette into the concrete, watching as the small flame extinguishes with a small plume of smoke.
"Come here." Joost sighs, slinging an arm around your hunched-over body. Instinctively, your head falls to the side, resting against Joost's shoulder. Moments of affection had been scarce between the two of you since the incident at the party, you knew that part of you feared what sort of emotions would be brought if you let yourself get too close in physical proximity to him.
But now it didn't matter, you were more than receptive of a shoulder to cry on.
The pair of you sit in silence for a moment, both fixated on the dark sky that stretches around you in every direction. The stars are nothing but a faint twinkle tonight, much as they had been every night, something you had gotten used to since moving to the city.
Joost's palm rubs soft circles into your back, lulling your shaky breaths to a stable cadence. You feel heavy as you lay on Joost's shoulder, your eyes burning and your head aching from how much you had been crying.
You can't help but let your mind wander, mostly about the past, about your life before Christian. Tonight had reminded you of old times, of when it was just you and Joost, the pair of you attached at the hip. Neither of you had very many friends growing up, and while you could appreciate your expansive friend groups now, and how much your lives had changed since you were teens, you couldn't help but miss moments like this, moments where you had him all to yourself.
You had accepted a long time ago that you were probably never going to completely get over the crush you had on Joost. Not that it mattered much anyway, it seemed harmless, and it obviously hadn't inhibited you from finding love elsewhere. A puppy crush was all you had thought it had waned down to. Joost seemed to only get more attractive as he aged anyway, having truly grown into himself. Sometimes you couldn't believe the man he had matured into- proud was an understatement.
"Feeling any better?" He asks, his voice low as to not startle you as he breaks the silence.
"I don't know." You mumble, your voice threatening to crack once more and your mind is a mess with pure confusion as to what it was you were feeling. Your heart thumps in your chest at a volume that feels much louder than normal, pumping at a rate that seems much too fast for the situation you're in, "Can I ask you a weird question?"
"Sure" He chuckles, "Ask me whatever you want."
"Did you like it?" The question quickly slips from your lips.
"Like what?" He responds, clearly confused.
"Like," You begin to trail off, unsure if you want to clarify your question, "When we-uh kissed?"
The soft motions he draws against your back are suddenly halted, and it feels like the entire city has gone quiet, like time has stood still, Your heart drops straight into your stomach, fearing the outcome of his rigid bodily reaction.
"Y-yeah, yeah, I liked it." His voice becoming more confident as words progressed.
"I did too," It seemed useless now to wallow in the guilt you had felt about that situation, you liked it, "Do you think we could-" You cut yourself off, not sure of how to finish the question.
Joost places three fingers on your jaw, grabbing at your chin to pull your gaze up to him.
You look at Joost through tearful eyes, questioning how to make your next move. A few seconds of anxious silence pass between the two, breathing heavily.
Joost's fingers linger on your jaw as you feel him pull you closer ever-so-slightly, the two of you inching nearer to each other. Unable to wait any longer, you push yourself forward, at the same time, Joost seems to have had the same idea, the two of you colliding with a force you hadn't expected, which almost takes the breath straight from your lungs.
But you only wish to get closer as your lips clash against Joost's with a hunger you weren't used to. You couldn't remember the last time you had experienced a kiss with such passion, with such intent behind it.
Your hands find themselves tangled up in Joost's hair, threading through and pulling at the already messy strands. Joost's own hands are planted firmly on your body, one on the back of your neck and the other on your waist.
You began to slowly tip back, removing a hand from Joost's hair to maintain stability as you lowered your back to the concrete. Joost follows suit, not breaking the kiss as you pull him down with you.
He props himself up with a hand next to your head, using his other free hand to hold your cheek. You wrap both of your arms around his neck, attempting to pull him further down on top of you.
Joost's kisses soon leave your lips, soft lips trailing down your jaw and eventually your neck. Your chest rises, back arching as he connects with your throat, sucking softly. You let your head tip back onto the concrete, staring up at the sky as Joost continues.
Somehow the stars feel much brighter now, although you know that they aren't. But you're memorized by their faint twinkle in the heat of the moment, as your hands desperately grasp at Joost's hair, and your breathing begins to speed up.
Once more, you're overwhelmed, eyes damp once more as they well up with tears. You pinch your eyes closed, trying to force the droplets away, but it does nothing but push your salty tears down your face. It didn't feel so bad to cry now, not as Joost ghosts your neck with soft kisses, his hand dropping to draw reassuring circles on your hip with his thumb.
You arch your back, allowing Joost to wrap an arm under you, holding you tight. You whine as his teeth graze your neck, quickly soothing the small bite with his tongue. It's obvious Joost notices your response to the action, repeating it over a few more times, surely bursting some blood vessels along the way.
You recognized the sensation that was building inside of you, the way the muscles in your legs tightened and your abdomen strained, the paralyzing feeling of want terrorizing every nerve in your body. You bend your leg, pushing your hips forward. With your sudden movement, Joost's hand slips from behind your back to your thigh, his fingertips just below the hem of your pajama shorts. It's not quite where you want him.
A strangled, "Please," leaves your throat, causing Joost to hesitate, lifting his head from where it hung by your neck, his hand dropping from your thigh.
Pity is written all over his face as he looks down at you, fuck.
"I'm sorry," He shakes his head
"What?"
"We shouldn't-"
"No?" You choke, and it's like you could feel him slipping through your fingers, you clench your jaw, his name bitten into your tongue. You let your head fall to the side, the concrete is harsh, scraping against your cheek.
"Stop," You feel Joost's hand graze your arm, "Please look at me."
You can't bear to lift your head up, shame written all over your face. First your boyfriend now him.
"I don't mean to upset you, please, liefje, look at me."
His use of the phrase liefje making you immediately turn your head, confused.
"Don't call me that if you don't mean it." You frown
"I do mean it."
"Sure."
Joost lowers his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead,
"Believe me," He mumbles, his lips still resting against your hairline.
"Then why can't we go any further?" You wince at the words that come from your mouth.
"We will," He raises his head to look you in the eyes, "When you're ready."
"I am," You furrow your eyebrows, "I've known you for 15 years, I am more than ready."
Joost frowns, "You just got out of a five-year relationship."
"Do you think I'm using you as a rebound?"
"What-no," He shakes his head, "I just don't want to fuck up your healing process."
"What if you speed it up?" You ask, lifting your head from the concrete.
"And what if I make it worse?"
"You won't" You plead
"Not tonight." He sighs, dipping his head to place another kiss on your forehead, "Let me take you out first, we'll make it special."
A small smile grazes your lips, your heart warmed at his effort,
"I care about you, y/n, I don't want to just have sex with you because we're in the mood, okay?" He speaks earnestly, making your pulse quicken.
"Okay," You whisper, "Can you at least stay the night?"
"I'll stay as long as you want," he smiles, and a few moments of comfortable silence engulf you both before he speaks again, "You know I love you, right?" You're unsure of if it's platonic love, or something more, but it doesn't seem to matter now, the very simple fact that he loves you was all you could really focus on.
"I love you too." You're unsure of how you mean it either, knowing only that you love him. Just as you always had.
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- # GIVE A FLY SOME HONEY !!
all roads lead to death valley
cw: southern setting & accents, sui ideation/thoughts, protected sex (are you proud of me), dead dove ending and undertones, sort of ambiguous, virgin cowboy!anakin x virgin afab!reader, ROTS coded!anakin, r2âs a horse, the force is in place of the christian God and is referred to as such at times, star wars being a fictional franchise in a star wars au fic, weird mix of a farm and a ranch, spanking, clit slapping, biting, readerâs inner freak has some crazy thoughts, mentions of humiliation and collaring/choking, anakin murders somebody (one scene of violence), what a heat advisory and the southâs sex education does to a mf, implied plus size and neurodivergent!reader, kidnapping????????????, mention of drugs, reader has a lot of internalized shame about where theyâre from
wc: 4.2k (unedited)
what if instead of star wars it was called đŻđ»đźđȘđŽđ wars
consider commissioning me!
Your unlucky streak rears its ugly head yet again. June was already shaping up to be a hot month, and your junkyard car wouldnât start. Youâre used to driving long stretches of road with nothing but livestock in fields to gawk at, it comes with the territory. But you couldnât afford gas and decided to push your luck on the way back home, nevermind that the drive would be at least 20 hours. Moving to the city had its drawbacks, the road trip to and back being one of them.
âNo, no. Come on, please work. Do you need me to fucking sing to you or something?â You groan, fruitlessly twisting your key in the ignition over and over.
Nope, âTough shit.â Your engine mocks, death coughs sputtering out one after the other.
â âYou havinâ trouble?â A masculine voice shouts from behind you.
You get startled by the sound and gracefully slam your head up into the roof of the car as you turn around. You must look like quite the sight, clutching your now throbbing head and stumbling out of your broken down hand-me-down car on a long open road. Once youâve blinked enough to adjust to the harsh sunlight, your eyes land on a tall muscular figure riding a horse. The clip clop of the horseâs dirty hooves on the gravel pierce your ears but the gentle sway of the manâs fluffy hair softens the blow.
âUmâŠ. yes, sir. I am actually. MyâŠ. my car wonât start and Iâm all out of gas.â You burn with embarrassment as you get through your explanation, trying your hardest not to throw up from the sheer social anxiety.
âWell that ainât no biggy, I think I can help with that.â The man cocks his head and hops down from the horse, a white stallion with a few faded black-gray spots here and there. âStay here, R2.â
Youâre standing there dumbly, ignoring the tiny rocks digging into your shoes and the pounding in your skull as the cowboy wanders up to you. The sun bounces off his dark hat in a way that gives him a sort of halo, and you gape like a fish when he tips it down at you in a silent greeting, reaching out to shake your hand after. The silver spurs on his boots reflect sunlight directly onto your face, so you miss his open palm the first time.
His hand is rough, you can feel numerous old scrapes and cuts when you accept the gesture. But itâs so much bigger than yours, and thereâs strange heat coming from his skin that youâre hesitant to pin on the southern summer sun. Too handsome, in a way that just canât be possible, you quickly swipe a fingertip over his ring finger during the handshake and The Force must be looking out for you because thereâs no ring. Not that youâre seeking anything out, but in the town youâre from, youâre lucky if anyone makes it past 18 without having a baby and getting hitched as a result.
Anakin tinkers away at your car for over an hour, finding more problems than just a lack of gas. Eventually he determines that youâll die in this heat before you can back on the road, so he asks you to accompany him back to his ranch and heâll send out one of his employees to bring your car around. You try to show him that youâre listening by âhmâ-ing and nodding every so often, but itâs hard to rip your eyes away from a very attractive man bent over and sweaty while heâs fixing your car. You definitely do not want to cry when his flannel lifts up as he wipes the sweat on his forehead away with his greasy hand, revealing the slight softness over his muscles.
Since your car was no longer an option, Anakin grins as he gestures towards his horse, âR2âs a good horse, wonât give you any trouble. He likes to make a lot of noise and has an⊠acquired sense of humor, but I reckon weâll get back just fine.â
He has you practice getting off and on the horse for a good while, the next step is letting you adjust to the feeling of being on one. Youâd be embarrassed that Anakinâs having to teach you how to ride but his hands curl around your waist, keeping you steady and whispering in your ear to not be so stiff. Horses can smell fear after all, itâd suck to not only have your car be broken but your bones too. Itâs a scene straight out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind thatâs a tiny yellowed book sold almost exclusively in run down gas stations with a cover not far off from a porno.
Your cheeks are burning the entire way to the ranch, you relax as much as you can on an animal thatâs a few hundred pounds of muscle with a searing hot body pressed right up against you from behind. It doesn't take long to get to your destination though, and before you know it sprawling fields bracket a mid size homey wooden building. There are some smaller pens for the cows to stay in and you follow their movement as an employee unlatches the gate and leads them out towards the left most field.
âThey gotta switch pastures every so often.â He informs you, urging his horse into an energetic trot, âAnd itâs a good rule of thumb to have about an acre per cow.â
You tighten your hold on the reins and try not to focus on your fear of falling off. The pace of R2 isnât one that you struggle to match but then again this is the first time youâve ever ridden a horse in a long time. Youâve always been too skittish to do it regularly, and when you moved you got rid of the hobby entirely. You take a deep breath and let the horseâs movements travel through you, coming to enjoy the gentle jostling as you go. Anakin keeps his hands around yours on the reigns, making sure you donât panic and seize up. R2âs not really beginner friendly unless he likes his rider, he has a tendency to just whinny and take off when the spirit moves him.
âThe Force has done me good and given me a nice house on nice land, but it donât mean nothinâ if iâm all by my lonesome. Ever since my dad passed and my maâ died a few years after that, the workers and the cows are all I got, plus R2 of course.â
All right, he sinks into the jargon a little too much, but the way the sun accentuates the scar on his cheek makes it a charming quirk. You want to lick his teeth when he smiles, you think, before blaming it on an oncoming heatstroke. Youâre no better than a man in this moment, and if you had seen him soaking up all of the attention in a crowded room in a bar youâd have no business being in, you like to think that you could pull him. You play with the slightly waxy feel of the leather reins, allowing the sensation of coarseness in the stitching to overpower any coherent thought.
âWhyâd you name your horse R2?â You ask, ducking your head as you feel him guide the animal towards the stables.
âOh uh, I was real wild over these sci fi movies from back when I was a kid. The hero had this robot called R2-D2, and I guess it just stuck with me.â He answers you with a shrug and a mild blush, curving his fingers around yours.
Your stomach warms at the feeling, but you refrain from returning the gesture, he probably isnât even thinking that deeply about what heâs doing. Heâs not obsessing over every square inch of skin that comes into contact with his own, not like you. Youâre already missing the comforting weight of Anakinâs herculean body when heâs pulling the reins to stop R2 and hopping off, clamping his big hands around your waist and helping you down. You wobble for a bit and find your footing before you can pick up on how he momentarily froze in front of you, anticipating an easy opportunity to touch you again. Force, you really are stupid, bless your heart.
You glance up at him and start to say something but then you hear rustling in the bushes, Anakin must hear it too because before you can tug on his sleeve and tell him, heâs pulling his revolver out from its holster and striding off towards the sound. Youâre quick to learn that he has a bit of a one track mind, especially when it comes to indulging the serpent twisting in between his ribs like a switchblade.
âIâll be damnedâŠâ
Youâre supposed to head inside and awkwardly linger around until your car is in good enough condition to get you back to Coruscant. The only thing is, youâve now found yourself without your new security blanket, and your curiosity agrees with how much you donât fucking want to speak to any of the people here without Anakin to hide behind. R2 loudly chuffs at you from his stall in the stables, either saying âThatâs just how he is, leave him be!â or "What are you doing? You should obviously go after him!â You choose to believe itâs the latter, so you wander off into the distance, following Anakinâs lead.
You catch up to him quicker than you thought you would, and you have half a mind to scold him like a child if you werenât catching your breath. All you can see is his wide shoulders because heâs hunched over something, your heartbeat quickens when you spot his gun being pointed at something. You circle around him to find a man squirming on the ground like a toddler, twitching every so often. Anakin seems almost enthralled by the desperate display, so he doesnât notice you until you gingerly place a hand on his shoulder, soft and looking to soothe. Later you wonât remember the blood on the manâs temple or the matching stain on the muzzle of Anakinâs gun, because you didnât witness that part.
He snaps out of it, turning his head to nuzzle his nose against your knuckles, â âs alright, sweetheart, just a meth head too out of his mind to watch where heâs goinâ. Had a knife with him, probably lookinâ to rob somebody blind.â
Your eyes flicker between him and the man, fully aware of how common stuff like drug addicts trespassing is and the old fashioned black and red âTrespassers Will Be Shot On Sightâ sign. Youâve grown up around guns, youâre more used to hearing them in a hunting or taking shots at beer bottles kind of way, but itâs not like Anakinâs the only one to have that kind of self enforced rule when it comes to his property. Still⊠killing a human man is different than making use out of a successful deer hunt, right?
âMaybe we should call the cops, he canât hurt nobody like thatâŠâ You try to reason, casting a pitiful glance towards the cowering man.
Thereâs a scratch on Anakinâs face thatâs still bleeding from the knife the guy had used before Anakin took it, it just barely missed his right eye, he couldâve lost it. Youâll ask to help him with it when you get back to the ranch, but you know that thereâs no seeing to it right now. You donât want to risk an infection just so you could brush your thumb across the wound, youâre not even sure why you want to, itâs like the urge just materialized in your head out of thin fog. Anakin gently shrugs your hand off and uses his free one to pull you against his chest, and itâs like youâre back on his horse, that same fear entwined with exhilaration like barbed wire. Your hearts are beating at the same pace, some folks say thatâs how you know itâs love, thatâs how you know itâs fate.
âYou donât got the stuff in ya to be a killer, thatâs just fine, darlinâ. âCause I sure do.â His words dissolve into a previously unknown to you cold sneer.
Anakin clamps a burly, sweaty hand over your eyes as he empties the entire magnum into the tresspasserâs skull. The bright sun bounces off the brim of his hat, casting a shadow over his stormy eyes. He may not have let you witness the massacre, but you will never forget the sickening yelps the poor bastard gave to Anakin like prayer. And then he got put down in a more inhumane fashion than if he were a rabid dog. To your gracious host, thereâs probably not a whole lick of difference. Between a wanderinâ sap and a deranged mutt, that is.
But thereâs a far off expression on his face, maybe he was once at risk of having two bullets in his temple at the hands of someone unforgiving.
âWelp.â Anakin exclaims, making a point of slapping his thigh as he holsters his pistol. âBetter head on home now, I reckon. Come on, honey, donât want to lose you to the coyotes.â
Itâs said like âkai-yohtes.â You balk at his teasing and obediently trail after him, a vulnerable duckling staying in line. The storm is hitting hard by the time youâre out of the woods, and you briefly wonder if the Angels up in heaven are gonna start bowling soon. A saying that got passed around in your family, when you and the ones before you would stare up in wonder and shiver in fear at the thundering purple skies as kids. You remember being surprised that one of the Angelsâ bowling balls never fell down to earth, maybe itâd be somethinâ like a meteorite.
As is the case with many things, itâs easy to lose sight of the fresh corpse in the dry grass. Once you turn around and thread your finger through Anakinïżœïżœïżœs, dirtying them, itâs almost like that man never existed. There must be something wrong with you, sure the situation is so unimaginable that it would be hard to cope with, but shouldnât you be feeling more guilt than you do? You feel bad, of course, but âeasy come and easy goâ has always been the way of things in these parts. God giveth and God taketh away.
Youâre back where you should be, a narrow dirt path going under a wooden fence to the ranch. Grand trees line the road forming a moss green canopy. A few workers are goofing off and playing a very amateur game of football, blissfully ignorant to the fact that Anakin can obviously see them from his place next to you.
It would be a peaceful place to die, a bright and clear afternoon-evening in the way that the world can only be when youâre about to leave it. Thatâs how youâd want it to feel, like youâre rowing a boat across the lake you used to go fishing at to see people youâd never thought youâd see again waiting for you. Fall leaves, blinding pale sun, a serene and calming quiet. Youâd be the happiest youâve ever been, skipping even though you never could as a kid. Thereâd be no sadness, only relief and a memento of everything thatâll only make sense when itâs someoneâs turn to see you again. No buzzing from mosquitoes or chirping from crickets, only little lightninâ bugs. Maybe you only get that kinda ending if youâre good, in the godly sense, if you come from something worth remembering.
Anakin raises an eyebrow and gently jostles you, and just like that your train of thought is derailed. He chalks it up to shock, and nods his head towards a clearing behind the building. A change of plans. You follow, as you are wont to do.
âThat rat bastard had it cominâ to âim, hun.â He tries to reassure and squeezes your hand, imploring you to see reason. âThe Force decided it was his time, sweet thing.â
You shake your head, not disagreeing, just in utter disbelief. âI just⊠most everyone in my life I've known thatâs died did it when I wasn't there. Iâve never had to actually be there when they⊠you know.â
âYeah, I know.â And thatâs all he says, regardless of the truth.
Itâs what you need, somehow he just understands exactly what that is. Youâre starting to think that you certainly donât have a damn clue. You look up at him again, really drinking in every facet of his entire being that you can latch onto and obsess over. Youâre remembering why you were so anxious to get out of this sinkhole, itâs a miracle you ever got out of it in the first place. His hairâs all messy, dark curls strewn about like a windswept bale of hay. A storm is brewing in his eyes, like he could Earth to rotate in the opposite direction if he wanted it to. He works his jaw around in a weird way to get rid of the soreness after grinding his teeth.
Itâs tantalizing, being the hand holding a man on the edge back from wreaking his God given havoc.
You dot a quick peck on his cheek, scrunching your nose up at the barest hint of prickly stubble.
His eyes widen, and the sun itself shines brighter. The cutest light dusting of pink spreads across his face, so he one ups you by pressing your lips together. Itâs exactly how a first kiss should feel, a simple gesture that leaves you breathless and with more butterflies than a flower garden swarming in your tummy. Thereâs no fireworks, but you can hear wind chimes and birds singing as your lips glide together, the meeting of your tongues is so natural that you wonât be able to remember when his slipped through the seam of your mouth. You want to keen as he maps out your teeth, his spit has to have some kind of aphrodisiac in it.
Anakin works your jeans open and off your legs completely, his pupils expand when he sees your thick thighs in all their glory but he keeps himself from slapping them and acting like theyâre the only part of your body. Thereâs an ever growing to do list in both of your heads, your combined inexperience brings a flurry of perverted ideas and porn scenarios to recreate with it, and youâre sad that youâll very likely leave with none of them being fulfilled.
He yanks the collar of your tank below your chest, immediately leaving over to bite your cute breasts with all the grace of a rattlesnake. He doesnât try to make any marks, he just wants to bite wildly and with reckless abandon, like heâs using your tits to self soothe. Youâd do the same if he let you at his pecs to be fair, his chest is practically as big as yours if not bigger.
âThis means somethinâ to me, hear that? âm always gonna remember my first.â He spits, clutching onto your bruised tit like heâs a split second away from sinking his hand into your viscera and dumpster diving for your heart.
He pauses pawing at your tits to reach in his back pocket and pull out a condom. Itâs crumpled and the packaging is worn by rubbing against the denim of Anakinâs jeans, you can tell that heâs excited to finally put it to use. Youâre glad that thereâs some safety measures being taken, but your heart swoops in disappointment at the dose of reality. Itâs the kind of thing that calls for the most diabolical, unhinged, strings of goopy fluid hanging from his balls as they slap against your rippling ass, raw sex. You donât let yourself pout, Anakinâs making good use of the only working brain cell between the two of you. You scoot back on his lap to give him room to pop to button on his pants and whip his dick out. It makes a heavy âthwop!â as it slaps against Anakinâs abs.
Your mouth waters at the sight, so thick with the just right amount of curve, it would scratch your throat perfectly. His hands shake harder as he rips the condomâs packaging open with his teeth and rolls it on his twitching length. You take a deep breath, finding comfort in the tense muscles on Anakinâs shoulders through his warm flannel. He curls a hand around the base of his cock and grasps it tightly, positioning it right under your empty hole. Youâre lucky he didnât have to tell you what to do, because working yourself down every inch wouldâve been much more painful if you already needed to be taught a lesson. Itâs weirdly sweet, the chaste pecks he presses along your nose and jawline as you adjust to what feels like a tree log forcing your tender folds to stretch around it. Your slutty body tries to twist itself in a pretzel with the way youâre swiveling your hips, trying to get more of Anakinâs dick inside of you when youâve miraculously already swallowed him to the hilt.
âI want this pretty pussy weepinâ for me, Iâm awfully sorry honey but iâm not stopping till itâs gushinâ all over me.â He speaks in between wet kisses up and down the column of your throat.
âMmm- Itâs okay, I want it like that, Ani. Promise- oh my god, so big.â
You make him feel like a man trying to outrun a forest fire only to get swept up in a tornado. Like thereâs a fever in his brain thatâs gotten into his blood, black tar dripping into his liver. Drives a man to drink so he can have a sliver of that feeling, that scalding need not even God could give you. Thereâs no finesse or coordination to anything, his lips frantically scurry along random spots on your upper body. His upward thrusts are heavy hitting and wrangle your breath out in stuttered gasps, he moves as if he were riding a horse, following only the imagined scent of old blood. Anakinâs cock is so big your walls could rip if he wasnât always keeping a sharp eye on how much heâs bullying you. He doesnât try anything crazy like fucking your cervix, it might shock you so much that you remeber exactly how long itâs been since heâs had your car âtaken to the shopâ.
His spurs dig into the dirt as he slaps your ass, the material of his gloves adding an extra bit of âumph!â to the resulting sting. Anakinâs jeans are so warm against your ass that it takes a few more spanks before you really get the urge to bend over his lap and tell him to just have at it until you sob. Youâre on an ecstatic high, living in the present with a near strangerâs dick balls deep inside of you. His eyes gleam gold when you make eye contact, and you find it so easy to fall down the rabbit hole, letting this man burn away all your responsibilities until heâs the last one left standing in a sea of ashes.
You donât mind that he stops talking eventually, switching to gruff grunts and harsh yells. âDonât be so stiff, let the movement roll through you.â Anakin digs his fingers into the meat of your jiggling ass and delivers a final smack to both cheeks. You sigh in relief, but then you snap out of your cockdrunk haze to yelp at the cruel hit to your swollen clit.
âNeed ya to keep squeakinâ sweets.â He orders. âDonât want the townsfolk to think I fucked your brain out your ears.â
Itâd be polite to make conversation with the people you meet when Anakin parades you around with his hat on your head later, something of a pre engagement tour. If the Force is good, youâll be willing, because rope burn isnât something you want to become your new normal.
âChin up, buttercup,â He says almost bashfully despite how hard heâs pounding your puffy cunt, âWe can get some ice cream at the fair after if ya like, make it a cute little second date.â
You whimper and harshly pull his hair, earning you a throaty moan and another slap to your clit, saying yes to him like youâve already done a million times. You thought that the pure social anxiety of being around so many of Anakinâs employees would be nerve wracking, itâs nothing compared to having to speak to them AND keep their bossâs cum from oozing down your leg. Anakinâs discarded belt catches your eye when a sharp thrust sends your head falling back, and you picture the scuffed up belt buckle as the O shaped ring of a more traditional collar. The black stains from working on your car only add to the appeal, it scares you exactly how much youâd let the man fucking you with a cheap gas station condom get away with. Youâve already heard him kill a man, finding yourself in a relationship is pretty much the natural next step.
When he cums deep inside with a hoarse growl, thereâs the sound of a bear trap slamming shut on an unsuspecting bunny rabbit. Your simultaneous orgasm is the tiny squeal it makes before it dies.
âI forgot to ask, hun, what stuffed animal do ya want me to win for ya?â
- faetreides 2024. do not repost, translate, or put my works into ai
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đđźđđđšđ§đđ«đđđđźđđ„ đđ đ«đđđŠđđ§đ - O2
â ` ⥠characters / fandom ; f!reader x sebastian michaelis - kuroshitsuji + in a binding agreement
â ` ⥠tw ; begging ; dominance ; dirty talk ; cumming inside + more ;MINORS DNI
main menu | one-shots menu | chapter one | masterlist
-
âIâm sorry but- Sebastian, Ciel, I- I have to refuse!â You werenât really amped to work under Finny either!Â
âYou know I work better alone. Sebastian knows that, too! Please-â Finny, with a stiff upper lip, stood straight as Ciel held up his hand.Â
âOkay, Finn. I understand.â He looked more amused than irritated. His hand balled into a fist, rested under his chin, he smirked. Sebastian tilted his head only a small degree toward Ciel, his slitted eyes opening to glance down at him.Â
âMy Lord?â Ciel glanced at you, then up at Sebastian, a childlike smirk on his face.Â
âY/N is going to accompany us into the city, Sebastian. You two can tour the local shoppes while I handle business with the Queen.â
I beg your pardon?! The palms of your hand were clammy, sticky and slippery to the touch. Or so it felt.Â
Why would Ciel do this?! You were much better off sweeping the roof if that meant staying away from Sebas-
âIf the Lord wishes.â Sebastian placed his hand on his chest and slightly bowed toward you. His eyes met yours, making you want to cross your legs even while standing in your maidâs dress. You knew he could smell your heat and hear your heartbeat but you kept your cool. You virtually had no choice, everyone and you meant everyone was looking.
âShould I prepare the carriage or should I show the lady to where we keep our traveling attire?â Was he trying to dress you?!
âThat wonât be necessary. You can prepare the carriage and Mei Rin will help her change into more travel-friendly clothing. Overalls, perhaps?âÂ
You looked at Mei who was holding back yet another nose bleed. You sighed in your mind, shoulders hunched and feet heavy. This entire Phantomhive house was out of control..
-
Sebastian accompanied Ciel to the steps of the Queenâs castle. Your eyes marveled at the sight in front of you. It was nearly impossible for you to come so close to the castle and now here you were, at her steps! The guards stood proud, out of the way, hardened underneath their hats and unmoving. Desert winds could blow past them and you felt sure of yourself that they would not move at all.Â
âAmazing!â You looked over the architectural design from top to bottom, even to the garden. How you wished in your head that you could have a small piece of this luxury. Your heart pulled at the thought as you remembered what made you a maid in the first place. And it surely wasnât because you got bored waiting for bread to be made in the daytime rushâŠ
âIf only..â you tapped the carriage glass with your finger, a small sigh escaping your lips.
âif only what, Y/N?â That one tap turned into a scratch. Your heart was pounding in your ears again! Curse this Sebastian! You continued looking out the window, unconsciously crossing your newly trousered legs over and over.
âN-nothing. I was just thinking if only I could have had breakfast before leaving. HeheheheâŠ.ââ Sebastian wasnât convinced. He raised an eyebrow at you, his eyes outlining the curvature of your frame even in your new attire.Â
The silence continued on between you two just long enough for you to relax. The second your shoulders slumped back down, Sebastian reach for your knee and spun you around, your faces nearly inches away from eachother.Â
âSebas-! The carriage dri-!â
âShhh-â he chuckled, inching closer and closer to you till he was practically on top of you.  âYou forget about my capabilities, young miss. If the driver were to turn around, we would appear to be sleeping.â You tried to cover your chest with your arm but Sebastian caught your movements  first. Holding your wrist over your head, he moved his knee between your legs, positing it in front of your sex over your trousers. The bumpy cobblestoned roads made your carriage bounce up and down, stimulating your clit as he pressed closer and closer to you.
âSebastian, we canât.â Your pussy quivered underneath him. Why was he doing this and we were in such a public setting!  Had he no shame!
His gleaming red eyes focused on you, his devilish smile spreading from cheek to cheek. With his amused grin still on you, he dug in your shirt, skillfully unlatching the front hooks of your corset without breaking eye contact. Your breasts didnât take much to bounce out of its confinement, leaving you completely exposed underneath him.Â
âSebastian- we canâtâ you breathed. Your mind was fuzzy and body warming all over. Did the master know?! Did he catch on on your agreement with Sebastian? Why would he leave you with him? Nobodyaccompanies Sebastian. What made you so special?!
âHm?â He lowered his head towards your wanting nipple, his warm breath gently caressing its perimeter with each bounce of the carriage.Â
âThe contract-â
âDoesnât count if you donât climax.â Another loophole?! He latched his tongue around your nipple, circling his tongue around and around with zest. He nipped down, making you jump, only to come back down and bump your begging pussy onto his knee. The crotch of your trousers felt warm and wet on contact. You couldnât go out like this!
âSebastian,â you moaned aloud, trying to break free of his vice like restraints. âPlease stop, I can-â
âYou canât? Canât wait? Or canât hold your orgasm for me? Hmm?â Fuck. Your hips wiggled back and forth, continuously trying to break free. Sebastian was tired of your squirming. He fished his other free hand in the crotch of your pants and prodded inside of you, making you gasp aloud. But there was a change.
He didnât move. He let your wetness coat his fingers but he didnât pump. The pressure inside of your pussy grew more and more intense, begging for release. You needed more stimulation. You needed him to fucking move.
Sebastian was careful and calculated with everything he did. From the very physical steps he took in accompanying Ciel on his many adventures, to how eloquently he placed his hands on a woman he was pleasuring in his leisure time. For you, it was no different. He saw you as his experiment, his plaything, the little humming bird perched on the windowseal that he tried every day to lure inside with bread and seed pellets. The closer you got to him, the more enamored he became to have you in his grasp.
He even had to catch himself to how alluring you were becoming to him. All it took was one taste, and he found his impulses acting ahead of his mind.Â
Your wetness sloshed in his palm, but he refused to move. Goosepimples littered your bare chest and traced itself up your neck. Holy shit, you needed to come and Sebastian could feel it. You throbbed around his fingers, begging for just a little bit more to get you there. But as his intoxicating glare burned a hole into yours, you knew he had all the cards in his hand.Â
Your legs tightened, a desperate attempt to build friction in between your legs but he pushed them back open. âOh, that just wonât do.â He pushed further in, grazing your g-spot with ease.Â
âYou need to wait.â He nipped on your supple breasts, leaving a hickey the size of two small coins. He was marking you, savoring the rouge essence that cascaded down your skin. As much as you wanted to thrash about, your body relaxed even more. Aromatic sighs exiting your beautiful lips as he suckled your, now lustfully bruised flesh.
As he looked down at you, an intensity loomed in his eyes. He watched you lay there, vulnerable, your face exhausted and wanting yet so proud. He studied your features, from your forehead to the bottom of your chin. He didnât know what came over him, but he leaned down closer, and closer, until your lips-
Neiiiiiigh!Â
âOy! Calm down there, boy! Oy! Sebastian, weâre here!â
âTsk!â Without a moment of hesitation, he pulled his fingers out of you, wiped them on the inside of his blazer jacket, and straightened up to hop out of the carriage.
âDonât take too long.â He warned, his back to you. You sat up, confused, chest covered, and achingly horny. He looked back at your flustered disposition, smirked, and hurriedly hopped out of the carriage before anyone can peek inside.
You still looked at the door, confused as hell. How many breaches in this fucking contract were there?!
You fastened your corset and blouse in a hurry, adjusting your overalls so they were even again. Before you can even reach for the door, it flung open again to an impatient Sebastian.Â
âMy lady,â the formal act was already on full display âAs much as I would love to wait for you to overcome your apprehension of mingling with city citizens, we have an errand to run for the Lord. Now,â he reached his ungloved hand toward you, a stern look on his face.
But you knew that look. His jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed. He wanted to fuck you with everything in him but couldnât.
âTake my hand and letâs fulfill our duties.â
Not now, at least.Â
NEXT CHAPTER
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1. prepping (restaurant owner!harry x chef!y/n)
summary: you landed your dream job as a line cook at harry styles' prestigious haus kitchen restaurant in chicago. the tough chef job demands focus, but it's really hard when your boss looks like harry styles.
words: 4.3k
warnings: nothing major in this one
Your palms were sweating as you gripped the steering wheel, driving through downtown Chicago towards your new job. You kept glancing down at the address on the printed directions, double checking that you were heading the right way. The last thing you wanted was to be late on your first day.
Ever since getting your culinary degree, you had applied to what felt like hundreds of restaurant jobs, desperate to get your foot in the door of a real professional kitchen. But very few places wanted to hire someone so fresh out of school with no actual experience.Â
Finally, after months of dead ends, you had landed a line cook position at Haus Kitchen - one of the hottest farm-to-table restaurants in the city. You could scarcely believe your luck when you got the call saying you were hired.
Haus was the brainchild of Harry Styles, international superstar singer turned chef. After his chart-topping solo music career, Harry had traded in artist life to pursue his lifelong passion for cooking. Using his accumulated wealth, he opened up Haus five years ago to rave reviews, quickly earning a well deserved Michelin star.
You vividly remembered watching Harry's transition from a pop idol to dashing culinary entrepreneur play out in the media. As a teenage girl, you had been obsessed with him during his One Direction days.
Your bedroom walls were plastered with Harry's posters and you had relentlessly played their songs, sighing over his tousled hair and pouty lips. Then as you got older and Harry went solo, your boyband crush evolved into more of an intense celebrity infatuation as he cultivated a cool, rebellious image.
There were countless gossipy blind items about his infamous hellraising, flings with models and socialites, and run-ins with the law. You had followed all the scandalous Harry headlines with rapt attention - from getting papped stumbling out of nightclubs with an endless parade of beautiful women to getting arrested for drug possession outside Soho clubs.Â
But finally in his late 20s, seemingly bored of rockstar debauchery, Harry had pivoted to reset his image as a knowledgeable culinary entrepreneur. You admired how he transformed from tabloid bad boy into a refined, successful businessman and chef.
He began studying haute cuisine under the tutelage of famous European chefs, traveling abroad to hone his skills further. While continuing to record new musical projects independently, Harry started establishing himself in the culinary world through guest stints on TV cooking shows and food/wine events.
With his brooding good looks, charming personality, and serious culinary chops, the world fell for Harry's new sophisticated image. Before long, he was the subject of breathless puff pieces in food magazines as "the sexiest Renaissance man in the kitchen." It seemed natural when Harry soon opened up his passion project Haus to capitalize on his popularity and love of food.
Now nearing your mid-20s, your teenage fannish obsession had cooled into more of an admiring celebrity crush. You had stayed aware of Harry's journey, but your priorities were focused on graduating culinary school at the top of your class and finding your own big break in the Chicago restaurant scene.
So when you landed a job at Harry's iconic Haus, it almost didn't feel real. Not only would you be working at one of the city's most exclusive spots, but under the same roof as a chef you had admired for ages.
Not that you expected to have any real personal contact with Harry himself, you reminded yourself as you merged onto the exit for downtown. He was an internationally famous mega-celebrity who had to have hundreds of staffers, not to mention being handsomely paid to just be the smiling face of the business while professional kitchen vets like Paul Thomason handled the day-to-day operations.
Still, you had to admit to yourself that a tiny part of you tingled at the mere idea of being in the same building as Harry Styles...hopefully catching a glimpse of that handsome, endlessly charming man in the flesh...
You shook your head dismissively and double checked the directions again, annoyed at getting so easily distracted. This was your big break, your first serious job in the industry. You needed to bring your A-game and focus, not dwell on silly celebrity daydreams.
It was your fantasies of becoming a respected chef that needed to take priority.
You pulled into the parking lot for the restaurant, double checking that you had the address right. The sleek, modern building had a neon "Haus Kitchen" sign glowing over opulent double-door entrances flanked by velvet ropes and cheerful outdoor seating areas.
Taking a steadying breath, you cut the engine and sat for a moment, giving yourself a pep talk. This was it. No more messing around doing coursework or labs - this was the major leagues with all the intensity of a real professional kitchen. You had to bring it all day, every day.
As you climbed out of your beat-up Honda, you smoothed down your spotless new chef's whites, making sure everything looked pressed and presentable. With your knife kit tucked under your arm, you walked towards the entrance with purpose, chin held high.
From the moment you stepped through the doors, it was like being transported into another world. The smell of simmering sauces, roasting meats, and freshly baked bread envaded your senses. Even hours before opening, the energy and hustle for dinner prep was palpable.
Off to the left was the main dining room you had studied photos of online - effortlessly cool with vaulted exposed wooden beam ceilings, brick accents, and casually modern decor. Pendant lighting glowed cozily over tables draped in white linens and rustic chandeliers hung over plush tufted leather banquettes. A lively bar area centered the space, stocked with top-shelf liquors and backed by a dazzling display of custom glassware.
In the distance ahead, you could hear the clamoring of the kitchen in full swing. Your stomach did a nervous flip - this was it. Taking another fortifying breath, you headed through the archway.
You emerged into a large, sleek open kitchen layout, all stainless steel and butcher block islands. Uniformed cooks were buzzing at their stations like a well-oiled machine under the barked commands of an older, stocky man you immediately recognized as Head Chef Paul Thomason.
Despite his gruff reputation, watching Thomason in action was nothing short of mesmerizing. He moved between stations with the easy grace of a conductor, sampling sauces, tweaking seasonings, and directing the workflow with gruff orders. There was no wasted movement or micro-expression as he continually tasted and perfected dishes, alternating between thoughtful contemplation and decisive action.
Though you had only seen Thomason in pictures and television appearances, his fierce focus and mastery were unmistakable. This was what true professional kitchen expertise looked like in the flesh.
Feeling like a mouse that had wandered into the lair of a lion, you hovered near the entrance, uncertain of what to do next. The kitchen team flowed around you in a choreographed dance, deftly ignoring your presence as they prepped and plated flawlessly.
After a few minutes of anxious loitering, the intimidating Thomason seemed to finally notice you. His grizzled features contorted as he scowled, looking you up and down through eyes squinted with decades of kitchen smoke exposure.
"You must be the new kid," he said gruffly, crossing his bulky tattooed arms over his broad chest. Even without raising his voice, Thomason had a rumbling bass that easily carried over the kitchen's clanging din. "Christ, you're shorter than I expected. Think you've got what it takes to keep up around here?"
You nervously clutched your knife kit closer while trying to not look as flustered as you felt. "Y-yes, chef!"Â
You swallowed hard, hyper aware of everyone around you now watching the interaction. "I, uh...I came ready to work as hard as it takes. Whatever you need from me."
Thomason grunted, squinting at you for another long moment in consideration. Then he jerked his head towards the back. "Get changed out quick and meet me back here in 5. I'll get you started on prep and we'll see what you're made of. Don't keep me waiting."
"Yes, chef!" you responded immediately, wincing at how high your voice had gone up an octave.
Without another word, Thomason turned and strode back into the controlled chaos of the line, immediately redirecting his attention to sauces and garnishes. Letting out a shaky breath, you scurried towards the changing rooms, heart jackhammering.
Well, you were officially in the thick of things now...
You hustled back out to the kitchen, trying not to look frazzled from your rushed change. A young Hispanic line cook spotted you and waved you over to his station.
"You the newbie?" he asked, not unkindly. When you nodded, he jerked his head towards the walk-in refrigerator. "Thomason wants you to start by breaking down some of the produce delivery for prep."
"Got it, thanks," you replied, eager to prove yourself. The line cook gestured you through the door into the immense chilled walk-in.
You blinked as your eyes adjusted to the cold, taking in the sights and smells of the impressive stockpile. Shelves upon shelves were stocked with an array of fresh seasonal produce - crates bursting with leafy greens, bushels of root vegetables, flats of vibrantly colored tomatoes, exotic fruits, and mushroom varieties you had only read about. Â
Your culinary school had humble basics for ingredients, nothing like the bounty of locally-sourced, meticulously selected provisions that Haus Kitchen demanded. You felt a thrill at getting to work with such an extraordinary pantry.
Respirating clouds puffed from your mouth as you scanned the inventory tagging system. You had been taught similar protocols in your food safety courses, but there was something exhilarating about putting that knowledge into practice in a real professional environment.
Grabbing a stack of plastic totes, you made a game plan for which items to start prepping first based on perishability levels and what would be needed for that evening's specials. Though you started out slow at first, you steadily built up a cadence of meticulously cleaning, trimming, and sorting into appropriate storage containers. Â
By the time Thomason stuck his head in to check on you an hour later, you had developed an efficient system and made solid progress through a mountain of deliveries.
The head chef grunted in approval as he inspected your neat stacks of prepped produce, crossing his arms as he looked you up and down with a critical eye.
"Not bad, kid," he rumbled. "Clearly know which end of a knife to use, at least. C'mon back out, got some protein fabrication for you to tackle next."
You diligently followed Thomason back out to the main kitchen, wiping some sweat from your brow with your sleeve. Despite the industrial cooling system, the heat blazing from the ovens and range tops made the open kitchen feel like a furnace.
As Thomason led you to a stainless steel butcher's block island, you couldn't help but gawk at the array of gleaming knives hanging from magnetic strips overhead. The blades were works of art - sleek, razor sharp, and clearly extremely expensive.
Gesturing you over, Thomason grabbed a boning knife and twirled it deftly before handing it to you. "Let's see how you handle breaking this down."
He gave the block a solid smack with his meaty palm, indicating for you to get started on the glistening slab of beef tenderloin before you. Taking a steadying breath, you gripped the bone-handled knife firmly and leaned over the cutting board.
"Yes chef," you murmured before carefully piercing the thick cut of meat, angling the blade with practiced precision from all your training.
Around you, the kitchen bustled with the usual rattling pans, sizzling ranges, and Thomason's occasional barked orders. But as you fell into the rhythm of deftly separating fat and sinew, the noises began to fade from your awareness. Â
You were completely focused on your knife work, confidently sawing through the tender flesh as you reduced the tenderloin down to portions and trimmings for other stations to further break down. It was meditative, almost hypnotic, the way you instinctively slid the blade along rendered paths of butchery.
After your initial intimidation of the intense Haus environment, you started to find your groove and calm amidst the choreographed insanity surrounding you. You were so laser-focused on the satisfaction of properly executing each slicing technique that the rest of the kitchen chaos became mere white noise.
You had no idea how long you stayed absorbed in the butchery, but eventually you became aware of a presence at your elbow. Glancing up, you nearly jumped to see Harry Styles watching you work with an unreadable expression, hands shoved into the pockets of his slim-fitting slacks.
His dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows and the fitted cotton fabric clung to his toned arms and chest, a few chest hairs peeking out of his slightly undone top button. A single necklace rested in the divot between his sculpted collarbones, drawing your eye to the alluring hollow of his throat as he swallowed hard.
You froze mid-slice, mesmerized by watching the tendons in Harry's wrist and forearm flex as his hands flexed restlessly in his trouser pockets. After a beat, his pillowy lips curved into an easy smile, crinkling the delicate crow's feet at the corners of his kaleidoscope green eyes.
"Afternoon," Harry said in that lazy, husky drawl that used to make millions of fans swoon. He flicked his eyes down to your handiwork before bringing them back up to your face. "Looking good there, newbie."
You blinked, not trusting your ears for a moment before realizing with a jolt that Harry was very much real and quite close. Like, unnecessarily close for your over-stimulated brain to handle.
"Uh...I-I, um...th-thank you?" you croaked out, wanting to cringe at how lame you sounded. Get it together, this wasn't the time to geek outâyou instructed yourself.
But Harry didn't seem to notice your fumbling, simply giving you a dimpled half-smile before reaching around you to snag a stray piece of trimming from the butcher's block. He inspected it contemplatively before popping it into his mouth, those plump lips wrapping obscenely around the bite as he chewed and ruminated with relish.
"Perfection," he declared after swallowing, shooting you another crooked grin like you were co-conspirators sharing an inside joke. With a subtle wink, Harry pivoted on his boot heel and sauntered off, whistling a jaunty tune.
As he retreated, you risked a glance down at his form-fitting trousers shamelessly admiring the way the fine fabric cupped the ample curves of his pert backside. Even at his age, Harry Styles had the muscle-toned body of a man decades younger - long, lean muscles taut under golden tanned skin.
You blinked hard and shook your head, annoyed at catching yourself ogling your new boss like a drooling fangirl. Pull it together! This was totally inappropriate and unprofessional. You had zero business daydreaming about someone who gave you your paycheck, no matter how obscenely famous and heartthrob-ishly handsome they were.
Firmly re-focusing on your knife work, you determinedly put Harry from your mind and tried to re-immerse yourself in the rhythm and refuge of the butchery. But the memory of his distractingly lush mouth so close kept replaying over and over, preventing you from recapturing your previous sense of meditative flow.Â
Dammit, you needed to get a grip! This kind of inappropriate crush on your employer was exactly the kind of silly, immature behavior that would make you look like a unprofessional joke in a serious kitchen environment. Blowing an opportunity like this was not an option.
Later, as you untied your apron strings and joined the team in breaking down the last stations for cleaning at closing, Thomason sidled up alongside you. You braced yourself for more of his typical gruff rebukes or criticisms.
Instead, the veteran chef simply gave you a long, considered look before saying gruffly, "You did good work today, kid. I can already tell you got the stuff to handle it around here if you keep your head down."
You blinked up at him in surprise before managing a small smile. "Thank you, chef. I really appreciate that."
Thomason grunted noncommittally before wandering off, likely to oversee something else. As you tidied your workstation, you couldn't help feeling a small glow of pride. Despite the craziness of your first day, you had seemingly passed this initial trial with flying colors.
As you left through the back entrance into the quiet night air, you took a deep breath and allowed yourself a satisfied smile. Maybe, just maybe, you really did have what it took to succeed in this highly competitive environment after all. For tonight at least, you had handled the punishing pace and standards. Tomorrow was another day to prove yourself all over again.
***
Your day started before sunrise the next morning, brewing a strong coffee and reviewing the notes you had taken the previous evening about which menu items needed prepping. By the time you arrived at Haus, reinvigorated by the crisp morning air, the kitchen was already a hive of activity in preparation for lunch service.Â
The intense scrutiny under which you worked only amplified with the daylight. Every slice, every sauté was carried out under the watchful eyes of Chef Thomason and his steely gaze. More than once, you felt his presence looming over your shoulder, inspecting your work with the same critical eye as a diamond cutter examining a flawless gem.
"This slice is uneven," he barked, startling you. You flinched, resisting the urge to make excuses as he continued, "The portions all need to be identical for plating. Paying attention to details like that is the difference between a sloppy meal and a stellar one. Don't let it happen again."
"Yes, chef," you replied tightly, making a minor adjustment to your knife work. Though his words stung, you had to admit Thomason was completely right. In a restaurant of this caliber, any minor imperfection could spell disaster. Â
You redoubled your efforts, pouring all of your concentration into each preparation, each plate. By the time the end of your shift rolled around, you were drenched in sweat, your feet screaming from being on them for 12 hours straight. But you had successfully made it through day two without any major mishaps.
As the whirlwind of dinner service finally calmed to a stopping point, you stood in the kitchen obediently waiting for Thomason's inspection and inevitable critique. But to your surprise, he merely gave a curt nod of approval before waving you off.
"Not bad, newbie," he grunted. "Get a good night's rest. We'll need you back bright and early tomorrow."
Those few gruff words of acceptance warmed you more than any high praise could have. For Thomason, a man of very few words, his small nod seemed to indicate you were, for the moment, living up to his exceedingly high standards.
The high from that small victory buoyed your spirits as you made your way towards the back exit, already dreaming of the few hours of sleep you might be able to grab before starting the cycle over again. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you nearly bowled someone over coming around a corner.
"Whoa there!"Â Â
You froze, looking up into the grinning, mirthful eyes of Harry Styles himself. Up close, the force of his charm and magnetism practically crackled in the air around him like a physical force. His sweater clung distractingly to his lithe, muscular frame and his chestnut hair was casually tousled. A pair of small diamond studs glinted in each ear.
"Sorry about that, H-Harry," you stammered, resisting the urge to take a flustered step back. You were vividly aware of just how little physical space separated the two of you. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
If he noticed your frazzled state up close, Harry didn't let on. His pink lips merely curved in an easy, dimpled smile. "No need to apologize. I don't usually make a habit of lurking around blind corners, to be fair."
You laughed before you could stop yourself, surprised at how easily he was putting you at ease despite your elevated heart rate. Up close, Harry's eyes weren't just green - an entire kaleidoscope of colors ranging from jade to emerald to amber seemed to shift and dance in his gaze. It was...dazzling, frankly.
Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to take a subtle step backwards, putting a more professional amount of space between the two of you. The last thing you needed was to do something wildly inappropriate that would get you fired before the end of your first week.
"Still, I should have been paying better attention to my surroundings," you replied, aiming for a respectful, levelheaded tone. "It's been a really intense couple of days just trying to stay on top of everything."
Harry nodded in understanding, arching one perfectly sculpted brow. "Thomason hasn't let up on you at all, I take it?"Â
When you shook your head ruefully, he chuckled. "I know that seems like his permanent state - gruff, perpetually unsatisfied, and grumpy as a hibernating bear. But honestly, the fact that he hasn't fired you already is a good sign you're doing well."
You blinked at him in surprise. "Wait...really? But he critiques everything! I feel like I've gotten nothing but corrections so far."
"Exactly." Harry's dimples flashed as he grinned. "That's how you know he sees potential in you. If Thomason didn't think you had what it took, he wouldn't waste his breath giving feedback. He'd just cut you loose and hire someone else to start over."
His words were like a soothing balm on the anxiety and self-doubt you'd been carrying around for the past couple of days. You hadn't realized that Thomason's critical approach was actually a twisted form of acceptance and mentorship. The revelation caused the hard knot of tension between your shoulder blades to finally release.
"Huh," you exhaled, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips as you finally understood Thomason's tough love. "I guess I should take that as a compliment then."
"Absolutely," Harry agreed with an approving nod. Then his expression softened around the edges, growing earnest as his gaze searched yours. "Look, I know it's a huge adjustment and the pace here can be absolutely brutal starting out. But for what it's worth...I think you've got what it takes to be something really special in this kitchen."
You felt yourself flush at his unexpected praise, your stomach fluttering with a swarm of nervous butterflies. Harry held your eyes for a lingering moment before seeming to mentally collect himself.
Clearing his throat, he flashed you one more crooked grin. "But don't take my word for it - the proof will be in your work. Stay focused and trust the process. I've got faith you can handle it."
With that, he brushed past you, his shoulder grazing yours in a way that made your entire body buzz with friction. As Harry sauntered off down the hallway, you couldn't stop yourself from turning to watch his retreating form - the easy, rolling gait, the tantalizing sway of his hips below the slim cut of his trousers, the tousled waves of his chestnut hair.
You let out a shaky exhale, feeling off-balance and electrified all at once. Get a grip, you scolded yourself firmly. That was your boss - your incredibly famous, wealthy, and wildly attractive boss. Daydreaming was a one-way ticket to catching inappropriate feelings and potentially torpedoing your entire career before it even started.
And yet...you couldn't quite silence the part of your brain reliving Harry's velvet tone and intense eye contact as he professed having faith in your abilities. Just the casual warmth of his voice and proximity had set your heart pounding in a way it hadn't since you were a hormonal teenager, utterly dazzled by his rock star persona.
Shaking your head, you forced yourself to turn on your heel and head for the exit. Overthinking could only lead to dangerous territory. You needed to stay laser-focused on your work - that was the only way to succeed at Haus and make your culinary dreams a reality.
As you stepped out into the fresh evening air, you paused for a moment on the deserted back stoop, closing your eyes and taking a few centering breaths. When you opened them again, you felt the last fluttering tendrils of Harry's heated presence dissipate, replaced by a familiar sense of determined calm.
This job was your priority now, not silly schoolgirl crushes or indulging fantasies about your wildly unattainable boss. You knew better than to get distracted by daydreams that could only lead to self-sabotage.Â
With a decisive nod, you strode towards your car with renewed focus. You would prove yourself at Haus through your skills and work ethic alone. No other agenda, no unprofessional entanglements allowed.Â
Your passion was cuisine, creating nourishing dishes that delighted - that had to remain your sole priority. You couldn't afford any distractions from that lest you squander this incredible opportunity. Steadying your breathing, you looked forward with fresh clarity and resolve.
Tomorrow was a new day to earn your place in Harry's formidable kitchen. And this time, you vowed, you were utterly prepared to meet the challenge with your complete and undivided focus.
âĄ~~~âĄ~~~âĄ~~~âĄ~~~âĄ~~~âĄ~~~âĄ~~~âĄ~~~âĄ~~~âĄ~~~âĄ~~~âĄ~~~âĄ~~~âĄ
tell me if you like this! this is an idea for a new series that will probably have 6 parts??? i guess. but do tell me if you like it! because there's no use in writing when nobody reads đđ
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Oscar is angry about carlos situation and his Miami GP result so y/n helps him relax (maybe a handjob,maybe Smut..you chose)
the city that keeps the roof blazing ~ oscar piastri
âPlease,â The heat between her legs is near unbearable from how desperate he sounds, and her thighs chafe from how sheâs kept them squeezed together as an attempt to relieve some of the ache of her cunt. âY/N, I need you,â The tips of her fingers jut down to splay across the bulge in his shorts, applying some sort of pressure to the spot. He groans, grabbing her wrist and pushing down harder so sheâs fully palming him. He sits on the edge of the bed, looking all pretty and desperate just for her as she continues her âmassagingâ. âYouâll get it Osc, I promise,â
| warning ~ smut, degrading language. MDNI
Y/Nâs heart thrums in her chest, an anxious sweat pooling across her back under her corset dress. Oscarâs not doing well, having taken a hit from the Ferrari of Carlos Sainz and losing his front wing as a result. Heâd had to pit, finding himself in last, only in front of Logan whoâd already DNFed. Her nails are bitten up, rough on the edges. She can hope and pray for at least a points finish, even if itâs just one or two, but at this point, the whole situation is looking rather dire.
If Oscar doesnât already despise Carlos, he certainly does now.Â
In the final few laps, the team instructs Oscar to basically not pull anything stupid and risk Lando getting his first win. Itâs honestly offensive of them, as if Oscar has ever done something to sabotage anyone else in any circumstances. In anything, the McLaren team should be focusing on getting a penalty awarded to Carlos for his shitty stunt against Piastri or figuring out why the fuck Donald Trump is in their garage.
When a McLaren passes the chequered flag first, Y/N canât even feel happy for Lando. She just feels fucked over for her boyfriend whoâs being perfectly polite and mature over the radio but is gonna be absolutely destroyed once heâs out of shot from all the cameras and media.Â
Heâd been leading the race at one point, and now heâs having his first out of points finish of the year in 13th. Stupid Carlos, stupid fucking Carlos. Y/N looks around the rest of the garage at everyone jumping around and cheering for the britâs win. She keeps her headset on, smiling politely as Oscar would be if he were here. She canât muster up any excitement, so sheâll fake the bare minimum.
She navigates her way through flocks of commentators and team members as she attempts to find her boyfriend. âOscar?â She has to crane her neck, searching for a papaya race suit that isnât the one being showered in praises. As two men who tower over her push past, she bends her arm tighter to keep her bag in the junction of her elbow and close to her.Â
âY/N,â A tired voice calls out, Oscar tugging his balaclava off with one hand. âIâm not crazy right? You say that- that was all Carlos,â He pants, wiping a line of sweat thatâs gathered over his top lip. Y/N rubs his cheek, applying pressure to where the outline from his helmet is especially dark.Â
She nods, her hand squeezing his bicep through the thick material of his race suit. âCompletely baby, you were doing so good.â Sheâs about to tell him that she was convinced today would be his first race win before her mind reminds her that telling him that isnât going to make him feel better, in fact heâd probably feel even more shitty that she was expecting a win for him and he âlet her downâ.
He drops his head into his hands, letting out a noise thatâs halfway between a sigh and a whine. âWhat is his problem with me? Because if itâs genuinely got to do with Lando and I being mates,â He groans, shaking his head in disbelief. âJust canât deal with this right now,â
Before she knows it, Oscarâs being whisked away from her to be weighed and then dragged through endless interviews and media tasks. Itâs the absolute last thing he wants to be doing, which is just going to make him more irritated and upset tonight.Â
Y/N has to come up with something to cheer him up.
Something certainly.Â
At the end of interviews, when theyâre finally allowed to head home, Y/N slips her hand into Oscarâs, squeezing each of his individual fingers as she aligns the time of their feet hitting the floor. He just hums plainly, instead of laughing along with each pinch she gives to his digits. âDo you wanna talk about it?â Her tone is soft as they get into the car, Oscarâs eyebrows furrowed as he clicks his seatbelt in.
Oscar doesnât need to be offered twice as he immediately shoots off into a rant. âHeâs just so immature, heâs almost 30 and driving a 23 year old in his second year off the track. Each time I get blamed for it.â He starts the car, his eyes hyper focused on the road ahead as he just aimlessly insults Carlos. âI mean- heâs just an absolute idiot. I meant it when I asked if he was blind because in what reality did I deserve a penalty and he deserved a spot change?âÂ
Y/N keeps her eyes on him, watching as the muscles of his neck flex and tense, his cheeks getting hot, the veins in his hands becoming infinitely more defined as he grips the steering wheel. Sheâs ashamed of how turned on it makes her, seeing him like this. Maybe thatâs exactly what he needs tonight though.
âAnd-and, fuck, heâs just soo desperate for another Carlando podium that heâs willing to drive me into a fucking wall just so he can stand on the top step with his precious Lando,â He mocks him, positively seeing red. âIâve considered Logan my best mate for years longer than those two have known each other yet you donât see me risking all of Carlosâ races so Logan can get a fucking point,â The swears are just spilling out of his mouth at this point, sounding like a second nature to a degree.
Her hand meets his thigh, rubbing it tenderly as a way to calm him down. âKeep going Osc, just let it all out,â Her voice is thick, warm, and sweet like honey. Itâs exactly what he needs right now. He needs her next to him, needs her voice in his ear.Â
Needs her hands on him.
âI just think heâs an entitled brat who doesnât deserve a seat,â Itâs harsh, but itâs coming straight from the heart. âIâm glad Ferrari dropped him,â Itâs said accompanied with a long, drawn out sigh. Heâs relieved, finally able to have gotten that all out.
Yet, thereâs still a bugging sense of dissatisfaction deep in his bones that he knows he wonât get from continuously insulting the spaniard. Luckily for Oscar, heâs just about pulling into the hotel valet.Â
With a single look at Y/N, he conveys everything he wants when they get to their hotel room, and lucky for him- she wants the exact same.
They maintain a sense of decorum in the elevator ride up, which canât be said about each time Oscar has a bad race. Example, the 2023 Belgian grand prix. After his DNF, his mouth had been attached to her neck and his hands on her breasts the second the elevator doors shut.Â
It had been a very awkward situation to apologise for after a family of four with two very young kids had entered the lift five flights before their hotel room.
But back to now, the second their hotel door clicks shut behind them, Y/Nâs taunting him over to the bed with chaste kisses on his cheeks, each one just narrowly avoiding his lips. âYouâre a crazy tease, you know that?â He groans, lacing his fingers into her hair and pulling her in for a kiss as they reach the bed.Â
She replies with an ignorant shrug and a careless smirk, âItâs fun- getting you all riled up. Makes me feel like Carlos,â
Oscarâs touch sears hot against her skin, his glare even worse. âDonât fucking mention him in our bedroom,â Itâs barely a hiss, but itâs enough of a warning to keep her in line. Instead, she decides to take action on him. Her fingers drag along the hem of his polo, tantalising slowly. She doesnât need to wonder why that is, it's the same as when he does it along the zippers of her dresses or buttons of her blouses.Â
She wants him to beg for it.
âPlease,â The heat between her legs is near unbearable from how desperate he sounds, and her thighs chafe from how sheâs kept them squeezed together as an attempt to relieve some of the ache of her cunt. âY/N, I need you,âÂ
The tips of her fingers jut down to splay across the bulge in his shorts, applying some sort of pressure to the spot. He groans, grabbing her wrist and pushing down harder so sheâs fully palming him. He sits on the edge of the bed, looking all pretty and desperate just for her as she continues her âmassagingâ. âYouâll get it Osc, I promise,â
His legs are nudged apart by her hands as she sinks down to her knees in front of him. His eyes light up, his lips red and bitten up from how heâs been chewing down to keep in his whiny noises and begs. Her fingers expertly undo his shorts, poking him so heâll lift his hips so she can pull the pants and his boxers down in one go.Â
His cock doesnât hit up against his stomach when his tight boxers are removed, instead just lays heavy between his muscular thighs. Truly a sight to be seen. âSo hard,â Y/N marvels, gently sliding her cupped hand up and down his length. One pump, two pumps. âAnd needy,â He looks up at him through her lashes to where his bottom lip is tucked under his teeth and his cheeks are flaming red.Â
Oscar bucks his hops forward instinctively, chasing the high of how good her hand, or mouth preferably, feels. Heâs lucky when she doesnât make him wait too long before she grants his wish, opening her mouth, flattening her tongue, and taking the majority of his length into her mouth.Â
Y/Nâs toes curl in an attempt to remove her somewhat of a gag reflex she has. Today, she wants to take him as deep as she can and make him feel as good as possible. Itâs deeper than she was expecting, which is definitely a win in her books. Pulling back slightly, she focuses on the head for the time being.
A string of praises spill past his lips, âFuck, yes, so so good.â His hand snakes into hold her hair, keeping her head in place as he gradually goes deeper. âTaking me so good, sucking me off like an angel,â Her lips stretch around his thickness, her eyes void of any emotion beyond lust as she stares up at him.Â
Y/Nâs tongue glides back and forth along the underside of his cock, disgustingly loud sucking noises filling up the entire hotel room. He cups her cheek, his thumb dragging along the bulging of her cheek. His hips inch forward, his cock stuffing her mouth full and moving towards doing the same for her throat.Â
Y/N feels insanely good, and maybe even too good. Panic fills her head, what if Oscarâs still thinking about pleasuring her over himself. Itâs typical Oscar, catering each sexual experience to prioritise her and her pleasure, even if it means he doesnât cum as quickly as expected. Steadying her hands on his thighs,she pulls back gradually, âFuck my mouth,â Itâs not a question, suggestion, or even request.Â
Itâs a straight up demand.
âWhat, why?â His voice is more broken and weak than sheâd expected. Hers is too, but thatâs to be assumed when someone has a cock prodding the back of their throat.Â
âBecause I'm giving you head to make you feel good. This isnât about my pleasure Osc,â Her voice is absolutely ruined and will likely be even worse by the end of this. Y/N cuts him off before he can begin to protest, which once again, she knows he will. âNo but-s Oscar, just fuck my face,â He gives into the carnal desire as his hips begin to snap back and forth, burying into her throat.Â
Drool spills out over her bottom lip and down her chin, her mind fuzzy without another tangible thought besides giving Oscar the best blowjob possible. Her jaw is aching but itâs ignored as she solely cares about getting him to orgasm. He huffs and groans, continuously sending praises mixed with harsh insults of calling her a slut and a whore as he gets more shallow with his thrusts, clearly very much so on edge.
She takes advantage of his situation, suckling solely on the sensitive tip as he warns her that heâs âSo close Y/N, Iâm âbout to cum,â The fact that she doesnât budge or show any signs of slowing down tells Oscar enough. With three pumps of her hand on his cock, heâs spilling out into the wet heat of her mouth. As if time and consciousness is slipping further from her, his index and middle fingers tap her cheek to get her to pull off, then again to tell her to swallow.
Her jaw goes lax to show the proof that she did what he told her to as he takes his shirt off, gently wiping a mixture of cum and drool off her chin. Her eyes fight so hard to focus on the glorious sight of his toned abdomen and well filled in muscles as he cleans her up, but sheâs so overwhelmed by the pleasure that she not only gave, but genuinely got from that experience.Â
Oscar scoops Y/N up onto the bed, arranging her under the sheets so he can cuddle up against her, his chest to her back and his arms slung loosely around her stomach. âThat was perfect,â He murmured, pecking at her cheek and ear as a further thank you.
Her throat does indeed ache, but itâs a worthy pain. âYouâre not as upset about what happened with Car-â She canât even finish the spanish ferrariâs name or her question before her boyfriend has his hand squished over her mouth.
âNo saying his name,â He shakes his head, tutting disapprovingly. âBut yes, I feel much better. Thank you babe,â
#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri smut#f1#formula1#formula one#f1 2024#miami gp 2024#miami grand prix#carlos sainz#oscar and carlos#ferrari f1#mclaren f1
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