#The left was the original and the right was just one with a brush I thought looked neat lmao

[luna12-ranma-akane-otp]

Originally posted on FF.net and A03 by me, it seemed relevant to repost here on this thread....

..........

She had him by the braided pigtail. It wasn't an intentional target. It just sort of happened. He was misunderstanding her, she was misunderstanding him, and not willing to spiral into adolescent insults (so easy, so habitual, but less common these days with China and the battle with Saffron still fresh in their memories), so she had reached out to forcibly, yet relatively gently, keep him from retreat.

She didn't expect him to spin around so suddenly. Their faces nearly planted together. Both sets of cheeks heated at the unexpected closeness; the blushes formed equally deep and crimson on his surprised face as it did her shyly determined one.

Ranma’s hands awkwardly poised midair for balance, and her thumb remained a mere centimeter from his face, still clasping the end of his pigtail.

Like the sudden snap of a rubber band, Akane released her grip on his hair, but neither made further motion to back away.

“Just...go and come back safely, okay?” Her voice was a study in contrasts, soft and sincere, but carrying an underlying heat of exasperation.

A warm sensation filled his chest and brought a natural smile to his face, before his trademark aggravating smirk replaced it. “Of course I will. I’m not a klutz, like some people.”

Akane’s brown eyes flashed and her nostrils flared.  She deliberately breathed deeply to rein in a rising temper. There was no talking seriously to him sometimes!

She was ready to stomp off before she acted or said anything they'd both regret, when he stopped her mid turn, his large, calloused hand hesitant and gentle on her petite, but equally tough hand.

“It’s...not like I want to go....”  His free hand was nervously rubbing the back of his head, while the hand holding hers was unconsciously tracing circles with his thumb over her palm.

Week long training trips with his Pop used to be a normal part of his life, something neither dreaded or looked forward to, just accepted routine.  Nowadays​, it brought clashing emotional baggage. There wasn't much of anything his father had left to teach him, so without the promise of greatly improving his skills, the necessity of leaving behind the Tendo home...and a certain someone within it… left a bitter aftertaste.

Feeling awkward and conflicted, Ranma hadn't wanted to drag out the goodbye.  Hell, he wished he didn't have to say any goodbyes in the first place!  So of course, his chronic foot-in-the-mouth disease picked now-- when Akane was at the door before the sun was even out to see him off -- as the perfect time to flare up.  He’d started with an abrupt “shouldn’t you be in bed, tomboy?” and it quickly degenerated from there.

Akane felt her own conflicted emotions keenly.  She was still miffed at his earlier rude behavior, but the feel of Ranma's thumb tenderly on her hand was acting like a heat sink to her boiling temper.  His amended words and downcast demeanor penetrated through her own insecurities to help her recognize his own.

Akane breathed out an exasperated sigh. “Honestly, Ranma…"

He tensed for a moment, expecting the worse.

“...is it so hard to say you’ll miss me?”

His brain and mouth struggled to come up with a response, halfway to stuttering a partial denial and halfway to admitting, perhaps...maybe, sorta... when her next move stunned him in place.

Soft and as ethereal as butterfly wings, Akane’s lips brushed against his right cheek in a warm and all too brief kiss.  

His stunned expression made her laugh, a soft tinkle of bell-like laughter that was abruptly cut-off when his mouth met hers.

The initial start was clumsy enough to reassure her that Ranma was as inexperienced as she was… yet the intensity behind it was quickly joined with equal passion on her part, of feelings denied and years of sweet moments interrupted before they could come to full fruition.  They were both creatures of physical action, and in this they were finally able to communicate in perfect harmony. 

“You coming, boy, or do I have to drag your lazy ass with me to Hokkaido?!”

Reality crashed upon them, making them both jump, but not fully pull away. Thankfully,  Genma had merely shouted from the doorway; he had missed the entire scene.  Otherwise,  Ranma had no doubt he'd be hogtied and dragged to a wedding altar… though the thought wasn't nearly as troublesome as it once was.

Ranma gritted his teeth in annoyance before responding in kind.  “As if you could, old man! Catch your breath while you still can.”

Ranma turned back to face his fiancee.  Her cheeks were highlighted in a pink blush, and though he had originally thought he'd never seen her more beautiful than last week in her wedding dress, this was a radiant beauty that was more natural and stunning in its simplicity.

His fingers fidgeted in nervous procrastination.  “I, uh, guess I'm leaving.”

Akane nodded, her chest was tight with the overwhelming happiness from their first kiss, which blended uneasily with the impending bitterness of separation.  For a moment she had trouble getting her throat to swallow, let alone form words.  The traditional response of “take care...” managed to come out as a small croak.  Akane quickly cleared her throat, hating herself for seeming like such an emotional wimp.  She seized on her frustration at the situation, and with her arms crossed huffily across her chest, but with also a teasing smile at her lips, she responded more forcibly. “Or else!”

The feisty reply brought a smile to Ranma's face.  That was his tomboy, all right; too prideful and macho to give girlish tears and sentimental declarations of missing him.  Yet, her actions told him clearly that she would.

He motioned to leave, but found his feet unwilling to budge further. Even more than wanting to have the last word, he didn't want to leave any room for misunderstandings. They'd had too many already.  

Blushing more deeply than when they'd kissed, Ranma forced out an answer to her earlier query.  "I'll miss you," he admitted, as he stepped outside to join his father.  He was still less than enthused to be leaving, but if it meant getting this kind of send-off...maybe training trips were something to look forward to, after all.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26256262/chapters/67552939

Martial arts are Ranma's life, but the training trips with Genma were more about survival. In a way, he doesn't start living until he finds a home with the Tendos, but even more, Akane is home. When he's at death's door, Akane is the one who brings him back. She is his will to live.

[mischiefmaker615]

Musical Mischief Request: Hi! May I please request a romantic story of Loki and fem!Reader during their 45th anniversary dancing to the song Innamorata by Dean Martin?

Innamorata

Summary: it's you and Loki's anniversary ;)

Rating: PG 14

Requester: @groovy-lady

Song Request: "Innamorata" by Dean Martin

Note: I LOVE Dean Martin! being part Italian, he was definitely someone we all listened too :D this song has a special place in my heart :) Happy anniversary btw if that was the intent of the request ;)

Your humming seemed to melt into the same melody with the birds that stayed around the gardens you found yourself wandering. The bottom of your dress lightly brushed up against the grass along your bare feet- shoes opting to be left behind at the entrance while you chose to fully enjoy your walk in nature.

Asgard’s gardens was breathtaking. No matter how many times you’ve visited, it never lacked to give you the same sense of awe like day one. You only wished your husband was here to enjoy it with you..

It wasn’t his fault.. court meetings usually were abundant throughout the days at random- they just popped up inconveniently whenever the two of you tried to plan an afternoon alone together. Especially on such a beautiful day!

Your anniversary.. 45th, to be exact.

Nothing changed between the two of you, you both were as happy as if you were new to your relationship. It’s just.. the more time passed, the more the responsibilities seemed to demand. So you busied yourself, helping as much as you could but for the most part, it wasn’t a place where you were needed. You’ve tried sitting in on some of the meetings, but the hints and comments against you being originally Midgardian became a bit stressful when it became expected.

Loki always defended you, how you had every right to be there as anyone else, especially as his wife.. but the whispers and gossip never went unnoticed still. You were much happier once you’ve discovered the beauty of the gardens, that it helped erase the pondering memories of the court’s rumors. You were here for Loki, that was all, and he loved you, that’s all you could ask for.

The mere memory of him defending you amongst the bothersome company put a smile on your face smile, all the while you would bend to inhale some of the flowers that caught your eye while you walked and welcomed the warmth of the sun against your skin. Bliss, you just wished Loki was here to-

‘’you don’t look a day different from the first time I’ve laid my eyes on you darling..’’

The familiar voice had you opened your eyes and turn around finding your tall, handsome prince standing before you with his whole armored attire and cape- minus the helmet. His smile matched yours, drinking in your instant recognition while his fingers stayed laced comfortably behind his back.

‘’tell me darling, how have I become so luck? For you to continue to love me and put up with me after all these years?” he questioned, playfulness in his voice while you faced him with a matching stance, hands behind your own back while you straightened yourself.

‘’prayer helps.’’ You teased, earning a chuckle from him while he begins to look you over, a seductive look creeping up upon his face as if he hadn’t seen you a thousand times already.

‘’indeed darling, which is why I had come to your rescue all those years ago. Tell me, what had you smiling just now?’’ He winked and began a slow pace towards you, his eyes spaying special close attention below your neck while you began a slow pace as well, walking in a circle with him while you eyed him yourself.

‘’a related topic, my prince. I often think about how many times you’ve been there for my rescue and defense. I must admit, it is quite attractive.’’ You flirted, matching his seductive expression while he began to look humored.

‘’then perhaps you shall allow me to court you darling, since it so seems to be a match so made in heaven?” he teased and stopped in his original spot from before, as did you.

You put on a teasing, thinking face while a finger tapped your chin. ‘’I don’t know.. I do not think my beloved husband would appreciate your advances, he’s quite the brute when it comes to that.’’

Loki laughed and crossed his arms while he eyed you. ‘’this palace is full of secrets darling, and an equal amount of hiding places..’’

‘’I will not give up what I have earned rightfully so.’’ You shake your head and begin to look upon the flowers again, your smile wavering ever so slightly which didn’t go unmissed while Loki’s voice turns to concern.

‘’..what is it darling?”

You shrug mildly, holding back a sigh while you look back at him. ‘’I just miss you, that’s all..’’

Loki raised a brow. ‘’I cannot help the court meetings darling..’’ he sighed, understanding your frustration while he followed your gaze to the flowers that gently moved in the wind. ‘’I will make it up to you for the lost time, I promise..’’

You offer him a gentle smile while you eye him, your brow raising while you hold back a small chuckle. ‘’illusions?” you guess, knowing he couldn’t have finished the meeting just yet.

Loki nodded with a smile. ‘’takes very little concentration, it will hold up until the meeting is finished.’’

You gave a nod while your eyes seemed to wonder, a small idea playing in your mind while a playful smile tugged at your lips. If an illusion was in order, perhaps this would present a perfect opportunity to tease him- stir up something so you definitely had “something” in store for after the meeting. You then began to walk again, a slow pace with your back to him but with a flirtation look over your shoulder.

You could hear Loki’s steps following behind you at the same pace but knew his eyes were on your swaying form. Your fingertips then glided down to brush against some of the branches before you began your humming tune again from before. He always loved your voice, and could practically feel his smile without having to turn around.

‘’it’s a shame your stuck for awhile..’’ you sigh, a little dramatically while you cast another glance over your shoulder. ‘’I have been really.. really missing you..’’ your voice was full of innuendo, he could tell as well what you were referring to while his eyes darkened and his hands ran against his sides to rid of his twitching fingertips.

For extra measure, you even pretended to want to look upon a low to the ground flower and bent yourself over, a perfect view of your covered, heart shaped ass while you looked over the plant. ‘’if only you could- wha!‘’

Your words were cut short when you felt arms quickly wrap around your waist and pull you flush against him, feeling your effect on him pressing right into your rump while you tried to calm your heart.

‘’how-..i thought you were in the meeting??” you exclaimed, hands on his arms while he dipped his head down to begin pressing his lips against your exposed neck.

‘’I never clarified if the illusion was here, or there.’’ He smirked against your skin while joy overfilled your chest and you happily spun around to cup his face.

‘’happy anniversary darling..’’ you tell him happily and rise to your tiptoes to kiss him.

His arms wrapped tighter around your waist to pull you against him, his knees bending ever so slightly to accommodate you and returned the kiss with a hum. ‘’happy anniversary my love..’’ he murmured against your lips and moved a hand up to cradle the back of your head.

You hadn’t been able to tell each other that today- he had already disappeared for court before you were even awake. Your arms wrapped around his neck then, the both of you kissing more passionately while your chest pressed more against his. You could feel the smile against your lips and felt his arms beginning to unwrap, knowing exactly where he was going for next- making you pull back and lean so you could look at him.

‘’you’re going to have to wait, we don’t need you distracted and your illusion dropping again.’’ You lightly warn, noting his pout with slumped shoulders but he nodded all the same.

‘’why do you tease me so, you little minx..’’ he sighed, wrapping you in his arms again while he buried his face in your hair, inhaling.

‘’because you do the same thing.’’

He chuckled, pressing a miss against your cheek before he pulled away to smile down at you. ‘’what were you humming today darling? it helped me find your whereabouts.’’ He asked, a hand cupping your cheek while you smiled up at him from his sudden interest and attention.

‘’Innamorata, it is quite the famous song back on Midgard.. at least it was. It is quite old.’’ You admit but you cherished the classical music you used to listen to back at home.

The vintage didn’t stop Loki from smiling while he leaned back a little more to place a hand at your hip and the other taking hold of your hand. ‘’sing it to me darling, I wish to hear it once more..’’ he whispered, having moved himself closer to you while you giggled and placed a hand upon his shoulder.

“If our lips should meet Innamorata

Kiss me, kiss me sweet Innamorata

Hold me close and say you're mine

With a love as warm as wine..”

Loki had begun to slowly sway the both of you, smiling down into your eyes with love while he listened to your beautiful voice sing the words to your favorite song. You even made yourself giggle in the middle of it while your cheeks went pink.

‘’what does Innamorata mean?” he asked, not recognizing the Midgard term while you bit your lip and pressed your cheek against his chest while you both slow danced.

‘’in love..’’

Loki smiled while he closed his eyes, loving you very much as you loved him while he rested his chin on top your head, pulling you close while you two opted to hold each other while you swayed and whispered.

“I'm at heaven's door Innamorata

Want you more and more Innamorata

You're a symphony, the very beautiful sonanta, my Innamorata

Say that you're my sweetheart, my love..”

‘’you are my sweetheart darling..’’ he whispered and you closed your eyes, relishing in the feeling of how he could make you melt while you looked up at him with half lidded eyes.

“You're a symphony, the very beautiful sonanta, my Innamorata

Say that you're my sweetheart, my one and only sweetheart

Say that you're my sweetheart, my love..”

You finished right as he had dipped his head down once more to kiss you, his hands slowly rising up to cup your cheeks before he deepened it, making you give a small moan while your hands moved to his shoulders.

He eventually pulled away and his eyes looked mildly sad, making your body tense and part your lips to ask what was wrong but he beat you to it. ‘’the meeting is finishing.’’

You nodded understandingly, still looking happy because it meant you two could have time together, but he had to leave temporarily back to the illusion. Before you could even think about looking sad, his thumb was already playing with your bottom lip and the hint of mischief lay in his eyes while you smiled.

‘’but I do look forward to seeing how much you really missed me.’’ He smirked, an innuendo promise while you bit your bottom lip.

‘’I’ll race you there then my love.’’

DM a song for your own Loki Musical Mischief one shot :D

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life @soulpiercing

[neztchi]

Octavinelle baby~☆

[sunni-stuff]

Everything changed when that pregnancy test read positive.

The day you fumbled into his office, bearing what you thought to be bad news, John's excited face threw you for a loop.

Wasn't he supposed to be upset? Tell you that he didn't want to have a kid with someone he didn't fully care about? Why was he crying? Why did he embrace you so tenderly?

"I'll be there for both of you, Dovie," Price reassures in the nook of your neck, arms caging you against his chest.

Take care of both of you.

Both?

"M-Mr. Price, with all due respect—"

Price cuts off your protests. He leads you out of his office. His large hand grips your waist more possessively. "Go rest your feet up in the lounge; I'll take care of everything." His lips press to the crown of your head, ushering you away gently at the reception entrance.

You were supposed to have one fun night, not to be locked in for the rest of your lives.

Your days of working at a desk were replaced with John's house. It was far from the bustling base you had grown used to. The space was warm and homey. Bits of memorabilia were scattered about. Medals adorned the walls, and old photos sat on the shelves.

John said you only have one job now: making yourself at home.

There was so much space that you didn't know where to start or even how to start! It's not like there was a plan for having your boss's child! So much was happening so fast it left you overwhelmed, sitting on his couch with nervous hands. "Mr. Price, I'm really not sure about all this; I mean... what we did was a big mistake, right?"

From upstairs, you hear John laugh. He's been up there all morning, fixing the nursery for your child. He wanted to create a special room for them, saying that his kid deserves nothing but the best. Heavy footsteps announce his presence as he closes the distance between you. Calloused fingers grip your chin, forcing you to look into his ocean eyes. "You don't want this?"

His touch has you melting, words dying on your lips as you get lost in those eyes. God, why did he look at you that way? Churning like laundry, your gut writhes. A violent spin cycle grips your innards, knotting and wrenching them mercilessly. "I never—I never said that; I just think we're taking things too fast, don't you?" The half-hearted mumble escapes your lips, unconvincing even to yourself.

John's expression shifts; his eyebrow raises in slight scrutiny. "If you believed that, you wouldn't be here."

He's right.

"I do-"

He cuts in swiftly, voice firm. "You don't."

John's grasp tightens on your chin. He leans in, eyes intense. Your heart races. His lips brush yours. The kiss—chaste yet electric. A moment suspended in time. Emotions flood through you both, unspoken but palpable. "You have me. Whatever you want is yours, all you have to do is say the word."

John waits, poised for your word. His eyes betray a craving—silent, deep, and raw.

He belongs to you. He's all yours.

Your lips purse in a line, lip caught between your teeth.

Anything you want?

"I don't like the color of the nursey..."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

P1

❥ I wasn't originally gonna do a part 2 but... I really like this one, next fic will be longer, possibly fluff and smut maybe who knows ❥

[beloveds-embrace]

Okay what if (and stop me if I'm wrong here I'm new to A/B/O) the guys see someone flirting with the designation-less reader and they start subtly start marking them with pheromones to tell everyone else to back off?

I love this idea so much ugh 😩 scenting in the omegaverse always makes me so jdjsjen and no worries! Nothing about what you said is wrong and welcome to the blessed cursed space that is a/b/o

Original post

It started with Price and Ghost stepping into the armory.

You hadn’t noticed them at first, too focused on trying to edge away from the overly friendly Alpha soldier who just wouldn’t take the hint, no matter how disinterested you made sure you looked. He was leaning in closer than necessary, voice dropping lower with each word like he was trying to make the conversation feel more personal. Though your nose picked nothing, you just knew he was probably, likely, drowning the area with his stench.

You didn’t know how to stop it without making a scene. It wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong- just too many compliments, too much interest in your plans after hours, too much weight in the way he said your name. It left you off balance, unsure if you were imagining the tension curling low in your stomach. Unpleasant tension, as if youmd accidentally eaten spoiled food.

These days, it seemed as if you either garnered no attention, and when you did, it was unwelcome attention. At least it was different and far more pleasant with the 141.

“So, love, I was wondering-“

Then Price cleared his throat.

It wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like a gunshot, sharp and commanding. Both you and the soldier froze, heads snapping toward the sound, and there he was- Captain Price, standing in the doorway like he owned the entire building, eyes locked right on the man in front of you.

Ghost was just behind him, silent and still as a shadow, but the weight of him filled the room like a second presence- dark, heavy, watching, shoulders tense like Price. You’ve been with them long enough to tell when they are angry based on body cues, and right now, that’s what they were.

Not for the first time, you wondered just what they’d smell like. Would it be heavy and harsh on your nose? Somehow, you doubted it. Then again, Soap did tell you that angry Alphas smell like burnt rubber most of the time.

You eyed the way your… admirer’s nose wrinkled, jaw tight, eyes shifting around.

You hoped it smelled worse.

The soldier stumbled over a few words before making an excuse to leave. He didn’t even try to finish the conversation- rude- and barely managed to keep his composure as he slipped out the door.

Letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your shoulders relaxed slightly as you turned to thank them- but the words caught in your throat when you saw the way they were now looking at you.

It wasn’t anger, exactly. It was something… sharper. Something that made your pulse quicken and your palms feel clammy, even though you hadn’t done anything wrong.

But then Price strode towards you and nodded, low and firm, clasping a hand on your shoulder, and Ghost lingered just long enough to brush his shoulder against yours before following him out the door.

… weird Alphas.

“Weird Alphas.” You said outloud as well, huffing.

You thought that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

It was subtle, so subtle that you almost didn’t notice at first.

Soap was the easiest to miss, playful and touchy by nature so much so even one as people-averse as you were comfortable next to him by now. He slung an arm over your shoulders whenever you were nearby, leaning into your space like it was nothing. He’d linger there just long enough that your skin was warm before pulling away, flashing you a knowing grin you didn’t understand.

Gaz was more deliberate. He’d pass you things- gear, water bottles, paperwork, pens- and his fingers always brushed yours and lingered. Small steady touches, leaving traces of his warmth on everything he handed you, leaving traces of his warmth on your skin. When you worked together, he’d lean in close enough that his presence settled over you, wrapping around your skin like a second layer. Your shoulders and thighs would touch, and sometimes you swore you could feel a deep purr coming from him.

Price didn’t touch you often, but when he did, it lingered and was acutely felt. A hand at the small of your back to guide you through a crowded hallway. A warm palm resting against your shoulder during debriefings, right where your faulty scent glands are. Solid, steady touches that felt heavier than they should’ve- clearly intentional even to the likes of you, and yet you didn’t want to really, truly acknowledge them.

And Ghost- Ghost was the worst.

He didn’t say a single word when he draped his jacket over your shoulders after a long, rain-soaked training session, the heavy fabric still warm from his body and shielding you from the wafting chill. You’d tried to give it back later, but he pushed it into your hands with a low, demanding “Keep it.” That left no room for argument. You didn’t think much of it at first- just a practical gesture- but you caught the way the others looked at you after, the raised brows and faint smirks that made you second-guess what it really meant, especially when you found yourself wearing it long after the cold had faded. You’d tried wearing your own jacket, but the look he gave you had you sighing, leaving, and returning to wearing his.

You didn’t understand it at first, didn’t recognize it for what it was. But others did.

It was possessive. Territorial.

The stares started- quick, assessing glances from the other soldiers that led to widened eyes. People moved out of your way in the hallways, gave you more space than before. Conversations shifted when you walked into a room, voices dropping, eyes darting toward the men who always seemed to hover just behind you.

You didn’t know what to make of it.

And then Soap grinned at you over lunch one day where you wearing a shirt of John’s now and Ghost’s jacket, leaning close enough to bump his shoulder against yours, and said, “Looking good, bonnie. Don’t think anyone’s stupid enough to try sniffin’ around you now.”

It took you a second too long to process what he’d said. When you finally did, your eyes darted toward the others- toward Price, who didn’t even look up from his plate, and Gaz, who only smirked and in your shock, slipped the bracelet he was wearing on your wrist. Toward Ghost, who met your gaze with something dark and unreadable before leaning back in his chair like he wasn’t affected at all. No; he was satisfied, like a smug bear.

You swallowed.

It should’ve felt suffocating, overwhelming, but it didn’t.

It felt… safe. Secure in a way you didn’t know how to explain. The guy that had been bothering you had even requested a transfer.

You didn’t say anything, didn’t call them out on it.

But later, when Price pulled you in his face and rubbed his face, his chin and beard all across your neck, you didn’t move away.

The “good girl” you got was all you could think about hours later.

[miaoua3]

Stay The Night?

Pairing: CEO! Choi Seungcheol x f!reader

Genre: shamless smut (MDNI), piv sex, oral (both receiving), mentions of the ex (ew), hickeys and scratches, no protection (don’t be silly wrap the willy guys, don’t make me smack you all),marking in general, possessive choi seungcheol, smallest amount of spanking, squirting

Description: after spending the night with the CEO and (unsuccessfully) trying to sneak away, Choi Seungcheol asks you to stay the whole day and later on, even the night. Will you say yes?

Or

Basically part 2 to “Stay The Morning?”

Note: late present from me to you for 1000 followers on tumblr and 10k on tiktok🥰🫶 and also because i had the chance of smelling creed aventus aka the perfume cheol uses more regularly than the one i smelled that inspired part one of this and i got the urge to suck this mans dick so….bon appetit🥰

Warnings: yet again barely proofread lol im sorry i just hate doing that

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“take that dress off and get back in here, i want cuddles…and maybe something more.”

and who were you to deny him anything?

well, you were you, and so naturally you cross your arms over your chest, tilting your head to the side as a playful smile spreads on your face, in a mockingly offended voice you said “i’m not taking anything off or letting you anywhere near me until you brush your teeth and feed me something. what, you thought the last night was completely free? you’re a businessman, you should know better honey.”

cheol chuckles deeply as he stretches, the blanket slowly sliding down his bare torso, giving you a delicious view of his chest, ribs becoming more prominent the further he reaches with his hands above his head.

groaning in satisfaction, he then throws the whole blanket off of him before sitting on the edge of the bed, softly messing with his bed hair. looking at you with the cutest smile, he then gets up.

in only his boxers. the muscles all over his body softly flexing. his thighs looking deliciously big as he takes the slow steps towards you.

sweet baby jesus.

the moment he’s standing right in front of you in his naked glory, you feel your throat go dry with need and desire.

well i’ll be damned, i already got my christmas present, and it’s not even december.

almost as if he can sense your thoughts, cheol chuckles deeply before quickly dipping his head lower so he can press a gentle kiss on your neck, his tongue lightly grazing your skin. goosebumps irrupt all over your skin at his action, a shaky breath leaving your mouth as he moves away a little, just enough for his face to end up right in front of your own.

staring at your eyes, his own a deep shade of brown, almost black with desire, cheol slowly exhales, almost like he’s trying to control himself.

stretching to his original height, he then takes ahold of your dress with his fingers, lightly tugging on it.

“you should go take a shower while i make breakfast, this dress must be uncomfortable to wear. i will have someone deliver you some clothes before you’re done in the bathroom.”

you raise an eyebrow, amusement playing in your eyebrows.

“or you could, y’know, give me one of your shirts. like all the normal guys do.”

something dark suddenly appears in his eyes, the little smile that has been tugging on the edges of his lips disappears at your words.

he takes another slow step towards you, so that there’s barely any space left between your warm bodies. looking down on you, he darkly says “i’m not like other men. you should know that until know, baby.”

you swallow hardly, but not out of fear or anything like that.

you swallow because that was so fucking sexy of him.

good lord, i need him again, as soon as possible.

he then slowly kisses your cheek, like a gentleman that he is, before he takes ahold of your hand and starts pulling you out of the bedroom.

“c’mon, i’ll show you where the bathroom is and how everything works. any special wishes for breakfast? anything you prefer or not? allergies? would you like coffee or tea maybe?”

you chuckle at his questions, quickly stopping him to gently kiss his cheek before looking at him with your doe eyes.

“coffee is fine, i’m not that big on breakfast but you have spent all of my energy last night, so maybe something light but filling would be good. and i’m not allergic to anything, not that i know at least. now, before you start to terrorise the kitchen, brush your teeth, romeo.”

you push him through the entrance of the bathroom door, his skin soft and gentle to the touch as you do so.

cheol just chuckles before he starts rummaging through his drawers, finally finding you a spare toothbrush so you both can get rid of the morning breath.

as you stand side by side, dutifully brushing your teeth, you both sneak glances of each other in the mirror.

you eyes focus on his bare chest and how they move with every little movement, how his soft stomach jiggles a bit too, as well as the dark happy trail on his lower stomach. the way his biceps pops put by him holding his arms so high is just as delicious as the rest of him.

his own eyes are trained on your face, how beautiful it looks with barely any makeup from last night left. but also because he’s only a man after all, he lets his eyes also travel down your body, lingering on how your boobs jiggle as you continue brushing your teeth.

what can he say, he’s a weak man.

after you’re done, you kick him out of the bathroom in order to take a quick shower, almost letting a “wanna join me?” slip out of your mouth, but he leaves before you can do as much.

the warm water feels amazing on your aching muscles, relaxing you so much so that you almost fall asleep while standing.

after a few minutes, you finish up in the shower, looking around for the clothes that he promised you, but to no avail.

just as you open the door to yell for help, you notice a bag waiting for you on the doorstep.

opening it, your jaw drops at what you find inside.

white lingerie. with a white slip on and a white silky robe, accompanied by white house slippers.

this sneaky little-

“so, is this what the big-shot and ceo of the prestigious company, choi seungcheol, dreams at night? what he lusts for and what he desires?”, you say as you walk in the kitchen, crossing your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him as you wait for an answer, signaling to your outfit with your head.

cheol just smiles innocently, his eyes just two lines from how wide he’s smiling.

“no, this is what a simple man who you have wrapped around your finger, cheol, dreams of.”

you roll your eyes with a smile at the smoothness of his answer, failing to add anything else to his answer.

he then pulls out a chair and points with his hand for you to sit on it. not used to this type of treatment from men, you almost giggle as you sit down.

he sits right beside you, taking your plate in his hand and slowly filling it with all the food that he made (which is way too much amount of food for two people, or so you think until you see him devour everything like he hasn’t eaten in months.)

you chat lightly as you eat, laughing at some of his very badly made jokes-is the laugh out of pity or because he’s just so cute? you will never tell know.

“so, any plans for today?”, he suddenly asks you.

you look up, pondering for a moment if you had anything planned, but nothings comes to mind.

“no, not really. maybe clean my apartment a bit? haven’t done that in a minute, understandably so.”, you chuckle emotionlessly, thinking about how your heartbreak prevented you from functioning normally.

cheol just gives you a weird look, not understanding why you would say that.

it is in that moment that you realise that he doesn’t know anything that has happened with your ex three weeks ago.

you reluctantly sigh, looking him directly in the eyes. “not to be party pooper, but i actually broke with my ex just a few weeks ago, because i found him cheating on me. with his coworker. in my bed. in my apartment. in my silk sheets. that i paid for. with my money.”

for a second there’s no sound coming from either of you, when you suddenly starts giggling a bit, wiping away a little imaginary tear, you continue “you could say that i’m a bit bitter-“, and then you take a look at him.

cheol just looks at you, or rather somewhere past you, his eyes murderous, hand gripping his fork so tightly it could snap in two any second.

your breath catches in your throat, an unfamiliar emotion overcoming you.

finally looking you directly in the eyes, still with the same look in them, he asks darkly “what’s his name?”

you gulp, looking away as you quietly say “it’s not important, I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

sensing that your mood has changed for the worse, cheol breathes in deeply and then out as a way to calm himself down before taking your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of it as he quietly says “for the record, he doesn’t realise just what hell of a woman he lost. and that his loss is somebody else’s gain, so. he’s stupid, who in their right mind would cheat on you?”.

your eyes move to look at him, his eyebrows scrunched a bit as if this is hurting himself.

you can’t remember the last time that a man went out of his way to make you feel so seen and appreciated. it makes your heart do this weird thing. like it stops beating for a moment but also like it sped up by a big notch.

you smile gently at him before you lean towards him and, for the first time since you two woke up, gently kiss his lips for a moment.

pulling away, you just respond “let’s finish eating before it cools off.”

seungcheol, as if in a daze from your kiss, just nods a bit, a dopey smile taking up half of his face.

you quickly finish up, helping him put the dishes into the washer before he leads you to the humongous leather couch that is right in front of even more humongous tv.

he sits down first, right in the middle of it before he pulls you down. seemingly he had a vision for everything that is happening right now, because before you can even get comfortable, he pulls your legs over his thighs, letting a hand rest on the bare thigh, massaging it lightly as he wraps his other arm around your shoulders, your head falling on his shoulder as he does.

well, okay then you think to yourself as you wrap your own arm around his bare stomach, rubbing his hip gently.

he turns on the tv, more so as a background noise, before he starts asking you all sorts of questions- what your hobbies are, who the two friends from last night were, where you are from as in like the city, you favourite colour and many other questions, the weirdest one being “have you ever thought how the dogs think? like are they barking in their mind, or is it maybe english or korean? or whatever the language of the country they’re in is? what about deaf dogs?”

you spend hours talking and laughing, for the most part you. he tells you the stories of his childhood, stories of his brother and how he accidentally smacked him with a baseball bat on the hand which inevitably ended up being broken, how he fell from the tree, stories about his friends who he met in college and still talks to on the daily, calling them “his kids”, all while he traces the hickeys and bite marks on your neck and shoulders.

you two talk until your mouth gets dry and he fetches you a glass of water for it.

deciding that he should take a shower, he says that you can put whatever you want on the tv and watch it while he does so, saying he won’t take long before he disappears behind the door.

you turn something random on, a documentary you think??? when you suddenly realise that you haven’t been on your phone the entire time, just like you haven’t heard from your friends since the last night.

looking around for it, you find it on the little table in front of the large window, the one you stood in front of as seungcheol kissed you for the first time.

you turn it on to see hundreds of messages and missed calls from jihyo and sana.

the last message from your group chat read “that’s it, if she doesn’t answer in the next 10 minutes, i’m calling the police.”

the message was sent 7 minutes ago.

lucky.

you sheepishly reply with an “heyyy guys haha what’s up”

you immediately get spammed with the messages, variating from “WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN” to “WAS THE DICK GOOD”.

i think it’s pretty clear which one of them sent which message.

you respond that you are still at cheol’s to jihyo’s message and that you probably will be home later tonight and that you can meet up then for the detailed story time of your escapades, and you respond with a photo of your collarbones and neck full of hickeys to sana’s message, sending a little wink emoji.

you can see that both of them are losing their minds, writing messages all in cap locks. just as you were about to read them all, you hear the door of the bathroom unlock.

you write a quick “gotta go, the man of the hour is back from his shower, gotta go and make him sweaty again ;)” before turning your phone off and focusing on him.

the sight makes you want get down on your knees and send a quick thank-you prayer to the god.

because there stood cheol, in all his naked and wet glory, black wet hair messily falling on his forehead.

and he only had a towel wrapped around his hips.

you unconsciously bite your lip as you watch him, sitting up straight as you see him walk towards you.

he finally stops right in front of you, his hips on the same level as your face. you go from looking at his happy trail to slowly raising your eyes to look him the eyes, his bulky form towering over you.

his dark eyes are trained on your face, his eyes as dark as midnight as he watches your teeth bite your lips in need.

his hand comes to your face, before his thumb slowly pulls on your bottom lip, releasing it from your teeth.

you don’t put any effort in closing your lips, letting them stay agape.

the same thumb starts to rub your lip, lightly dipping inside your mouth, your tongue poking it unconsciously.

suddenly, in the deepest voice ever, he says two words that make you completely lose all your self control.

“pretty girl.”

you grab his arm and pull him down towards you. he gasps in shock as he starts falling down. luckily, he has fast reflexes, so he quickly grabs the backrest of the couch, so he’s bent over you.

you loop your arms around his neck and pull him closer so you can kiss him.

cheol groans the moment he feels your lips on his, tongue prodding, asking for entrance to his own mouth. he obviously grants it, making your tongues meet in a battle for dominance.

you try pulling him even closer, making him kneel with one knee between your own legs. it is a wonder that the towel still stayed on up until this point. adamant on changing that, you use one hand to harshly pull it away, making his half hard on spring free.

like a woman possessed, you quickly use your hold on his neck to pull him to the side, making him fall on the couch.

just as he adjusts so he’s sitting comfortably on it, you slowly stand up in front of him.

eyes trained on you, unblinking, cheol’s mouth fall open when he sees you taking off the white robe, proceeding to take the white slip off too.

cheol never believed in heaven, but as you stood in front of him, in white matching lacy lingerie, with all of his marks on your body from last night, looking like an angel, he truly started to believe that this is the closest to the heaven that he will get.

reaching with his hands towards you, so he can pull you on his lap, you lightly redirect them, holding them in your own.

you are apparently set on giving this man a heart attack at ripe age of 29, because you then proceed to drop to your knees.

right in front of him, between his legs.

with his hard dick right in front of your face.

his dark eyes, pupils blown with desire, trace every movement you make.

you first adjust your hair a bit, so it’s not getting in your way, looking at him with what he can only describe as hunger of a lioness.

keeping the eye contact, you slowly lick the whole palm of your hand, making sure that it’s extra wet with saliva.

cheol gulps.

the moment that that very same hand wraps around his dick, he’s throwing his head back, a loud gasp escaping him at how sensitive it feels. his back comes off the couch, hand looking for anything to grasp on, only finding his towel instead.

you pump him a few times, looking at him, focused solely on his face, to see how he’s reacting to your touch-to you.

his eyes flutter shut, a groan rumbling somewhere from the depths of his chest, his torso expanding with every deep breath he has to take in order to control himself and not cum on your face this very second.

god, that last thought didn’t help him, at all.

you pump his dick some more, your hand not even being able to wrap itself around his dick fully, making you shiver at the thought of having the very same dick inside of you later.

deciding that enough is enough, you slowly lower your face when he’s not paying attention, until your lips wrap themselves around the head of his cock.

cheol moans the second he feels your wet mouth on him.

his eyes barely open themselves, he basically forces himself to keep them open, watching as you slowly push your head down more and more, until half of his dick is inside your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, making you pull back up.

you repeat the motion a few times just as slowly as you did the first time, enjoying his moans and groans every time the head of his dick hits the back of your throat.

deciding that you want him to be a complete mess, you start bobbing your head faster, hand wrapping itself around the base that your mouth can reach.

god, do you love the fact that his dick is so big you can’t even suck it fully.

something you certainly couldn’t say about your ex.

your mouth engulfs him, the wetness of it making him see stars. and when your tongue does that little things where it first wraps around the head, before sliding along his slit, right where he’s the most sensitive?

cheol sends a prayer up in hopes that he won’t cum right this second.

a strand of hair falls into your face, making you scrunch your face in mild annoyance.

seungcheol jumping to opportunity, quickly gathers all of your hair in his hand, making a ponytail out of it.

and as you go on, bobbing your head up and down his dick, saliva sliding down til it reaches his balls. cheol uses his grip on your hair to control your movements, moving your head in fast pace. you choke repeatedly as his dick hits the back of your throat, and seungcheol seems to like that very much, letting out a groan every time he feels your throat close around the tip of his dick.

as tears stream down your face, you feel yourself being so wet, you fear you might start dripping all over his carpet.

god, you truly hope you aren’t, because that is one dry cleaners you cannot afford.

you watch his beautiful face, head thrown back, long and black eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, lips red from him biting on them to suppress his moans.

he’s so beautiful, if you could, you would stay right here, between his legs, just so you can watch his face in pleasure.

“fuck, baby, that mouth. you’re gonna make me cum, ah, shit. look so pretty on your knees for me, sucking on this cock.”, he raps out, every few words interrupted either by a moan or a groan.

you feel him move your head even faster, as well as his hips buckling upwards, a clear sign that he’s close.

“shit, gonna cum in that mouth of yours, ah fuck, baby- you gotta- gotta stop if you don’t want to swallow it- i- ah-.” he continues to blab, but you don’t pay him any mind, focusing on sucking the head every time he moves your head upwards, and tracing the little vein with your tongue every time he pushes it back downwards.

his moans get louder, his hold on your hair gets tighter, hips stuttering as he’s right there, on the brink of cumming.

you remove your mouth completely away from his dick, immediately replacing it with your hand. looking him directly in the eyes, you say the words that finally push him over the edge.

“cum for me baby, all over my face.”

and that does it for him, spurts of pearly white cum falling on your cheeks, nose and lips. the last few drops you catch with your mouth, wrapping your lips around his sensitive head again in favour of swallowing every last drop of his cum, making sure that nothing is wasted and that he’s as clean as possible.

he moans loudly at your action, pulling your head away because he can’t endure the delicious torture.

you both pant, his chest moving up and down fast, beads of sweat gathered around the crown of his head.

you take the opportunity to finally take a deep breath in, feeling a little bit lightheaded due to being deprived of real oxygen for this long.

cheol slowly opens his mouth, looking at the artwork that is your beautiful face decorated with his cum. with a thumb, he swipes a bit of it away, holding it in front of your mouth as an offer.

you don’t hesitate a second before you wrap your lips around his finger, sucking on it like it’s the most delicious thing you have ever tasted.

cheol groans at the sight, quickly using the same hand to wrap it around the back of your neck, pulling you upwards so that he can kiss you. his tongue invades your mouth, massaging your own in such an erotic way it makes you squeeze your thighs together.

with the other hand, he reaches for your thigh, wrapping around the back of it and pulling on it. you gasp at the sheer strength of this man, because he lifts you up from the floor solely by the hold he has on your leg. for a second, you fly through the air, until your knee finds the couch.

you quickly straddle him, careless sitting down on his lap, his dick rubbing against the lacy material of your panties. he gasps at the sensation, still sensitive from the best head he has ever gotten from a woman.

in order to save his dignity, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you against him so your hips lift a bit from his dick, his lips still eagerly kissing, biting and sucking on your lips as he does so.

your hands find their home on his cheeks, holding his handsome face as you kiss him back just as enthusiastically.

at some point, after a few minutes, your lips naturally separate, but they stay close. panting in each others mouth, you use your hold on his cheeks to lightly brush your thumbs against them in comfort.

he takes a deep breath before he says in a hoarse voice “fuck baby, even though you look like an angel, that mouth of yours is so devilish.”

a giggle escapes you, leaving a quick peck on the corner of his lips. “i’ll take that as a compliment.”

he takes the towel to wipe the remains of his cum off your face before he directs your head so it’s resting on his shoulder, leaving a fleeting kiss on your neck.

“gimme a few minutes baby, i will eat you out then so good, you’re gonna cry.”

and your only response is the shiver that runs down your spine.

for a few moments you just sit there on his lap, playing with his hair while his hands rub your back, lips leaving kisses every few seconds across your shoulders and neck.

you breathe in the smell of his shower gel and his natural smell, mixing in a way that it makes your eyes flutter shut on their own.

that’s another thing, you never found anyone to smell so good like you find cheol does. something about his natural smell is just so…him, and manly, and makes you feel safe and protected.

you wish you could stay here forever.

suddenly cheol’s kisses on your neck start to linger a bit longer, a bit wetter, and his hands start to stray a little bit more on your ass than usual.

you shift slightly just to get more comfortable as your legs started cramping, when you feel his half hard on. your mouth fall open upon realising that it’s showtime.

ever so slowly, you move your hips back, almost dragging your clothed pussy over his bare dick, making him inhale deeply at your action.

he lightly nibbles on the shell of your ear, before whispering directly against it “you little devil.”

you turn your head towards him, looking all innocent and coy as you say “but i thought i was an angel according to your previous statement?”

cheol narrows his eyes, before taking your thighs in his hand and picking you up slightly so he can basically slam you against the couch.

you gasp at the action, adrenaline filling your veins more so than the blood does.

he hovers over you, his hands caging you as he leans on them right beside your head.

you look at each other for a second, waiting to see who will play the first move, when suddenly, cheol rolls his hips right into your own, his dick catching on the lace of your panties.

you gasp at the action, nails immediately imbedding themselves into his back, eyes rolling so far back in your head you can see your thoughts.

“bad, bad girl. trying to play all innocent…”, he pauses before he leans even more in, so his lips are right against your ear again “…when just a few minutes ago you were choking on my dick, so prettily and desperately.”

unconsciously you inhale deeply, making him smirk a bit.

“what, don’t tell me you’re still thinking about it? still not satisfied? cumming down your throat wasn’t enough for you?”, and the condescending voice, the smirk, the satisfaction in his voice.

it pissed you off a bit.

harshly grabbing the back of his head, your nails digging into his scalp as you pull him in a harsh kiss, your other hand purposefully dragging your nails down his back, which makes him shiver.

you break the kiss off just as harshly before you answer to his question “no, i’m still not satisfied, so you better get to it, before i found somebody who is willing to do it.”

his eyes turn black with jealousy, fire lighting up in them. within milliseconds, he’s grabbing your neck and kissing you just as harshly as you kissed him, teeth biting harshly on your lips.

you moan as he continues to kiss you, almost like he wants to prove a point to you. teeth clashing, hands clawing at each other, his hand around your neck squeezing tighter and tighter, making you wrap your legs around his hips tighter and pull him into yourself as he does so.

he pulls away aggressively, and his next words sounding like a fact, like it’s written in the stars, linger in the air for a second.

“even if you wanted to, you could never find somebody who would fuck you as good as i do.”

eyes laser focused on each other, you just utter two words as a response.

“prove it.”

getting right to it, his mouth attaches itself on your neck, sucking even more hickeys to the pre-existing ones from last night. while his mouth is busy with marking your skin, his hand wiggles under your back, fishing for the bra clasp. once he finds it, he quickly undoes it, pulling it down your arms before throwing it somewhere over his shoulder with no care whatsoever, even when it sounds like it crashed into what suspiciously sounds like the vase he got from one of his business partners.

choosing not to care, he lets his lips travel from your neck, to your collarbones, over the navel of your breast, straying to one side so he can suck on one of your tits, softly biting your nipple that causes you to moan loudly and grasp his hair in your hands.

he does it for a few more seconds, letting his hand massage the tit that isn’t getting the same attention as the one in his mouth, before resumes kissing a trail down your body.

once he gets down to you hips, he looks up to you over his short bangs that are getting in his eyes. the said eyes look at you like a hawk, preying on you, excited to see your anticipation and shiny eyes looking back at him.

he just lets his lips and nose travel of the skin of your lower belly, making it flex from the tickling sensation. once they reach your left hip, he lets his lips envelope the skin there and suck on it, a hickey forming on its place.

letting his lips pop, he looks up at you as he lets his head move even lower, until his lips are hovering right over the lacy panties you are wearing.

you hold your breath as you wait to see what he next move will be.

god, you hope to god that he will just-

just as the thought crossed your mind, cheol puts his opened mouth over your clothed pussy, prodding at the covered slit with his tongue, paying the special attention to your clit. the fabric that is still on you makes his action all that more stimulating, making you throw your head back as you moan.

hands fly to his still wet hair, pulling on it harshly, maybe in hopes that you can pull him in deeper, make his tongue finally enter your hole.

almost as if he can read your mind, he pushes your underwear to the side with the two of his fingers. the moment he sees your pussy, glistening with wetness, his lips are on you, parting your lips with his tongue, entering your pussy. he swirls his tongue around the entrance, gathering all your precum before swallowing it all, moaning at the taste.

quickly he starts pulling on your underwear, mumbling something along the lines off “off, off, i need these off now.”, before he throws them over his shoulder too.

placing your legs so they are resting on his shoulders, he immediately prods with one of his fingers at your whole, letting your walls swallow it whole. his lips wrap themselves around your clit, sucking on it just the right way.

you close your eyes in pleasure, your desires finally being fulfilled just like you dreamed of them to be.

not only was choi seungcheol a walking dream, sex appeal on legs.

he was also between your legs.

he continues to fuck his finger in you, twisting his hand when he’s pushing it in and un-twisting it when pulling out.

after a minute or so, he pulls the finger completely out in favour of pushing two back in. you squeeze your thighs around his head as he does so, moaning his name.

“cheol…”

choosing to ignore you, he just speeds up his movements, tongue still playing with your clit.

you taste so good on his tongue, it makes cheol close his eyes and groan every time he swallows.

the longer he eats you out, the more careless and messy he gets. he lets saliva cover your whole pussy, almost dripping on his leather couch. he lets his fingers push in and out of you at merciless speed, the fingertips grazing your sweet spot every time he tries to reach deeper inside of your pussy.

it all makes you feel lightheaded, moaning mess, your back arch, so much so that your whole upper body almost lifts off the couch.

“ah! cheol, more, ple-please!”

cheol never one to deny his lady anything, just speeds up his motion, sucking on your clit while his tongue pries at your entrance along with his fingers.

just as you feel yourself on the brink of cumming, your moans getting so loud they ring inside of cheol’s ears, he pulls completely away, slowly getting on his knees to admire the mess that he made of you.

tears streaming down your cheeks, your hair making it look like you have a halo around your head.

your chest heave up and down as you try to regain some of the air, nipples rock hard under his gaze.

your skin so prettily lathered with the hickeys, marking what’s his.

cheol just then realises that he started calling you his inside his head, no other reason other than the fact that you earlier mentioned the possibility of going to other men to get what you want.

he will be damned before he lets that happen.

and then your pussy. god, it looks so pretty, glistening under the light, his spit mixed with your juices, smeared all around your lips and thighs.

cheol was never that interested in art that much, but he’s pretty sure that this-you, is what a masterpiece is supposed to look like.

he suddenly realises that you have been calling his name the entire time, whining and almost crying in frustration-in need.

“cheollie please just-just fuck me already.”, you say as you pull on him with the hold of your legs that have wrapped themselves around his hips.

he immediately leans down over you, caging you with his arms around your head, his lips immediately finding yours in a hungry kiss.

just as his hand reaches down to take his dick so he can finally push it inside your gaping pussy, he suddenly remembers.

fuck, he forgot the condom.

humming in your mouth, he mumbles against them “wait baby, I forgot the condom, let me just get it from the-“, but he feels your legs just tighten around his waist, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, preventing him from getting up.

you mumble through a kiss “if you get up now, i will cry and make myself cum, all without you.”

well, alright then.

cheol just groans at the thought of having his dick in your pussy, with no condom to get in the way of truly feeling the wetness of your pussy.

little to excitedly, he takes his dick in his hand, and for a second just teases your folds with his tip, sliding it up and down, catching on your clit as he pulls it down.

as you start whining softly in desperation, telling him “hurry up” in a soft voice, cheol decides that it’s time.

and then he’s pushing in.

you both gasp at the feeling- you at the mere girth of his cock, and he because of how wet it feels to have his dick in your pussy.

he pushes a bit more in, but once he feels resistance due to you clamping on him almost painfully, he just kisses your cheeks in comfort, mumbling against them “relax baby or i won’t be able to give you all of my cock.”

you breathe in and out in hopes that it will help you relax, and it does, with help of his kisses and his hand rubbing your waist in comfort.

after a minute or so, you nod as a way to tell him that it’s okay for him to move. he continues to pepper little kisses on your face as he pushes his dick more in, groaning every so often at the feeling of your walls squeezing around him.

when he finally bottoms out, cheol lets a big breath out, relieved that he didn’t cum, which he felt multiple times almost happen due to your tight little pussy milking him so much.

i can’t, not yet, she has to cum first before i do.

with that thought, he starts to slowly rock his hips, making a fluid motion out of it. he feels his tip grazing your sweet spot, which makes you gasp and moan lightly, as well as rocking your hips into his a little bit.

you turn your face towards him, your eyes telling him clearly what you want from him.

he immediately kisses you, tongues dancing a beautiful and harmonious dance for a second and then pulling away just to do the same not even a second later.

he continues with the slow pace, rolling hips so professionally it makes you second-guess his profession.

but once you breathlessly whisper “more” against his lips, he’s doubling his pace, his hips slapping against the back of your thighs.

you stop kissing him in favour of moaning directly in his face, which seungcheol seems to enjoy just as much as your kisses.

“feels good, baby? yeah? fuck, you moan so prettily, all for me, only for me, hm? nobody fucks you as good as i do right? the same way nobody begs for my dick as beautifully as you do.”

you try to focus on his words and to answer him, you truly do, but his cock filling your pussy, sliding in and out of you, and hitting your spot repeatedly makes you forget all and every thought, only being able to respond “yes yes yes” over and over.

he groans as your pussy pulses around him, making him quicken his pace even more, his hips and balls slapping almost violently against your skin.

the words keep leaving from his mouth, but you’re just too focused on enjoy him fucking you like nobody has ever before, that you don’t even answer a question he asked you.

seungcheol doesn’t like that.

he stops his hips from moving, and as you open your mouth to complain, he quickly leaves a strong spank on the side of your ass, a gasp leaving your mouth instead.

“i said- is this my pussy, pretty girl? nobody can fuck you the way i do, hm?”

his eyes as black as obsidian, looking for an answer in your tear filled ones.

you nod your head, moaning as you try to rock your hips into his.

cheol doesn’t like that either.

he spanks you one more time, just as hard, a little scream escapes you as he does. “use your words baby, or i won’t make you cum.”

you nod as you respond “yes, yes, only you can, nobody ever fucked me so good as you.”

he kisses you quickly, tongue teasing your lips for a second before pulling away to ask “who does this pussy belong to baby? remind me again.”, he finishes with another spank to your cheek.

you moan as you desperately respond “yours, belongs to you, only you, p-please stop teasing me-“.

before you can continue, he starts fucking you again, hips slamming into you that you feel yourself move upwards on the couch from the mere force.

you scream as he rocks his hips, tears freely falling from your eyes now. you don’t even realise just how tight your nails have imbedded themselves into his back, pretty sure that you are drawing blood from them.

not that cheol seems to mind, he just groans at every little thing you give him, groaning “yes baby, just like that” in your ear.

still, deciding to spare him an ER visit, you switch to pulling on his hair instead.

which seems to be an even better thing, because he in return moans so loudly, eyes scrunched up in pleasure as you do so.

“fuck baby, don’t do that or i’ll cum right now right inside you.”

the thought makes you bite your lips, as well as clam your walls even tighter around him.

he notices this, causing a little smirk to play on the edge of his lips. “oh? would my pretty girl like that? for me to cum inside you? to cream your walls? hm?”

he looks carefully for your reaction, hoping that he isn’t crossing any lines with what he’s saying. but as you nod your head quickly, desperately saying “please! please please please please cum, cum inside of me-“, he just groans, the thought of cumming inside you, painting your walls white while your pussy takes in every last drop makes him almost cum right there and there.

seeing that he can’t go on for much longer, he lets his fingers find your clit, rubbing it just as fast as he’s fucking you, putting on just the littlest of pressure on it, knowing that it’s enough to make you finish.

your scream echoes through the room, hands pulling on his soft but wet hair like a maniac, feeling your end nearing at rapid pace.

“i need you to cum for me princess, now, fuck, cream on it baby, lemme feel you-“

and it’s done, with a cry, you throw your head back, your thighs squeeze his hips and you cum. you cum so hard that you squirt a little all over his thighs, making a mess out of him.

he, seemingly also almost there, just needs a little bit of your help, mainly just you saying “cum, please, cum inside me, need it so bad cheollie-“, he thrusts once, twice before he’s cumming inside of you, moaning in your face as he does so.

rocking his hips for a bit, to make sure that every last drop of his cum is fucked deeply inside of your pussy, he then drops his whole dead body onto your own, his legs shaking from how hard his orgasm hit him.

although he is a bit heavy, you don’t complain at all, instead hugging him even closer, welcoming his bulky body to squish you. it’s almost like it makes you feel grounded, as well as helping you clear up your mind, haziness due to your own finish clearing up the longer he lays there on you.

you two just breathe heavily for a minute, trying to regain your breaths as you rub his back, while his lips softly kiss your neck and cheeks.

he turns your face to his own so that he can kiss you gently, rubbing his thumb on your cheek in comfort.

he breaks the kiss off, his boba eyes looking at you as he gently asks “are you okay baby?”

you just nod your head with a tired smile.

“i didn’t overdo it, right? everything was okay? wasn’t too much?”

your smile spreads a big wider as you whisper “it was perfect…you are perfect.”

he smiles a little before softly pecking your lips, stopping only at one kiss in favour of whispering back “you are the one that’s perfect…my baby.”

you just loop your hands around his neck to pull him towards you, kissing him deeply and slowly, letting all your feelings and words you don’t trust to say out loud speak for themselves through that kiss.

after a minute or so, you feel his dick slowly get hard again, making you realise that he hasn’t pulled out the entire time.

you softly say “sorry about the mess i made on your couch.”

cheol just chuckles as he responds “i could care less about the couch, especially not after i just had you squirt all over it.”

you shyly hide your face in his neck, groaning in embarrassment as he chuckles some more.

suddenly, he grabs your thighs before going to slowly stand up, all while still holding your body wrapped around his.

you gasp as you get picked up, clamping onto his dick as you feel the shift in the angle.

cheol just groans as he starts carrying you towards his room, spanking your ass one more time as he walks.

“i’m not done with you yet.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

after two more rounds of wild and fast sex, you two lay there on his bed, both on your sides as you face each other, a thin blanket covering your bodies as the sweat on your bodies starts to slowly cool off.

seungcheol just looks at your face, almost like he’s in awe that a woman like you is truly in his bed and that has given him a chance, running the back of his finger up and down your cheek as you two quietly talk in what now has turned a dark room. the night slowly crept on you two, which you didn’t even realise until you fell onto the bed after you had just finished riding him into oblivion.

night, which reminds you…

you should slowly go home now.

you push his silky black hair back, looking at his youthful face and small smile.

god he’s so beautiful, I want to see him again.

you smile small, a little bit of bittersweetness visible in it, as you say quietly“i should probably go home soon.”

his mood sours immediately, a pout replacing the smile on his cherry red lips.

the arm that has been wrapped around your waist under the blanket tightens, pulling you closer to his body, almost likes he’s trying to prevent you from getting up.

ever so quietly, he whispers in the mostly dark room “do you have to?”.

the lamp that is turned on and is your only source of light illuminates his handsome face, eyes sparkling from the said light, begging you not to go.

you smile sadly as you respond “i should.”

he stays quiet for a second, teeth gnawing on his lip as he thinks about your words.

you just lean in to leave one last kiss on his lips, letting your presence and smell linger for a bit before you pull away and start to get up.

as you are sitting on the edge of the bed, looking for your things, you hear him shuffle behind you, but don’t pay him any attention, thinking that he’s probably just going to walk you out.

which quickly changes once you feel his arms wrap around your hips from behind, face nuzzling in your neck.

you turn your head to look at him surprised, the top his head only greeting you in return.

he tightens his hug around your waist, his legs spread so that you’re basically sitting between them.

and then, in the quietest and most unsure voice he asks you.

“stay? please? tomorrow is sunday after all…and-and I don’t want you to leave… i don’t want this to be over yet…”

you unconsciously start pouting yourself at his voice, heart breaking at how sad he sounds that you have to go.

you fish with your point finger for his chin, saying a little “cheollie, look at me, please baby.”

after a second or two, he lifts his head from your shoulder, face red from the lack of oxygen.

you smile a little at him before you say “okay, i’ll stay, but tomorrow i really need to go, because i have work on monday and i can’t miss it.”

you pause for a second to gulp your nervousness down before continuing “and…”

he just looks at you with puppy eyes, seeing you get flustered in real time, but doesn’t say anything to interrupt you.

you just look at him a bit embarrassed as you finish “…who says that this has to end?”

cheol just blinks for a second before the implication of your words finally delivers in his head, making a big smile explode on his face.

quickly kissing you, he lets your bodies fall back on the bed, his arms still tightly wrapped around you, making it hard for you to turn around so you can kiss him properly.

god, choi seungcheol, what are you doing to me?

[lovelivision]

GHOSTLY ROMANCE ♡

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: fushiguro toji/reader

𝐖𝐂: 8k

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: when it becomes blatantly obvious your house is being haunted, the only thing there is for you to do is coexist but what do you do when that ghostly presence haunting your house begins haunting your heart ??

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ only, smut, swearing, making out, obsessive! toji, ghost! toji, slight perv! toji, toji has a big dick, dirty talk, fingering, voyeurism (?), p in v sex, squirting, creampie, f!reader, reader referred to as 'woman', i think that's all ♡

As of late, you’re beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that your house is haunted, and you aren’t really sure how to react. Often times, you’ll find things aren’t where you left them, some objects are moved just slightly of where they were, and other things are found in completely different rooms.

Sometimes when you go to lock your doors and windows for the night, you find it’s already been done. Innocuous and for the most part these are things you could brush off as you being absent minded, the kicker comes when you start seeing a figure out the corner of your eye or in a passing reflection.

Ignoring it all has been your go to, deciding it’s best to just pretend it’s not happening, and you would continue to keep doing so but your sleep is getting interrupted now and if there is anything you don’t get in between, it’s you and your sleep.

The dreams you’ve been having have started to wander into the obscure territory of some man you don’t recognise living in your house. He walks around like he owns the place, locking doors, closing curtains. It’s not particularly scary but it is unsettling and leaves you feeling unrested, like you didn’t sleep much at all.

Now, as you’re trying to get some well-deserved rest, something goes bump in the night, and you just know it’s that stupid man haunting your house. Frustratedly, you kick the covers off your body and stomp down the hall to where you think the sound originated from.

Arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently, you wait for something, anything, but of course nothing comes. This ghost, entity, or whatever, that’s haunting you started off as easy to ignore and now it’s pissing you off greatly, you just want some damn sleep.

“You got me here, you got me out of bed so you must want something,” your foot continues to tap, increasing pace with your bad mood.

The room continues to be blanketed by the quiet you so badly wanted while you were drifting to sleep, “You’re so rude, haunting me with stupid dreams and moving my shit…” you’re grumbling to yourself, “…haven’t slept well in over a week and now I can’t even get to sleep!”

Still, the room is filled by the deafening silence that usually lingers in your house at this hour, “Great… and now I’m talking to myself, I’m going fucking crazy.”

As you turn to leave the room, you bump into something that feels as stiff as a board. You take a few steps back at it and you’re met with someone’s chest. The person in front of you leans down until they meet your face, his tone deep and monotone when he lets out a low, “Boo.”

It almost feels like the blood drains out of your body at the sight of him and before you have time to really process, your hand is reaching back and up to give him a hard slap right across the face. A small yelp leaving you at it, the smack resounding throughout the otherwise quiet house.

When you draw your hand back, it’s to cover your mouth as you gasp at just how hard you seemed to have slapped him, apology tumbling from your lips and you can only really say it’s because of how shocked you are by the force you used, “I’m so sorry, oh my God, that sounded really bad… did that hurt?”

He’s stoic for a moment before cracking a smile and chuckling at your shocked apology, “Not quite the reaction I was looking for.”

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you…” you trail off, suddenly regretting all your apologies, “Hey! You’re the one who should be apologising to me.”

He’s still far too amused for your liking, “What for? You’re the one who hit me.”

“You quite frankly deserved it,” your brows furrow as you eye him over, you expected something more… ghoulish but he appears to just be some man.

“I don’t think so, I’ve done nothing to you…” he’s talking but you’re not really paying attention, confused by his appearance and, honestly, existence.

Your finger moves towards him, poking at his chest, something you think you shouldn’t be able to do. He’s firm, obviously corporeal, it’d surprise you more if you hadn’t just slapped him as hard as you did.

You’re lost in your thoughts as you continue to poke at him. He cuts himself off to grab your wrist, “–What are you doing?”

“Are you just some guy? Are you just some man in my house right now?” You’re beginning to freak out, much more amenable to the idea of a ghost in your house over some stranger, “I have to call the cops…” you try tugging away, quickly growing more fearful.

He’s rolling his eyes at you like you’re overreacting, “Calm down.”

Your eyes are big and round as you look up at him, scared out of your mind as the idea of some man in your house settles in your bones, “No, I think I’m going to keep being scared.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’m not human…” he squints at you, “Anymore.”

Rightly sceptical when you utter back, ���I don’t know if I believe you…”

He seems annoyed at your unwillingness to take him at his word, sighing as he turns and walks out of the room… through the wall. You wait a moment for him to come back but he doesn’t, you’re left in the room alone, wondering if that little interaction actually happened or if you’ve finally lost it.

Another moment passes, waiting, just in case he appears again before you resign yourself to the fact that you’re beginning to hallucinate from lack of sleep. Taking a deep breath, you steady yourself and walk back to your room, only to be met with the sight of him laying leisurely on your bed.

“I’ve gone insane,” you mumble to yourself, “I’m losing my fucking mind in this house alone.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re sane, from what I’ve seen anyways,” He shrugs, “A little spacey but otherwise.”

His words have you glaring at him, “You ever been told you’re annoying?”

“Not for a long time, no,” his smirk is lopsided.

You approach the foot of your bed, looking at him with your arms crossed, “Right… okay, well, you’re annoying.”

His own arms are supporting his head, clearly very comfortable in your bed, “You’ve only spoken to me for a few minutes, I might grow on you.”

A scowl overtakes your face, “I really doubt it.”

His smile feels condescending, “I think it’s your only option, either you get used to me or you move out because this was my house first, sorry doll.”

“I’m still not fully convinced you’re not just some guy in my house,” how are you meant to tell if you’ve gone insane? Maybe you should book a doctor’s appointment.

“I technically am…” he tilts his head at you, “I’m just not alive.”

There are so many questions you have, and you aren’t even sure if you’d believe any of his answers, “If you’re a ghost why can I touch you?”

Stretching out slightly, he groans before answering, “Because I let you, how else would I be moving your shit around?”

“So, you are moving my things around!” You’re pointing at him like some huge mystery has been solved.

He looks at you like it should be obvious at this point that it was him, taking the wind out of your sails with a single look.

Coughing slightly, you cross your arms again, trying to recover from the slight embarrassment you’re currently feeling, “Why are you touching my things and why show yourself now?”

“You yelled at me to show myself,” he rolls his neck, “Thought I’d be polite and give an introduction.”

“Some introduction… you didn’t even give me your name,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming on, “You only answered one of my questions.”

A soft sigh leaves him, like this whole conversation is becoming tedious, “I get bored.”

“Really? That’s your answer? I’ve been wondering if I’m crazy or if my house is haunted and even losing sleep over stupid dreams of your stupid face and you’re telling me it’s because you’re bored.”

He purses his lips, like he’s trying to hide a smile, “Pretty much.”

“Get out.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” your hands are on your hips, prominent frown plastered on your face, “Get out.”

“I can’t technically leave,” he tries to reason with you.

“I don’t care, I know you can disappear and leave me alone so do that,” you’re so tired and cranky, you just want to go to sleep and pretend this never happened, “I want to sleep, and I want it to be peaceful so leave me alone and get out!”

“So bossy,” he grumbles as he gets up, leaning down into your space as he walks past you, “I like that in a woman.”

You fight the involuntary shiver that wants to run down your spine, beyond pissed off at Casper the annoying ghost. Why did your house have to be haunted? Why couldn’t you live a peaceful and normal life? These are all things you wonder as you crawl into bed, determined to get some sleep tonight.

ִֶָ𓂃 ༘࣪࿐

In the morning, you think what had happened last night was some obscure dream, and you’d probably go on thinking that way if your ghostly house guest didn’t appear in front of you while you’re in the middle of breakfast.

Your spoon clatters to your bowl with a gasp, “Don’t!” You sigh loudly, “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” He leans back into the chair across from you.

“Don’t just appear,” you grumble to yourself, “Almost thought I had made up all of last night.” So close to having a normal life, you can see it now floating out of your grasp.

“Sorry, doll, I’m very real and I very much live here.”

That earns him a scoff, “You’re a freeloader.”

“Excuse me?” He leans forward, elbows resting on the table.

You repeat it for him slower, “You. Are. A. Freeloader.”

“I heard you,” his eye almost twitches.

Leaning back in your chair, you cross your arms, looking away from him and out the window, “Then don’t act like you didn’t.”

“I could kill you,” he threatens.

You don’t feel inclined to take him seriously, “So could my neighbour, you’re not special.” Your gaze is fixed out the window, watching said neighbour walking to collect his mail. When you turn back to your unwanted companion his glare is pointed and very clearly unhappy which only has you rolling your eyes at him, “You’d really kill me because I called you a freeloader?”

A quiet hum leaves him, “I’m considering it.”

“Drama queen,” it’s murmured but you know he heard it, especially if his growing scowl is anything to go off.

“Shouldn’t you be more scared or something?”

Your eyes squint at him, leaning over the table slightly as you provoke, “Oh, I bet you’d love that.”

“I would actually,” he almost sounds exasperated which only has you growing amused.

You decide to try bargaining with him, “Listen, if you’re gonna freeload here the least you can do is stay out of my way.”

“I liked you better last night when you were scared.”

You take a mouthful of your breakfast, pointing at him with your spoon when you reply, “Well, I liked you better a few months ago when it was significantly easier to ignore your presence.”

It’s quiet, no reply coming from him, leaving it up to you to continue the conversation if you want answers, “What do you even want? Because if you really do plan on killing me I’ll tell you now that the next person who lives here will not be as cute as I am.”

He deadpans at your joke, “You’re hilarious.”

“I know,” you flick your head like you’re flipping luxurious hair.

Already seemingly sick of you when he grumbles, “I already regret showing myself to you.”

“Good, this is much more of an ordeal for me you know? Not only do I know ghosts exist now but there is some guy in my house all the time, how am I meant to go on with my daily life?”

“Not really my problem,” he brushes off your concern.

Being honest, you say, “I don’t like you.”

To which he returns with a big grin, “I’ll grow on you.”

ִֶָ𓂃 ༘࣪࿐

You wish so badly that he didn’t, but he does, he grows on you. It’s nice coming home to someone, having someone to talk to while you eat or do mundane chores. It’s been a few months now and you thought he would be more of a bother, but you think you might be the one bothering him.

It’s funny how you didn’t realise how lonely you were until you finally had someone to spend time with. Early on he told you his name, Toji, he told you he used to live here, and that he died in the house. He still hasn’t disclosed to you how he died, and you don’t want to intrude by asking so you don’t. He’s still quite young so you imagine it wasn’t by natural causes which only deters you from wanting to probe for any more information from him.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you’d recognise that you’re beginning to crush on a ghost but since that seems like something so far out of the realm of ever possibly happening, you squash down the feelings. And when that doesn’t work, you try avoiding him, which is not exactly a fool proof plan when he’s the ghost haunting your house who doesn’t need to sleep.

For the third weekend in a row, you’re sneaking into your own house late, having been out all night with friends just to avoid spending the whole day with Toji. It’s his fault though! He’s hot and also a huge flirt and he makes your heart race, and none of these thoughts are holy so you decided to just avoid him altogether.

Kicking your shoes off at the door, you sneak through the house and into your room, thinking you’ve successfully changed and gotten into bed without him noticing. Victory short lived when he appears next to you on your bed, his weight causing the mattress to dip suddenly.

You scrabble for a second, not expecting the shift, body falling into his. Sheepishly, you look up at him, hand pressed to his chest trying to give yourself some space to think, not used to this proximity. You purposefully keep your distance from him, and it feels like he purposefully gets in yours.

He’s quick to get to the point, “Where were you?”

“Out with some friends…” Hesitance clear in your answer.

“Again,” It’s a question but it doesn’t really sound like one.

“…Yeah.”

His eyes scan your face intently and it has you shying away from him, “You’re being odd,” he states abruptly.

Immediate response being defensiveness, “Because I’m going out with my friends?”

“No, that’s not it, it’s the frequency, you used to spend most weekends home alone.”

Still, you can’t get used to how he knows these things about you, “Okay we’re just gonna ignore that you know that about me.”

Again, he doesn’t beat around the bush, “Don’t change the topic, you’ve been avoiding me.”

Gaze averting his as you stumble out a small, “That’s not true.”

His eyes meet yours with a pointed look, clearly not believing your half assed lie, “Come on, doll, if I’ve done something to upset you I’d prefer you just say it.”

“You’ve not done anything,” you jump to assure him, not wanting him to feel bad for no reason. “You’re the best ghost anyone could ask to haunt their house.”

Ignoring your attempt at humour he pushes for more, “Then what is it?”

An awkward pause shared between you as you try to think of an excuse, “Uhm… My friends… have just been wanting to see me more is all, it has nothing to do with you…”

“Mhm…” you can tell he doesn’t believe you, but he can’t go much further than this, he was as blunt as he could be and hit a brick wall. “Well, I want to see you more too.”

You roll your eyes gently at that, ignoring the excitement his words illicit, “Toji, we live together.”

Expression sour when he retorts, “It doesn’t feel like it lately.”

It’s cute how he’s almost pouting, it’d be cuter if you didn’t feel completely awful for ghosting him. You still get to see each other throughout the day but you work during the week, and you haven’t been spending much free time with him lately, often opting for going out instead. If avoiding him like this is going to keep making him feel bad you don’t want to keep doing it.

Taking the safe option, you choose to make the time spent together productive, “I’ll be home this weekend… I have a bunch of laundry to do though so it might not be fun.”

His smile is crooked, “Alright… got my eyes on you though, doll,” he means it in a light-hearted way, but you think you’ve actually hurt him.

“Okay…” you wait a moment for him to leave but he doesn’t, you’re still too close to him and he’s not moving. The silence in the room deafening as you can only look at him and wait for his next move.

When he doesn’t say anything, you prompt, “Toji… are you gonna leave?”

“Do you want me to?” His gaze is on your lips, hand reaching to cradle your face and just when you think he might lean in to kiss you, he pecks the top of your head, “Night.” It’s the last thing he says before he disappears into thin air.

Your heart feels like it might explode, beating a mile a minute at how he seemed to almost kiss you. The disappointment that settled in you when he didn’t uncomfortable, were you just reading into things or did he actually want to kiss you.

The covers get pulled up over your head as you grumble to yourself, how the hell are you meant to sleep now… he’s confusing you and it’s so unfair. You’d probably get over your feelings for him if he didn’t also show interest in you like this, he’s giving you hope, and it doesn’t feel good.

ִֶָ𓂃 ༘࣪࿐

Ever since the night Toji almost kissed you, it’s all you’ve been able to think about, almost operating like a zombie as you go through the motions at home and at work. Every time you saw him it felt like your skin was on fire, like you might spontaneously burst into flames.

This week has been especially trying because it seems like he actually has been watching you closer than usual. Normally he would give you some more space, but it was almost like every time you were in one of the main areas of the house, he was also there. He’s not the type you’d peg for being clingy but then again, you didn’t take your house to be the haunted kind so what do you know.

Getting lost in your thoughts while fiddling with your poor-quality sink isn’t the best course of action, but it doesn’t seem like you’re making any good choices in life right now. While trying to tighten the faucet by hand, it decides to punish you for being absent minded and sprays water all down your front.

Quickly, you rush to stop the water, all kinds of expletives leave you as your hands slip over the metal. When the water finally stops your hands grab the edge of the counter, slumping against it.

A shiver runs down your spine before you hear him speak, “You really should pay more attention to what you’re doing.”

“It’s not my fault, this sink sucks!” If you had slightly less emotional regulation you might stomp your feet about it all.

He laughs at your frowny face, “I always meant to get it replaced.”

Turning to face him, you huff, “This sink is the bane of my existence.”

“It’s not all bad,” his eyes track down your front, “I did get to see you in a wet shirt because of it.”

“You’re unbearable,” you groan.

“And yet you’ve never tried to exorcise me.”

“You know what, that’s a good option to keep in mind, thanks,” you smile sarcastically at him before wandering down the hall, muttering to yourself, “Well… at least it’s laundry day today I guess…”

Toji is hot on your trail, not speaking, just following you around the house as you collect all your laundry. If you had to describe it, you’d probably say he was hovering, like he’s waiting for you to crack and tell him why you’ve been avoiding him.

You would love to talk to him about what’s bothering you but how exactly does one go about telling the hot ghost that you coexist with that you want to jump his bones, there must be a wiki how page for that online somewhere. The absurdity of the situation is almost enough to make you laugh, almost.

“You in there, doll?” Toji’s voice shocks you back down to Earth.

Dropping the shirt you’d been holding for too long into the washer as you reply, “Hmm? Yeah… I’m here, what’s up?”

“You know you’ve always been a little spacey, but it’s been worse lately.” His head tilts at you, like he’s observing your behaviours.

Throwing a glance his way as you refute, “I am not spacey.”

He looks away from you like he’s avoiding engaging with you on that topic any further, “I’m just asking if you’re okay, Something on your mind?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” dragging out the word as you squint at him.

The exasperated tone he uses is not lost on you, “Then why have you been avoiding me?”

“Didn’t we establish last week that I haven’t been?” Ignoring his stare as you continue to load the washing machine.

“No, we established that you’re lying about not avoiding me.”

The persistence he displays is almost admirable, “You’re annoying.”

“So are you but less so lately,” response quick on his tongue.

“Maybe I’ve reflected on my previous ways and decided to be a better person.” He scoffs at that, and you turn to face him, looking him in the eyes, “What do you want from me?”

“I just wanna know why you don’t spend time with me anymore,” he leans into your space, grin wide and taunting, “You get scared or something?”

“Of you?” brow quirking at him, “Please,” eye roll following your words.

He sighs at you, backing out of your space, “You’re unbearable.”

“That’s my line,” you shoot back, focusing on your laundry again.

A quick hand snatches the garment you’re holding out of your grasp, his attempt at getting your attention back on him. It works because you’re facing him fully now, “You’re childish.”

“Woah,” he looks at what he’s holding like he’s only just noticed what he had grabbed, “These are cute.”

If the ground could swallow you whole, you wish it would happen now because why is your unwanted roommate holding a pair of your panties while smiling at you like the cat that got the canary.

“Toji,” you warn.

He hums back at you, almost indulgent, “Yes, doll?”

“Give them back.”

Dangling your underwear in between the two of you by a single digit, he considers, “I don’t know… I think I like these; I might keep them.”

The expression on your face incredulous, “And what? Wear them?”

“I’m sure I’ll find some use for them,” suggestion written all over his face in a way you wish you weren’t attracted to.

“Toji.” A second warning.

Again, his reply is the same, “Yes, doll?”

“They’re dirty.”

“Really?” He looks to them, “Want me to check?” Hand bringing them close to his face before you snatch them away.

“Don’t be gross!” You chastise him, chucking the panties into the machine with more force than necessary.

Your skin feels hot from embarrassment, how can he be so shameless? It’s uncomfortably quiet in the laundry room as you silently stew while looking down into the washer.

Toji sounds tentative when he speaks, “Are you mad?”

He’s met with an immediate glare at his stupid question, “Well I’m not happy!” Brows pinched and feeling like your head is about to explode when you struggle to get out, “How– how can you be so… so? So shameless.”

“Being dead doesn’t hurt,” he says casually.

You can’t tell if that’s an attempt at humour or if he’s being serious but if you had to guess you’d say it’s a little of both, “I can’t believe I’ve been crushing on you, you’re so embarrassing. What does that say about me? attracted to a shameless ghost who does nothing but embarrass me.”

Your foot has started tapping against the floor with your frustrations, not even registering the blunder you made about outing your crush on him… you know, the thing you’ve been actively avoiding him over just to keep secret.

It’s not until he’s leaning into your space and asking, “You been crushing on me, doll?” That you realise the mistake you’d made.

“What?” You heard him perfectly fine. Only feigning ignorance in an attempt to think of a convincing cover.

There’s pride oozing from him, his grin growing by the second, “You just said–”

“–No, I didn’t,” there is no way to save this and so you fall back on blatantly lying.

He’s revelling in how flustered you are and it’s making it worse, “No, no, I heard you loud and clear. You’ve been crushing on me.”

Your hands move to either side your head, covering your ears as you try to block out what he’s saying, “I can’t hear you; I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Despite your actions, you can hear him perfectly. So, you hear him crystal clear when he borderline taunts, “You have a crush on the ghost haunting your house!”

You don’t say anything back, only staring at him as you wear all your embarrassment on your face.

His smile lessens, replaced by a kinder one, “Is that why you been avoiding me?”

Slowly turning to face him, you drop your hands and give a small nod, feeling all kinds of uncomfortable right now. The fact his immediate reaction was to be amused and prideful has you confused on just what he’s thinking about, does he only find your feelings funny? Does he not take them seriously? Or maybe you’d been overthinking it… it is just a crush after all.

You feel a little guilty over how your feelings have been making you act. He’s literally stuck with you and you’re making it awkward all because you find him attractive, “I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable… but it’s just a crush, I’ll get over it.”

You meant to offer him some kind of relief in saying that, but it doesn’t seem to give him any. A low hum coming from him as he moves in closer. Bending at the waist so he can eye you carefully, getting so close that you avoid his gaze, face hot at his proximity.

“What are you–”

“–You’d just get over me?” He asks. You can’t decipher his intent.

Not able to help the way you fumble over yourself when answering honestly, “I– well… I mean… eventually? Right?”

Almost doubtful when he counters, “And you think I’m just gonna let that happen?”

The way in which he says it takes you aback, eyes meeting his when you utter a succinct, “Stop.”

A singular brow raises at you, “Stop what?”

“Stop flirting with me,” it’s unfair and only serving to confuse you further.

“Why?”

Expression somewhere between a pout and scowl when you grumble, “You are the most exasperating man I have ever had the displeasure of trying to have a conversation with.”

“And yet you have a crush on me,” his eyebrows raise.

Swapping back to denial is your solution, “I just changed my mind; I don’t have a crush on you anymore.”

Still, he flirts, “And there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“Nope,” you pop the word at him, “All my feelings vanished just like that.”

“That’s a damn shame,” he’s smirking as he looks at your lips before flicking back to your eyes. One of his hands reach to cradle the side of your face, mouth hovering overs yours, so close to kissing you but ultimately not moving any more than that.

Your eyes had closed at the way he leaned in but when you don’t feel his lips on yours you open them to see the way he’s looking down his nose at you, smug smile ever present on his stupid face.

“You’re being cruel,” and he his, he knows it too, it’s entirely purposeful on his behalf and you can only take so much.

His thumb brushes your lower lip gently, still so unbearably close when he asks, “How so?”

“Let me go.” You huff at him, “You’re so distracting, go haunt a different part of the house. I need to finish my laundry.”

“Why are you so stubborn?” His words are accompanied by an eyeroll.

“Why are you so–”

You’re cut off abruptly by his lips colliding with yours, clearly uninterested in further back and forth. Especially since it seems like you’re not willing to give up and just tell him you want him to kiss you. When you’re not immediately pulling away, he’s moving his body closer to yours, other hand large on your back as he pulls you towards him.

Lips so much more careful than you would’ve expected of him. Searching and relentless but not rough, not yet anyways. Your hands move to his shoulders and grip him, giving into him completely, his kiss taking your breath away.

The hand on the side of your face is manoeuvring you how he likes, wanting to deepen the kiss. Tongue licking into your mouth, it sends shivers down your spine, involuntary moan leaving you.

You aren’t really registering it but he’s walking you back, sandwiching you between the washing machine and his large body. Hand previously on the small of your back now on your hip, pulling at your flesh. Then slipping it under your shirt and resting against your skin, his touch eliciting goose bumps.

He tilts your head back and trails his lips down your neck, nipping at you as he goes. Your pants filling the room, small and quiet moans mixed in with your breaths. You can hardly think, too focused on how it feels to have him touching you.

Suddenly gasping a moan when he bites at your neck a little harder than you were expecting, your thighs rubbing together at it. His movements grow more frenzied, lips back on yours in full force, tongue in your mouth depriving you of your air.

So much so that you have to push him back by his shoulders, chest moving rapidly as you catch your breath. Eyes wet and glassy when you look up at him, brows pulled up as you struggle to focus in on his face.

“Sorry, I got a bit carried away,” he’s staring at you, awestruck by the stupid look on your face.

You ignore his apology, “Kiss me again? Please?”

“How can I refuse when you ask like that?” The answer is he couldn’t, not when your eyes are all glassy from his lips.

The kiss is messy and despite the coolness of him, hot. Your arms are wrapped around his neck now, pulling him down into you. Both his hands on your hips, playing with the waistband of your pants, fingers tickling against your skin.

Parting to speak against your ear, “You gonna let me touch you, doll?”

Nodding at him, “Yeah…”

He hums at you thoughtfully, “You crushing on me again or am I imagining the hearts in your eyes right now?”

“You ruin everything– ah–” words interrupted by his hand slipping into the front of your pants and underwear.

His fingers slip through your folds, tracing your clit softly,  “Am I still ruining everything?”

“Oh!– noo, no you’re not,” your words are breathless as you shake your head, not wanting him to stop.

“You know…” his grin is sly as he speaks to you lowly, “You’re awfully wet for someone you don’t have a crush on.”

Wanting him to stop talking, you turn your head and kiss him. Your tongue sliding into his mouth, the kiss desperate and chaotic. Lips connected by a string of saliva when you pull back.

Your words are saturated in sarcasm but completely true, “I have a big fat crush on you, Toji, are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he smiles brightly, finger probing at your entrance, “In fact, I might just reward you.” As he finishes his sentence, his digit is pushing into you, biting his lip at how you gasp against him. “You know, you’re really cute like this, all breathless and struggling to take a finger.”

“Such a mean ghost,” you sulk.

“You’re meaner, avoiding me all because of a stupid crush,” his finger crooks inside you, almost knocking you over, “If you’d just told me about it we could’ve had fun so much sooner, you been depriving me of this sweet cunt.”

Your legs are feeling shaky under you, “How was I supposed to– hah– know?”

“I flirt with you relentlessly and follow you around all day like a damn puppy and you think I don’t wanna fuck you?” He chuckles humourlessly, “Shit, doll, if you needed it to be more obvious all you had to do was tell me.” A second finger joins his first, scissoring them to open you up, “I’d drop to my knees just to please you.”

His words make you dizzy, the idea of him on his knees and lapping at your pussy damn near capable of killing you. Your stomach flutters with butterflies at how willing he is to make you feel good.

He can feel the way your cunt clenches down on his fingers, his chest squeezing with how reactive you are to him, “Oh? You liked that, doll? Like the idea of me licking your pussy?”

“I need you, please,” your lip quivers, shudders running through your body at how his thumb rubs over your clit.

A single peck is pressed to your wobbly lower lip, “You already got me.”

“Noo– oh God–” You’re trying so hard to get your words out but he’s touching you so insistently, his fingers reaching all the perfect spots so effortlessly you might go blind. Your head rolls back as you gasp out, nails clawing down the front of his chest.

Slurred words and jumbled moans leaving you as his hand speeds up. It’s an active effort to get out, “Wan– want your– ah! dick, please.”

He laughs like he’s had the wind knocked out of him, “Only ever need to ask.” His hand is drawing back from your core, a pathetic whimper leaving you at the loss. “Turn around for me, doll.”

You do as he says, turning around to face the washing machine, one of his hands reaching forward to shut the lid. His body moves in close behind you, his front pressing into your back, firm erection against your ass.

His lips brush against your ear, “Hold on and bend over.”

“You’re so demanding,” you mutter as you do what he says.

He counters, “And you’re so obeying.” You can feel the air of his smugness radiating from behind you.

Both his hands tug at your pants, slowly pulling them down your body until they drop onto the floor. You can’t help but feel exposed and impatient, your panties stuck to your core with the arousal that drips from you. Toji’s finger creeps into the gusset, pulling them back before letting go, teasing you for his own enjoyment.

Straightening up, you try to turn to face him and tell him off for being a massive tease but he’s too close to you. An arm is wrapping around your front as his head tucks into your neck, “You going somewhere?”

“I thought since you seem to be indecisive I’d leave while you think about your next move,” you bite back.

He’s pushing your front back down, “You always this impatient?”

“You always this big a tease?” Your hands reach out to hold the machine again.

“Always got something to say don’t you?”

“Toji, I’m so wet and needy and if you don’t do something soon I’m going to finish without you and I’ll make you watch.”

Quietly and under his breath, he utters, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Before you get a chance to spin around and question him on that further, he’s pulled his pants down and your panties to the side. His cock head stretching you open, your fist slams down into the washer as you struggle to accommodate his size. Stuttered gasps and whines leaving you as he presses forward inch by inch. One of your hands has to reach back and rest on his pelvis, stopping him, needing a moment to catch your breath and get used to taking his size.

You pant out to him, “Wh– what did you mean?”

“Fffuck–” he’s struggling to maintain focus when you’re gripping him that tightly, “What?”

You’re trying to control your breathing as you ask again, “What did you mean by ‘wouldn’t be the first time’?”

“Doll, I’ve been in this house since long before you moved in,” he leans down to you, his lips brushing against your ear, “I’ve seen you fucking yourself with your toys.”

Involuntary whimper leaving you, your hips rutting back into him, “You’re such a perv.”

“Oh yeah, the fuckin biggest,” he groans at how your pussy flutters around him, “Loved when you would come home high and dry from a date, your cunt drenching your dildo with just how needy you were, squirming in your bed while fucking yourself.”

You hate how turned on you are at the thought of him watching you masturbate, “Move, please.” Hand moving away, giving him room.

He’s drawing back only to fuck his hips forwards, “Hnnn– and now I get to see how you coat my cock, such a messy fucking thing.”

Toji’s hips falter at how your cunt sucks him in, so greedy and sopping wet that it’s making his head spin. He can’t tell if it’s been too long or if you’ve got the best pussy he’s ever fucked but it’s probably somewhere in between and he can’t be bothered to think too hard about it right now.

“Is it– hah– is it nearly in?” You whine back at him, not sure how much more of him you can fit.

He’s steadily rocking his cock into you, filling you more each time he thrusts forward, “Not– not quite.”

Maybe you should let him take the lead with this but you’re impatient and horny and he’s taking too long and you just want him so deep inside you that you feel him in your guts. So, in your fuzzy brain, you decide it’s a good idea to fuck your hips back as he moves forward. He bottoms out, his pelvis slapping into your ass but you’re left breathless, squirming as you grapple with how full of him you are.

“Oh my God– what– why are you so– hng– why are you big?” Tears spring to the corners of your eyes, feeling so completely overwhelmed. Pussy twitching around him as your legs shake.

He can’t believe you’d done that, letting out a long-drawn-out groan like he’d been gut punched, “Fuck– greedy fucking thing, you couldn’t– hnn– couldn’t wait for it? Was trying to take it easy on you and your tight little hole.”

His cock is jerking violently inside you, so unbelievably turned on. Your cunt snug around his dick nearly has him believing this is his heaven and you’re his own personal angel. He’d take it for truth if the sight of your hole stretched around him weren’t so sinful, your panties tugged to the side and soaked.

His voice is strained when he checks in, “You good, doll?”

“Mhm, yeah I– mmph– I’m good,” you’re giving him the go ahead, punctuating your words with your hips wiggling back into him. It almost knocks him out, seeing the way your ass jiggles.

His hands are gripping your hips tight, holding you still as he draws back. His first thrust ruthless, forcing you forward, brain taking a second to realise that the loud moan reverberating in the room was you.

“You’re gonna be the second death of me,” he says through stifled grunts.

You are completely lacking in any kind of retort to throw back at him, only able to dumbly hum at him so he knows you heard him. The way he’s driving his dick into you has you twitching and scratching at the lid of the washer, almost embarrassed by how drunk on his cock you are.

There are so many thoughts in your head and also none at all, “Toji, it feels so– oh!– feels so good– I can’t–”

“You’re doing so good, taking it all so well,” he sounds wrecked, words breaking off at the end. “Pussy so fucking– ffuck– so creamy– ohhh–”

Toji’s eyes stay locked on how you take him, chest fluttering at how he’s fucked you open. Cock drenched in your slick, dripping down your legs. So relentless in his pursuit that he just knows your ass is gonna hurt tomorrow from the consistent smack! smack! Of his pelvis slapping into you. Not even a question of if his finger marks will be imprinted onto your hips, the memory of him fucking you so well something he’s not going to let you forget.

He finally has you full and squirming under him, he’s not going to let it be a forgettable experience. Determined to fuck you so good that you’re begging him to do it all over again. He already wasn’t going to let you go but especially not now, not when having you feels this fucking divine. The borderline obsession he feels for you growing by the second, fuelled by how pliant you are for him.

All his thoughts are coming a million miles a second, all of them about you and how bad he’s wanted you, how ecstatic he is that he’s finally balls deep inside you. “You’re so perfect, feel so– hnng– feel so perfect–”

“Careful Toji– hah– I might think you like me,” you joke at him.

The smirk he’s wearing can be felt even though you can’t see him, his laugh short, “Oh I fucking looove you, pretty thing. You’re never getting rid of me.”

You don’t know if that confession is one you can take seriously or if he’s just severely pussy drunk but its effect on you doesn’t change, your cunt clamping down around him as your chest stutters. The tears you had been holding back finally slipping down your cheeks, so overwhelmed you’re seeing stars, hell, you might be hearing things.

His hand reaches to your face and squishes your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, pulling you back to him, your back arching lewdly for him. His tongue licking at the tears tracking down your face, “Crying over my dick, doll?” His words are laced with a sickening kind of affection for you, “So sweet for me.”

His other hand grabs at the bend of your knee, pulling it up. Despite your shaky hands still resting on the washer, all your weight is basically being supported by him. Your head falls back onto his chest  He uses the access to kiss you messily, tongue licking at yours, swallowing down the moans you let out.

Still, his hips drill into you, never letting up for even a second. Obscene squelching sounds of him fucking your gooey cunt filling the room, followed by the sharp slaps of skin hitting skin. Your stomach is pulling taut, getting so fucking close to finishing, vision blurred by all the tears in your waterline.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmurs into your skin, encouraging you, “Let it– fuck!– let it happen.”

“Feels– feels too– ah!– it feels different,” it feels too good, too much, “You need to­– need to stop, it doesn’t feel right.”

It sounds like he gets excited, not even a little concerned, “You’re doing so good, doll.”

“It’s not right–”

“–It’s fine,” he tries to offer comfort, “Trust me.”

Your legs shake violently, the build-up of your orgasm foreign and like it might have you passing out. As different as it feels, you trust him and let it happen, let yourself get fucked over the edge and into bliss. Your orgasm rips through you, moans tumbling freely and loudly, your body shaking from the force of it. Temporarily it feels like you lose sight, unseeing but feeling your cold tears against your hot cheeks.

Cunt clenching down, hard, on his dick, coating him completely in your cum. Body twitching with the shocks of your orgasm, head full and spinning. With the amount of blood rushing in your ears, you can’t hear what he’s saying. Only after a few moments have passed are you able to begin barley making out what he’s saying.

“Fffuck– that’s it, look at that,” Toji can’t hide the absolute pleasure in his voice even if he tried to, completely ecstatic at the sight before him.

You’re breathless and limp, letting him hold your lower half up, head lolling against his chest. Able to feel the vibrations of his moans against you, in a way it’s soothing to you.

“Doll, look down,” he prompts, hand guiding you down.

You whine in protest but look down anyways, an absolute mess everywhere. Lower halves drenched after your orgasm. “Oh my–” when he lets go of your cheeks, your head flops back onto his chest, head spinning.

“Hah– squirted everywhere,” he smiles into your skin, “All for me– hnn–”

He’s in love with the fact he’s managed to get you to cum like that without even really trying, his ego getting a boost he surely didn’t need. His own orgasm so close it bites at his skin, his hand gripping your thigh tight, pulling at your flesh. Free hand sliding under your shirt and grabbing at your breast, shamelessly groping you.

Shudders wracking his body as he cums suddenly, almost taken off guard by how quickly it happens. Cock twitching as he dumps his seed deep inside you, taking a moment to breathe before pulling back slowly, watching as his dick leaves you covered in both your orgasms.

Carefully, he places your leg back down on the ground, leaving you to stand on your own only for your legs to wobble and almost give out under you. If Toji hadn’t been right behind you, you would’ve fallen to the floor. He pulls your panties back into place before hoisting you up onto the washing machine, letting you sit while he puts his dick back into his pants.

You watch him move, all dazed and fucked out, pleasantly placated. His eyes meeting yours when he’s fully clothed, a big smile spreading across his face when he sees the mess he’s made of you.

Leaning in towards you, he asks, “Still got that big fat crush on me?”

“Uhm… I don’t know…” you pretend to think about it, like you don’t know if you like him or not.

He gives you a quick and soft kiss, “How about now?”

“I think… maybe,” you smile lazily at him.

His brow raises, “Maybe?”

“Yeah… definitely maybe still have a big fat crush on you,” you nod once, sure.

He’s grinning when he sighs, “You’re unbearable.”

“That’s my line,” you retort.

You’re both playing dumb but you both know you got it bad for each other and Toji is not going to let you get away with avoiding him again. Not after he’s gotten a taste of you.

𝐀/𝐍: this took longer than what i said it would and i'm sorry for that but i also was only planning for this to be a drabble... i have issues ToT anyways !! i hope you enjoyed !! happy almost halloween !!

[⚠︎] — 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision

★ ⁝ my works are not to be used for AI under any circumstances

[eternalsunrise]

home, sweet home.

wolverine (logan howlett) x f!reader

wc: 980 (drabble)

tags! established relationship, no actual smut but super suggestive and gets graphic toward the end

notes! horny . but also v sweet. i pictured origins logan while writing this 💋

“if you keep moving i’m going to start slicing you up on purpose” your threat is empty, wrist away from his face completely, razor pointed the opposite direction. even with his regenerative abilities, you don’t want to hurt him, even if it’s just an accidental cut on his jaw.

logan was fully capable of doing this himself. after all, he’d been shaving his own face for decades upon decades. but there was no way he was going to pass up this opportunity.

he came through the front door after a two week long mission, scruffier than he was when he left. his mutton chops curling up at the tips of his jawline, mustache just long enough to tickle your face. he’d forgotten to pack his razor, and he’d rather use his own claws than use scott’s, or even worse, hank’s.

you were on him as soon as he walked in, leeched to his body, your hands everywhere. it had been too long since the wolverine breathed you in like this, his enhanced senses overstimulated in the best way. you ran your hand over his scratchy cheek, inquiring about his new look. he told you he was planning on cleaning it up but was exhausted. that’s when you offered.

now he’s sat on the toliet seat, and maybe he’s enjoying the view of you on his lap a little too much. he lifted his hips, bouncing you lightly on his legs.

“hm. relax princess, jus’ adjusting.” logan gives you a teasing smile, basking in the bliss he only feels in your presence. your eyes narrow in faux disdain, it’s hard to be frustrated at a guy with shaving cream covering his face. you grab one of his feline quips of hair, using it to tilt his head to finish the task at hand.

“i’m going with you next time, i can’t have you walking around like a caveman.” i missed you more than i can say.

ever the man, the image of you in an x-men suit pops into his brain, the leather hugging your body just right. the thought brings a smirk to his face, but it fades when he hears your sigh. right, no moving.

“yes ma’am. i’ll call the professor and let him know.” i missed you too. felt like i was never going to come back to you.

you lean your body over to rinse the razor off in the sink, logan’s large hands on your thighs keeping you steady. the metal clinks against the porcelain of the sink, shaving cream and dark hair going down the drain.

when you look back, you see your boyfriend in place of the lumberjack that walked in earlier. still scruffy and masculine, after all he is still the wolverine.

logan lifts his hips again, shifting backwards and forcing you to fall against him, razor clattering out of your hand. “whoops” his deep voice carries no sympathy, chocolate eyes locking with yours, giving you that love struck look that makes your stomach turn. the kind of look he saves just for you.

your chests are touching, the closeness sets your whole body ablaze. it’s been too long since you’ve got to soak him up like this. the smell of him makes your head swim; leather, cheap cigar smoke, and that cologne you bought him a few months back.

logan sneaks his hands under his brown flannel button up you’re wearing, delighted to be met by the bare skin of your hips. the metal of his belt buckle is cold against the bottom of your stomach, causing a gasp to leave you.

as he admires you now; sitting pretty in his lap in only his shirt, logan wonders how he had the strength to leave you in the first place.

hands wander over his freshly shaved face, stubble like soft needles against your fingertips. your head has a mind of its own, and suddenly your lips are brushing his. once. twice. a third time. soft and slow.

there’s something new in the air now. your heart is pounding, and you wonder if he can feel it beating through your chest and into his own. there’s a split second of silent eye contact before logan lurches forward.

there’s hunger behind his kiss. a certain lust behind his tongue making its way to yours. your hips swivel in search of friction. hands tangled in his hair, pulling in a way that’s so familiar it makes logan groan into your mouth; already aware of what tonight will bring.

his hands are traveling up your his shirt, rough fingers just barely making contact with your breasts. his touch lights you on fire, forcing you to break apart, head tilting back in a whimper.

logan takes that as his cue, and suddenly you’re in the air. one of his hands on your lower back securing you to him, the other cradling the underside of your knee.

you latch your other leg behind his waist as he walks out of the bathroom. your lips reconnected, eager to make up for the lost time.

you recognize the softness of your mattress against your back as logan lies you down gently. his mouth continues its assault, a trail of wet kisses down your jaw and side of your throat. he can feel your pulse drumming frantically under his lips, and he has to bite back a smirk at the effect he seemed to have on you.

your reaching your hands down to unclasp his belt when….ring. ring. ring. you feel the vibration against his pants and you think you might die if you have to stop right now.

you both pause in your actions. logan let out a gruff “you gotta be jokin’” as he stands up straight, leaving you lying on the bed.

he pulls his phone from his pocket, eyeing the caller id, scott summers. he’d been the third member of the x-men to try and get ahold of him. fuck can’t a guy have a day off?

he looks away from the phone, shifting his eyes to you. you’re sprawled beautifully on the bed. hair fanned around your head, cheeks flushed red with a devious smile to match. his eyes follow your body down to your legs. they’re spread wide for him, and he watches in shock as you let a hand slide between your thighs, swirling a couple slow circles on your clit through soaked panties.

you throw your head back and call his name, and that’s enough for him. logan tosses his phone over his shoulder, leaning down and crawling in between your legs.

“they’re gonna have to come pry me from this fucking bed, doll. i’m not goin’ nowhere.”

god it was good to be home.

[anantaru]

・✶ ｡ synopsis — fucking your enemy doesn't really sound like a good plan or wait, maybe it does! <3

warnings — enemies to lovers, fingering, playful childe, fem! reader

childe always approaches you with that damn smirk on his face, his gaze intense and unwavering, a sprinkle of confidence playing on his lips.

the harbinger had always been your enemy, the embodiment of danger and excitement, and despite the many battles the both of you had fought, you couldn't lie to yourself but admit that there was an undeniable pull between you— a connection you refused to acknowledge, even to yourself at times.

"ah, you fought well today," childe's was barely out of breath as he throws his hands up in the air to feign defeat, his voice low and husky, a dangerous edge to his tone, "but you're not as strong as you think you are, heh."

without batting your lashes, you glare back at him with your body tense of anger, every single nerve inside on edge, "—and you're still as arrogant as ever, childe."

fuck, how much he adored it whenever you showed him a little of your sweet temper, it's a little salty too but he doesn't mind that— in fact, it gets him going and arouses something deep below.

naturally his smirk widens the moment you say it, his eyes darkening with something far more primal that he'd originally let on, "me? arrogant? oh am i? or am i just confident?"

you roll your eyes and before you could even find a good enough response, he instantly closes the distance between you in a swift stride— without haste, folding your spirit in half with his presence becoming overwhelming.

in an attempt to turn around and leave his hand grabs towards your arm, gripping your wrist with a surprising gentleness that was never experienced before by you, yet with the strength you've known far too well, one that left no room for escape.

"you think you can hide it from me? i can see it in your eyes, you know," he murmurs underneath his heightened breathing, slanting towards your face closer and closer until you could feel his warm breath against your ear, "the way you look at me, you see? the way your body reacts when I'm near like that— ugh, you're so shy, but I know you've been dreaming about this, as have i, or haven’t you?"

your heart races at the absurdity in his sentence— or was there even a sprinkle of a lie inside of it? how long until you cannot run from the feelings you harbored for him anymore? or was it simply lust that kept the drive inside of yourself working.

a mixture of fear yet also excitement floods your senses— you really wanted to deny it, to push him away, but the truth was, his words struck a deep chord within you, you're doomed and yes, in fact, you had dreams about him— of feeling him inside you, feeling his cock twitch and thicken while he's grinding himself in you, fucking your tight cunt as the fantasies of surrendering to the raw, forbidden desire consumed you.

you knew he must be good in bed, amazing even, there was no chance in hell that he wasn't with that striking personality of his.

"cut the crap childe, i don't know what you're talking about," you stammer back, but my dear, don't you hear? your voice betrayed you just this second, right in front of his eyes as you began to tremble with the weight of your secret longing dying to be set free.

"oh? but i think you do," he whispers before saying your name so sensually that it felt like someone's set your body on fire.

the man continues as his lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck;

"you've wanted this for so long, right? this—"

and before you could muster a response, his mouth claims yours in a searing kiss that made your brain rewire, the touch of his lips strong and ruthless as one hand slid up to cup the back of your head, holding you firmly in place.

you weren't surprised by how childe kissed you, in fact, you imagined how it felt like— granted, it was better than you originally fantasized.

the kiss was rough, as if he was looking for an answer, and it shattered the last bit of your very resistance as you kissed him back with equal fervor, your body igniting with a fire you had tried so hard to suppress— yet, was it actually bad that you went against your own beliefs? just this once?

of course, you both were on different sides, supporting different agendas but this— fuck, this, it felt so good, why was the darkness childe expelled so mesmerizing? like biting into a poised apple and still relishing in getting tainted?

the harbingers hands roamed over your body, exploring, claiming, as if he had every right to do this and his touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine before he pushed you against the cold stone wall, the contrast between the cool surface and his heated skin only heightening your needful senses.

although before going further, he abruptly stopped the kiss, at last lapping across your bottom lip and seeking your gaze, "tell me you want this, i need this," he growls against your lips, his hands gripping your hips with a bruising energy, "tell me you've dreamed of this moment too."

you close your eyes and take a deep breath, a shaky whimper escaping your lips as you felt the grip on you tighten. each one of his touch, his breath hitting your skin and his words played into your beating heart and you couldn't, you just weren't able to stop your body from liking this.

your back arches a little as to show him without words, without needing to admit it— right now, you weren't sure if you could ever say it out loud.

like snowfall, his touch was cold, but it felt oddly comforting.

but you let him move forward as one hand slips beneath your clothes, finding your wetness between your thighs, your folds messed up and puffy for him. "childe i— i... i want this too," you admit against your own volition, the words tumbling out before you could even stop them, "i’ve dreamed of you, childe, maybe..."

you got him now— or, does he have you wrapped around his finger instead? regardless, his eyes blaze with a glistening triumph hanging over his irises as he captures your lips again.

he begins slowly, his fingers working around your hole with expert precision, circling your entrance and collecting your slick with such precision which you originally only knew of his ways of fighting as he coaxes out every inch of your pleasure.

you're writhing and hiding your moans into his chest, the volume of your whimpers growing when he pokes one finger in.

with a growl, he rips your shirt aside to expose your breasts, the fabric tearing in his haste— and before you knew it, his own jacket followed as you helped discard them quickly.

"look at me," he commands, "feel how i touch you there," as his voice resembles a rough whisper.,"i want to see the look in your eyes when i touch and touch you,"

you obeyed, meeting his gaze, your breath hitching as he thrusts one finger into you with a single, powerful flick forward.

the sensation was immediately overwhelming, not due to the fact that he was beginning to stimulate your hole with fast thrusts of his digit fucking in and out of you but the sole thought of childe doing it was the final nail in the coffin.

your heart was beginning to hurt from riding his fingers, furiously rattling against your ribcage as you threw out the last amount of dignity you had inside your body, becoming one with the movements of his hand before starting to seek it.

his wet tongue drags from your neck towards your collar bones before reaching your nipples, immediately taking one in his mouth as the heel of his hand began to press into your clit painfully hard, the feeling only multiplying when you shoved yourself into it more, better and deeper, until your body flashes you with a heat you cannot escape.

one more finger, more, and each pump turned rougher and moredemanding with the pace of his hand being relentless, cruel as you almost climaxed by just looking at him— how his wet lips left a trail of saliva on your slicked chest and ugh, that delirious glimmer in his eyes. 

childe truly likes the feeling of you clenching around his knuckles, he might become addicted to it, and he believes he'd actually die a happy man if he'd be able to feel you squeeze around his thick cock like that.

but you have to do it just like that, with your pussy drooling over his desperately and touch depraved, so he could taste you right after, yeah? have you all around his tongue.

he's not sure if he can even fit inside, ah, how excited he gets when he imagines your eyes glow and turn all big and pretty when he lets you see him from below his clothes— he knows for a fact he will make it fit.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[alfheimr]

My Favorite Cheap Art Trick: Gradient Maps and Blending Modes

i get questions on occasion regarding my coloring process, so i thought i would do a bit of a write up on my "secret technique." i don't think it really is that much of a secret, but i hope it can be helpful to someone. to that end:

this is one of my favorite tags ive ever gotten on my art. i think of it often. the pieces in question are all monochrome - sort of.

the left version is the final version, the right version is technically the original. in the final version, to me, the blues are pretty stark, while the greens and magentas are less so. there is some color theory thing going on here that i dont have a good cerebral understanding of and i wont pretend otherwise. i think i watched a youtube video on it once but it went in one ear and out the other. i just pick whatever colors look nicest based on whatever vibe im going for.

this one is more subtle, i think. can you tell the difference? there's nothing wrong with 100% greyscale art, but i like the depth that adding just a hint of color can bring.

i'll note that the examples i'll be using in this post all began as purely greyscale, but this is a process i use for just about every piece of art i make, including the full color ones. i'll use the recent mithrun art i made to demonstrate. additionally, i use clip studio paint, but the general concept should be transferable to other art programs.

for fun let's just start with Making The Picture. i've been thinking of making this writeup for a while and had it in mind while drawing this piece. beyond that, i didn't really have much of a plan for this outside of "mithrun looks down and hair goes woosh." i also really like all of the vertical lines in the canary uniform so i wanted to include those too but like. gone a little hog wild. that is the extent of my "concept." i do not remember why i had the thought of integrating a shattered mirror type of theme. i think i wanted to distract a bit from the awkward pose and cover it up some LOL but anyway. this lack of planning or thought will come into play later.

note 1: the textured marker brush i specifically use is the "bordered light marker" from daub. it is one of my favorite brushes in the history of forever and the daub mega brush pack is one of the best purchases ive ever made. highly recommend!!!

note 2: "what do you mean by exclusion and difference?" they are layer blending modes and not important to the overall lesson of this post but for transparency i wanted to say how i got these "effects." anyway!

with the background figured out, this is the point at which i generally merge all of my layers, duplicate said merged layer, and Then i begin experimenting with gradient maps. what are gradient maps?

the basic gist is that gradient maps replace the colors of an image based on their value.

so, with this particular gradient map, black will be replaced with that orangey red tone, white will be replaced with the seafoamy green tone, etc. this particular gradient map i'm using as an example is very bright and saturated, but the colors can be literally anything.

these two sets are the ones i use most. they can be downloaded for free here and here if you have csp. there are many gradient map sets out there. and you can make your own!

you can apply a gradient map directly onto a specific layer in csp by going to edit>tonal correction>gradient map. to apply one indirectly, you can use a correction layer through layer>new correction layer>gradient map. honestly, correction layers are probably the better way to go, because you can adjust your gradient map whenever you want after creating the layer, whereas if you directly apply a gradient map to a layer thats like. it. it's done. if you want to make changes to the applied gradient map, you have to undo it and then reapply it. i don't use correction layers because i am old and stuck in my ways, but it's good to know what your options are.

this is what a correction layer looks like. it sits on top and applies the gradient map to the layers underneath it, so you can also change the layers beneath however and whenever you want. you can adjust the gradient map by double clicking the layer. there are also correction layers for tone curves, brightness/contrast, etc. many such useful things in this program.

let's see how mithrun looks when we apply that first gradient map we looked at.

gadzooks. apologies for eyestrain. we have turned mithrun into a neon hellscape, which might work for some pieces, but not this one. we can fix that by changing the layer blending mode, aka this laundry list of words:

some of them are self explanatory, like darken and lighten, while some of them i genuinely don't understand how they are meant to work and couldn't explain them to you, even if i do use them. i'm sure someone out there has written out an explanation for each and every one of them, but i've learned primarily by clicking on them to see what they do.

for the topic of this post, the blending mode of interest is soft light. so let's take hotline miamithrun and change the layer blending mode to soft light.

here it is at 100% opacity. this is the point at which i'd like to explain why i like using textured brushes so much - it makes it very easy to get subtle color variation when i use this Secret Technique. look at the striation in the upper right background! so tasty. however, to me, these colors are still a bit "much." so let's lower the opacity.

i think thats a lot nicer to look at, personally, but i dont really like these colors together. how about we try some other ones?

i like both of these a lot more. the palettes give the piece different vibes, at which point i have to ask myself: What Are The Vibes, Actually? well, to be honest i didn't really have a great answer because again, i didn't plan this out very much at all. however. i knew in my heart that there was too much color contrast going on and it was detracting from the two other contrasts in here: the light and dark values and the sharp and soft shapes. i wanted mithrun's head to be the main focal point. for a different illustration, colors like this might work great, but this is not that hypothetical illustration, so let's bring the opacity down again.

yippee!! that's getting closer to what my heart wants. for fun, let's see what this looks like if we change the blending mode to color.

i do like how these look but in the end they do not align with my heart. oh well. fun to experiment with though! good to keep in mind for a different piece, maybe! i often change blending modes just to see what happens, and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. i very much cannot stress enough that much of my artistic process is clicking buttons i only sort of understand. for fun.

i ended up choosing the gradient map on the right because i liked that it was close to the actual canary uniform colors (sorta). it's at an even lower opacity though because there was Still too much color for my dear heart.

the actual process for this looks like me setting my merged layer to soft light at around 20% opacity and then clicking every single gradient map in my collection and seeing which one Works. sometimes i will do this multiple times and have multiple soft light and/or color layers combined.

typically at this point i merge everything again and do minor contrast adjustments using tone curves, which is another tool i find very fun to play around with. then for this piece in particular i did some finishing touches and decided that the white border was distracting so i cropped it. and then it's done!!! yay!!!!!

this process is a very simple and "fast" way to add more depth and visual interest to a piece without being overbearing. well, it's fast if you aren't indecisive like me, or if you are better at planning.

let's do another comparison. personally i feel that the hint of color on the left version makes mithrun look just a bit more unwell (this is a positive thing) and it makes the contrast on his arm a lot more pleasing to look at. someone who understands color theory better than i do might have more to say on the specifics, but that's honestly all i got.

just dont look at my layers too hard. ok?

[eddies-ashtray]

♡ falling asleep on eddie’s bed in the middle of the day & the sweet things that ensue after. (cw: g!n reader, eddie calls reader ‘pretty’ once).

Eyes still closed, you smile lazily as you tune into the rattling and whir of the yellowed fan. Basically all it does is push around warm air, but its gentle gust brushing your bare shoulders pleases you nonetheless. Sometime in the early afternoon when you’d first dozed off atop Eddie’s covers it stood, unplugged, on his side of the bed.

You know he’s next to you before you’ve fully woken from your brief slumber. The dip in the mattress, the quiet scratching of a pencil on paper. These signs not only alert you of his presence but encourage you to blink your eyes open as you draw in a deep breath.

Your gaze settles at his hip. The curled edges of Eddie’s cut up band tee rest just below his waist, exposing a sliver of pale skin.

“Mmh,” you grumble, squinting up at him as the sunshine casts a glow across the bed. “What time is it?”

Eddie’s eyes, appearing much lighter as they soak up the glowing rays, crinkle in the corners as they meet yours, a smile playing at his lips. “Hey, sleepy.”

“Dopey,” you greet in jest.

He smiles bigger, squeezing his eyes shut as a quick breath escapes his nose.

“Very original.” Eddie’s deadpan tone does not match the delight kissing his features.

You shrug with some difficulty (only one shoulder lifts as the other is pressed into the bed), as if to say ‘What did you expect? It was right there.’

Rolling over onto your back, you stretch out like a cat, your whole body lengthening as your arms reach above your head, and release an involuntary groan of pleasure feeling as your muscles stretch.

Outside, trees rustle in the breeze and children shout and laugh as they play in the summer sun. They’re such nostalgic sounds they make your heart ache for the briefest of moments, like they’d evoked a sweet childhood memory which melted away before it could fully resurface.

Sensing his eyes on you, you peek back up at Eddie as your right hand comes to rest on your stomach, the left one falling palm-up by your side.

“You look pretty when you first wake up,” he expresses, all warmth and love.

“No way.” No one does. He just loves you.

“Yes way,” He mocks lightly as he stares down at you, his hand coming to settle over your forearm as he rubs his thumb into your skin.

You concede because you know you could both go back and forth like that forever. And because you’re too warm and feel too much like jelly to argue.

Instead, you sigh contentedly before pushing yourself up so you’re shoulder-to-shoulder with Eddie.

Lolling your head onto his shoulder, you whisper, “Time?”

So apparently taken by your slightly puffy face, he’d likely forgotten you’d even asked.

Immediately, he extends his left arm out to you so you can read the watch settled on his wrist.

2:22pm.

Tugging his arm gently to your face, you press a quick kiss to his hand, “Thanks.”

He hums as you place your head back on his shoulder, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. Despite the warmth in the room the sound gives you chills.

“Watcha drawin’?” You sing-song, though you can see his sketchbook from this angle.

“Watcha think?”

You almost jest, say, feet, before you realize, “Are those my hands?”

They must be. You know it not because of how detailed the drawing is. It’s more of a sketch so far. You know it because of the ring on the middle finger.

Eddie had found it while thrifting and gifted it to you one day. It wasn’t a birthday or anniversary or holiday. Just a normal day in March. It was a particularly frigid day, all grey skies and icy window sills. You’d arrived at the trailer after your shift about 20 minutes before Eddie. But when he did arrive, he went straight to you, and he said, I got ya somethin’ with that charming smile of his, all fidgety and excited like he was about to open presents on Christmas day. And then presented you with that beautiful ring he’s so carefully sketching onto your graphite hands.

“Mhm. You’ve got nice ones,” he says, taking hold of one of yours and softly tracing the ridges of your knuckles before thumbing the silver ring. It never comes off.

Your heart aches in the best way. You feel so content being here with him. Napping on his bed and waking up to him drawing you, caring for you, loving you. You squeeze his hand in yours before tilting upwards to press a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“Keep drawing, please?”

You can’t believe you get to sit here next to him in the middle of a balmy summer’s day while he presses pencil to paper with that rickety old fan sitting on your side of the bed.

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

There’s hardly anything as challenging as trying to sleep while enduring the most excruciating period cramps you’ve had in a long time. No matter how many painkillers you’ve taken, none of them seem to work. A hot water bottle? A blanket? Those were options you’d already tried, only to realize they offered little to no relief.

Boyfriend!Sukuna wasn’t exactly someone who enjoyed physical touch—except when it came to sex. During those moments, every touch of his fingers, skin, or cock against you brought him a pleasure he had never experienced in his life.

But outside of that? Cuddling, holding hands, or other forms of physical contact weren’t exactly his thing. There were rare moments when he gave in, but only after you’d insisted long enough to make it impossible for him to endure your nagging any further.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, stepping into bed to find your body curled up under the blanket like an armadillo. Concern flickered in his crimson eyes.

“Nothing,” you replied, trembling with pain as your hands instinctively moved to massage the area below your waist, hoping to ease the ache.

“Yeah, sure. You’re a terrible liar,” he muttered, reaching out to touch the spot you were rubbing. But before his hand could land, you slapped it away.

“Fuck off, Sukuna. I’m not in the mood for your lectures right now,” you snapped, your voice trembling with pain and frustration. A single tear escaped and rolled down your cheek, one you couldn’t hold back despite your best efforts.

Sukuna saw it. And in that moment, every muscle in his massive body tensed. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was seeing you in pain. He’d obliterate whatever caused you hurt, wipe it from existence, even if he’d never admit it outright.

Your towering, four-armed boyfriend reached out, one of his hands threading gently through your hair. He marveled at how soft it was, thinking it might just be the softest thing on earth.

“Sorry.”

You turned your head slightly to glance back at him, catching his stoic expression. You realized you’d been a little snappy, but it wasn’t your fault. Pain and stress were a volatile mix, and sometimes they made you lash out in ways you didn’t intend.

Letting your head fall back to its original position, you sighed as you stared down the dimly lit corridor beyond your bedside lamp. “I got my period, and no matter what I do, the pain just won’t go away.”

His hand continued its gentle motion through your hair. “Should I grab another painkiller for you?”

“I already took one an hour ago.”

“Tea?”

“Doesn’t help.”

“Something else warm, maybe?”

“Nope.”

The hand stroking your hair paused as Sukuna considered another option. It wasn’t exactly scientific, but it might work.

Before you could close your eyes to try to fall asleep, you felt his strong arms pull you into his massive frame. His four limbs wrapped around you like an inescapable cage, holding you close. He pressed a soft kiss to your exposed shoulder, left bare by your pajama top. He loosened his grip briefly to turn off the bedside lamp, leaving the room in darkness, before wrapping you up once more.

“Sleep,” he commanded in his deep voice.

You found one of his hands, bringing it to your lips to press a small kiss against it. Then, as your eyes drifted shut, you melted into the warmth radiating from his body—a warmth that, oddly enough, seemed to ease your pain. In his arms, sleep finally came.

Boyfriend!Sukuna did, in fact, love touching you, though he didn’t always show it. But whenever he sensed you needed him, he never hesitated to wrap his arms around you, to let his lips brush against your temple. Every moment he spent holding you, feeling your presence, was a miracle he quietly cherished.

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

[twilghtkoo]

to be loved is to be seen.

pairings. idol!jungkook x reader

genres/aus. fluff, established relationship, idol!au

warnings. mentions of smoking and alcohol

masterlist

—

“i’m going to use the bathroom real quick.” you tell jungkook as you lift yourself off the couch. he’s quick to stand up with you but you lightly push him down, your index finger grazed against his skin from the buttons on his shirt being unbuttoned and exposing a bit of his chest.

you shake your head. “stay, i’ll be back.” you say while pulling one side of his shirt closed to hide the bareness. girls have been staring at him and trying to come up to him and it’s getting annoying.

his bottom lip is pushed out slightly, pouting before he lets you go alone.

jungkook watches you make it to the stairs until you disappear from his sight.

you’re thankful the bathroom wasn’t occupied and you could easily walk in, locking the door behind you.

anxious thoughts invade your mind. the five drinks you’ve had can’t even cloud your thoughts nor make you tipsy enough—curse your body for not being a lightweight.

jungkook’s friends had invited you two to a party and originally he didn’t want to go because you were with him and he wanted to be with you. but he barely gets to see his friends and it’s been awhile since he’s been out with them. it took a bit to persuade him but he gave in on the exception that you came. and you didn’t mind. you thought it would be fun. it was fun.

but his friends aren’t your friends and your social battery around strangers tends to drain fast. they’re nice people and all, but now you just want to go home.

this was your idea you know… yeah well, you’re gonna tough it out for him because he’s having a good time and you’re gonna do anything for him. good pep talk!

“__?” three soft knocks and his sudden voice makes you jump, realizing you’ve been standing in front of the sink, stuck in your head.

“hang on!” you shout out, quickly using the restroom and washing your hands before you step out to meet the boy on your mind.

his eyes find yours quickly, trying to decipher any changes in your body language or to read anything going on behind your orbs.

“you okay? you’ve been in there for awhile so i came up to check on you.” he asks with concern in his voice.

you try to smile but it comes out small. “yeah, sorry,” you opened your mouth to continue but nothing comes out.

a couple drunkenly tumbles up the stairs, heading towards you both but he’s quick to grasp onto your waist and move you both against the wall. the couple passes you and disappears into a room, slamming the door behind them.

both of you slowly turn your heads to look at each other with raised eyebrows and you burst into fits of laughter. him still holding onto you, as you two start to quiet down. the scent of his cologne and cigarettes permeated your nostrils, remembering him and his friends were outside smoking earlier. in the early stages of you two dating, the smell used to bother you, so jungkook had the notion to smoke outside shirtless so the smell doesn’t catch onto his clothes and to brush his teeth so he can kiss you easily. now you’re used to it.

suddenly, he’s gazing down upon you. “you tired?”

immediately shakes your head, “no.”

he lets out a deep breath and hums, sliding a hand into the front pocket of his jeans before throwing the other over your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side as he guides you downstairs.

“well i am. let’s go home.” he declares, his head turning left and right to find where his friends went while you just gawk at him.

but you don’t say nothing.

once you both reach his group of friends, they’re heads turn towards you both. “guys i’m feeling tired so we’re gonna head home.”

“what, already?”

“that’s cool, thanks for coming man.”

you released yourself from jungkook so they could bid their manly goodbyes, them also thanking you for coming and saying it was good to see you.

jungkook links his hand with yours as you both make your way out the building onto the streets. with your hand in his, he brings it up to his face and softly kisses the back of it three times.

you fondly stare at him before hanging your head as you watch both your pairs of feet walk in sync.

“sorry i made you leave early, i know you said you were tired because of me. i didn’t mean to force you to leave ‘cus i know you were having fun–“

he stops in his tracks and squeezes your hand. “baby, ever since i met you, the thought of being without you made me crazy. so what makes you think i’d want to be out without you?” he expresses, taking your face in the palm of his hands and pressing his lips against yours in a short kiss. “plus, being at home in bed with you honestly sounds really fucking good right now.”

a timid smile stretched onto your lips before you reached on your tippy toes to kiss him again. “i love you.”

“i love you, silly. now let’s go home. are you hungry, ‘cus im craving ramen and i might make some when we get home.”

“ramen actually sounds really good right now.”

it’s 3am as i finish this so enjoy another self indulgent jungkook brain rot :D the way ill be at an outing w family or friends having fun but then two hours pass and with the snap of fingers i go quiet and have a rbf and i’m ready to go home and be in bed💀 anyway likes & reblogs are v much appreciated !! stay safe and healthy <33

[puckstories]

Surrender | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Smut (p n v), spanking (once), cursing, use of the term 'good girl', situationship, slight angst, edited once.

Summary; A brutal loss to the Bruins leads to Quinn showing up at your apartment at one am, and subsequently changes everything. Title and fic is slightly inspired by the song Surrender by Kut Klose.

Word Count; 8.8k

Author’s note; This was my first time writing smut! But weirdly, I found it easier to write than fluff..? That being said, hopefully this isn't too bad, and any constructive criticism is appreciated. This morphed into something more complicated and detailed than I originally planned, but I like it nonetheless. Would love to hear any thoughts you have + reblogs are super appreciated. Feel free hit my inbox with anything (: -Honey.

You and Quinn had been casually seeing each other for the past couple of months. It hadn’t been planned, not really. You’d met him at a bar one night—a place with dim lighting and sticky floors, the air humming with laughter and bass-heavy music. One of those rare evenings when the stars seemed to align just right. He was sitting alone, nursing a drink, the brim of his black New York hat pulled low enough to make him look just anonymous enough to the crowd. He’d caught your eye almost immediately, and when his gaze found yours across the room, something about the way he smiled—confident but a little hesitant—had you walking over before you even realized it.

Things had taken off quickly after that. A few drinks. Easy conversation. A kiss outside the bar that turned into more. He was charming in a quiet, unassuming way, and that first night left you with a lingering curiosity about him. Who he was when the spotlight wasn’t on him. What made him laugh, what kept him awake at night. So you kept seeing him. Not all the time, not in any way that felt serious. Just enough to keep the connection alive.

The two of you hadn’t given it a label. You both avoided that conversation like it was a landmine. And maybe, in a way, it was. You weren’t sure if you wanted one. Quinn was busy—the kind of busy that came with being the Captain of the Vancouver Canucks. His schedule was a whirlwind of practices, games, and media appearances, leaving little room for anything beyond fleeting moments of downtime late at night. And you… well, you weren’t ready to completely settle down, not after the way your last relationship had crumbled in slow, messy pieces that you were still picking up. Casual worked. Casual was safe.

Most of the time, anyway.

But even as you told yourself that this thing with Quinn was simple—just hooking up, just having fun—you couldn’t help but notice the little cracks forming in your resolve. The way his laugh made something tighten in your chest. The way you’d catch yourself replaying the way his hand brushed yours in the middle of a crowded street or the soft, sleepy rasp of his voice when he called you late at night after a game. There was something disarming about him, something unshakable about the way he looked at you, like he saw more than you were willing to admit.

You weren’t sure if he felt it, too, or if it was just you overthinking things. After all, he’d never brought up the future, and you’d been careful not to either. That was the unspoken rule between you two: keep things light. But sometimes—when he was kissing you slow and deep, or when he let himself talk about the pressure of wearing the “C” on his chest, his voice quieter and more vulnerable than you’d ever expected—you wondered if casual was really all it was for him. Or for you.

The Canucks lost at home to the Bruins tonight, 5-1. You’d watched from your couch, wincing with every missed opportunity, every puck that found its way past the goalie. It wasn’t just the loss that stung—it was the way the team seemed to unravel by the second period. You’d seen Quinn’s frustration in the tight set of his jaw, the way he skated harder than anyone else on the ice, and the slump of his shoulders every time the Bruins scored. You hated watching him like that, knowing how much weight he carried—not just as a player, but as Captain.

When the final buzzer sounded, you’d grabbed your phone and sent him a quick text: Hey. You alright?

The message stayed unread for a while. And then, sometime after eleven, the little “seen” mark popped up. No reply, and in turn, you got the hint. He wasn’t in the mood to talk, and you respected that. Losses like this were hard on him, you'd found that out early on. Instead of pressing, you sighed, plugged your phone in, and climbed into bed, trying not to let the silence sting.

What you didn’t expect was the banging on your front door a little after one am.

The sound jolted you upright, your heart pounding for a moment. You threw on a hoodie over your nightgown and padded toward the door, trying to shake the grogginess from your head. The knocking came again, sharper this time. When you opened the door, you found Quinn standing there in the dim hallway light.

He was dressed in gray sweatpants and a hoodie, the strings pulled tight, but it did little to hide his messy hair and the lingering flush in his cheeks from the game. Your eyes immediately caught on his lip, the one that had been split a few games ago after a nasty high stick. The stitches still hadn’t fully healed, and the fresh redness around them drew your attention before you looked up into his face.

What struck you wasn’t the exhaustion that usually followed a loss. It was something heavier—a mixture of frustration, exasperation, and something else that made your breath hitch. His hazel eyes held a quiet intensity, a sharp edge of need that made your stomach flutter.

“Hey,” he rasped, his voice low and strained from the act of speaking to his teammates throughout the game.

You blinked, still processing the sight of him on your doorstep. “I texted you,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended, but the weight of his presence makes it hard to sound as firm as you want to. “You didn’t respond.”

For a moment, Quinn doesn’t answer, and his eyes meet yours briefly, before flicking away, as though searching for something in the shadows of your apartment. He doesn’t say a word, just steps forward, his broad frame brushing past you as he crosses the threshold into your space.

He lets the door click shut behind him, the sound heavy in the stillness of the room. Then, he turns, his eyes locking onto yours again with an intensity that sends your pulse racing. He doesn’t speak right away. Instead, his gaze sweeps over you, slow and deliberate, as though he’s taking in every detail: the loose sweatshirt you’d thrown on over your nightgown, the way your hair is slightly messy, your bare feet against the cool floor. His jaw tightens, and something about the way he looks at you makes the air feel heavier, thicker.

“I’m aware,” he finally says, voice clipped, almost sharp, but there’s something under them—something softer, quieter, that you can’t quite name.

“By all means, come in,” you say, your tone dripping with sarcasm as you cross your arms.

He doesn’t bother with a reply. Instead, something in him snaps—an instinct he doesn’t even try to fight.

His hands move fast, gripping your hips with a firm possessiveness that makes your breath hitch. His fingers dig into you just enough to let you know he’s not asking for permission. Before you can get another word out, he steps forward, backing you up with purposeful, controlled force. The edge of the wall meets your back a second later, as he presses flush against you. There’s no space, no hesitation—just him, all hard muscle and raw need, caging you in.

He leans in close, his forehead nearly brushing yours, his breath warm and unsteady against your lips. You can feel the tension radiating off him, coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. “Need you. Now,” he whispers, the words vibrating between the two of you. It’s not a question. It’s not even a request. It’s a demand.

You swallow hard, your pulse hammering in your ears as the heat of his body presses harder into yours. His hands slide up from your hips, one settling at the small of your back while the other moves higher, his thumb brushing just beneath the curve of your ribcage. His touch is both possessive and reverent, as though he’s caught between devouring you and savoring the moment.

“Been too busy for me lately,” you say with a shrug, the casualness of your tone masking the twinge of hurt that’s harder to ignore than you’d like.

Quinn’s grip on your hip tightens at your words, his fingers pressing firmly against your skin as though he’s holding on to more than just you—maybe his own guilt, maybe his frustration. His jaw tenses, but when his eyes meet yours, you see the softness creeping in around the edges. He wants to say something; you can see it written all over his face, but the words don’t come. Instead, his grip loosens slightly, his hand dropping lower, brushing along your thigh.

Without a word, he lifts your leg, gently hooking it around his his. The movement is slow but claculated, sending a jolt of heat through you as his body presses closer, the fabric of his sweatpants brushing against your bare skin. He shifts his weight, grinding up against you with enough intention to leave no doubt about what he’s feeling—or what he wants. His hand rests at the back of your thigh now, his thumb stroking your skin absently, but his eyes never leave yours.

“You know how it is,” he mutters finally, his voice low and rough, an excuse and a half-apology tangled into one. “The team. Home games. It’s been… a lot.”

You raise an eyebrow, but don't push. “Yeah, I know,” you reply, your voice calm but edged with something sharper. “You guys got whacked tonight.”

The words leave your lips before you can think better of it, and the second they do, you see the change in his expression. His eyes darken, the dejection that was there moments ago replaced by something sharper, something simmering just below the surface. His jaw tightens again, the muscle there ticking as he presses his lips into a thin line. He doesn’t need the reminder. He already knows.

“Don’t,” he mutters, his voice low and strained, but there’s an edge in it that sends a ripple of tension through the air. You open your mouth, maybe to push further, maybe to soften it with a tease, but you don’t get the chance. Before you can say another word, Quinn’s hands are suddenly moving up to your waist. He grabs you with a firm, almost desperate grip, and in one swift motion, he lifts you clean off the ground. A surprised gasp escapes your lips, your hands instinctively flying to his shoulders as he pulls you tight against him. The hard plane of his chest presses flush against your body, and you can feel the tension radiating off him—the frustration, the lingering adrenaline from the game, the sharp need to shut everything else out.

“Quinn—” you start, but your voice wavers, the rest of the sentence dissolving when his eyes meet yours.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he hisses, his voice rough, laced with frustration and something more primal. His words are both an explanation and a command. He doesn’t want to think about the game, the loss, the disappointment—it’s written all over him. He needs a distraction, and right now, that’s you.

He doesn’t set you down. Instead, he starts walking, carrying you through the dimly lit hallway toward your bedroom. The way he moves is deliberate, controlled, but there’s an urgency in the way his grip tightens slightly on your waist, as though holding you this close is the only thing keeping him steady. Your legs wrap around him, and you hold onto him instinctively, your heart pounding harder with every step.

When he reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. Quinn leans down, lowering you onto the bed with ease. The mattress dips under your weight as he releases you, but his hands don’t leave your body. They slide to your hips, pinning you in place as he hovers over you, his broad frame blocking out everything else.

Quinn’s eyes trail over you, unhurried, drinking you in like he’s committing every inch of you to memory. His gaze burns as it moves from your eyes to your lips, and then down, raking over your body like a slow caress. The heat in his expression makes your skin prickle, anticipation coiling low in your stomach. His body hovers just inches above yours, close enough for you to feel his warmth but far enough that it makes you ache for the weight of him against you.

His hands move slowly, his fingers grazing your sides as they find the hem of your hoodie. He pauses for just a second, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as though silently asking for permission. When you give a small nod, barely noticeable but enough, he takes hold of the fabric and begins to pull it up, his knuckles brushing against your skin as he lifts it over your stomach, then your chest. His touch is light, but the way his eyes darken as he reveals more of you sends a shiver down your spine. “Too many clothes,” he mutters, the words are more for himself than for you.

The black satin nightgown clings to you, its thin straps sliding slightly off your shoulders. The soft fabric shimmers faintly in the dim light, hugging your curves in a way that makes his throat tighten. His jaw clenches, his hands hovering for a moment as if he’s not sure where to touch first. His fingers finally settle at the strap on your shoulder, pushing it down slowly, deliberately, his thumb brushing against your skin. The contrast of the cool satin and the warmth of his hand sends a jolt through you. "Gorgeous." He murmurs.

Your breath catches at his words, but before you can respond, his lips find the exposed skin just above the neckline of your nightgown, his breath warm and ragged against you. He presses a slow, open mouthed kiss there, his hands sliding down to your waist as he pulls you closer, his body finally pressing against yours. His lips trail lower, brushing along your collarbone, as his hands slide back up, slipping under the hem of your nightgown now. His fingers splay out against your bare skin, calloused from years of hockey but impossibly gentle as they explore. He pulls back just enough to look at you again, his gaze searching yours, a silent question lingering in the air. His thumb strokes your hip in small, absent circles, like he’s waiting for you to tell him to stop—or to keep going.

“Quinn,” you murmur. Your hands come up to rest against his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. His heart pounds beneath your palm, fast and unsteady, matching the erratic rhythm of your own. “Please.”

That’s all he needs. With a low groan, he dips his head, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s slow and consuming, like he’s savoring every second. His hands roam your body now with more certainty, the hesitation from earlier replaced with an unrelenting hunger. The feel of him, the weight of his touch, the heat of his breath—it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.

He pulls away with a low curse, his breath warm and unsteady as he tilts his head back slightly. A wince flickers across his face, his hand instinctively brushing over the stitches on his upper lip—the ones cutting across the soft curve of his cupid’s bow. The kiss has aggravated them, pulling at the tender, partially healed skin. His jaw clenches, the frustration obvious in the tight set of his features, but he doesn’t move away from you. If anything, he lingers, his body still hovering over yours, his eyes locking onto yours like he’s grounding himself in the moment.

"Careful." You warn, your fingers reaching up to lightly trace the scruff on his jaw.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, but his voice is rough, tinged with annoyance—not at you, but at the injury that’s getting in the way of what he wants.

Taking the opportunity, you tug gently at the hem of his hoodie, your hands curling into the soft fabric. He looks down, his eyes following the movement of your hands as you gesture, silently telling him you want it off. There’s no hesitation this time. He straightens slightly, pulling the hoodie over his head in one fluid motion, the fabric lifting to reveal the lean, pale skin of his torso. The garment lands somewhere on the floor, forgotten along with yours, as he leans back down, closer to you, his hands bracing themselves on either side of your head. “Better?” He murmurs.

Your hands drift to the waistband of his sweatpants, your fingertips brushing against the soft fabric. "Almost." Your eyes never leave his as you speak, holding his gaze with a quiet intensity that makes his breath hitch.

His lips curve into the faintest smirk, and without hesitation, he shifts, moving from hovering over you to falling back onto the bed beside you. The mattress dips under his weight as his hands go to his waistband, pushing the sweatpants down his hips with an easy, practiced motion. He kicks them off in one fluid movement, the boxers following close behind. The rustle of fabric hitting the floor is faint, but the sight of him—completely bare now—propped up on an elbow, looking at you, steals your attention entirely.

Leaning up to reach over, you place your hands on his shoulders, your palms firm as you give him a gentle shove. He lets out a soft grunt as his back hits the mattress fully, his lips twitching into a faint smile at the sudden assertiveness. You slip off your panties, before shifting your body, swinging your leg over him until you’re straddling his hips, your knees pressing into the mattress. His hands instinctively move to your waist, but you grab his wrists, pinning them lightly to the bed on either side of him. His eyebrows lift slightly, the hint of a challenge in his expression, but he doesn’t fight you. Instead, he lets you guide the moment, his muscles relaxing beneath your touch. The heat of his skin beneath you is intoxicating, and the way his body responds—his chest rising just a little faster, his hands twitching under your grip—sends a rush of confidence through you.

“Didn’t expect this,” he remarks, with a quirk of his brow. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You lean forward, your hands releasing his wrists as you plant them firmly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms. “I figured you wouldn’t,” you reply, easygoing. Your lips hover just above his, close enough for him to feel your breath but not close enough to touch.

You pull back slightly, just enough to sit upright, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath. Your hands move quickly to the hem of your nightgown, lifting it over your head in one fluid motion. The soft fabric slides over your skin before landing somewhere on the floor. Left in nothing, you feel the heat of Quinn’s gaze immediately, his breath hitching audibly as he takes you in.

“God,” he mutters under his breath, almost immediately. His hands are on you in an instant, strong and certain as they find your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin.

You lean forward, your hands braced against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms. His breath comes faster now, shallow and uneven, as you dip your head, your lips brushing along the sharp line of his jaw. You move slowly, deliberately, your kisses soft and wet, trailing from the edge of his jaw to the corner of his mouth, then lower.

Quinn lets out a low, quiet hum, his head tilting back slightly as you continue your path. You stop at his chin for a moment, pressing a kiss there, before shifting lower, your lips grazing the stubble along his neck. He smells faintly of clean soap and something deeper, distinctly him, and the warmth of his skin beneath your lips makes your stomach flutter. When your lips finally find the hollow of his throat, just above his Adam’s apple, you pause. You can feel the way he swallows hard, the slight movement under your mouth making the corner of your lips curve into a soft smile. You press a lingering kiss there, letting your breath fan over his skin as he exhales sharply.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice breaking slightly as one of his hands slides from your waist to the curve of your lower back, pulling you just a fraction closer. His other hand remains firm on your hip, his thumb brushing small, absentminded circles into your skin. The way his body responds to you—the tension in his muscles, the slight tremor in his hands—sends a rush of confidence through you. You pull back just enough to look at him, your lips still close enough that your breaths mingle. His eyes are half-lidded now, filled with an unspoken hunger that makes your pulse quicken.

"Condom." His voice is low, more of a murmur than a demand, lips brushing against your ear. You freeze for a moment, your breath catching. The haze of the moment dims slightly as you wrack your memory. Had you restocked since your last night with Quinn? The answer surfaces slowly, and you wince.

"I think... I’m out?" you admit, the words hanging awkwardly in the charged air.

He lets out a deep, frustrated groan, his head falling back against the pillow with a dull thud. For a second, you catch the faintest flicker of irritation crossing his features before he covers it with a hand over his face, exhaling sharply through his fingers. “Dresser, bottom drawer,” he grumbles, his voice thick with both need and annoyance, one hand waving vaguely toward your dresser. His eyes remain half-lidded, trying to be patient, though the tension in his shoulders tells you how much it costs him.

You shoot him a questioning look, eyebrows raised, silently asking, “How?” When did he ever put something there? You search your memory, replaying countless moments, but you can't remember ever seeing him even glance at your dresser, let alone touch it.

“Get a move on,” he mutters, the rough edge of his voice slipping into something of amusing. Before you can say anything, his hand meets the curve of your ass with a sharp slap. The sound cracks through the quiet room, startling in the stillness. It doesn't hurt—it’s more of a firm tap than anything—but the unexpectedness of it sends a jolt of electricity racing up your spine. A gasp escapes you, sharp and breathy, your body jerking slightly from the impact.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, both from the sting of his hand and the sudden pulse of excitement that follows. You hesitate for half a second, feeling the lingering tingle on your skin, before he speaks again. "Now."

You don't have to be told twice, and slip out of bed, feeling the cool floor beneath your bare feet as you make your way to the dresser. With a small exhale, you crouch down and pull open the bottom drawer. There they are—just as he said. A small pack of condoms, tucked neatly beside a few of Quinn’s clothes—shirts and boxers, soft and well-worn—mixed in with your own things. You pause for a second, staring down at the sight, the familiarity of his clothes blending into your space, like they’ve always been there, unnoticed. When had he made this little home in your drawer, this quiet claim on your space?

Your fingers graze over the edge of the condom box as you take it, your mind lingering on the thought. You tear open the packaging with a swift pull, the soft crackle of plastic breaking the silence, and pull out one of the foil-wrapped condoms. As you close the drawer, you find yourself glancing back at the pile of his clothes, some hidden piece of domesticity that tugs at something inside you. A small smile flickers at the corner of your lips, but you push the thought aside. This was supposed to be casual.

Standing up, you turn back to him, the foil packet cool against your palm. He’s watching you from the bed, propped up on his elbows, his gaze heavy-lidded but intent, like he’s sizing up your every movement, reading your thoughts before you can voice them. His expression is almost lazy, but you catch the sharp edge of amusement in his eyes, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“When did you even do that?” you ask, your voice colored with curiosity, as you gesture slightly toward the drawer, toward his clothes.

“I’ve been leaving stuff here for weeks,” he adds, with a small shrug, as if it's no big deal. “Thought you might’ve noticed it by now.”

Your lips part slightly, caught off guard by how casual he is about it, and yet… there’s something warm beneath the surface of his words. Weeks? How had you not noticed before now? The thought stirs something in your chest—a mix of amusement, maybe a bit of something deeper—but you brush it off, again, focusing on the moment at hand. You could question him later. And you would.

You toss the condom onto the bed, watching it land beside him. “Well, I guess I was distracted,” you reply.

You walk back over to the bed, your steps relaxed, feeling the weight of his gaze on you the entire time. The air between you hums with tension, thick and electric. He reaches for the condom without breaking eye contact, tearing the foil with an effortless flick of his fingers. The soft sound of the wrapper splitting seems to echo in the stillness of the room. His gaze falls as he rolls the condom on, then it’s back on you, a heat in his gaze, the kind that feels like it's pulling you in, drawing you closer even before you move. His lips quirk into the faintest smirk, and he tilts his chin, nodding down toward his hardened length, silently requesting for you to come to him.

You swallow, feeling the thrum of anticipation in your chest, and climb onto the bed. As you move closer, he watches every shift of your body, the way your knees press into the sheets, the way your breath hitches as you settle over him. His hands find your waist, strong and sure, fingers digging into your skin with just enough pressure to ground you. The touch is possessive, and it sends a shiver racing down your spine.

With his guidance, you straddle him, your thighs bracketing his hips. The heat of his body presses into yours, and you can feel his cock, warm and firm, grazing the sensitive core of your heat as you position yourself over him. The sensation makes you gasp softly, your body reacting instantly to the contact. His grip tightens, steadying you, his fingers flexing slightly against your hips as he adjusts you over him, his control over the moment palpable.

You begin to move, your hips rolling in slow, teasing circles as you grind against him, both of you feeling the sweet torment of the moment. The friction is electric, his cock sliding against your slick heat, but you’re holding back just enough to keep him wanting more. A quiet moan escapes your lips, your body already responding to the tension coiling tighter between you. You see it in his eyes too—the need, the frustration that’s been simmering all day. You can feel the way his body tenses beneath yours, his jaw tightening as he fights for control. His hands on your hips grip harder, fingers digging into your skin, trying to take control, but you resist for just a little longer. His chest rises and falls sharply, and you can hear the slight edge of desperation in his breathing.

It’s driving him mad, the way you tease him like this—hovering so close, yet not quite giving him everything. The heat between you is thick and tangible, and you can feel the pulse of his need pressing insistently against you. Finally, you let your hand slide down between your bodies, wrapping around him with a firm, confident grip. His breath hitches at the contact, and you catch the way his teeth sink into his bottom lip, the last traces of his composure fraying at the edges.

With one fluid motion, you guide him to your entrance, the tip of him pressing against your wet heat. You pause for just a second, holding him there, and his eyes lock with yours, something raw flickering in his gaze—desire, hunger, but also something deeper, something that makes your breath catch.

Then, slowly, you start to lower yourself onto him, your body taking him in inch by inch. The sensation sends a wave of pleasure coursing through you, a slow burn that builds as you sink down, feeling him stretch and fill you. The low groan that rumbles from his chest is primal, guttural, like he’s been holding it in for far too long. The sound vibrates through the quiet room, echoing off the walls as his head falls back against the pillow, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he loses himself in the feeling.

“Fuck…” he breathes, the word almost a growl, his voice thick and rough with need. His fingers tighten even more on your hips, almost bruising now, like he’s trying to steady himself, to keep from letting go completely. You can feel the restraint in his grip, the way he’s barely holding back, his body trembling slightly beneath yours as he fights the urge to move, to drive himself deeper into you. The tension in him is almost unbearable, a raw ache that’s been building all day, and now that you’re finally here, finally giving him what he’s craved, it’s driving him to the edge.

You pause when you’ve taken him fully, letting your body adjust around him, feeling the heat and intensity of him buried deep inside you. His breath comes out in a harsh, ragged exhale, and you can see the effort it takes for him to keep still, his chest rising and falling heavily as he tries to relax. But you can feel it—how hard he’s holding on, the way his muscles tense under your touch, the way every fiber of him is straining for control.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs, voice rough, almost broken. His eyes open, locking onto yours again, and there’s a fire in them now, a silent plea for more, for everything.

You begin to move, slowly at first, your knees pressing into the mattress as you lift yourself up, then lower yourself down onto him again, savoring the delicious friction. Your hands splay across his chest, fingers digging slightly into his warm skin as you steady yourself, feeling the solid rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms. His heartbeat is strong and quick, a rhythm that matches your own building pulse.

As you start to swirl your hips, a soft moan escapes you, the sound almost involuntary. The sensation of him filling you, stretching you in just the right way, sends a ripple of pleasure coursing through you. You let the feeling take over, guiding the way you move, each rise and fall of your body becoming more fluid, more certain. Slowly, you find your rhythm, building up a steady, intoxicating pace that makes the heat between you grow even more unbearable.

Your moans become a little louder, a little needier, the pleasure mounting with every roll of your hips. You can feel his body responding beneath you, the way his muscles tense and flex as he fights to maintain control. His hands grip your waist, fingers pressing into your skin, but it’s his face that betrays him—the way his mouth falls open, lips parting as he lets out a low, breathless sound, his eyes locked onto you with a mixture of awe and lust. The moment your moans fill the space between you, something in him shifts.

He bucks his hips up into you, unable to stop himself, his need overriding his restraint. The sudden upward thrust of his hips sends a shock of pleasure through your body, making you gasp and falter for a second, your hands pressing harder into his chest as you steady yourself. His eyes cloud with hunger, and he lets out a sharp exhale.

“Good—mhm—good fucking girl,” he murmurs, his voice escaping as a strained groan, almost a growl. His hands slide up your sides, guiding your movements, urging you to go faster, to match the heat and intensity that’s starting to take over. His grip is firm but tender, the friction between your bodies building with each passing second.

You pick up the pace, letting your hips roll and bounce with more confidence now, losing yourself in the rhythm. The sensation of him deep inside you with every thrust is overwhelming, and your soft moans turn into breathy whimpers as the pleasure rises higher. His body moves beneath you, his hips bucking up into you more insistently now, matching your rhythm, sending waves of ecstasy rippling through your core.

Each time your body comes down to meet his, he fills you completely, hitting that perfect spot that makes your toes curl. The tension between you is almost unbearable now, every movement pushing you closer to the edge. You can feel his chest rising and falling faster under your hands, his breathing ragged as he stares up at you with a look that’s half-lost in pleasure, half in disbelief at how good it feels.

His name slips from your lips in a soft, breathless moan, and the sound seems to undo him even more. His fingers dig into your hips harder, his own breath escaping in harsh, uneven bursts as he bucks up into you with more force, more desperation. You feel the heat coiling tighter and tighter in your belly, the ache building with every movement, every touch.

"I'm... I'm close," you gasp breathlessly, your voice trembling with the intensity coursing through your body. Every movement, every sensation feels electric, pulling you closer to the edge.

Quinn’s eyes lock with yours, his own pleasure evident in the way his chest rises and falls unevenly. A low moan slips from his lips, almost as if in response to the desperation in your voice. He nods, his breath ragged, but before you can even process the shift, he’s already moving—gently, but decisively, sliding you off of him and onto the bed beside him. The sudden absence of his cock leaves you aching, but he doesn’t let the moment linger.

Without wasting a second, Quinn positions himself over you, his body hovering above yours. His eyes briefly flick over your face, as if to make sure you’re still with him, still as lost in this as he is. Then, with one smooth motion, he slides back inside you, filling you completely once more. The sensation of him re-entering your pulsing heat draws a sharp gasp from you, and your back arches instinctively off the bed, your body desperate to meet him.

His thrusts are deep, slow, and calculated, each one hitting the perfect spot inside you, drawing out soft whimpers that you can’t hold back. He leans forward, bracing his hands against the headboard behind you, giving himself more leverage to move freely. His body presses close, skin against skin, his muscles taut and trembling with restraint as he drives into you, deeper with every stroke. You can feel the headboard rocking slightly under the pressure of his movements, the soft creak of wood blending with the sound of your ragged breathing and the rhythmic slap of your bodies meeting.

His pace quickens, his thrusts growing more urgent, more purposeful, as he watches you, drinking in every moan, every gasp that spills from your lips. The heat between you is unbearable, a fire that threatens to consume you both. Every stroke sends shockwaves of pleasure through you, your body tightening and pulsing around him, the pressure building higher and higher until it feels like you’re about to shatter.

Quinn’s breath hitches, and his low groans grow deeper, almost vibrating through his chest as he thrusts harder, the strain in his arms evident as he fights to keep control. You can feel the intensity radiating off him, the way his body trembles with the effort to hold back, to keep you both on this edge for just a little longer.

Your fingers grip the sheets beneath you, twisting them in your hands as you feel yourself spiraling closer, the tension coiling tighter in your belly, threatening to snap at any second. His name escapes your lips in a breathless whisper, and the sound seems to push him even further. His movements grow rougher, more desperate, his hips slamming into yours in a steady rhythm that pushes you higher and higher.

“Cum for me,” he murmurs, his voice rough, barely holding together as he lowers his face closer to yours, his breath hot against your ear. His words are a command, but they’re also a plea, filled with the same urgency that’s overwhelming both of you.

And then it hits—you fall over the edge, your body tightening around him as waves of pleasure crash through you, your moans turning into cries as your climax surges, overwhelming and blinding. The world around you blurs as every nerve in your body lights up, the release so powerful it leaves you quivering beneath him.

Quinn groans deeply as he feels you come undone, your body clenching around him, and his rhythm falters for just a moment before he drives into you again, harder this time, chasing his own release. His hands grip the headboard tighter, his knuckles white as he thrusts a few more times, his breath coming out in harsh gasps.

Finally, with a guttural moan, he shudders above you, his body tensing as he reaches his peak. His hips still as he pulses inside you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and uneven against your skin as he rides out the last waves of pleasure. For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your labored breaths, your bodies still locked together, hearts racing in unison. Quinn stays there, hovering above you for a moment longer, his forehead resting against yours, the intensity of what just happened still lingering between you.

Then, with a soft exhale, he gently pulls out of you, collapsing beside you. He pulls you close, your bodies pressed together as you come down from the high.

The two of you lie there in the quiet, the aftershocks of pleasure slowly fading as your heartbeats begin to sync. The only sounds in the room are your breaths, gradually evening out, and the faint rustle of the sheets as you shift slightly beside him. Eventually, you break the quiet, your voice soft but still a little breathless. "I’m gonna go pee."

Quinn makes a small sound in acknowledgment, nodding lazily as his hand slides from your waist. With a slight groan, he reaches down to take off the condom, hissing softly from the loss of contact, as he pulls it away from his sensitive skin. He ties off the condom and hands it to you, his fingers brushing against yours for a moment. You take it from him, and rise from the bed.

You pad into the bathroom, the cool tile underfoot a welcome contrast to the warmth of the bedroom. After discarding the condom, you use the bathroom, then and glance at your reflection for a brief moment in the mirror while washing your hands—your skin flushed, your hair slightly tousled from the heat of the moment. Reaching for a washcloth, you wet it under the warm tap, wringing it out just enough before heading back into the bedroom. The light is still dim, casting a soft glow over the room, and you find Quinn exactly where you left him, lying on his back, his eyes closed now, his chest rising and falling steadily.

His eyes flutter open as he hears you approach, a lazy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You don’t say anything, and neither does he. There’s no need for words in this moment—it’s a kind of quiet that feels easy, natural, like the two of you have slipped into a space where every gesture speaks for itself. With careful hands, you lower yourself beside him and gently take hold of his cock, wiping him clean with the warm, damp cloth. His body reacts instinctively to the contact, a slight twitch beneath your touch, but not from arousal this time—more of an involuntary response, a shiver at the sensitivity of his skin in the aftermath. His eyes close again, his breath steadying as you rid him of the residual stickiness.

When you’re finished, your fingers brush over his thigh one last time before you pull back, standing up from the bed. After throwing the cloth in the bathroom hamper, you're back beneath the sheets, your body naturally gravitating toward Quinn. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close, his fingers lightly tracing circles on your back. You snuggle into his chest, exhaling a sigh of content.

There’s a long, comfortable silence between you, the kind that makes the world feel small and intimate. And if it weren’t for the absence of soft snores, you might have thought Quinn had drifted off, his breathing slow and steady beside you. The warmth of his body is a comforting weight next to yours, and you let yourself relax into it, your fingers idly tracing the soft flesh of his stomach, enjoying the closeness.

"My parents are visiting." his voice breaks the stillness, just above a murmur.

His words hang in the air for a moment, unexpected, almost hesitant. You hum softly in response, not looking up, your fingers continuing their gentle path over his skin, rubbing slow, lazy circles. "Mhm."

Quinn lets out a quiet sigh, one that feels heavy, like there’s more he’s trying to say but can’t quite find the words for. He shifts slightly beside you, the mattress dipping under his movement. "That’s why I haven’t been… over much," he continues, his voice a bit tighter now, almost apologetic.

You pause, your hand resting against his stomach for a moment before resuming its soothing motions. "You don’t have to explain yourself," you reply softly, keeping your voice steady. It’s the truth—you’ve told yourself that from the beginning. The two of you weren’t dating, not officially, not in any way that came with expectations or obligations. It was a casual fling, a connection that didn’t require labels or promises. At least, that’s what you told yourself when this all started. No strings. No expectations.

And yet, despite those rules, there’s a quiet ache that twists in your chest when he offers excuses. He doesn’t owe you anything—you know that. He’s free to come and go as he pleases, to keep his distance when he needs to, to disappear for days if he wants. But the explanation, the half-apology, suggests he thinks he does owe you something, or at least that he feels guilty about being away, and that stirs something complicated inside you—something you’d rather not look too closely at.

You glance up at him through the dim light of the room. His face is partially in shadow, his expression hard to read, but there’s a tension in his features that wasn’t there before. His eyes are focused on the ceiling, distant, like he’s thinking too hard about something he doesn’t want to talk about. It makes your chest tighten slightly, an involuntary reaction that surprises you.

"You’re allowed to have a life outside of this," you add after a moment, trying to keep your tone casual, unaffected. "Outside of us. We're not dating." The word us feels strange in your mouth, and for a second, you almost regret saying it, like it carries more weight than it should.

Quinn’s eyes flick down to meet yours, and for a second, something shifts in his gaze—something softer, maybe even regretful. His lips press into a thin line before he speaks again. "I know." His voice is quiet, thoughtful, like he’s processing something he hasn’t quite figured out how to say yet. "But I didn’t want you to think I was… avoiding you." His hand moves then, sliding up to rest gently on your arm, his thumb brushing against your skin in a gesture so small and tender it feels almost out of place.

You swallow hard, your throat tightening at his words. "I wouldn’t have thought that," you say, though you’re not entirely sure it’s the truth. The uncertainty in his voice has unsettled something inside you, stirred up feelings you’ve worked hard to keep buried, feelings you shouldn’t have in a situation like this. You were supposed to be fine with the distance, with the lack of commitment. But now, lying here in the quiet darkness with him beside you, it doesn’t feel so simple.

Another silence stretches between you, this one heavier than before. You let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the thoughts swirling in your head.

"You don’t have to explain anything to me, Quinn," you repeat, trying to sound as steady as you can. "I know what this is." The words taste bitter on your tongue, and you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince—him or yourself.

But Quinn doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his hand moves again, this time reaching up to cup your chin, gently turning your face toward him so you’re forced to meet his gaze. His eyes search yours for a long moment, making your pulse quicken in a way you don’t expect. The intensity in his expression catches you off guard, and for a second, you forget how to breathe.

"I’m not so sure I do," he finally says, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You blink, unsure how to respond, unsure if you even want to. There’s a part of you that’s terrified of where this conversation might lead, of what it might mean if you dig too deep into the feelings you’ve both tried so hard to ignore. But another part of you—a part you’ve kept buried for too long—is desperate to know what he’s really thinking.

His gaze is locked on yours, unwavering, and you can see the conflict flickering behind his eyes—like he’s fighting with himself even as he speaks. It makes your heart race, the intensity of the moment, the weight of what he might say next.

“What are you saying?” You ask, your voice quieter than you meant it to be, edged with a hesitation you can’t quite shake.

Quinn exhales a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again, and when he speaks, his voice is low, almost like he’s afraid of what he’s admitting. "I can’t stop thinking about you," he says, his words rushing out, unfiltered. "And I—I know we agreed to nothing serious, but I can’t help how I feel."

You nod, silently urging him to proceed. "I thought I was fine with no strings." he continues, his eyes flicking down for a moment, as if he’s afraid of what he might see in your reaction. "I really did. But… you’ve been on my mind. More than I want to admit. And every time I’m not here, I’m thinking about when I can be. Hell, I just played the worst game of the season, and all I could think about was coming over to see you."

You weren’t expecting this. You had convinced yourself that this was just a fling, a temporary thing that lived within the boundaries you’d both agreed upon. But now, here he is, confessing feelings that you’d told yourself neither of you were supposed to have, feelings you’ve been trying to bury since this started. Your heart thuds loudly in your chest as his words sink in. You don’t say anything for a moment, partly because you don’t know how to respond, and partly because a part of you had been waiting for this—for some sign that what you’ve been feeling wasn’t one-sided.

"Quinn…" you start, but his name comes out as more of a sigh than anything else. He looks at you, his eyes searching yours, waiting for your response, his vulnerability hanging between you like a thread pulled too tight.

He opens his mouth to speak again, his voice softer now, more tentative. "I’m not saying I want to change everything right this second," he murmurs, his eyes dropping down to the space between you, like he’s afraid to meet your gaze fully. "But I just—I had to tell you. I can’t pretend like it’s nothing anymore. Not when it feels like this." His words trail off, thick with emotion.

You can feel your heart pounding, a mix of relief, fear, and happiness swirling inside you. His confession is something you’ve thought about—something you’ve secretly wanted but never let yourself hope for. You know the risk of getting too close, of crossing that line, but the way he’s looking at you now, like he’s baring a piece of his soul, makes it impossible to ignore what’s been growing between you both.

Your fingers tighten on the sheet, your breath catching in your throat as you try to process everything he’s saying. You weren’t prepared for this moment, for the way your chest tightens at his words, for the way hope flickers inside you despite everything you’ve told yourself. Part of you wants to push it away, to keep things safe and uncomplicated, but the other part—the part that’s been secretly wanting more from him—can’t help but lean in.

"You weren’t supposed to feel this way," you say, your voice a little shaky, as if saying it out loud might make it easier to understand. "We weren’t supposed to let it get this far."

He nods, a half-smile tugging at his lips, but it’s filled with resignation, not humor. "I know," he admits softly, his gaze lifting to meet yours again, and for the first time, you can see just how much this is weighing on him. "But I did. And I don’t know what to do with it."

The honesty in his voice, the rawness of it, sends a wave of emotion through you that you weren’t expecting. You’ve both been dancing around this for so long, keeping things casual, keeping the walls up, but now it feels like those walls are crumbling, and you’re both standing there, vulnerable and unsure.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, the weight of everything unspoken hanging heavy in the space between you. You can see the nervousness in his eyes, the way his chest rises and falls unevenly as he waits for you to say something—anything—to break the tension. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, your mind racing. This was supposed to be simple, you remind yourself. No strings. No complications. But now, as you look at him—really look at him—you realize that it hasn’t been simple for a long time.

"I don’t know what to say," you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. It’s the truth. You’ve been trying so hard to keep your own feelings in check, to convince yourself that this was just physical, but hearing him say what you’ve been afraid to even think makes everything feel so much more real. So much more dangerous.

"You don’t have to say anything right now," Quinn says softly, his voice gentle, almost like he’s giving you space to process. "I just… I needed you to know. I can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t mean something to me."

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you process his words. You’re not sure what happens next—what this means for both of you—but as you lie there, tangled in the sheets, the air between you thick with uncertainty and unspoken emotion, one thing becomes clear: this is no longer just casual. Not for him. And, if you’re being honest with yourself, not for you either.

[leclerc-hs]

can't get you outta my head - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader (friends to lovers!) summary: in which you and charles are in the same friend group and find solace in one another OR you and charles fuck and can’t forget about it warnings: smut under the cut! oral (f-receiving!), outdoor sex, p in v, angst, pining, badly translated french (pls correct me), NOT PROOFREAD word count: 5.4k! (lengthy) author’s note: IN HONOR OF HITTING 1,600 FOLLOWERS I AM POSTING THIS TODAY!!!! double-postings today!!! i wrote this SOOO fast so sorry if there’s any mistakes. loved writing it tho and i know i was going to make it more enemies originally but making him softer and cutesy just felt right for now. i can always do another one if you guys want!! just let me know what you think! love hearing from you guys!!! xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

BENEATH THE BRILLIANT canopy of the sun’s golden embrace, you recline comfortably upon the plush cushions of the lounge chairs, creating a sanctuary of comfort amidst the vast expanse of sand. Around you, a kaleidoscope of colors and textures unfold: vibrant beach towels strewn around carelessly, the glistening ocean stretching endlessly before you, and the verdant palm trees swaying in rhythmic cadence against the bright blue sky.

The sound of the ocean’s embrace upon the sandy shoreline murmurs in the background, a subtle undercurrent beneath the symphony of voices of your friends that fills the air. Your gaze drifts towards a cluster of your friends cavorting in the embrace of the water. Their figures, silhouetted against the shimmering expanse of the ocean, exude a carefree vitality. Like playful spirits unleashed, they tumble and wrestle amidst the crash of the waves, their laughter echoing.

You smile softly listening to a few of the girl’s banter over last night’s drunken escapades, flipping a page of the cheap magazine you purchased earlier.

“Joris a pratiquement mange de la merde hier soir.” Joris practically ate shit last night. Your best friend, also Joris’s girlfriend, to the left of you says in between laughter, as you all careen over with a laugh. 

“Au moins, il va bien.” At least he’s fine. You say with a soft smile, turning another page of your magazine. “Can we talk about Antoine shooting a firecracker out of his ass?” The words spark an immediate eruption of laughter, tears threaten to fall from your eyes from the sheer hilarity of the memory.

“Qu’est-ce qui est si drôle?” What’s so funny?

You turn your head and find yourself locking eyes with a pair of captivating green. In that moment, your heart skips a small beat, and a soft smile graces your lips as you gaze warmly at him. “Making fun of Joris and Antoine, bien sûr.” Of course.

A smile plays at the corner of his pink lips, and you can’t help but envy their perfect hue. You can’t help but notice the subtle dimples that grace Charles’ cheeks as he smiles. Did he always have those? With a casual grace, he raises a hand to scratch the side of his stubble before reaching for a towel casually draped over your lounge chair. As he leans over, droplets of water cascade onto your warm skin, a gentle reminder of the ocean’s embrace. You steal a moment to admire the bronzed glow of his skin, the sunlight dancing upon the small beads of water that cling to his sculpted muscles with a tantalizing allure.

A peculiar aura envelops the relationship between you and Charles. You didn’t speak often, although you were in the same friend group, and have known each other for forever. However, in the recent weeks, a shift has occurred. Perhaps it’s the shared experience of a newfound singleness has drawn you closer together, prompting conversations to flow more freely than ever before.

A delicate blush creeps onto your cheeks, a fleeting flush of warmth that you hope goes unnoticed against the backdrop of your sun-kissed skin. You feel a jolt of electricity shoot through you as Charles’s fingers brush lightly against your shoulders while the grabs the towel, igniting a subtle spark between you two.

“Allons-nous au club ce soir?” Are we going to the club tonight? One of your guy friends asks, sinking onto a sandy towel with a groan as he collapses onto the soft grains. 

For a moment, maybe a few seconds, silence hangs in the air. As if each person is lost in contemplation, weighing the prospect of the evening’s plans. Then, in a synchronous chorus, a resounding chorus of “yes” erupts from the group, breaking the silence with unanimous enthusiasm.

You remain silent, immersed in the pages of a trash magazine, each turn revealing scandalous tales that undoubtedly blur the lines between fact and fiction. Charles watches you intently from his position in the beach chair across from you, though not directly opposite. Positioned slightly to the right, his gaze lingers on you with a subtle curiosity, his expression betraying a hint of contemplation as he observes you amidst the circle of friends. Always in your own world.

“Lovie, tu participes?” Are you in? Your best friend beside you seems to notice your lack of response. Her arms stretch across the gap between your chairs, and she gently squeezes your wrist, a silent gesture of reassurance and solidarity. 

Lovie. You don’t exactly know why you got that nickname, but it stuck. And it carried over to most of the friend group calling you that since childhood.

You lifted your head up, the sun beading down on you causing your eyes to slightly crinkle, as you gave her a look that said duh!

Your friends smile widens as she claps her hands together, her excitement palpable as she sits up from her previously relaxed position. Her enthusiasm is infectious, casting a warm glow over the group as they all eagerly cheer in happiness with her. “Mon dieu!” Thank God! It was a squeal of relief. “Maybe you’ll meet a sexy man and fall in love and have his babies so you can forget all about that loser.”

Your heart clenches at the mere mention of your ex. The smile on your lip’s falters just slightly, but you quickly regain composure, determined not to show a hint of sadness surface while on vacation with your friends. With a subtle effort, you smooth away the brief flicker of vulnerability, masking it beneath a façade of cheerful resilience. 

You roll your eyes, “Nous verrons.” We’ll see. Your tone carries a hint of mystery as you look back into your magazine, letting the conversation of your friends flow into a different direction.

-

“Es-tu sûre que tu devrais en prendre unautre?” Are you sure you should have another? Joris says into your ear, making sure you’re able to hear him over the pulse of the music, his arm slung over the back of the booth behind you. You lean into his body, a drunken smile pulled on your lips.

He harbored a slight concern for you. While you were his girlfriend’s best friend, your friendship dated back to childhood, long before his relationship with her, and he held you in high regard. His care for you ran deep, and ever since your break-up, he knows that you haven’t been the same.

“Arrête de t’inquiéter pour moi.” Stop worrying about me. You shove his shoulder gently, before pointing to your best friend on the dance floor. “Inquiéte-toi pour elle.” Worry about her.

You let out a soft laugh as you witness Joris’s eyes widen in surprise at the sight of his girlfriend standing on the stage. With a knowing smile, you begin to slide out of the booth with intent to make your way to the bar, sensing the need for a fresh drink to accompany the unfolding spectacle.

Before you can even slide out of the booth, a fresh drink—scratch that, a refill of your drink, is placed in front of you. Your gaze follows the masculine hand holding the glass, adorned with an expensive watch at the wrist, tracing its path up the arm until your gaze meets Charles’ intense stare. His eyes, dark and captivating, lock onto yours, already filled with questions and a silent understanding.

You slide back over, silently signaling him to sit beside you. As he eases into the spot beside you, the proximity of his body sends a shiver down your spin, the heat radiating from him igniting a primal longing within you. Your bare skin tingles with anticipation as his presence fills the air with an electric charge, a silent dance of desire playing out between you in the dimly lit confines of the booth.

In the midst of the pulsating club music, words between you two remained scarce. Yet, you both found solace in the quiet companionship that enveloped you both. The energy of the club swirled around you, but the warmth of each other’s presence, you felt a profound sense of ease settle, much like a comforting blanket.

-

It wasn’t unnoticeable to the rest of the friend group. In fact, it was very noticeable. The way you and Charles seemed to find a connection with one another, especially post break-ups. 

It’s not that you were never friends, you just were never as close. So it came as a slight surprise to a few of your friends as they picked up the little changes that were made.

Like when Charles refills your drinks for you. Or when he notices that there is coconut in your meal, which you’re very allergic to, and sends it back to the kitchen. 

Like when you remind him to put on sunscreen, knowing he tends to burn easily. Or when you find yourselves sitting out by the fire at night, long after everyone went to sleep, just talking about the most random things.

“The CGI in that movie was terrible!”

“It’s a classic! You can’t hate a classic!”

“That doesn’t make the CGI better!”

Or

“I’ll have you know I’m a culinary expert.”

“Charles, I’ve known you for forever. Don’t lie!”

“I’m an innovator! Who else could turn pasta into charcoal with such ease?”

No matter the topic at hand, you and Charles always found yourselves engulfed in laughter, the gentle sound filling the air with warmth and camaraderie.

-

You didn’t want sadness to cloud your vacation, but sometimes emotions have a way of washing over you like relentless waves. One of the evenings, while your friends made plans to dine out, you made the wise choice to stay in. Although you didn’t want to miss out, you felt that you were not in the right mindset to be out with everyone. Some protested your decision, expressing concern, but you assured them that you would be fine on your own and ready to party it up all day tomorrow.

Charles shot you a funny look as he slid his hands into one of his pockets, leaning casually against the kitchen archway. His white linen shirt, barely buttoned and snug against his muscles, accentuated his tan, making it seem even more vibrant against the stark contrast of the fabric. A single glance from him stirred a whirlwind of emotions within you as you perched on the bar-stool chair, clad in nothing but a tiny pair of sleep shorts and a well-worn t-shirt. It was your ex-boyfriend’s shirt, a garment you should have long discarded, but its comfort proved too irresistible to part with. Despite the pang of guilt that tugged at your conscience, you found solace in its familiar embrace, a reminder of the past you couldn’t quite let go of yet.

The villa you currently stayed in was beautiful. Its whitewashed walls and wrought-iron accents blended modern and luxury all in one. Inside, the warm glow of the setting sunbathed the spacious rooms, casting an ethereal orange hue over the abundance of white and wood-colored furniture. As the click of the front door echoed through the villa, the chatter of your friends faded into near silence as they departed for dinner, leaving you alone in complete silence.

-

You find yourself eventually nestled in the corner of the oversized couch, cocooned in the warmth of a fluffy blanket draped over your body. With the television remote in hand, you flip through the channels, searching for something to capture your interest. Nothing quite grabs your attention, until you stumble upon a cheesy rom-com you’ve seen hundreds of times.

Lost in a trance, you’re oblivious to the world around you, the gentle breeze whispering through the open windows. The creak of the front door opening barely registers, and it’s only when Charles’ silhouette materializes in the archway beside the TV that you snap back to reality. A soft smile tugs at the corners of Charles’ lips as he gazes upon you, nestled comfortably on the couch, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. His heart skips a beat at the sight of you, at the sight of your eyes looking at him with such softness.

“Que fais-tu de retour?” What are you doing back?

He shrugs nonchalantly, pushing off from the wall’s archway and making his way toward you. With an easy grace, he plops down beside you, propping one leg up on another couch cushion and allowing his shoulder and head to half-lean against you.

You both settle in a comfortable silence, the sound of the movie filling the air around you with a comforting ambiance.

“Penses-tu jamais que tu le surpasseras?” Do you ever think you’ll get over him?

The words send your stomach into a frenzy of somersaults, and a tightness forms in your throat, making it difficult to swallow.

You don’t answer immediately, instead you stare ahead at the television, your fingers fumbling with the fabric of the blanket nervously.

“Je l’espère.” I hope so.

His eyes are solemn as you look at him. “Parfois,” Sometimes. He begins, straightening his posture so he can fully look at you. “I think I’ll never get over her.”

His words hang heavily in the air, and though they sting a bit, you understand. You share the same sentiment.

“Mais toi,” But you. His hand reaches to yours, the one fumbling with your thigh. His eyes dart between both of yours, like he’s struggling to formulate his next words. “You just,” He starts before squeezing your hand in his. “You just make my days feel easier.”

You nod slowly, knowing exactly what he’s trying to say. “My pain, my heartache, just disappears whenever I’m with you.” Your voice is soft as you speak the words. The truth of them daunting.

“Sometimes I just wish I could turn my emotions off.” You say, unwrapping the blanket from your body, so that it only sits underneath you now. “Like I could just fuck someone and move on.”

Charles’ eyes widen slightly as the word ‘fuck’ slips past your lips. He nearly lets out an audible groan, his eyes tracing the contours of your collarbones peeking out from the oversized shirt that slips tantalizingly of your shoulder.

He licks his lips, swallowing a pronounced gulp, as his eyes trail back to your face.

“Yeah.” 

You could feel the tension in the air, like the both of you were considering fucking each other here and now. Charles couldn’t escape the thoughts of spreading you out on the cushions right here, spreading your legs and fucking you with his tongue.

As he locks eyes with you, you feel a flutter in your stomach, your thighs clenching involuntarily as his gaze lingers on your lips. You part your lips to speak, but before you can utter another word, a loud burst of commotion erupts through the front door. No doubt your drunken friends, clamoring for the fire pit.

-

You and Charles find yourselves in an awkward dance since then. Not too awkward, but the idea of you fucking each other escaped neither of your minds.

It was honestly twisted. The fact that Charles couldn’t stop picturing what you would look like beneath him, what your moans would sound like in his ear. He had fucked his fist twice to the though of you since he even heard the word ‘fuck’ slip past your lips on the couch the other night. It was honestly pathetic.

You couldn’t handle it either it seems. You found your eyes lingering on Charles way longer than necessary. The flex of his muscles as he enjoys a morning workout by the villa’s pool, the small smiles he gives you from across the room, and the small touches he gives as he walks by you has you driving yourself up a fucking wall.

So, when your friends decide to head out for a spa day, you and Charles hang back sitting across from one another a tad too far apart on the outdoor couch for it to be normal. It was as if you needed the space to stop from jumping each other’s bones.

The skimpy red bikini you wore did little to ease Charles’ thoughts. But he couldn’t help but feel grateful for the first time in weeks he isn’t thinking about his ex-girlfriend. No, he’s too engrossed in the idea of fucking you. Hearing your sweet little moans he just knows you would have. Feeling your smooth skin beneath the pads of his fingertips.

Charles could feel himself harden just by glancing at you lounging comfortably on the outdoor couch, the clouds covering the sun engulfing you guys in a moment of shade.

Across the couch from him, you tried to do everything but acknowledge Charles’ longing stare. But you couldn’t. Your body was all tense, in need of a release. 

“Charles, will you—”

Before you could even finish the sentence, Charles was standing over your figure on the couch. His hardened cock visibly noticeable in his short swimsuit. The muscles of his thighs flexed before you, as he visibly gulped at the vision of your breasts spilling out of the top.

“Assieds-toi droit.” Sit up. He murmurs softly, his voice carrying a gentle command as he shifts, prompting you to straighten your posture.

Was this really about to happen? You really hoped so.

It was as if Charles can see the desire in your eyes, answering the question of if you wanted this in his head almost instantly.

“Est-ce que je peux t’embrasser?” Can I kiss you? His thumb toyed with your bottom lip, tracing it as he licked his own.

You nodded your head before his lips pressed down onto yours, capturing them in a sweet embrace. His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping it firmly near your scalp as he deepened the kiss, igniting a surge of warmth and longing between you.

A soft moan escapes your lips as he slips his tongue into your mouth, pressing it hotly against yours. He pulls away for a moment, still standing above your sitting figure, as he takes in your blown out pupils.

“Ça a un gout si doux.” Tastes so sweet. His hand remains in your hair, holding your head in place to look at him. His eyes stare at your sightly swollen lips, a clench of need forming in the pit of his stomach.

He falls to his knees before you on the couch, kneeling between your two legs, as his other hand presses against your chest, forcing you to lean back against the cushions of the couch. The sun peeped through the clouds momentarily, allowing you to drink in the sight of just how light his eyes were.

His thumb grazes your bikini cladded core, rubbing light circles in a teasing manner. The pressure of his thumb wasn’t enough, but it was everything you needed.

He looked at you from between your legs, a smirk on his face like he knew just how crazy he was driving you. It was an image you never wanted to forget. 

“Touch me.” You begged, a breathy moan leaving your lips as his thumb pressed harder onto your swollen clit. 

It was all he needed to hear before sliding your bikini bottoms to the side and shoving his tongue to where you needed him most. The cool air of the outdoors was a stark contrast to the heat you felt between your legs. 

He took his time with you, like he wanted to savor every sweet moan you gave him. His tongue flicked around your clit a few times, before wrapping his lips around it. Your hand slid into his brown locks, slightly lightened form the sun over vacation, and pulled as you rutted your hips against his face.

“Mm, that’s it,” He groaned into your cunt, his words vibrating against you, sending your hips into a faster frenzy. He slipped two fingers into you, lifting his head to watch as you lulled your head back against the cushion and took your hands from his head to your breasts. You stretched the bikini top slightly, until your breasts spilled over the tiny triangles, your nipples already hardened from the need that burned within you.

Charles slipped one hand up to your breasts, taking one of your nipples in between his thumb and forefinger and pinching.

“M’god,” You half-shouted, biting your lip to prevent yourself for being too loud.

“Don’t deprive me from your sweet little moans, yeah?” He pulled his lips off your clit for a few seconds, giving you ample time to look at them glistening in you. You nearly came at the sight of it. 

He dropped his head back between your legs, flicking fast kitten licks to your clit, which had you careening forward with a cry of pleasure.

He sucked hard on your clit, eliciting loud mewls from you that were like a sweet melody to his ears. Charles could feel his cock straining against the tightness of his swim suit, he flexed his hips into the couch before him, in need of some sort of relief. 

He could feel you teetering on the edge of your orgasm, shoving his face deeper into you, his tongue slipping in and out of you at a fervent pace. It hit you hard. Your hips had a mind of their own, as they rode his face, the bony structure of his nose pressing against your clit sending you into a frenzy.

Charles replaced his tongue with his fingers and watched as you came down from your high. His fingers still working you over as he coaxed you through your orgasm, not letting up.

“I knew you would taste like heaven,” He smirks, finally removing his fingers, before slipping them into his mouth, and moaning at the taste of you on his tongue.

You groaned, your pupils blown out as you looked at him, your legs still spread and cunt fully exposed to him and the outside air. 

“Need more,” You practically begged.

“Need my cock, hm?” You nodded, wasted no time in answering. He pushed himself up from his knees, sitting beside you on the couch as he pushed his swimsuit down enough to free his cock. It was hot and heavy in your hands as you reached for it, precum already dripping from its tip.

You straddled his waist, raising up just enough for him to slip his cock into your already saturated core. Your hands grip the back of the couch behind Charles’ head, your fingers clenching it tightly as you take in each inch of him. His hands grip your waist, large fingers sprayed across as he guides your movements over his cock.

The squeeze of your cunt on his cock was better than Charles could ever imagine. The fact that he had to use his fist before you was honestly a punishment compared to this.

“Mon dieu,” My God. You groan as his cock stretches your walls. You waste no time in working yourself over his cock, the pleasure of it too good for you to do it slow. You chased that second orgasm as it teetered on the edge. You were already so close.

“That close already?” His smirk was permanent on his face as he flexed his hips up into you, hitting you deeper than before.

You nodded, soft mewls escaping your lips constantly. It was as if you couldn’t shut up now. His hands grip your hair tightly, pulling your head back to look up at the sky, as he pulls one of your hardened nipples in between his teeth.

You didn’t have time to tell him you were coming again, but the clench of your walls on his cock was enough of a warning for him. Your walls fluttered around him repeatedly, as his name fell softly from your lips followed with a string of curses.

As if he couldn’t hold back his orgasm any longer, he lifted you up off him and placed you to the side, his hot cum spilling over his cock and stomach in stringy spurts. Your body was limp against the cushion, your bathing suit covering nothing.

Still hazy from your climax, you look from the blue cloudy sky to Charles beside you. His eyes were glossy as he smiled, like he was fully content.

“Merci,” Thank you. You said softly, an acknowledgment for him giving you what you mentioned the other night.

He nodded once, giving a small smile as if to say thank you back.

-

It’s been weeks since you and Charles fucked on the outdoor couch of the vacation villa. You haven’t seen each other much since, not that you expected it. You were thankful it helped you forget about your ex-boyfriend just a little bit more. Like you could bare the idea of meeting other men. Which you were.

You claimed that Charles was a one-time thing. Although it was probably the best sex you’ve ever had, you knew you couldn’t do it again. It was a mutual one-time thing.

So, when you found yourself pressed against the bathroom door of the five-star restaurant, your short little sundress bunched up at your waist, and Charles’ cock buried deep in your cunt, it was a little unexpected. Not completely.

It was hard and quick, nothing but a string of breathy moans between you two as he pressed your chest forward into the door. You both came quickly, your chest flushed red and his cheeks slightly pink as if he just performed a hard workout. 

“Who’s your date?” He asks, the words slip out fast, like he’s trying to act like he doesn’t care.

You furrow your eyebrow for a second, before looking at yourself in the mirror, Charles standing tall behind your figure. “Just met him last night,” You flattened your hair as much as you could to make it seem normal. “I’m trying to get back out there.”

Charles smiles at you, although it seems slightly pained. “Good. Your ex-boyfriend didn’t deserve you.” His words were kind, and it made you smile that he even bothered to say it. 

“I should get back,” You begin, turning to face him. His eyes look at your lips one last time, like he’s contemplating kissing you again. “I’ll see you next week at Joris’s, right?”

He gave you a small nod.

-

Charles Leclerc is a liar.

Well, a liar when it comes to him saying he doesn’t think about you sexually. The way you feel around his cock. The way your breathy moans turn him on to no end. The way your breasts bounced with each thrust of his cock. The taste of your cunt on his lips. 

He’s a liar if he says he doesn’t fuck his fist almost every night to the thought of you.

But he was also a liar when it comes to him saying he doesn’t think about you not sexually. The way you loved to read trashy magazines, the way you always fidgeted with the rings on your fingers when you were nervous, the way your eyes glowed whenever you laughed. 

So, when Joris mentions you and a new potential boyfriend, he can’t help but feel slightly annoyed at the idea. The clench of Charles’ jaw at the sight of you and this ‘potential boyfriend’ across the yard at baby shower, does not slip past Joris’s eyesight.

“Y a-t-il quelque chose entre vous deux?” Is there something between you two?

Charles clutches the neck of the beer bottle in his fingers, bringing it to his lips, before straying his eyes from you to Joris beside him.

Charles’ eyes gleamed like he didn’t know how to answer this without admitting feelings he hasn’t even admitted to himself. He shook his head. No. Because there wasn’t.

“Vous étiez proches en vacances.” You guys were close on vacation.

It was just a statement, as if he wanted to see Charles’ reaction. Charles didn’t know if Joris was trying to insinuate anything, but Charles didn’t respond. Not as Joris’s girlfriend, your best friend, popped up behind you both, a tray of cupcakes in her hand.

You sat across the yard, deep in conversation with Theo, at one of the many heavily decorated picnic tables. The short purple sundress that adorned your body is a vision of effortless elegance. Delicate straps grace the shoulders, framing your breasts with a feminine charm. The skirt flows gently with every movement, swaying gracefully in the warm breeze.

You both knew it wasn’t anything serious, at least yet, but he had a way of making you smile, nonetheless. Despite only knowing each other for a few weeks and sharing a handful of dates, he made a point to take his time with you. He was considerate, never pressuring you into anything, especially after you had confided in him about your previous messy relationship one night.

“Tu es belle.” You’re beautiful. Theo whispered into your ear, his fingers toying with the fabric at the ends of your dress, resting right above your knees.

You blushed, your cheeks flaring a light shade of red, as you smiled into your lap. You lifted your head slightly, looking across the yard, where your eyes met with Charles. His eyes already watching you with such heat in his eyes it made your stomach do a somersault.

He felt an intense surge of resentment towards the guy who dared to lay his hands on you, his anger boiling as he watched him lean into whisper into your ear. Your cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of crimson under his gaze, betraying the effect of his words.  What could he possibly be saying to you?

It was just his cock you were coming around last week. So, why is this fiery sense of jealousy threatening to consume him entirely?

It didn’t make sense. How could he feel such intense jealousy over someone he never even had a real relationship with? He never even felt this jealous over his ex-girlfriend.

It was just sex.

He told himself repeatedly. It was just sex. But it only made the burn in his chest only grow more.

-

You were a liar if you said that Charles Leclerc is never on your mind. You were a liar if you said that it was just sex.

Because, for some inexplicable reason, you can’t seem to get Charles Leclerc out of your mind. You remember how he made sure none of your dishes contained coconut, how he bought you those trashy magazines he knew you loved so much, and how he always made sure that you were smiling.

So, when Charles Leclerc stood silhouetted in the doorway of your front door, the moonlight casting a soft glow around him in the middle of the night, you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat.

You took note of his hair in disarray, as if he had run his hands through it a dozen times, and the soft grey sweats that hung loosely on his hips. The taut muscles of his arms peeked out against the seams of the black t-shirt he wore. 

“Je n’arrête pas de penser à toi.” I can’t stop thinking about you. He utters the words with a look of anguish etched on his face, each step carefully navigating around your figure as he stands in the foyer of your apartment, a space he’s been in countless times over the years. But never alone. Never without friends.

You close the door and turn to look at him, not realizing just how close he was to you. “It’s like you,” he begins but freezes, taking a step closer toward you. You take a step back, the tight tank top you wore did little to hide your hardened nipples from the cold air, and your back hit the front door. “It’s like you possess every thought I have. Every single thought. You. You. You.”

You sucked in a breath as you looked into his eyes, more darkened than normal, almost as if he was angry at you.

“Qu’est-ce que tu m’as fait?” What did you do to me? His fingers trail up your arm to your collarbones, a trail of goosebumps following in their wake.

You gulp audibly, your lips slightly parted from the feel of his fingertips on your skin for the first time in weeks. You struggle to find the words until Charles is pleading.

He laughs slightly sarcastic, like he can’t believe this is happening to him. “I even bought those trashy magazines that you like so much, a whole stack of them at my place, because I cannot get you out of my fucking head.”

“Dit moi, it’s not just me.” Tell me.

You would be a liar if you said it’s just him. Your hands trail up to his shoulder, your fingers squeezing them in comfort as you stare into his eyes. His breaths getting heavier as your fingers trail his t-shirt classes skin, like he was yearning for it so much, like it burned him.

“It’s not just you.”

He doesn’t give you time to say much more, not until his lips are crashing down onto yours again. Like he couldn’t last one more second without your lips pressed to his.

[ghostaholics]

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄-𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn!reader (aside from a single idiom whose origin uses masculine language/pronouns - every man for himself) ➸ SUMMARY: Against all odds, the Lieutenant accidentally falls asleep on your shoulder. Unfortunately, there are witnesses to the precarious situation (just your luck that it would be Gaz and Soap). ➸ WORD COUNT: 2k

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄: don't poke the bear.

Danger in your line of work typically consists of trying to walk away from a mission while still being left completely intact (i.e. the goal is to make it out alive, in one piece). You’ve survived a great number of ordeals: cornered into a shootout with a dwindling supply of ammo, tiptoed your way through a field of pressure-sensitive IEDs, dove towards probable death (with an awfully high probability of splattering onto hot, concrete hell like a bug on a windshield) because your helo was sent tail spinning courtesy of a perfectly-aimed RPG – and really, the list goes on.

It's been child’s play, in the grand scheme of things. An extensive catalogue of life-or-death scenarios accounts for your entire military career. And sure, this might be a bit of a stretch, but you'd wager that none of those instances thus far have been as high-stakes as the current predicament you’ve found yourself in.

Jesus-fucking-Christ. Why’d Ghost have to fall asleep on you?

𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: avoid sitting next to him on the plane ride home. You've had to learn it the hard way.

And the kicker is that this whole thing could’ve been avoided; it didn’t have to be your problem. You could’ve sentenced any one of the other soldiers to your seat. Every man for himself, right? Get off scot-free, have a normal trip back to base with plenty of legroom so that you’re not cramped. Theoretically, it would've been beautiful – a passenger's paradise, the closest you could get to a first-class ticket.

But no.

Instead, play the Good Samaritan; extend your hand out with an act of benevolence. What’s the harm, right? So, you'd spared the poor guy, said you wouldn't mind switching places with him because he'd looked as white as a damn sheet at the idea of being crammed beside this behemoth of a lieutenant who's infamously every FNG's living nightmare.

Yeah, well hindsight is 20/20. Had you known what was going to happen, you would've had no reservations about throwing him under the bus. Sayonara, mate.

Law of the jungle, plain and simple.

To make matters worse, he is, in fact, exhibiting terrible flight etiquette. His head (which is dead weight and feels about as pleasant as a fucking bowling ball, mind you) has taken up every inch of real estate on your shoulder and is practically tucked into the curve of your neck; you’ll need to take a trip to the chiropractor’s after this – several, probably. The edge of his skull mask is digging into you. And, the cherry on top: get this – he’s man-spreading, so his left leg's trespassing into your own territory and brushing against your thigh. Utter lack of regard for personal space.

Incredible.

You’d still rather die than wake him up, though. You're not sure what'll happen if you do, but that's a risk you're not willing to take.

All things considered, an achy shoulder is a much better alternative than incurring the wrath of one angry Lieutenant. He's more subdued in this kind of context. To be completely honest, if you weren't already well-acquainted with him, you'd find it endearing.

From here, it's easy to see the simple rise and fall of his chest, steady and even. Slow inhale in, slow exhale out. He's at peace, a rhythmic lull that matches your own breathing. You can't quite put your finger on the exact moment he fell asleep. (He's got a habit of shutting his eyes and folding his arms over his chest when he isn't in the mood to converse with the other soldiers onboard. But God willing, he would never voluntarily loll his head onto your shoulder.) For what it's worth, he deserves the rest – never been one to do it this soundly as countless missions have taught you that he's usually a light sleeper. You remember him roughly prodding the toe of his boot at Soap's arm once when the Scot was conked out and his snores were a bit loud for Ghost's taste.

Rather odd then, that the Lieutenant even managed to allow himself to doze off like this. It’s too loud, too unsteady – the droning of the plane engine doesn't exactly make for good white noise and the turbulence outside is jostling the cabin around. Moreover, this puts him in a position of vulnerability, and he’s not the type to let his guard down so easily.

But somehow he did it with you beside him.

You try not to think about the implications of that.

𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄.

Because, Soap's just woken up from his nap, the first among the entire company of soldiers in the cabin still sleeping, excluding yourself. His seat's parallel to yours, straight across the walkway within direct line of sight, so he’s got an unobstructed view of you and Ghost. Soap sends a questioning glance in your direction, eyebrow quirked. A look that says, The hell's going on?

The level of your voice is down; it's at a conservative decibel to avoid rousing the others. Yet you convey your distress with the same amount of passion as if you were stuck in the middle of a losing firefight. "MacTavish, help."

Soap works with bombs for a living. Surely, he's capable of defusing situations too.

Alright the man’s a demolitions expert, but that’s semantics.

He blinks like he's trying to make sense of the situation. Though, it's pretty obvious what the problem is here. You're not sure why he’s got to take a moment and contemplate it. You need a solution, now. And he's moving at a snail's pace.

For a second, you think he might sympathize with your plight.

But then his mouth morphs into a shit-eating grin and when he nudges Gaz awake, you know right then and there that you're absolutely fucked.

More witnesses.

Great.

Because that’s just what you need, isn’t it?

Gaz drags a hand down his face. He pans over to his right to figure out why he’s been jolted awake so suddenly, and sees Soap who’s inexplicably, nauseatingly jovial before his eyes land on you.

Much like Soap’s original reaction, Gaz can’t help but offer a quizzical expression. The confusion is evident. His brows are drawn together because he knows that the L.t. wouldn't fall asleep on your shoulder.

Soap's shifting, sliding his hand into his pocket before pulling out his phone. He messes with it – a few taps here, a few swipes there. And then before you're registering what's happening, he's aiming it straight at you, like one of those mums getting a snapshot of their kids in matching jumpers during the holidays.

"Say cheese."

An indignant gasp leaves your mouth. "If you so much as—

"Soap, no. Don't do that." Gaz says from beside him, plucking the phone out of his hands. He tsks him with a click of his tongue. Stern disapproval in spades. The meaning is clear: it’s a big thumbs down from the Brit. He’s not endorsing this type of behavior. “Gone mad now, have you?” he asks in admonishment.

You release a sigh of relief. Finally, some moral support. He's reliable. Your faith in him is unshakable. Always could count on Gaz to get you out of—

"Have to shoot with a wide angle, see? Or else it'll look wonky," he corrects, flipping the phone horizontally before handing it back to Soap.

"Aye, thanks mate.”

Gaz's smile isn't as excessive as Soap's but the smirk gracing his face tells you he's relishing in your misery all the same.

Fucking traitor.

"Knobheads—"

They’d risk their own hides to save you from certain death. You've seen it in Cairo, Valencia, and Seoul. Good men. Good hearts in the right place as well. However, they're also the type to embarrass you at every opportunity – public humiliation being somewhere on that roster as well. And for that, you want to strangle them.

"Rude,” Soap comments pointedly.

"Bite me, MacTavish."

"Just wake him up if it's bothering you," Gaz supplies unhelpfully.

"If you were in my shoes, would you do it?"

"'Course, not," he snorts. "I don’t have a death wish.”

“Well, I also prefer my head on my shoulders, thank you very much," you whisper furiously, nearly hissing at him.

And Soap is admiring his handiwork, when he coos, “Aw, the two o' you make quite the pair." He briefly twists the screen so that you can catch a glimpse of it, and even from this distance, you can confirm that he's captured the shot. Annoyingly well, to add insult to injury. Angle? Spot-on. Lighting? Brilliant. It's interesting, has character. Black and white photography. He's managed to make a stunning composition and your upper lip is curling up into a sneer of disgust at his artistic eye. How infuriating.

"I'll send this to the Cap. He’ll get a kick outta it."

"Sod off."

"He'll appreciate bein' included."

Gaz matches the energy with an equally gleeful smile, now delighted by the idea. “Hey, and the L.t. he looks—”

“—cute," Soap has the audacity to finish for him.

What.

There are many words that you’d use to describe Ghost.

Cutthroat, maybe. Imposing. Glacial. Taciturn. A stringent set of ideals that makes him the perfect soldier: disciplined, honed, fierce. Intimidating, if he's not fighting on your side – someone you'd much rather have on your team than against, unless you fancied death. He can be a stone-cold terror on occasion. The man’s been penned as a walking horror story by those in the military. Given his iron-hearted demeanor, you'd be hard-pressed to disagree with that statement; there's not much room to call his steel-encased resolve into question.

So, yeah. Above all else, he's certainly not cute.

Your eyes narrow at them. "Congratulations, the both of you have officially made the top of my shitlist."

Soap, indifferent to your crisis, asks, "Want a copy for your wallpaper?"

There's another heated remark waiting on the tip of your tongue, because there's no way in hell that you would and you're ready to tell him off, about to give him an earful.

But somebody else beats you to it.

“Wipe that picture, or I’ll wring your bloody necks.”

Ice surges through your veins. Goosebumps break out across your skin. Because that voice belongs to one person. Oh, Christ. Never in a million years would you want to be on the receiving end of it.

There's anxiety warping in your chest. You're scared stiff, paralyzed with fear in a way that implores you to remain stock-still. The coarse fabric of your trousers bunches underneath your palms as you try not to freak out. This isn't your fault. None of it is.

And here's the worst part: Ghost hasn't lifted his head from your shoulder yet.

But Soap's unfazed. He blinks a couple of times, seems like he's weighing his options – as if there's something else he could choose besides following his lieutenant's command – yeah, right. He wises up, settling for a simple answer in the end. "Alright, Ghost." His smile makes a reappearance, sweet and well-meaning. Troublemaker. "Any chance you'd like a copy before I do away with it?"

"What kind of fuckin' question is that, Johnny?" he grumbles. "Obviously."

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄:

"I take it you don't think I'm cute then. Have I got that right?"

"I'm sorry... mind repeating that again, sir?"

"You didn't have anything to say about Soap's comment."

"I have a feeling that whatever I answer will get my arse handed to me, L.t."

He's smiling in response – like sunshine trapped behind clouds. Despite it being obscured by the mask, you can see his eyes crinkling at the corners, which makes the black charcoal that's lining them begin to crease a bit. "Permission to speak freely, Sergeant. You have the floor."

Your mouth parts in surprise. Well, then. Maybe you stand corrected. And so, you appraise him momentarily, giving it some serious thought. There's more to Ghost than you give him credit for. He's terse and rough around the edges, but respected for a reason. Admirable. Someone you think highly of and has deserved your approval. The mask undeniably provides an air of intrigue. “I suppose you can be,” you start off, gradually warming up to him being more approachable. “When you’re not terrorizing the new recruits, that is.”