#and i know this is boring for anyone outside of this brain but i have to laugh at the weird randomness with strings of logic (there was lots

[whatevers-inconvenient]

so in today's subconscious cooking up stories while i sleep, 1) my parents were rich af, 2) i was 16 or so and had a mental breakdown (for the only realistic part), so they 3) drove me to some facility and i was screaming and running away UNTIL 4) the therapy they assigned to me was a two hour walk around a huge glass building with the lawyer from Anatomy of a Fall 😭😂

i completely forgot about this meh film and the guy... or clearly not on some level. also 5) became friends with a fellow inpatient who looked suspiciously like Rayne Fisher-Quann.

okayyyyy

[kamitv]

▷ First Time?

Synopsis . When you get paired with the campus asshole, Sukuna, for a project, the last thing you expect to learn about him is that he’s a damn virgin. Nor did you expect to be the one to change that. / Pairing . virgin!Sukuna x fem!reader / Content . afab!reader, oral sex (m!receiving), premature ejac, non-curse college au, dirty talk, pet names, degrading, porn w plot, teasing, taunting, filth, etc. / wc . 6k

A/N: ty to the nonnie on my main who asked if I’d ever write virgin!jjk men :3 [MDNI]

Who would’ve thought?

Of all people, Sukuna, a virgin? It just didn’t make sense.

He was this stand-offish asshole who most people respected out of pure fear. He didn’t exactly do parties and yet you could always find him at one. He’d always have some chick on his arm or even in his lap so, in what world would anyone with a brain assume he’s actually never been inside a woman before?

And to make his lack of game all the more unbelievable, he’s even rumored to have a big dick— it’s like some overly well-known campus fact about the guy.

So, again, what reason would anyone have to think the guy was a virgin?

Certainly not you, of course. And you don’t expect to be the only person to find out such information either.

The way you find out is probably even more bizarre than the fact itself. You and him had little to no reason to ever interact with each other. You weren’t some shy nerd who holed herself up in her room all day or anything but you weren’t much of the party type other.

You were stuck somewhere in the middle of all that, vicariously living through some of your friends who had better things going for them.

As such, there was no real reason for you and Sukuna to cross paths. He never even had a reason to acknowledge your existence until the two of you are paired up together for a project in the one class you happen to take together.

——

The background noise is the chatter of your fellow classmates and their own project partners, you find your partner grumbling out a low, “What?” In response to your last statement, having hardly heard a thing you said.

“I said,” You huff, sitting beside the man in question as today marks week two of you being paired up with him for this semester’s project, “We should be meeting up outside of class too. We could get his knocked out in like a day if you just-“

“Oh that,” Sukuna cuts off casually. Seated all slouched back in his seat, his legs sprawled out in that signature manspread of his— he rolls his eyes at your little reminder, “You said somethin’ about that last week.”

You speak through slightly gritted teeth, fighting the headache he’s about to give you from this conversation alone, “All the more reason for you to take it into consideration. The faster we get this done, the less we have to deal with each other.”

As you say that, you glance at him only to find his eyes directly on yours already. He’s got such lazy posture, his head tilted slightly whilst he gazes at you so intently, and his big muscular arms folded across his chest. Even wearing a black hoodie and gray sweats, he still looks as attractive as ever— mean low-lidded crimson eyes locked on yours, tattooed face so beautifully defined, and rosy lips pulled into such an uninterested little frown.

Up until your words hit his ears properly, “The less we have to deal with each other, huh?” Sukuna repeats, narrowing his eyes even further at you, “You barely even know me ‘nd yet you want nothing to do with me already.”

“I know enough about you, Sukuna,” You say with a sigh, “And you hardly contribute to this project as is. Which only proves that everything they say about you is probably true.”

He arches a brow, his interest piquing, “And what exactly do people say about me?”

You let off a light scoff, “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“But I don’t know,” Sukuna tells you honestly, maroon eyes boring into yours.

You stare for a moment as you try to decipher whether or not he’s being honest right now. How does he not know what people say about him? Everyone talks about his brooding personality very openly.

“They say you’re an ass,” You eventually say to the man.

To which his lips twitch into a slight smirk, “And you believe that?”

“Seeing as I’ve asked you to, at the very least, type your name on this document and you haven’t even done that yet,” You scoff, “Yes.”

The two of you mildly glare at one another for a moment before Sukuna leans up in his seat. Breaking eye contact for just a moment to look at his laptop, he swiftly moves to open up that shared document of yours and types his name out with a heavy sigh.

After which, he’s slouching back again and looking at you, “Don’t believe everything people tell you, woman.”

You roll your eyes at him, “What? Are you not fond of rumors? That still doesn’t negate the fact that you’re an assho-“

“When do you want to meet up?” Sukuna grumbles out almost reluctantly, watching the way you pause and swallow thickly as he catches you off-guard.

He’s almost even intrigued by how quickly you bounce back, despite being caught by surprise, “Friday. Are you free?”

“Unfortunately,” He grumps.

You give him a little shrug, “Good. I’ll see you then.”

And that was it. That was how each and every interaction with you and Sukuna went. Bickering back and forth about him not doing shit to help you with something that’ll affect your grade majorly, criticizing you about being too focused and needing to relax every now and then, and even calling you a stuck-up little brat one time— it was safe to say, you and Sukuna didn’t get along too well.

Not that you minded anyway. He wasn’t your first partner to care little about their grade so, you knew how to deal with these kinds of people by now. Typically, you indulge yourself in their craving to ‘relax’ just once and then they promise to start helping. You’ve gone down that path before and it’s worked for you then so you assume things will go the same way with Sukuna.

Plus, you guess you can give him a slight pass for his asshole attitude, at least he has a pretty face to look at. Dark ink always decorating his awfully smooth skin, deep dark yet beautiful ruby-shaded eyes boring into whatever it is his focus on, and broad shoulders looming over your smaller figure every time he stands in front of you— you can't help but feel both attracted and intimidated by the man.

——

Which is exactly why when you open your apartment door for the scheduled meetup that Friday to crane your head up at him, you’re swallowing thickly to settle your nerves. You’ve never been alone with the man so of course you’re a bit nervous.

Especially with the way he gazes down at you like that’s exactly where you belong: beneath him. His eyes are filled to the brim with intensity and yet he’s only just set them on you. Wearing a noticeable black compression shirt and those signature gray sweets of his, he almost appears as though he’d just come from the gym.

And just as you take in his appearance, he very openly takes in yours— his eyes raking over your body and taking in every single inch of you. After all, just as it was your first time alone with him, it was his first time seeing you dress so comfortably. He doesn’t even try to hide the way he stares at your tits peeking out from the rather thin spaghetti-strap top you were wearing, his eyes soon trailing down slowly to those tauntingly short shorts you had on.

“So,” Sukuna swipes his tongue over his lips and cocks his head to the side, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes yet to lift from your legs, “Are you gonna stare at me all day or are you gonna let me in?”

You blink out of whatever little daze you were in, having found yourself gazing at his chest far longer than you meant to. It was right in front of your face after all, how could you look anywhere else? And his shirt was so damn tight, the fabric hugging his well-toned body perfectly, so much so that you swore you could make out piercings on his-

Sukuna leans forward suddenly, his face nearing yours to gain your full attention, “If you keep staring at me like that, I’m gonna assume you invited me over for something else-“

“Sorry,” You chirp out as you clear your throat and awkwardly step back a bit to let him in, “You can come in.”

Nodding, Sukuna slips by you and you shut your apartment door behind him. Then, you’re quick to lead him over to your living room where you’d previously been working on your project.

The two of you are hasty to take a seat on your couch, both of you only a few inches apart from one another whilst you lean toward your coffee table and log into your already open laptop. Sukuna’s eyes are all over you as always, studying your side profile, your intent focus on the screen in front of you, and even the way you-

“Did you even bring anything?” You suddenly ask before you glance at the man.

Sukuna quickly meets your gaze, ripping his eyes off of wherever they’d been previously, “Was I supposed to?”

“Sukuna,” You sigh out, “Please tell me you’re joking right now.”

He swallows at the mere sound of his name rolling off your tongue in that scolding tone of yours— he’s heard such a tone from you time and time again and yet, for whatever reason, it never seems to annoy him. 

“I’m not.” He says plainly.

“How are we supposed to work on this if you-,” You cut yourself off and decide not to even attempt arguing with him. Arguing won’t change the fact that he showed up with nothing. “Just uhm,” You glance elsewhere for a second before an idea comes to mind and you place your laptop down and stand up, “Stay here.”

Sukuna doesn’t say anything. He merely watches as you huff and walk off, swiftly exiting the living room and disappearing down a nearby hall. He swears he finds himself looking at you a bit more than intended. Especially as you walked off, his eyes dropping to your ass and those damn shorts of yours.

Even when you’re out of his sight, he still finds himself staring in the direction of which you went, almost unable to look away for whatever strange reason.

That lasts for a few minutes until he snaps out of it and leans back against the couch, tossing his head back and letting out a long sigh. You soon return to find him with an arm stretched along the back of the couch, his legs spread as usual, and his eyes up on the ceiling.

He doesn’t even notice you’ve returned until he feels something placed in his lap. Looking down, Sukuna finds your laptop kindly set on top of him. To which his brows furrowed in confusion and he looked at you to see you sitting on the floor in between the couch and the coffee table with a paper and pencil in front of you.

“What’s this?” Sukuna scoffs.

You don’t even spare him a glance as you begin writing something down, “How we’ll get things done.” He opens his mouth to say something but then you’re looking back at him with a glare, “I already organized the parts of this project that you have to do so, since it’s on my computer, you can work on that and I’ll work with what I remember.”

You wholeheartedly expected him to find something about this to disagree with you on but, to your surprise, he simply nods and redirects his focus to your laptop immediately.

And then, the two of you work exactly like that for the remainder of that little study session.

——

Sukuna’s not terrible to work with when it’s just you and him. If anything, he’s rather cooperative and a lot smarter than he leads on. 

Which is why a solid two hours of productivity flies by surprisingly smoothly with him. If you asked him a question, he answered. Told him to do something, he’d say something snarky, and then do whatever it is you’ve instructed anyway.

It all went so perfectly up until he let out a really heavy sigh, “Alright, I’ve had enough for this.” Sukuna says casually.

He’s been repeating a similar phrase every thirty minutes or so but he usually gets right back to work after getting ignored by you. This time though, you get the feeling he’s serious when he pushes your laptop off of his lap and places it forward on the coffee table.

It’s then that you frown, “Oh c’mon, we were getting so much done,” You comment as you glance back to him.

He shrugs, “I can’t keep looking at that damn screen, it’s giving me a headache.”

“Of course it is,” You utter sarcastically, rolling your eyes whilst you place your pencil down and throw your arms up to stretch, “Fine then, we can take a break.”

Sukuna’s brows lift in surprise. He didn’t expect you to listen to him, “Good.” He hums, “I was getting bored as well.”

You scoff, “Were you?”

“Yeah, can we do something else?” He asks.

Turning around, you rotate the way you’re sitting so that you’re facing him and your back is resting against your coffee table. “Like what?” You muse, meeting his low-lidded gaze.

“Talk,” Sukuna says.

That’s it? He wanted a break to talk to you? Your eyes are narrowing at him before you even realize, “Talk?” You repeat with a scoff, “Seriously?”

He nods, “Mhm.”

“What do you wanna talk about, Sukuna?” As you ask him that, you watch the way his eyes casually slide down to your lips.

Does he mean to be this indiscreet with his looks? Or is he eyeing you down like that on purpose?

The man shrugs, “Anything outside of fuckin’ school.”

You laugh at that, “Okay, I can work with that.”

He tilts his head at you and licks his lips, “Yeah?” Something about your little laugh threw him off. 

“Mhm,” You hum as you look down at your hand, fiddling with your nails a bit, “The rumors… are they true?”

Thrown off yet again, Sukuna’s brows pinch together. “Rumors?” He echoes in a genuinely confused tone, “What rumors, woman?”

The sound of your scoff makes him stiffen in his seat. Almost in an instant, the atmosphere had changed suddenly. “C’mon, don’t play dumb,” You tease, lifting your gaze to him again, “The rumors about you.”

He gives you a perplexed look and it’s almost as though you could see the gears in his head turning. “If you know something, say it.” He demands.

You sigh, “Sukuna, do you seriously hear nothing people say about you?”

Sukuna shrugs, “I don’t care enough to remember. So what is it? What rumor?”

You’re just curious. You swear that’s all it was. And, naturally, since he seemed to have warmed up to you— of course you wanted to know if that rumor about his dick was true. You’re both adults and it’s just a silly question. Plus, with the way he’s been looking at you all afternoon, you’re sure he won’t mind answering you with a simple yes or no.

Glancing to the side, your shoulders lift a bit, “It’s uh, rather intimate.” You hush out.

Sukuna narrows his eyes at you, “Intimate?? An intimate rumor about me?”

His emphasis on himself makes your eyes flick back over to him. “Yeah, are you sure you don’t know what they say about you??” You ask again.

“Positive. Now speak, what is it they say?” Sukuna huffs impatiently, even more curious about this little rumor after the mention of it being intimate. After all, he’s never-

“People say you have a big dick,” You utter way too casually.

So nonchalantly that it makes him choke, a choke you don’t mess with the way he clears his throat and sits up a little. “What?” He rasps out.

You bat those stupidly false innocent eyes at him, “I didn’t stutter,” Your tone dips into something different and he catches every bit of it, “People say you have a big dick, is it true?”

Sukuna clears his throat and for the first time, he glances away from you. Then, he opens and closes his mouth, contemplating his next words carefully before they soon fall from his lips, “You wanna find out?”

His offer spurs a shift in your seat from you as you scoot closer to him ever so slightly, “You wanna show me?” You ask boldly, your tone direct, and not even a flicker of hesitation present.

“Do I want to-,” Sukuna pauses, his eyes scanning the entirety of your seated frame as you inch closer to him, “What?” He huffs, swallowing thickly.

You move to stand on your knees and lean forward to the couch, soon propping your chin up on your palm as you look at him, “Show me,” You chuckle, “I asked if you wanted to show me, Sukuna.”

He blinks, “Show you my cock?”

You shrug, “Yeah.”

The air is so thick right now, Sukuna’s not sure how exactly he can play this off without making a fool of himself. He gulps yet again, only to watch as your eyes start to drop down along his body.

“Stop,” He rushes out, “Keep your eyes up here. On mine,” He commands in a low tone, earning your gaze once more.

And then it’s quiet for a moment. He’s staring at you and you’re obediently keeping your eyes up on his. Sukuna hates it but he doesn’t know what to say or do from here. The last thing he wanted was for you to find out his little secret. 

It’s like he was waiting for a fucking pin to drop, something to break the silence. Yet, his mind was going blank and words were failing him at the moment. He’s flirted with women before, plenty of times actually, effortlessly even— but for whatever reason, as you sit there with those stupidly pretty eyes staring at him, his mind simply flakes on him.

He’s like that for a minute longer until you move. So subtly too, sliding a hand to his thigh, leaning forward slightly, batting your lashes at him, “Sukuna?” You whisper.

His hips are rolling upward slightly at the sound of his name alone. “W-What?” He stammers, mentally cursing himself a thousand times over.

“If you don’t wanna show me you can jus’ say no,” You hum, smiling a bit, “Y’know that, right?”

He scoffs, “Of course I know that, woman.”

“If you know that then…” Your fingers lightly squeeze his thigh and you tilt your head, “Are you gonna tell me or show me whether or not those rumors are true?”

Something simply clicks inside Sukuna’s head. Rose-tinted lips cracking into a smirk, the man spreads his legs further and slouches back into the couch, “Find out for yourself since you’re so curious.”

Your eyes go wide, “What?”

Sukuna scoffs lightly, moving one of his arms from the back of the couch and placing his hand over his crotch. Of course, your gaze sinks down to his veiny hand, watching as he palms a stupidly large bulge in his sweats.

Your breath hitches a bit, “I-I-“

You don’t even get the chance to get it out before he’s cutting you off, “C’mere,” Sukuna hums in that low voice of his.

“What?” You whisper.

You and him make eye contact again and he nods his chin toward the space in between his legs. Nothing can really explain why you follow his gesture and quickly find yourself sitting in between his legs, taking a deep breath as you settle your hands on his thighs.

Sliding your touch up and up and up until your fingers graze his hand. The same hand that was resting on top of that aching bulge of his.

Sukuna slowly lifts his hand up and away, relaxing his arm on the back of the couch again as he stares down at you. Cocking his head to the side, “Well? Feel it.” He huffs.

You don’t even hesitate. Trailing your fingers upward carefully until you feel the outline of his cock beneath your fingertips, gulping as you drag your hand up to cup his length in your hand firmly, and smirking at the way his cock twitches furiously beneath your small touch.

Sukuna’s mouth falls open for a second but you’re too engrossed in feeling him to notice. He lets out a shuddered breath as he watches the way you grope his steadily growing erection. His head even tosses back and his fingers dig into the couch for a moment.

“It is big,” You whisper to yourself, your words only making him twitch more within your hand.

“Fuck,” Sukuna grits out lowly, hips unconsciously lifting to press himself further against you.

His curse earns your attention. You quickly glance up to him and see the way he’s got his head tossed back, Adam's apple bobbing with every heavy gulp he takes, and his chest rising and falling rather quickly.

You lift your hand carefully and decide to test something out. Slowly, you lean forward and just barely press your lips against his clothed cock.

Sukuna’s whole body reacts. He gasps louder than he means to and he’s weaving his fingers through your hair faster than he realizes, palming your scalp as he quickly looks down at you. “T-The fuck are you doing? Huh?” He huffs while gripping onto your hair.

You lift your head a bit but he keeps you in place, despite his question to you. “I just…” You’re not exactly sure you can explain yourself.

And by this point, Sukuna doesn’t think he cares enough to hear an excuse from you, “…You what? You wanna see it?”

All you can do is give him a little nod before he moves his free hand to the drawstring of his sweatpants. Then you're quick to help him tug them down until his boxers are revealed to you— a noticeable dampness in the fabric right where his leaking tip is. Was that because of you?

Before you can dawn on your own questions, Sukuna’s moving to tug his cock out. And fuck is he even bigger revealed before your eyes. With an upward curve, such an angry flushed tip, precum dripping from the slit of his fat cockhead, veins decorating his shaft and-

Shit, you were drooling. How’d you get like this again?? Ah, who cares?

“Sukuna,” You breathe out, ripping your eyes away from his cock just to look up at him.

He was almost panting, dark maroon eyes pouring down into yours, face flushed with different shades of red and pink, his lips parted softly— hell, he looked like he was in heat or something.

Gulping before he answers you, Sukuna clears his throat and his voice is already husky, “What?”

You shift against the floor, your hands relaxing against his large thighs, “Can I-“

“Yeah,” He cuts off. Lord knows if you got that question out he was going to lose his damn mind.

You raise a brow and lean forward, keeping your eyes on his while your lips near his tip, “Yeah?”

The last thing you get from him is a nod before you’re parting your lips. And from that moment forward, it all goes downhill. Everything from the way you’re sitting in between his legs to that initial connection of your plush lips against his drooling cock had Sukuna’s mind spinning.

He’s never been sucked off before. Hell, the farthest he’s gone as far as sexual activities are concerned is a little bit of dry humping. But this? Oh hell, this was his first time and he had zero idea how he was going to keep that information away from you.

Especially when he feels your tongue slip from between your lips and swirl around the head of his cock, kittenly lapping up that slim layer of precum sitting so prettily on his tip. 

“Oh f-fuuck,” Sukuna groans huskily, the hand on your head gripping tighter.

You pull away from him slightly just to take in his expression and the way he tosses his head back. It was almost cute to you. The last thing you expected was for him to be so damn sensitive, you hardly did anything.

His sensitivity only worsens as you finally start wrapping your lips around his cock, feeling him throb when you sink your mouth down on him. Sukuna’s jaw goes slack and his brows twist up. He tries his best to hold it in but he can’t help but moan at the way you leisurely suck on half of his lengthy cock.

Your saliva wets up the rest of his shaft and you make up for what your mouth hasn’t reached yet with your hand, stroking him lightly whilst you take the rest of his girth in and out of your mouth. Rolling your tongue around him, pulling off just to messily spit and kiss on his blushing tip, and slobbering all over him— Sukuna almost fucking kicked something with how good your mouth felt around him.

He’s used his hand and other shit before but holy fuck, nothing, and he means nothing compares to that damn mouth of yours. The way you look with his cock stuffed right in between those lips he’s been staring at for God knows how long— your lips all slick with spit, eyes rolling back the deeper you take him, and tongue sticking out every time you pull your mouth off of him.

You soon slip your mouth off of him and start jerking him off, focusing your tongue on his tip and slithering the wet muscle in between the slit of his cock, lathering your tongue up with his glistening precum. 

The sound of Sukuna groaning makes you look up at him, finding his eyes on yours again. He’s panting, trying his best to look like this wasn’t phasing him but failing in every way with how flushed his face was. 

Your tongue sticks out and your hand continues to slide up and down his cock as you tap his tip on your tongue, making his brows twist up. 

He bites back a throaty sound, “Hah… damn brat,” Sukuna huffs out as if to… degrade you? 

You almost find it cute how clearly inexperienced he is, spitting a fat wad of spit onto his pretty wet tip and then smiling at him, “Sukuna,” You coo, your hand gripping his shaft tighter, “Is this your first time?”

He instantly looks off to the side, the veins in his neck and along his jawline tensing as he grits his teeth. Since he decides to ignore your little question, you take it a step further and slide your hand down his cock, gripping his thick base firmly before taking him into your heavenly warm mouth again.

His expression breaks completely, “Oh shit,” Sukuna moans, his hips bucking up into your mouth as you slide him deeper into your mouth than you did before.

Then his hand is pushing your head down further on instinct and he’s subtly rutting his hips up. You lift your head up despite his constant pushing, soon causing your head to bob up and down whilst you suck him off skillfully.

“Jus’ like that,” Sukuna suddenly groans and you moan around his cock in reaction. To which he keeps giving your mouth mindless little thrusts, “Don’t s-, agh, stop.”

Sucking him deeper and deeper before you move your hand completely, you suck in a deep breath of air through your nose, open up the very back of your throat, and sink all the way down, your lips meeting his pelvis as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Sukuna kicks something. Probably your coffee table with the way one of his legs extends out so suddenly, a choked-out groan ripped from his throat as your little move was all it took for him to cum. And it’s so much too, hot thick ropes of cum spurting down your throat, his hand holding onto your head for dear life whilst a moan of your name rolls off his tongue.

You’re still sucking too, pulling up only to swallow what he’s gifted you and then stick your tongue out. Laying it flat against his tip, you leisurely lick at him as if to beg for more and now the man’s pushing your head away for the first time.

When you lift your eyes up to him again, you notice he’s got his tattooed arm over his mouth and his lashes are batting softly at you. For such a big man, he was so ridiculously cute right now. Panting, sweating, cursing under his breath as if you couldn’t hear him.

“Yeah,” Sukuna utters suddenly, clearing his throat, “That was… my first… time. I uh-“

“Do you want more?” Is the last thing you asked him before you were sitting back on your heels and he was stumbling to his feet.

You had to guide him through it of course but, Sukuna doesn’t hesitate to stuff your face full of his cock again. You take him so kindly too, obediently sitting there with your hands gripping his thighs for support with every careful thrust of his hips.

He was trying to be gentle with you at first. Partially because he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and also because he just loved the initial entry into your mouth. Over and over, Sukuna slid his dick in and out of your mouth like he was possessed, addicted to the feeling of you greedily sucking on him.

He was still sensitive from his first orgasm but his cock had yet to go down— twitching inside that sloppy mouth of yours, aching against your tongue, and dripping into the depths of your throat. Sukuna wasn’t much of a talker but he damn sure let out a plethora of grunts and groans.

They were so husk too, coming from deep within his chest, some getting caught in his throat when he felt your tongue flick against a specific vein on the underside of his cock. His fat tip knocked into the back of your throat with a single heavy thrust before his hands were latching onto the sides of your head.

Again, he’s not much of a talker but, something seems to come over him all at once because soon he’s got his gaze locked down on the messy sight of you and he’s huffing out words before he realizes. “Eyes up here, c’mon, hah… look at me,” Sukuna grunts.

Your eyes are completely glossed over as they flutter up to him. A moan vibrates against his skin as you make such intimate eye contact with the man, feeling his hips pick up.

Sukuna nods, “Good girl,” He praises in a low purr, and fuck does that do wonders for you because your legs are squeezing together more than they were before and you’re whining against him. “Fuck, y’like that?” He huffs, earning a sloppy lil’ nod from you.

He then feels you hum, “M-Mhm.” And he’s got chills slipping up his spine in pleasure.

Cracking a lazy, lopsided, and almost fucked-out little smirk, Sukuna scoffs, “Yeah? Fuck, behind all those g-glares ‘nd-, agh, scolding me… this is all you wanted, hm? A throat full of cock?”

His words had you whining again, fluttering your lashes at him as your fingertips dug into his thighs a little. Sukuna eases his hips back slowly, tipping his head to the side as he gently caresses the side of your face with his thumb.

“Messy girl,” He hums deeply, biting his lower lip at the way you’re just drooling for more and more as he pulls himself out of your mouth completely. “Jus’ look at this face,” Sukuna chuckles, “Y’look like a slut cryin’ like that— it’s cute.”

Blinking, you hadn’t even realized you had a tear or two sliding down your face. Your mouth remains open for a second before he moves to rub his tip against your plump lips, smearing your spit and his cum all over the damn place with a little grin on his face.

“‘Kuna…” You whisper, earning a quirk of his brow, “I can’t believe you’re a virg-“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” He grunts, moving a thumb to your chin to widen how open your mouth is for him, “Jus’… keep sittin’ there lookin’ pretty f’me,” Sukuna says.

You roll your eyes at him and all he can do is smile, pushing his hips forward again and easing his cock in between your lips. He slides in slowly until you can feel him pressing right against the back of your throat. To which he keeps himself there for a second, testing that gag reflex of yours and watching your eyes water.

Moving his hand back to the top of your head, he buries his fingers in your hair, “So fuckin’ sexy like this,” Sukuna compliments, feeling you moan in response, “M’gonna cum again, stay j-just like that,” He breathes out heavily, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull before he’s throwing his head back.

And as if to coax his orgasm out, you carefully move a hand to cup his balls, sucking on his cock as best as you can and earning an accidental sound from his throat. The second your palm is felt against him, the moment he feels your tongue slicking against him, Sukuna whines.

Then his thighs are tensing and he’s groaning loudly as if to cover up the sound that just left his lips, filling your throat with his seed and then tugging your mouth off of him with a quick pull of your head. You’re quick to swallow for yet a second time, letting out a needed cough after the fact while he stumbles back just a bit, his calves hitting the couch.

“Vixen,” Sukuna growls.

You clear your throat and send a smile his way, “Not my fault you cum easy.”

Sukuna’s slow to sit back down on the couch to catch his breath, “Tell anyone about this ‘nd I’ll-“

“Oh,” You suddenly purr, cutting him off as you lift yourself up from the ground. He watches with slightly widened eyes as you move to straddle him, “Don’t tell me you thought we were done?”

He’s at a loss for words all over again, his confidence suddenly getting caught in his throat and flying out the window. Your hands slip to his broad shoulders and you lean forward a little.

Sukuna’s hands shakily find their way to your waist as he stares up at you, “You want more?”

You smirk, tilting your head at the dumbfounded male, “Don’t you?” You ask in a sultry little whisper, making his sensitive cock twitch once more. “At the very least…” Your lips slowly near his and he’s losing his breath, “Taste yourself, Sukuna.”

And then your lips are on his and he’s taking your tongue into his mouth. His grip on your waist tightens before he pulls you flush against him, feeling your crotch press right against his cock that’s steadily twitching back to life.

The two of you share a heated and messy kiss, your hips carefully swaying against him to encourage his returning arousal. You can’t really use curiosity as an excuse anymore, can you?

Well, you can. And you do with the way your hands slide down to his chest, your fingers slipping over his nipples to find exactly what you’d been curious about. You flick your fingers over his piercing there and Sukuna lets out a low hiss, prying his lips from yours and sending you a glare.

Not only did that little move of yours make his cock spring up completely but, you also notice the frown on his face.

Smiling at him, “Sukuna…”

“Don’t.” He huffs.

“You have nipple piercings?” You end up asking anyway in a happy little tone.

He grits his teeth slightly, “…Obviously.”

Chuckling, you press a soft peck against his lips and whisper, “Can I see them?”

“No.” He replies.

Part two.

[comicaurora]

Hey, sorry if you’ve been asked this before, but I have ADHD and I’ve been following your comic for years and just now have started to write my own comic (partially because you really inspired me). But I’m really struggling with staying on the project even when it’s boring and getting myself to work on it in the first place. Do you have any tips on how to keep your brain invested or just to make yourself do the work at all?

I have excellent news, I literally just figured out something really important about this.

So when you're an ADHD kiddo or otherwise have difficulty staying on task in a structured environment where Task is the Priority, the main way people try to MAKE you stay on task is by removing your access to anything that is not The Task. No phone, no TV, no doodling, no going outside, etc. In practice, this just makes us miserable because it takes the boredom that's always simmering around a 2 or 3 and cranks it all the way up to 11. In the same way that you would have difficulty staying on task if you were in physical pain, this crushing existential monotony makes it very difficult to work. The work might get done simply because you have no other options, but it will not be done quickly or well, and it will take a while to recover from how much it hurt.

What I realized earlier this week is I caught myself doing this to myself. I had 42 pages of background colors to do, and I thought to myself "this sounds really tedious, but I suppose I have nothing better I can do." And I realized what I'd just thought, and got very alarmed.

Because back when I was an ADHD kiddo imprisoned by school scheduling and a million little factors that keep children immobile and restrained, I couldn't stop thinking about how big and exciting the world was, and how much I wanted to be anywhere but here. When I was feeling really crushed in I'd pick a random spot on the maps on my wall and just imagine being there instead of my bedroom. This was the impetus behind almost all of my creative energy. I've said it before - anything is a prison if you can't leave, and being in a prison makes it easy to imagine how amazing things could be outside of it. Aurora's initial worldbuilding was forged in the crucible of fifth grade misery. My enthusiasm for art and my creative drive are inextricable from my sense of wonder and yearning for excitement in the real world. Not escapism, but appreciation. Wonders unimaginable are out there, and I gain just as much joy seeking them out as I do conjuring them up in my head and sharing them with all of you.

So now that I'm a grown-up with actual freedom in every way I've been able to get, the idea that I was staying on task by making myself believe the world was small and not worth seeing was extremely alarming. It could keep me on task for an afternoon, but at the cost of slowly extinguishing the thing that made me want to make art in the first place - the hunger to experience and draw inspiration from all the myriad complexities in the world.

So what I've been doing is I've been purposefully and intentionally taking excursions whenever I catch myself thinking "I could take a break but it wouldn't be worth it, it's the same outdoors as always, I'll be uncomfy and unproductive and tired." Because that is never true. Every time I've put down the stylus and gone out, I've been renewed in one way or another, and when I come back to comfort fully recharged I get a lot of shit done. Because it is easier to work on anything if you remember why you wanted to make it in the first place, and it is self-defeating misery to just lock yourself in with it and tell yourself you're a bad person if you can't get it done.

I honestly don't know how widely applicable this is. I have worse wanderlust than anyone I know, so for me this has always been modeled as imprisonment vs freedom. I've also been extremely lucky to find myself in a profession that lets me set my own pace on literally everything I do. But I genuinely believe that when it comes to making art with ADHD, you need to give yourself freedom to move laterally, not just in the direction of obvious forward progress. We don't think linearly in any other part of our lives - art is no different.

[gothcsz]

imagine moving into your new apartment and finding out that javier peña is your next door neighbour 🤭

tags: f!reader, friends to lovers i think, sprinkle of angst, mutual pining, alcohol consumption, throwing up/vomiting mentioned (if you're squeamish to that kind of thing), javi being javi, untranslated spanish, smut, p in v sex, overstimulation, there are feelings involved, unbeta'd, no use of y/n, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

~ 4.2k w/c - gif found on pinterest - masterlist

a/n: i just want javier peña to look at me... is that too much to ask for?! this is tropey asf and not what i was initially thinking of writing when i got this ask—but i like how this lil one shot turned out. i hope you do too, bestie! 🖤

You’re in the middle of unpacking boxes in your new apartment, surrounded by a mess of your own doing, when a sharp knock on the door startles you. You weren’t expecting anyone.

Wiping your hands on your jeans, you head to the door and swing it open to reveal a striking woman. Auburn hair, sharp eyes—she’s undeniably beautiful, but her expression is less than friendly.

Her eyes narrow as she sizes you up. “¿Y tu quien putas eres?” she demands.

Before you can get a word out, she’s already pushing past you into your apartment, not waiting for an invitation. “¿Donde esta Javier? Malparido tramposo. ¡No te escondas de mí!” she continues, storming through your space like she owns it.

You stand there, dumbfounded at the absurdity, watching her move, her fury palpable. Your Spanish is still novice, at best, so you don’t really understand what she’s saying.

“Uh, I think you have the wrong—” you start, but she cuts you off again.

“Wrong, my ass.” She replies, her Colombian accent thick. “I know he lives here. All the Americans do—”

Your brain finally catches up and puts two and two together. She’s looking for Javier Peña. Your colleague and now, apparently, neighbor.

You’ve been quietly, hopelessly crushing on the agent since you started working at the embassy. And now you’re standing in the middle of your half-unpacked apartment while some furious woman is ranting about him.

You’re about to speak again when, as if summoned by the chaos, Javier himself strolls past your open door in the hallway. The woman halts, her eyes following him like a predator tracking its prey.

You see her face shift from righteous fury to utter confusion. It hits her finally—she’s in the wrong apartment, like you tried to tell her.

She mutters something you can’t understand, barely meeting your eyes before storming out, slamming the door behind her.

You stand there, blinking, still processing what just happened. If that was any indication on how things around here will go, at least you know you won’t be bored.

It’s later in the evening when there’s another knock at the door. You’re almost hesitant to answer, unsure if you’ll be met by another beautiful woman scorned, so this time you make sure to look through the peephole before blindly opening it.

It’s Javier.

You glance down at your clothes, suddenly self-conscious. You’re not exactly at your best, sweaty and disheveled from moving all day. Definitely not how you pictured running into him outside of work.

You take a deep breath, trying to pull yourself together, then open the door, “Hey.” You greet him, a little shy.

He leans casually against your doorframe, that signature smirk playing on his lips. “Sorry about earlier,” his deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. “Not the best way to be welcomed into the neighborhood.”

He glances past you, noticing the half-unpacked boxes scattered around your apartment, and you’re mortified for a second, wondering how messy everything must look through his eyes.

You laugh, though it’s a little shaky. “I, uh… didn’t know you lived next door.”

Javier grins, giving you a devastatingly handsome smile that you’ve only seen when he tries to bribe his way through some of the other girls at the office. “Yeah, been here since I moved to Bogotá,” his eyes linger on you, but you don’t notice with how you’re focused on not making a fool out of yourself. 

“Well I hope you and your… friend worked things out.”

He exhales through his nose in an amused laugh. “Somethin’ like that,” he says, sounding almost entertained by the whole thing. “I owe you for that inconvenience.”

Your heart stutters and you hope, no—pray, that your eyes haven’t morphed into hearts with the charming way he’s looking at you.

“It’s fine, really—“

“No, no. I insist. It was rude. The least I can do is make it up to you.”

Knowing he wasn’t going to back down, a stubborn man through and through, you give him a slight nod, trying to play it cool even though your nerves are buzzing. “Okay… sure, fine. You owe me.”

His smirk softens into a half-smile, a little less cocky. He pushes himself off your doorframe, straightening up. “Alright, cariño. I’ll see you around.” The word rolls off his tongue as if he’s said it a thousand times to you, but it lands right between your legs, sending warmth to your cheeks.

“Have a good night,” he adds with that enamoring gravelly voice of his.

You manage to mumble a goodbye, watching as he walks down the hall, his presence making the air feel electric. You’re left standing there, alone with the heavy realization that your harmless work crush just became a lot more dangerous.

Living next door to him is going to be torture.

Months go by, and torture would be an understatement.

You’ve developed an odd, friendly relationship with him. It’s not exactly what you imagined when you first laid eyes on him at the embassy, all brooding intensity and effortless charm, but it works.

You exchange casual greetings in the hallway, little snippets of small talk when you bump into each other at work. 

It’s... normal. Comfortable, in its own way. But every time he says your name, with that gravelly edge to his voice, something flutters in your chest.

He’s even taken it upon himself to help you with your Spanish, which is as endearing as it is embarrassing. On the days when you can steal a few moments to talk, he’ll have you practicing phrases, repeating them until he’s satisfied with your pronunciation. Sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly amused, he’ll leave a sticky note on your door with a new phrase scribbled on it for you to learn.

It’s become part of your routine. Him giving you little bits of language, you trying to impress him with how quickly you can pick it up. You tell yourself it’s just a… fun thing, nothing more.

Then there are the nights when you’ve made too much dinner. You know that man doesn’t eat. Not properly, anyway. So you bring over a plate, standing awkwardly at his door until he opens it, shirt half-buttoned and hair tousled, like he just rolled out of bed.

“Brought you something,” you say, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens as his eyes flicker to yours, a mix of surprise and amusement.

“Thanks, cariño,” he takes the food from you with that half-smile that makes you feel like a damn schoolgirl.

But it’s not always like that. There are times when he’s away for days at a time. Out doing who knows what—your level of work doesn’t intersect with his at all. 

His return comes with whispers around the office or in the form of news broadcasts that seem to be reporting nothing but atrocities as of late.

In the dead of night, you’ll hear the sound of his boots echoing through the enclosed hallway, a sure sign he’s finally back. You wonder what he’s seen, what he’s done while he was gone. The thought keeps you restless sometimes, but you never ask. He doesn’t offer, either.

And then there are the women.

You hear them through the thin walls—his low voice, their laughter, the unmistakable sounds of them fucking. The rhythm of their pleasure reverberates through your apartment, impossible to ignore.

Every time it happens, you’re reminded of the rumors you’ve heard around the office. The whispers about Javier Peña, about how good he is in bed, about how women fall over themselves to spend a night with him. Now, you know firsthand that they’re true.

It stings more than you’d like to admit, considering how you feel about him but knowing that he doesn’t see you as anything but a friend. 

You’ve caught glimpses of him after his flings, too. You kind of wish you could wipe from your memory, if only to keep your sanity.

It’s during different times of the day, really, when he’s leaning casually against his doorframe like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’s shirtless, skin still damp from a shower or maybe from the sweat he’s worked up, and his jeans hang sinfully low on his hips. The soft light from the hallway casts shadows over his golden chest, highlighting the faint beauty marks that map his body.

You do your best to keep your eyes averted, pretending you’re not affected, pretending you don’t notice the way his muscles flex as he stretches, or how his dark hair is tousled in that perfectly messy way. But your throat tightens every time, your stomach flipping at how effortlessly good he looks. It’s not fair how someone can make post-coital exhaustion look so damn attractive.

He’s usually saying goodbye to one of the lucky girls, tossing a wink their way, or brushing his fingers through their hair as they share a final kiss.

You tell yourself it’s just Javier being Javier, but it’s impossible to ignore the way jealousy twists in your chest when you see them, all blissed-out and satisfied, practically floating down the hallway after a night with him.

You turn your head, pretend you didn’t just catch a glimpse of him looking like some kind of god, and hurriedly unlock your door before he notices you staring. 

And sometimes, when you least expect it, he catches you.

You’re fumbling with your keys, doing your best to mind your own business, when his voice cuts through the silence. “Hey,” he calls out, casual as ever, and you freeze. Your hand stills on the doorknob, and you force yourself to look up.

Javier is standing there, half naked, leaning against his door as if he has all the time in the world.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, “Hey.”

“You alright there, cariño?” he asks, voice low and rough, like he’s barely holding back a laugh after watching you struggle with your keys.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just had a long day.”

He hums, his stare lingering on you, and your heart pounds in a way you can’t quite control. But then, as if nothing’s changed, he shifts back into that familiar, teasing grin.

“Okay, don’t work too hard. Can’t have you burnin’ out before me.”

It all comes to a head one night at the bar near your place. You’re out with a secretary from a different department, downing margaritas like they’re water. You’re tipsy—no, you’re drunk, and the world is spinning just a little too fast.

That’s when you see him. He walks in like he owns the place, scanning the crowded space until his eyes land on you. He acknowledges you with a jut of his chin and you smile drunkenly at him, waving, before you’re brought back to the conversation with your friend.

He’s here for work, meeting one of his informants—a very pretty, very obvious, working girl. You hate how seeing him with her swirls the green in your drunken heart.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, maybe it’s the months of pent-up frustration, but when Javier approaches as your coworker excuses herself to the bathroom, checking to see if you’re alright, your mouth runs faster than your brain.

“Don’t worry about me,” you slur, waving him off. “I’m sure you’d have more fun with her,” you add, nodding toward the woman with a sharp, sarcastic edge. “Probably more your type anyway.”

Javier raises an eyebrow, his expression shifting into a playful uncertainty, head tilting slightly. “What?”

You don’t know how to respond. Honestly, you’re not even sure you can form a coherent thought right now. All you know is that you’re in way over your head, and he is standing way too close.

But that liquid courage surges through your veins and the words are tumbling out of your mouth.

“It’s obvious, Javier,” your frustration is crystal clear, despite the way your words run into each other. “The kind of company you keep. They’re more fun,” You gesture vaguely toward his booth. “I’m just… here. A bore that’s drunk on a Wednesday night. It’s why you came to check on me. Why you’ve been overly nice.” Your words sting, even as they leave your lips.

The alcohol amplifies every insecurity you’ve kept buried.

The playful look on his face vanishes, replaced by hardened disbelief. His brows furrow, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to figure out how you could possibly think so little of yourself.

Instead of giving you an answer, he just reaches for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. “Come on,” he mutters, “I’m taking you home.”

You snort, shaking your head, another wave of dizziness washing over you. “See? Taking pity on me. Again.”

He rolls his eyes, unfazed by your drunken resistance. “That’s not what this is,” he pulls out a wad of cash and drops it on the bar top to settle your tab.

He makes sure your friend is taken care of, telling the bartender to call a cab for her. Then he goes to dismiss his informant—a woman he definitely had plans to sleep with. She seems surprised, but Javier brushes her off and hands her some money. 

Your drunken mind can’t quite comprehend that he’s choosing to deal with you instead. As he guides you outside, you make it difficult, stumbling and resisting as he tries to steer you toward his car.

“I can walk, Peña,” you grumble, though your legs aren’t exactly cooperating.

“Sure you can,” he says dryly, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you upright. “You’re making this real easy.” He comments sarcastically.

You’re so going to regret this tomorrow when you’re fighting a hangover at your desk, thinking of how you just fucked up this friendship.

But right now, you can’t focus on anything but how warm his large hand feels against your side as he helps you into the passenger seat.

Your head lolls against the window, and you groan softly. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. You could’ve stayed with her.”

Javier slides into the driver’s seat, glancing at you as he starts the engine. “Everything you said back there was bullshit,” he says bluntly, pulling out of the parking lot. “You think I pity you? That I only talk to you because I feel bad? You really don’t know me at all.”

His words are cutting, but not in a cruel way. He sounds… disappointed. “I like spending time with you,” he continues, quieter now, more serious. “It’s not some charity case. You make me feel normal. When I’m with you, it’s like the rest of the shit I deal with doesn’t exist.” The faint hum of the radio fills the sudden silence.

“You… you’ve got this smile that makes me feel a little better about myself.”

The sincerity in his voice sobers you up just a little, enough for your foggy brain to process what he’s saying. You turn to look at him, eyes wide, but before you can fully grasp it, your stomach lurches.

“Oh no,” you groan, clutching your middle. “I’m gonna be sick.”

He glances at you, and in an instant, he’s speeding up, making it to your complex faster than you would’ve thought possible. He parks hastily, helps you out, and practically carries you to your apartment. The second the door swings open, you make a beeline for the bathroom, barely making it in time to empty your stomach into the toilet.

You hear him lingering by the door, then the sound of running water as he fills a glass in the kitchen. You hate that he’s seeing you like this—pathetic, drunk, and embarrassed.

When you finally sit back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, Javier is there, handing you the glass of water. His expression is soft, more concerned than anything.

“Drink,” he orders gently, crouching next to you. His voice is soothing, and for a moment, the embarrassment fades under the warmth of his presence.

You sip the water, avoiding his gaze, but he’s not letting this go. “You okay?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

He sighs, settling beside you on the bathroom floor. “You’re not a bore. Don’t say that shit.” His voice is firm, but there’s an undercurrent tenderness beneath it.

Your head is swimming—not just from the alcohol, but from everything that’s happened in the last hour. 

You lean your head back against the wall, the glass of water in your hand almost empty. With a soft sigh, you begin to speak, your tone hesitant.

“Sometimes… I just feel average, you know?” you admit, glancing at Javier from the corner of your eye. He’s sitting quietly beside you, his long legs stretched out in front of him,  gaze focused on some point on the floor. “Like there’s nothing more to me than this mediocre job, answering phones, filing papers. I mean, I didn’t move all the way to South America just for that.”

You pause, trying to organize your thoughts. “That’s why I transferred here. I thought maybe… maybe I’d find something more. Maybe I’d find me.” You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “But ever since I got here, it’s been nothing but monotony and homesickness. I don’t even know if this is where I’m meant to be.”

The words hang between you. You’ve never said this out loud to anyone, never let yourself be so transparent.

Javier doesn’t say anything right away, and it makes you think that maybe you’ve said too much. But then, you hear him sigh softly, his shoulders slumping as if your rambling has hit something deep within him.

He’s silent as he digests your confession, and you’re about to apologize for oversharing when he finally speaks.

“I get it,” he replies, low and rough around the edges. He shifts beside you, resting his arms on his now bent knees while he stares at the floor. “You’re not the only one feeling that way.”

You blink, slightly taken aback by his agreement. You hadn’t expected him to relate—the sharp, confident DEA agent who always seems so sure of himself. He glances at you, offering a wry smile. “You’re not average,” his voice is firmer now, like he’s trying to make you believe it. “It takes time to figure out who you are, what you want. And if it feels like you haven’t found that yet, that doesn’t make you less than.”

There’s an irony in his words, and he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I should probably take my own advice,” he admits.

Your heart flutters at his reassurance, but you can see it in his eyes—there’s more. Something heavier sits in his chest, pulling him down.

“What about you? What’s weighing on you?”

Javier sighs again, leaning his head back against the wall like you. “This job,” he says simply, but you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “It’s… confusing. Difficult. Half the time, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore. I thought I’d come here, do some good, but it’s just…” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “I’ve lost myself in all of it. The work. The women. Because I don’t know what else to do.”

Your chest tightens as he speaks, hearing the vulnerability in his words. He’s always seemed so unshakeable, but now you can see the cracks in his armor, all that he’s been carrying. And then he turns to look at you, his expression softening.

“But you,” he says quietly, “you’re the one thing that keeps me grounded in all this shit.”

You look down, not believing that he’s actually saying this to you. You have to be dreaming. 

“Your smile, the way your eyes light up when you’re happy. Shit, even the way you butcher half your Spanish words with that accent of yours.” He chuckles, and despite the heaviness of the moment, you can’t help but laugh with him.

The tension breaks for just a second, and when you finally meet his gaze again, your breath snags. He’s already staring at you, his beautiful brown eyes gleaming.

You quickly look away out of habit, your heart hammering in your chest, but then he calls your name softly. “Mírame, cariño,” he says, all gentle and insistent.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to do so.

“I’m not just telling you this to score. I mean it.”

And you don’t doubt it for a second. However, the moment is too heavy, too intense for your tequila-soaked brain to handle. You can taste the lingering bitterness of the alcohol, your throat feels raw, and your head is already starting to pound. You’re too disoriented to fully process this moment that’s happening.

“I know,” you nod, picking at your cuticles, “I just don’t think right now is the best time to have this conversation.” Your words are punctuated by a hiccup and you bring your hand up to cover your mouth in fear of accidentally throwing up again.

Javier’s lips twitch with amusement, but he works his jaw, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. Not the best time,” he concedes, though the way he says it tells you he wanted this conversation to happen—needed it to.

“I just had to tell you. And if you genuinely feel like you don’t belong here then go home.” He tells you softly, though his cadence and the softening expression on his face say otherwise.

You glance at him, your lips curving into a weak smile. “While I do feel lost, I think half of all this is the margaritas’ doing,” you admit, your voice a little hoarse.

“Tequila’s dangerous like that,” he agrees with a small laugh, shaking his head. 

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to push through the embarrassment still swirling around inside of you. “I’m sorry about what happened at the bar,” you say quietly. “I didn’t mean to be so self deprecating.”

He waves off your apology, his expression relaxed. “It’s no problem.”

“Thank you for bringing me home, and for… opening up like that… I know it wasn’t easy.” Your voice softens as you say it.

He gives you a small smile, but his eyes linger on you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “You make it easy,” he says finally, the words leaving his mouth like a confession.

You sit there on the cool bathroom floor, your heart stumbling all over the place. Leaving isn’t an option anymore. Not when Javier Peña looks at you like this. Not after realizing that you mean so much more to him than you could have ever thought possible.

Javier hovers above you, his gaze locked with yours, filled with desire and adoration. Your legs are tightly wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, feeling every inch of him as his hips move suavely while he fucks you. 

His breath is hot against your neck, biting and licking at your skin. You can barely keep your thoughts straight, your mind clouded with the pleasure he’s stirring in you, the rhythm of his body guiding you to that edge again and again.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, his voice a low growl, “You feel so good, baby. I can feel how close you are... all for me.”

Your body clenches around him in response, a soft whimper escaping your lips as the pleasure tightens inside you, building and building. It’s the fifth time tonight he’s coaxed this out of you, and you don’t know how you’re still holding on.

His weight presses against you and your nails dig into the broad expanse of his broad shoulders, pulling him impossibly close. His chest, warm and slick with sweat, crushes against yours, and the hairs at the base of his cock graze your swollen clit with every thrust, sending shockwaves through you.

You gasp, your voice trembling with each word. “Javier... I can’t... it’s too much.”

But he doesn’t stop, doesn’t relent, instead he grins down at you, a wicked spark in his eyes, pressing his lips against your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—kissing you everywhere he can reach while his other hand keeps your jaw locked in place, fingers denting into your skin.

His lips finally find yours in a messy, urgent kiss, swallowing your moans as your body tightens around him again. You’re lost in what he’s giving you, your world spinning as your orgasm tears through you, leaving you a trembling mess beneath him.

His hips stutter as he groans your name, his cock twitching inside you while he comes. He stays there, still buried inside, his body heavy and comforting as the world fades back into focus.

When he finally pulls away, his touch softens. He’s gentle as he plants tender kisses on your forehead, your nose, your lips. His hand caresses your naked side, soothing you as your breathing slows. He shifts then, pulling you close into the safety of his arms, his body wrapped around yours.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just relax.”

He stays with you, his hand tracing lazy circles on your back, murmuring soft reassurances until you’re completely at ease, your body melting into his.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @persephone-girl . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @sunshinefive . @dinanabuu . @angiewatson .

[86espresso]

secrets i have held in my heart, are harder to hide than i thought ✯ jh86

sum: “I really like you.” *looks around* “are you sure-”

// jack x med student

warnings: 18+, oral (f & m receiving), mentions of familial neglect, cursing, kissing, stress, anxiety, doubt, pet tigers, jack thinking too hard, reader is insecure don’t know what for 💔, overuse of commas because im insane, happy ending, a lil too sappy (i say this with emphasis), i mean it there’s a whole lotta CHEESE, mostly fluff, very emotional and hearty pls im sorry im a lover. afab!reader w/ she/her pronouns :)

w/c; 7.6k

a/n: hey so yeah. wtf. the word count?? i had so much fun writing this. half scared that its boring. i love simp / munch jack. ps: as queen as y/n is, i gave reader a nickname, sorry. (a very … unique nickname. i myself am puzzled as to how my brain works) enjoy. or at least try to. under the cut !

THE library was unsurprisingly almost empty considering the fact that no sane person would want to step outside in this rainstorm, so you were content in studying organic chemistry in the very back, alone with your thoughts, your textbooks, folklore by Taylor Swift, and now a guy. Who decided that he will break the silence in the almost empty library.

You were in your world, as always, not really connecting or associating with things around you but the ruckus of the someone knocking over an umbrella stand and profusely apologizing to apparently no one made you lift your head up. You smile slightly before going back to your work, barely registering your surroundings. 

Sure, Jack was entirely focused on his friends, studies, and hockey back in high school, but he was an expert at faces and names and could jot down absolutely anyone that he knows he’s seen before. He knew exactly who the girl with dark circles and way-too-oversized hoodie in the back was. 

At least five minutes later, Jack started hovering near your spot, which was the romance aisle. You sneak a glance at him and take note of his athletic shorts and New York Giants hoodie and quickly denote that this man was definitely not the romance novel type (or maybe book type at all). After flipping mindlessly through another book he lets out a soft “fuck it” before turning to face you completely. 

You can’t help but crack a smile at his jump when he saw that you had already been staring at him with wide, voidfull eyes. 

A pause. You staring at him. Him staring at you. He cracks a dopey smile, blinding you with his paper white teeth, and pulls up a chair in front of you. 

“What’s up, Dee?” He asks holding his hand up for a dap. Bewildered at how this complete stranger knows your nickname amongst close friends (from when you gracefully told people that ‘the bags under your eyes are Dior’), you dap him back anyway and blurt, “I have never seen you before.”

“You went to my high school. We worked in a project in like, AP World I think? I dunno. But I remember you saved my grade that whole year.”

Your mind remains blank. You saved a lot of people’s grades. 

“My only high school memories are countless APs, pain, suffering, studying and depression.” 

Most people would blanch at your dreamy straightforwardness, but Jack just grinned again. 

“Yeah, I remember you were always tired but also really funny. And tired. Deja Vu, man, watching you sit here, laser focused on your books. I was on the hockey team, if that helps.”

I furrow my brows, thinking hard. 

“I do remember that our hockey guys were really good. They would announce their names like every day on the speakers because they won all the time.” 

Jack groans at the memory. He was well known but it was just uncomfortable having your last names called out where the whole school could hear. 

You laugh at his reaction. “They would call the same names over and over. I don’t know if it was you who used to hide your face every time they did it but yeah.”

Jack perked up. “Yeah that was me.” 

You take a moment to admire his boyish facial features and athletic build. He’s pretty. 

‘Don’t even think about it’ pretty. 

“Dang. You were like a superstar. Sorry I don’t remember much. I’m like, walking jet lag.” 

He laughs a typical frat boy laugh (if that makes sense) and you like it. You want to hear it again. 

“So, what are you doing out here? Never pegged you for a big city girl.” 

“I go to college here.”

“Damn, we should’ve met sooner. My name is Jack, by the way.” 

“My friends call me Dee, but I guess you knew that.”

You were left pondering as to why a hockey player from high school was even anticipating meeting you; people only approached you for notes and the occasional party invitation back then.

“So, uh- what about you? Make it big in the league thingy yet?” 

He breaths a laugh. “You could say that.”

“Who do you play for?” 

“New Jersey.”

“Prudential, isn’t it? That’s close by my apartment.” I say in thought. 

Jack grins. “Really? We might bump into each other often, then.” 

He looks genuinely excited. 

Why. 

What’s going on. 

You chat for a few more minutes but it’s mostly you saying out of pocket things and Jack laughing instead of side-eyeing you and walking away. You were surprised at his effortless kindness. 

“Phone.”

“Hm?”

“Or Snap? Whatever you feel like is best,” he says, pulling out his phone. It takes a second to register that he’s implying that you exchange contact information. 

“Don’t really use Snapchat. I kinda have too much on my plate right now.” You hand over your phone. 

“You always overwork yourself, you should be at the club. You’ll die on the inside.” 

“Nothing I can’t handle, I hope.”

You just need to push through and never ever have fun.

He checks the time and sighs. 

“I was just here to return a book but I gotta head back. Flight for a roadie takes off in a couple hours. I’ll be back in, like, four days? I hope to see you around then?” 

You match his soft smile and nod, whatever roadie means but okay. It was actually nice, wasting some valuable study time for a potential friend. He’s cool. 

“Yeah. See you.” You offer and huff a laugh as he reaches out to dap you up again. 

That night, after yet another long and winding day with the only highlight being meeting someone who was apparently a high school acquaintance, you decide to look him up. Surprised at the absolute famethat this man had loaded, your lips parting at every detail, you click on his instagram and officially unhinge your jaw. 

500k followers? 

You’re never on insta but that can’t be good. 

The shock of how you basically were bonding with someone who definitely downplayed how famous he was didn’t wear off a week later; he texted you quite often and you tried to text back without seeming dry. 

It was nearly a week later when he offered to meet up again. 

-> two questions

babies come from the baby store.

-> wtf 

sorry. ask away !

-> 1. are you at the library rn

do you still like the caramel frappe from dunkin

yes. and yes. what the hell are you doing. 

-> something nice. see u soon angel. 

angel is wild when I look like I snuck on this earth but thanks for that anyways. you’re very kind :))

-> kind enough to tell you to that you’re really pretty :))

*reacted with heart emoji*

You check your forehead temperature to make sure you hadn’t just imagined the whole conversation. 

It wasn’t long before Jack was strutting into the library with two dunkin’ shakes in his hands accompanied by his gorgeous smile when he spotted you in the back, once again. 

“You’re wearing glasses today.” He says when you look up at his outstretched hand. You reach forward with a grateful smile, and deja vu hits you hard. The same exact scene playing out in high school when he had asked everyone in some group project their favorite drinks and treated them when they all got an A. 

“I remember you,” you say as he flopped on the bean bag next to you with his own drink. 

“Yeah? I knew you would. You’re too smart.” He says, again dazzling you with his perfect smile as he lifts two fingers to tap your temple softly to emphasize his point. It’s a challenge to tear your eyes away from his baby blues. 

“Your eyes are so blue. It’s distracting.” 

Jack’s eyes widen at your unintentional rebuttal at his subtle flirting, and he smirks. He knew that you weren’t aware that you were being flirted with the past week; what you lacked in emotional and social intelligence was shadowed by your sharpness in academics. 

“Hey, you didn’t tell me you were a really big deal around here? Everyone knows you and you have like a million followers.”

“Stalking me?” 

“Educating myself.”

Jack laughs and throws as arm around you to peer over your shoulder. 

“Well, I don’t just go around telling people how good I am. So, whatcha doing?” 

The contact makes you freeze up and once again the surreality of a man wanting to spend time with you disorients you a little bit.

“Watching porn.” 

Jack laughs again and earns a stern look from the clerk down the aisle. 

“I’m studying anatomy.”

“Yeah, didn’t suspect any less than med school for your smartass.” 

You turn to him to talk back but his face was inches away from you and that sets off alarm bells throughout your body. You’ve had your fair share of guys and girls but there was not a single string attached and the short flings were easy to forget. 

But having someone that pretty, that close to you, not showing exactly what intentions he had? That caused your anxiety to spike. Positively. 

“Your face is really close.” You simply state, pushing your large frames higher up your nose. 

“And yours is really red.” 

You immediately press your hands against your cheeks and groan at what you picture your face looks like. Jack just giggles again and pulls your hands away. 

“It’s cute.” 

His hands are still on your wrists. 

“It really isn’t, but thank you. You’re very kind.”

There’s a beat of silence where you can see the gears in his head turning. 

“Do you like aquariums?”

You surprise yourself and Jack when you pull him into a hug as a greeting outside the aquarium.

The feel of your chests touching with little fabric in between set Jack’s heart off racing and the way your curves dipped at your hips had him pulling at his collar. 

But most of all, when he pulled back from the hug, he noticed you were wearing shorts that had your legs all out for him to ogle over. 

“You hidin’ all that?” He scans your figure, noting the dark, low cut, full sleeve top. 

“What? All this?” You say as you push your tits together. “There’s not much to hide.”

Jack’s throat runs dry. Unfortunately for him, he’s still a guy and tits still make him drool. And the fact that you had no idea you were keeping him on his toes 

“Be for real.” He rolls his eyes. “How’d your day go?” 

“Nice, actually. I just took Nala for a walk and-“ you cut yourself off. 

“I didn’t know you had a pet? Can I see her? I love anim-“

“She’s a tiger.” 

You give him more and more reasons everyday as to why him hanging out with you was unethical and strange but he seemed to keep on staying. Studying you as if intrigued by your strangeness. 

“You- have a pet..tiger?” 

Yeah. I’ve done it.

“I- yeah.” 

It seems like all Jack ever does is grin because he’s doing it again and flinging an arm around your shoulder as he starts to walk with you. 

“Oh, Dee. There’s just so much to learn and love about you.” 

It takes you a second to react. 

“That may be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“You serious?” 

“Yeah. Well, cause I was ugly growing up, and people always thought I was strange. It’s hard to imagine that people are genuinely interested in any sort of friendship with me.” 

Jacks fingertips on your bare collarbone, his cologne and aftershave, his figure pressed against your side; all of it was overtaking your senses.  

“Baby, why do you think I walked up to you that day in the first place? You may not remember much but I do. You were so kind and honest. And so intriguing. And hardworking. And pretty. I think your dark circles are hot.” 

You huff out a laugh and ignore the flutter in your chest at ‘baby’. 

Jack looks down at you with a gaze that he can’t pinpoint. You’re just very, very endearing to him. He needs to show you all kinds of fun so you laugh like that again. 

“You smell nice.” You say and hesitate before loosening yourself against him more. He hums at the increased contact and at your compliment, smiling against your hair. 

“Thank you.” 

To say you had the absolute time of your life at the aquarium was an understatement. Jack got to see a side of you that loved fun, that was carefree, and didn’t have that goddamn crease in your eyebrows. You were the one pulling him around, telling him you wanted to be a marine biologist as a kid and that you recognize most of the species. Jack made sure to snap a few pictures of you when you weren’t looking, the lightning shaped twinkle in your eyes a memory he wanted to keep forever. 

Later that day, Jack drove you back to your apartment, mentally noting that you were about a fifteen minute drive from his place. 

“Nala?” You coo out softly as you push open the door and drag Jack inside, not giving him the chance to protest. Jack looks around at your apartment. It’s small and messy, but organized in some places. He jumps and lets out a brief scream when a fucking tiger is bounding towards you at full speed and knocking you over with a hug. You laugh as your beloved Nala starts licking up your face and you both roll on the floor. 

Jack’s breathing calms a little as he remembers who owns the tiger. 

“I’ll put her away for now.” You say, reading Jack’s skepticism. He sighed in relief. 

“Oh good. Because as much as you reassured me and as man as I am, she’s still a tiger.” You giggle at his words and guide Nala towards her room. 

The sound makes Jack smile stupidly. His heart stutters and he wants to put your little laugh on replay. He can’t believe that a girl who stated random medical facts at any time, who lost sleep because ‘she just forgot that it’s important’, who barely remembered him from a while ago even though he remembered everything, who waves at planes as they fly overhead, who didn’t know shit about the sport he played, had him wrapped tightly around her finger. 

He takes a moment to observe your apartment. The stacks of medical related books that he doesn’t want to and never will understand, the old record player sitting in the corner of the kitchen, a huge jar of nutella on the coffee table, a questionable fluffy purple blanket on your sofa. Just little things that made you all the more real to him. 

And he still wants to know more. He wants to know your sleep schedule so he knows that you’re getting enough sleep and when to text or call, he wants to know what you dream of, he wants to know your passions besides studying, he wants to know what made you become so numb and detached, how you still managed to have a twinkle in your eye when you experienced emotion. 

But, as he leans to the counter for support at his racing mind and as you enter the room, still clad in your godforsaken low cut top and curve-hugging shorts, he most of all wants to know what you are like, what your lips would feel like molded against his, how you’d moan or whimper at his touch. He’s still leaning against the counter as he recalls when you unabashedly pushed your tits together just hours ago. 

“You alright?” You ask, but you yourself seemed to have distressed eyebrow lines. 

“Uh? Oh yeah. I was just.” He gestures around your apartment. “Observing.” 

You nod, still lost in thought. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, not liking the stress in your body language. 

“Yeah. It’s just, I have two projects due next week and I’ve been studying for something else so I completely forgot about them.” You frown, feeling tears pool in your eyes. You can’t cry in front of Jack. If everything else didn’t make him abandon you, then this would. 

“Woah. Hey, hey.” Jack is by your side immediately. He feels guilty for thinking of you sinfully while you were in distress but he really couldn’t help it. You blink back the tears and shrug it off. 

“It gets kind of a lot sometimes, y’know?” Jack follows you to the couch and sits next to you, immediately taking your hands in his and pulling your legs onto his lap. You gave up on keeping your cool when he does that and give him a bewildered expression. Being taken care of is so strange. 

“And? Go on, baby.” He smiles softly and encouragingly, dropping one of your hands to hold your chin for a moment before grabbing your hand again. 

You blink. 

“Well, It’s probably not as much as I’m stressing it out to be. I’m about to abuse substances.” 

“Now don’t do that. There’s lots of ways to destress yourself.” Jack’s hand wanders again, resting on your bare knee. His movements are soft and gentle, but they still cause a foreign spark through your body. You dryly cough before registering his words and looking at Jack’s hand that had inched higher by the slightest. 

“Is this flirting?” Rushed out of your mouth and Jack chuckles, a normal sound but an octave lower. 

“Sure is, baby. You’re learning fast.” He’s staring your eyes down, and all of a sudden he’s consuming your senses again. His cologne is still there, his insane blues are glued to yours, his deep breathing is signifying his increasing heart rate. His hand inches higher as he moves closer. 

“Why don’t I just,” shrug, “eat you out? ‘S a better high than drugs-” His phone buzzes in his pocket. 

Jack huffs and pulls away, leaving your insides churning at the his lingering touch and words??? The implication alone, the images conjuring in your head were nothing short of filthy. 

He scowls as he takes the call, muttering something about how it’s his agent and he’ll get in trouble if he doesn’t answer. His responses are curt and his expression neutral, but his hand is gripping your thigh with intensity. As he hangs up the call and tosses his phone aside, his hand is almost at your inner thigh and he maneuvers himself to be directly on his knees on the floor in front of you. 

The sudden movement and his face looking up at yours between your slightly parted legs has your pussy throbbing. It’s been weeks since you were.. in this particular position with someone and god did it feel nice that it was the finest man in world to unpause your sex life. 

He leans up to be face level with you. “Do you trust me, baby?” You never noticed how sultry his natural voice was. 

His eyes search yours for any kind of discomfort as his hand reaches forward to cup your cheek. You nod in conformation as he moves closer. 

Your breath hitches as he presses his lips to your cheek, dangerously close to your mouth. It confuses you slightly as to why he didn’t just kiss you but both of his hands on your waistband distracts you. 

“Can I take these off?” He questions and you nod once again, not trusting your voice. 

He’s doing everything in slow motion and you think it alludes to your sensitivity earlier, but anticipation and his hands cloud everything in your mind. 

What kind of guy just? offers to eat you out? to help you destress? 

Your shorts are discarded and the exposure doesn’t bother you. Sure your heart would be thudding either way, but Jack made you feel different. No anxiety in the sense that he would judge you or harm you or hurt your feelings.

“Hm, these are cute.” Jack’s thumb fingers over the lining of your underwear. 

You feel yourself flush. 

“Thanks.” Is your quiet response. 

“Relax, baby. This is for you to unwind, not to get nervous. Focus on how you’re feeling,”   Jack instructs as his finger ghosted over your clothed cunt. Your teeth nibble on your bottom lip as you push your hips closer to his hand. 

He smirks at your eagerness and gives in, entirely pushing his thumb against your clit through your panties. 

His thumb moves slowly but firmly back and forth as he gauges your reaction. Finding the right spots where your stomach clenches or your eyebrows knit together. 

“More.” You muster as you open your eyes to look down at Jack who was already moving to take your damp panties off. Once again, slowly. He groans as he sees you glistening for him and starts kissing up your thigh. 

“You have a pretty face.” 

Jack grins up at your compliment while peppering feather light kisses on your inner thighs. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The anticipation pools in your lower stomach as Jack breaks eye contact with you to admire your delicacy in front of him. He uses the same thumb to rub through your folds and reach higher to circle your clit. The stimulation has you moaning softly and the sound has Jack’s cock twitching in his shorts. 

“I- hurry.” You huff in slight annoyance, wanting more besides the slow circles. Jack smirks against your thigh and removes his thumb so he could move forward lick a stripe through your folds. 

Your knuckles get white gripping the pillow,  itching to hold his hair instead as his eyes flicker between yours and your pussy. Jack notices your hand on the pillow and guide it to his hair while sucking and licking your cunt. He parts away for a second to catch his breath before making slow and languid motions with his tongue on your clit. 

You grip his hair, hard. Jack grunts against you and loses a shred of control as he pulls your legs apart further to dive further in. You let out a startled breath at the sudden movement and pull on his hair more as he shakes his head deeper while still staring up at you. 

“Jack..” you breathe out, but it comes out as more of a whimper that makes him hum against you and a spark run through his body. He pulls away and inserts his middle and ring finger through your slick and pumps shortly before curling his fingers. You heave a breath and moan at the feeling while Jack stares up at you in awe. 

“You’re everything.” He says more to himself than you, as he watches you writhe and whimper at his fingers while holding the eye contact. He connects his lips with your clit again and suctions in a way that has your back arching and your moans getting louder and more high pitched with each type of attention Jack gives to your pussy. 

He switched his fingers and mouth and rubs your clit as he laps up your arousal as he feels you getting close. He takes that moment to switch back and locks eyes with you as his dark pink, wet lips attach to your clit again, softly sucking you closer to your tipping point.

“Oh, f-fuck I’m-“  

Your eyebrows knit and your eyes roll back at the sensations of his mouth and tongue and fingers and gaze. 

You spasm around his fingers and moan louder while Jack’s fingers guide you through your release. He licks up whatever he can before sitting and wiping his face with the back of his hand as you stare at him with hooded and tired eyes. 

“Feel better?” He has the nerve to ask as he runs a wet wipe up and between your legs. 

When did he even get that?

Your leg twitches in sensitivity after he’s finished. 

“Mm better.” Was all you could muster. All you wanted was to sleep and dream for days. 

Jack laughs softly at your state and checks the time. 

“I’ll need to head out soon. Team dinner.” He says as he fits another pair of underwear on you. You feel a pang in your chest and anxiety creeps up your spine, but Jack immediately shuts your thoughts down. 

“Hey, this doesn’t mean I’ll abandon you or anything. I’m goin’ cause I have to and I would take you but you look like you could use a nap. We can hang tomorrow?” He’s so soft and caring with you, cupping your cheek and smoothing his thumb over it. 

“Yeah okay.” You say and watch as he gets up, not before pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“I won’t go anywhere, baby.” 

After the team dinner, when Jack got home and shut the door to his apartment, the first thing he did was call his older brother. Quinn was just the slightest, itty-bittiest bit more fortunate with girls, so Jack naturally went to him for tips here and there. 

A few minutes into the call, they exchanged formalities and talked about each others’ seasons before Quinn cut to the chase. 

“So? Is it a girl?”

Jack blanched. 

“I- well yes, but it’s different this time. Swear.”

“You say that every-time. But it does sound like it might be different.”

“Do you remember Dee from high school?”

“I don’t remember anything from high school.” Is it really that common to forget four years of your life?

“Yeah well. I met her again a few weeks ago. She was the one who used to take all the APs and she graduated early? She was like always tired and kinda funny. And she’s pretty. Like the natural kind of pretty. You’d look at her and want to give up the world for her kind of pretty. I don’t know.” Quinn listened quietly, detecting the hint of fear in Jack’s voice. 

“I might be, like obsessed with her. I think she knows.”

“Wait, wait, wait. She knows? That you like her? And you’re not together yet?” Jack didn’t deny it when he said that he liked her. 

“I-yes? I think so. She might be into me too and we did a thing earlier today and she flirts with me without even thinking about it? That’s gotta mean something right?”

“You did things with her?!She flirts with you?! Do something. But take it slow. She probably still wonders why you even give her the time of day. She likes you but she doesn’t know it yet.” Hearing his older brother say it untightened his chest. 

“I was going to kiss her but I really wanted to things slow with her. She’s been through a bit and, I don’t know, I want to treat her special.” He’s glad that he has a person he can say the cringiest shit to. If it was anyone else on the other line, he would get toasted for the rest of his life. Jack wore his heart on his sleeve and was smart at reading people and their emotions. But sometimes he was just clueless on what to do with that knowledge. 

We can hang tomorrow. 

Who the fuck says that after going down on someone. 

Jack didn’t text you that night.

Or the next morning. 

You started panicking slightly when you come home from classes. 

That had to have been the last straw for him. 

He’s a fucking superstar, he lives in the New York City area, where all the pretty models and blue eyed blondes live. Why the hell would he go for a tired med student from his home state who didn’t care about herself enough to care for him?

Your mind runs a marathon as the elevator doors open to your floor. But when you approach your apartment, Jack is sitting on the floor next to door, scrolling on his phone. 

You freeze and stare blankly as he realizes that you’re here.

He perks up and walks over to you pulling you into a light hug. 

“Hey, Dee. How were classes?”

“Good. Thanks for asking.” You reply, hesitantly wrapping your arms back around him. You weren’t hugged a lot as a kid or growing up. You’ve hugged more in the last two weeks than you have in your entire life. 

“I have a game later today. Wanna come? The other team…isn’t that good. We might win. Unless you have work to do. Or if you just don’t want to go that’s okay too. Or-“ he cuts off when you press a finger against his lips. 

“I’d love to go. I finished a lot of my work during classes.” You smile removing your fingers, relaxing in his arms. “When is it?” 

“At 7. I’ll pick you up, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

You both just stand there for a minute before you remember social cues. 

“So, come in? I’m hungry as fuck. We should eat.” You say pushing the door open, petting Nala as you walk in and Jack followed. He smiles at your awkwardness and accepts. 

Your look is acceptable. Hair clutched back, light makeup, hoodie and sweats is your go-to anyway. Plus, you’re always cold. 

You arrive at around quarter to seven and with the help of signs make your way to the lounge that Jack gave you a pass to. 

There’s a guard at the door that held his hand out for the pass and when you gave it to him he eyed you wearily. 

“You’re Hughes’ girl? Where did you get this?”

“Jack gave it to me.” 

“Uh huh.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “So can I go in?” 

“Sweetheart, Jack has only ever invited two other girls here and I can tell you right now, you’re not the third. Who gave you this pass?” 

The mention of Jack bringing other girls here makes you absolutely sick to your stomach. 

You might vomit. 

But anger bubbles up your throat and you’re about to press your finger into the guards chest and give him a piece of your mind, when there’s a patter of feet and an excited “Dee!” coming from your left. 

Jack has you in his arms already before you could register it. He tucks you into his shoulder, presses his lips against your temple, lingering, and faces the guard. 

“Was there a problem?” The guards mouth hangs open and flickers between the two of you. 

“None at all.” He opens the door and lets the two of you in. After he shuts the door and turns face you, you take a second to admire him. 

He’s dressed in his game jersey, shoulder pads and everything; except for his skates. 

He looks really good. 

“You look really good.” 

Silence. 

“Are you blushing?” 

Jack pulls you into his chest so you don’t see more of the pink adorning his cheeks. 

“Am not,” he mutters above your head and you giggle as you try to untangle from his grasp. 

You pull back and notice that he still has a tint on his cheeks. He holds your face for a moment, admiring every feature. Going from eye to eye, the slope of your nose, the dimple digging into your left cheek, a beauty mark on your chin, your lips. 

You feel your breath quickening when his thumb grazes your cheek and his eyes linger on your lips a little longer. 

A sharp knock on the door interrupted the two of you. 

“Warm ups in two!”

Jack sighed and looked back at you. 

“I need to go. You can watch from here.” He led you further into the room and you could hear the crowd getting louder as you got closer. He led you to a balcony where there were a few other people, and pecked your cheek before going back. 

The game starts and you’re more clueless that you thought you’d be. The puck was way too small and you didn’t bring your glasses, but you remember Jack telling you that he was ‘86’, so you tried to follow wherever he was. 

The girl next to you strikes up a conversation which you cautiously tread with, but you warm up soon. She tells you that she’s dating someone on the team. 

“Woah. That must be cool.” She looks confused. 

“Aren’t you Jack’s girl?”

“No? We’re friends. I think. He’s really nice to me.” Your new friend blinks before talking again. 

“He really likes you though, and you look like you really like him.” 

“Well of course I do. He treats me really well.” 

“Oh, babe. No. He like likes you. My boyfriend told me he talks about you all the time.” She holds your hand. You look down at it and back at her. You’re quiet for a moment. You’re not sure how to process that. 

“I’m not sure how to process that.”

“Well, do you like him? Love him even?” 

“I-“

You’re cut off by that awfully loud goal horn, and glance at the screen to see that Jack has scored. You felt a surge of pride in your chest and feel yourself smiling wide as Jack’s tiny figure skated around and fist bumped the players on the bench. He turns to your section for a moment, lingering for a sliver of a second and your heart stops. The game called for the face-off just a second later so he had to look away. 

You look over to the girl on your right and she’s already looking at you with a half smirk. 

Jack politely declined on drinks later in the locker room after the devils won. 

He leans against his car and thinks about you. He really wanted to see you, needed your affirmation. 

It’s all he seems to do now. Jack just wants reassurance and peace in knowing that you were there. He spent every waking moment thinking about you and how he got you to show sides of yourself that you don’t show to people. He tried to keep his personal life away from hockey but the way his instincts told him to look in your general direction after he scored made him sick to his stomach. 

He might actually be stupid obsessed with you. 

Trusting his gut on your body language and making a bold move the previous night may have been the best thing he’s ever done.

That means that he doesn’t need to be cautious with his flirting anymore. He knows exactly what he feels but he wants to wait til you come to that conclusion on your own. 

He didn’t notice your quiet footsteps in his direction and was mildly startled when you were standing in front of him. Almost at once, he felt a smile adorn his face. 

“That was so cool, I didn’t understand anything but I know you scored.” Your wide, twinkling eyes stared back up at him. “I’m proud of you.”

And that’s all it took for him to usher you into the back seat, strip off your sweatpants, and throw your legs over his shoulders. 

Not even ten minutes later, your lungs are dying for air and your body is covered in a thin sheet of sweat. He was rougher this time, sucking a hickey on your neck before, getting the entire bottom half of his face messy, his own hooded eyes losing focus as he pleasured you.  

“You back to me yet, baby?”

“Hm?” 

You open your eyes and you’re in the front seat, cleaned up, pants back on, and Jack is fastening your seatbelt for you. 

“I lost you for like, three minutes there. You okay?”

His voice is gentle and quiet, his index and thumb holding your chin softly as his azure eyes bore into yours. 

“Chipotle?”

He laughs, pulling back and shifting the gear into drive, his hair falling slightly in his face and he pushes it back. 

“All the chipotle in the world for my Dee.”

Your mind briefly flashed to how he kissed the tip of your nose before he went down on you, and not your lips.

You’re in Jack’s apartment now (your heart dropping when you thought of Nala, but then you remembered that you fed her quite well and she had to be passed out by now. Jack handed you a Hershey’s kiss to calm you down), and it’s big. 

Like, huge. 

Massive for someone who lives alone.

His TV was playing ‘How to lose a guy in 10 days’ and you were watching like a hawk. 

“I’ve never seen this one before.”

“Really? You don’t watch romcoms?” Jack looks at you surprised, sitting next to you with both of your chipotle orders and throwing a blanket over the two of you. 

“No. I don’t really get the time.” You furrow your brows and turn to him with a blank expression. “You’ve showed me so much fun in the last few weeks. Thank you.”

Jack could happily die in that moment. He flashes back to yesterday again, your childlike wonder, the new things he learnt about you. 

“‘S nothing yet. There’s so much more you deserve to feel happy about.” He kisses your temple before getting closer to you. 

You both watch in silence for a while, occasionally laughing and aw-ing, until you can’t hold it back anymore. 

“Do you think kissing is unhygienic?”

You look up to him, his unbuttoned shirt, messy hair and lingering smile making your heart skip a beat. 

Oh no. 

You have such a horrible, fat crush on him.

“Hm?”

“I-nothing.”

“M’kay.”

Sweet boy is not a multitasker and the movie was at a really good part, so he didn’t really get distracted and soon you were engrossed too. 

You were still in a cloud of feelings and it was getting a bit much for you. Your head was usually void of emotion, so the change was welcome. And you had Jack to thank for that. He’s done so much for you, taken care of you in ways that no one has and no one ever will. 

You realize that he could be your worst heartbreak or someone that’s going to be in your life forever. 

You feel slightly sick thinking about it and you need to get it out of your system. 

“Can I suck you off?” Your lips lightly brush his ear. 

Now that. 

That gets Jack’s attention. 

He nearly snaps his neck to turn to face you and your noses touch. 

“You- I- what?”

Your fingertips are feathery as you brush the hair out of his face. 

“I want to suck your dick.”

“You don’t- if this is to- to reciprocate or something-“

“I promise it’s not. I really just want to.”

Jack is already semi-hard and he can feel his dress pants tighten. His eyes briefly widen and he borderline gulps before he watches your hand run down his chest and toy with his belt buckle. As soon as he gives you the green light and pauses ‘How to lose a guy in 10 days’, you’re on your knees in front of him, just like how he was with you the previous night. 

Jack’s sanity is once again lost as he watches you on your knees for him. You make a quick work of his belt buckle and pull down his dress pants just enough. 

You can already see how loaded he is through his boxers and look back up at him with the same wide eyes that he goes crazy over. 

“Cool.” 

Jack barely has time to react over your concise approval of his length before you’re mouthing over his boxers, sucking softly, leaving Jack gasping for a breath. 

You pull down his boxers and start working immediately, pumping him and wetting your hands slightly so you have more friction. 

“Y’know, it’s crazy—I know what all of these veins are called.” You say, more to yourself but Jack’s half smile drops when you lay your tongue flat against his shaft and suck on his tip. He lets out an embarrassing sound between a staggered breath and a whimper as you make your way down. Your cheeks hollow out as you make eye contact with him, making sure you’re getting it right. You come off and continue with your hands and look up at him. 

“Good?”

“F- Christ- fuck, so good, baby. So good.” 

Happy with yourself, you continue to suck him clean while he chokes out moans and his stomach clenches. You can feel him getting heavier in your mouth and you start speeding up, using both of your hands. 

There’s a moment when he reaches forward to push your hair out of your face, so that you don’t get bothered and so that he sees you properly, which warms your heart. 

He taps one of yours hands that’s on him to indicate that he’s close and you pull back with a kitten lick to his tip before sticking your tongue out.

You have Jack seeing stars when his load pumps into your mouth, and your eyes dart over his shirt clinging to his chest, his hair falling into his screwed shut eyes, his lips parted and his hand gripping the sofa with such intensity that his veins pop out. 

You tuck him back into his clothing after cleaning him up, and he looks at you with tired eyes while making grabby hands. 

You chuckle, climbing into his arms and he slumps his body against you, both of you now lying down on the couch as he unpauses the movie. 

His head rests comfortably against your chest, one of your hands running through his hair, and the other intertwined with his. 

It’s sweet. 

Jack wakes up alone and panics at once. It’s embarrassing, really; like finding out your stuffed animal fell to the floor during your sleep as a toddler. But when he checks his messages, he finds a text from you. 

Hey, I had to leave. I have a project due tomorrow and also Nala :( We can meet up later. I had fun yesterday. Thank you :))

It’s hits Jack how gone he is when he finds himself clutching his phone to his heart. 

It takes a while. 

He comes home fresh from morning practice took a nice long nap to clear his head before waking up properly to see that it was raining outside. 

He was enjoying (not) the protein shake that he was required to drink and mindlessly scoring through plays from an old game, when it hits him like a sack of bricks. 

Do you think kissing is unhygienic? 

You think he doesn’t want to kiss you. 

You think he’s toying with your heart by showing you all kinds of affection besides the one thing that both of you wanted so fucking bad. 

You think he doesn’t like you enough to do that yet. 

The drive to yours was smooth despite the rain pouring down from every direction, and because you always reminded him of road safety. 

You were standing outside of the apartment building, looking like you were having an argument with.. your tiger. 

Your hands were on your hips, body soaked and hair wet as you tried to coax Nala into shelter. 

Jack laughed at both of your antics which got your attention. Your mind flashes back to the day that you met him, the pouring rain, and how awkward it was to meet someone you knew from a while back. You wave at him happily as he approached, but noticed a hint of  anxiety and embarrassment. 

“What’s wro-?“

“Are you into poetry?”

“Uh, sometimes? Why?”

“This- well, I can’t read it. Here.” 

He hands over his phone, stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks at anything but you. Puzzled, you cover his phone from the pelting droplets so you could read. 

‘The first time you caught my eye

it was not love at first sight. 

Instead a quiet curiosity was

planted in my chest and I knew

it was only a matter of time before 

you sunk beneath my bones and

nurtured this deep seated familiarity

into a love so fierce that I would question

if I had ever been in love before.’

Lyra Wren. 

You read it again. 

There’s no way he actually searched for a poem to depict how he felt. 

“Look, I didn’t understand half of it hit you get the-“

Jack was cut off by our lips against his. 

It was short, maybe a second long, closed mouth, but you pulled away breathless and were close enough to feel his heart racing underneath his clothes. 

How desperately he wanted your cold, soft lips against his again. 

“So, you like me? For who I am?”

He nods. 

“Are you sure? ‘Cause I-“ 

You were interrupted by Nala’s whine (to say: I change my mind, I want to go inside), and you give Jack his phone, grab his hand and pull him inside. 

“C’mon, we’ll get pneumonia.”

Your hands were still in each others, his engulfing yours, when you shut the door to your apartment, locked it, watched Nala bound to her room, and turned to face him again properly. 

He was so, so close. Your lips were parted, just inches apart, your foreheads touching. 

He closed the gap this time, almost groaning in relief when he felt your mouth properly against his, something you both yearned for without realizing. His lips move against yours gently, savoring as much of you as he can. He nips your bottom lip and it has you and Jack smiling into the kiss. And then it’s a mess, teeth clashing, giggling, tongues lolling over another, one of his hands cupping your face and the other wrapped around your waist, but it feels like everything you’ve ever wanted. 

You pull back. 

“I love you more.”

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[hwangism143]

𓆩♡𓆪 nicknames. 𓆩♡𓆪

maknae line.

bang chan.

when you woke up from bed, you noticed a bang chan-shaped depression right beside you. a giggle escaped your mouth as your brain recounted all the fun you had last night trying to beat chan in monoply.

yes, you had only been dating for two months, but this relationship felt real. it felt like something. you were confident in saying that you saw a future with him. you walked into the kitchen where you chan preparing breakfast. he handed you a cup of coffee, just the way you like it, with a sleepy smile.

"so, i've been thinking and," chan started, "would like it if i call you a nickname in your native language?"

you nearly choked on your coffee. "like it? chan, that is the sweetest thing ever."

he grinned at you, "good, cuz i have been doing a lot of research." he swooped down, kissing the top of your head and melting your heart along with it.

lee minho.

"i have a problem."

minho startled you, uttering those four words as soon as he stepped through the door. you were watching tv, curled up on the sofa with a blanket and dori, munching on popcorn and waiting for minho's arrival.

"what's wrong?"

"it's you." minho watched your face morph into confusion and worry and he quickly explained, "not exactly. since we're dating, i need to come up with a cute nickname for you. hyunjin said that jagiya is not cute enough."

at that, you start to laugh. "babe, does he even know why you call me jagiya? as a matter of fact, i'm curious too."

minho begins blushing, the tips of his ears turning red. "oh, um, as a nickname, it reminds me of home. and you're, well, home."

you let out a squeal and begin attacking minho with kisses and for once, he doesn't protest.

seo changbin.

"no. i will not give up."

you let out a weary sigh. "binnie, it's been hours."

changbin is sitting on a bar stool and you are sprawled across the sofa, dangling upside down. for the past two hours, you and changbin had been deciding on what terms of endearment to use on each other.

unlike changbin being extremely undecisive, you had almost immediately decided what you would call him. your bunny boy! this was probably an extremely boring way to spend your six-month anniversary to outsiders, but it was (comically) important to changbin and if it was important to him, it was important to you.

"i'm sorry for boring you, princess," he said sadly. suddenly, his eyes widened. you got up instantly, making eye contact with him, breaking out into a smile.

"that's it!"

hwang hyunjin.

you and hyunjin laid down on the mat you placed on the grass, gazing at the stars. or at least, you were gazing at the stars. hyunjin's eyes only looked at you.

"what's your favorite term of endearment?" he asked, breaking the comfortable silence you were in.

"hm," you contemplated it for a minute, "probably love. there is something just so romantic about calling someone you love, love. it's almost as if you're making it known to the world that they personify your version of love."

hyunjin nodded in agreement, "or that the exemplify the love that they have to give."

you turned to look at him. his face was drawn in concentration, clearly very focused on the topic at hand. "but," he began, "it's ambiguous, isn't it? you can call anyone love, regardless of the type of love."

you hummed at his words, turning them over in your head. "well then, what would you prefer?" you questioned him, curious to hear the thoughts in his head.

"something my-adjacent," he replied, "my love. my muse. my world."

he cupped your cheeks in his hand looking at you with stars in his eyes.

"my everything."

[vodika-vibes]

Hello Vodika!

I don't know if you accept requests, but I would like to make one request. Could I have a request regarding our Commanders (Cody, Wolffe, Fox, Bly, Ponds, Gree, Neyo and Bacara) where they will seen their S/O in 79's dressed in their battalion colors? I wonder how the boys will react to this. 😉😏

I greet you warmly and wish you all the best in your life! ❤

His Colors

Pairings: Commander Cody x Reader, Commander Wolffe x Reader, Commander Fox x Reader, Commander Bly x Reader, Commander Neyo x Reader

Word Count: 2041 in total

Warnings: Some suggestive comments and actions

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: hi there! I do always accept requests, so thank you very much for yours! I made the choice to only pick five Commanders of the ones you listed since I felt like it was going to get repetitive (and I don't know Ponds or Gree all that well).

Commander Cody x Reader - Orange at 79s

Cody’s mouth goes dry when he sees her.

She’s clad in a tight dress. It's tight enough that Cody’s not actually sure how she’s breathing, let alone walking. 

And it’s orange.

The same shade of orange that decorates the front of his armor. 

She sees him, and a blinding smile crosses her face, as she waves at him. He watches her say something to her friend, and then she hurries over to him and flings herself into his arms, “Cody!”

“Cyare,” His voice is slightly hoarse, “You look—” He trails off, not having the right words to describe her look.

Her smile brightens, “You like?”

Cody’s hands settle, tightly, on her hips, pulling her flush against him. He’s still dressed in his armor and, for the first time, he wishes he had something a little more casual to wear.

Her smile, somehow, brightens even more. “Good. I bought it for you to enjoy.”

“Yeah?”

She leans in so her painted lips hover over his ear, “My lingerie matches.” She whispers.

Cody is pretty sure that her comment just broke something in his brain, because the only thing he can think of, now, is pale orange lingerie against her pretty skin.

“Why would you tell me that?” He asks, “Now I can’t think of anything else,”

She laughs, and Cody’s heart swells, “Good. Now I’m sure I’ll be able to keep your attention.”

Commander Wolffe x GN!Reader - Grey at the Park

You’re late. You’re very late. 

It’s not your fault that there was an accident right outside your work, and you were stuck waiting for the traffic police to clean up the mess before you could leave.

But you’re still late.

You didn’t even have time to change. You’re still wearing your boring, grey scrubs. You went and bought a very nice outfit for your date with Wolffe.

And now you aren’t even going to be able to wear it.

It’s enough to make you want to cry.

Hopefully, Wolffe will still be waiting for you. He said he would, but you were supposed to meet an hour ago.

You wouldn’t blame him in the slightest for leaving.

You hurry into the park, heading straight for the meeting point. The meeting point is the bench near the fountain, the bench where you met him for the first time.

And he’s still there. A datapad in his hand, his gaze locked on the small device. You slow from your quick walk as you approach him. He really is so handsome.

He must have a sixth sense devoted to noticing people staring at him, though, because he lifts his gaze and meets yours. You watch as his gaze flickers down to your outfit, and you feel a surge of self-consciousness. 

Scrubs aren’t designed to look flattering on anyone, after all.

You nervously smooth your hand down the front of your scrubs as he stands and walks over to you, an unusual smile on his handsome face. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” You start, “I didn’t even have time to go home and change. I bought an outfit that’s more attractive than—”

You stop when his hand presses against your cheek, and he leans in to catch your lips with his.

He breaks the kiss and you stare up at him in confusion. And then you realize that your scrubs are the same color as the grey on his armor.

“You look really good in my colors, cyar’ika.” He murmurs, “How about, instead of going to dinner, we go back to your place, and I show you just how good I think you look.”

And your face burns with flustered embarrassment.

You suppose he likes it.

Commander Fox x GN!Reader - Red in the Senate Archives

Fox sighs as he folds his arms as he scans the archives.

It’s empty. Of course, it is. No one comes to the archives unless they need something.

He impatiently drums his fingers on his vambrace, seriously considering leaving. He has work to do, he shouldn’t have to wait for them to show up to do their job.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m here!” Fox turns when he hears a familiar voice and the, even more, familiar sound of heavy boots on the tiled floor. He’s not able to smother his smile when they come to a stop in front of him.

“You’re late, little bird.” Fox chides, though there’s no heat in his voice as he looks them over. They ran here from the lifts, obviously, there’s sweat on their brow and their short hair is plastered to their forehead.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. The Chancellor needed me to deliver something to Senator Organa,” They gasp out, pressing their hand over their heart. 

“You need to work out more.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

They scowl at him, and then unzip their jacket and toss it over the back of a chair, “I’m in perfect health, thank you.”

Fox’s breath catches in his throat when he sees the shirt that they’re wearing. It’s silky, and sheer in some places. And the same color as his armor.

His little bird is wearing his colors.

Fox steps closer to them, absently tossing his gloves on the table as well, before he lightly catches the hem of the, surprisingly delicate, shirt. “What’s this?” He breathes out.

They turn so they’re facing Fox, “I bought a new shirt at lunchtime.” Their smile becomes playfully innocent, “Do you like it?”

Fox steps closer to them, his free hand sliding to the back of their neck, “Where’s the archivist?”

“Went home. It’s after closing time,” They reply.

Fox hums thoughtfully, and the hand that was lightly gripping the hem of their shirt moves to the topmost button, unfastening it. And then it slowly moves down the front of their shirt.

“Fox—”

“Well, since we’re alone,” Fox murmurs, as he leans in to hover his lips over theirs and slowly continues to unbutton their shirt, “How about you sing me a song, little bird?”

His comment is rewarded with a delighted giggle, and Fox leans in to seal his lips over theirs. 

His little bird wearing red is just not fair, really.

Commander Bly x F!Reader - Yellow at sunset

Bly’s not sure what he did to deserve the attention of someone as amazing as her. Especially since everyone and their cousin seems to think that he has a thing for his general.

Hell, even his girl thought that he had a thing for his general.

It had been a hassle trying to convince her differently. Luckily, General Secura had been more than happy to talk to her. And tell her all about her amazing girlfriend.

In any event, the conversation had been enough that she said yes when Bly asked her out. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Doesn’t mean that he understands why she wants him, of all men. But he’s not going to question it.

“Bly?”

Her voice, soft and musical, causes him to whip his head around, a broad smile already crossing his face.

And there she is.

Standing several feet away from him, her pretty hair pulled into a loose braid over one of her shoulders, her painted lips spread into a warm smile.

And clad in a dress in his colors.

That, and the way that the setting sun paints her in golds and oranges, Bly finds himself at a loss for words. 

Well, not really.

Only his words are all things like, “Marry me,” and “I love you”. Silly little comments like that.

Absently she plays with her braid, “Well, how do I look?” She asks shyly, “I know I don’t usually wear yellow—”

“You could wear a trash bag and still be the most stunning woman on any planet,” Bly says, once he manages to find his tongue.

She giggles, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

If Bly ever has the displeasure of meeting the person who told her that her smile is weird-looking, he’s going to introduce them to his hunting knife. But he quickly shoves the thought to the side so he’s able to hurry to her side.

She smiles up at him as he stops in front of her, “You really like it?”

“I love it. You look amazing in my colors, you should wear them more often.” Bly lightly takes her hand in his and twirls her, pulling a startled laugh from her lips.

“Bly!”

“I just need to see from all angles,” He teases, as he twirls her again, the hem of her skirt flaring out, and twisting around her legs. “Yeah,” Bly breathes out, “You look perfect.”

“Thank you.”

He sets his free hand on her hip, “Dance with me?”

She averts her gaze, shyly. But there’s a smile on her lips as she nods. “As if you have to ask?”

Commander Neyo x F!Reader - Burgundy at the Winery

You smile politely at the sommelier as he approaches you. You offer him Neyo’s name and mention that he should already be here, and the older man smiles kindly, “He’s sitting in the back. Follow me.”

This isn’t your first date with Neyo, you’ve been dating for well over a year at this point, but he’s been deployed for the last six months, and this is your first proper date since the war ended.

As much as you’d like him to move in with you, Neyo refuses. Claiming that you’ve only been dating for six months and that more time is needed to determine if the pair of you are a good fit.

He’s not wrong, of course.

But he’s been your pick since the first day you met him. It’s disheartening to think that he doesn’t feel the same way.

You take a deep breath and smooth the velvety material of your burgundy dress. It’s new, and it might, very well, be the most expensive thing that you own. You had it specially made to match the burgundy of Neyo’s armor.

Hopefully, he’ll like it.

Hopefully, he still likes you.

You see Neyo before he sees you. He’s wearing a dark burgundy button-up shirt and some nice slacks. If you had to guess, the top two buttons probably aren’t buttoned, because that’s the kind of man he is.

He’s nursing a glass of wine.

You feel your heart clench. You really do love him more than life itself. You hope he knows that.

You can tell when Neyo sees you.

While your handsome Commander would never slouch, he was sitting casually. And the moment he sees you, he straightens in his seat. As you approach, you see his gaze dart down your body, and you see his severe mein fade into something more welcoming.

Well, welcoming for him, at least.

Neyo stands as you stop by his table, “Cyare,” He lightly takes your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. Now that you’re closer you can see just how much he appreciates how you look right now. “You look beautiful,”

You smile at him, all warmth and affection, and you watch as something soft creeps into his gaze, “Well, I wasn’t trying to match with you, but we do make quite a striking pair, I think.”

He chuckles and brushes the backs of his fingers against your cheek, “Well, we certainly look better than some of the people here,” He agrees, and then his gaze sweeps down your body again, and something like hunger slides into his gaze, “I’ll just have to behave myself until we’re alone.”

You tilt your head, questioningly.

“Ah, cyar’ika,” Heat runs down your spine at the molten way he says his pet name for you, “You’re wearing my colors. You didn’t expect me to not react, did you?”

A small smile lifts your lips, “Well, that’s something to look forward to, isn’t it?”

Neyo’s grin is small and secretive, but he lightly releases your hand and pulls out the chair next to him, “Your chair, cyare.”

“Well, thank you, Commander.” You sink into the seat and have to muffle your giggle as he sweeps your hair off your neck to press a lingering kiss against your neck. Tonight is going to be fun.

[roosterforme]

The University of Sugar | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You take Bradley to a work happy hour, but nothing about it makes him happy, since your boss is clearly flirting with you. Was that man blind? Could he not see your engagement ring? Bradley was ready to fuck some sense into you. And you were so willing to let him.

Warnings: Fluff, swears and smut

Length: 2700 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time! This was written for a request. Banner by @mak-32

Check my profile for my masterlist

Bradley was exhausted. He'd had such a long week, stayed on base late almost every day. He was ready to get undressed, take you to bed, and pass out for at least twelve hours. But when he unlocked his front door and walked into the living room, you were standing there in a cute little dress, all made up. Maybe he could squeeze in a quickie before he passed out. 

"You look like you're ready for me to take you to bed," he said with a smirk as he started to untie his boots. But then he remembered something that you had said... about... a happy hour? Fuck.

"You need to get changed. I don't want to be late," you told him, checking the time on your phone while he groaned. Now he remembered. He promised you weeks ago that he'd go to the happy hour with your coworkers from the math department at San Diego State University. But right now, he was dying to get in bed and stay there.

"Sugar," he whined, "Baby, I'm exhausted. Can't we just stay home?"

"No!" Now you didn't look pleased at all as he made his way closer to you. "Go get changed, Beer Boy."

He wrapped you up in his arms and pulled you snug against him. "Come on, Baby," he crooned. "Doesn't our bed sound better than happy hour? I promise I'll make you cum. Twice."

You kissed him and smirked devilishly. "I'll hold you to that. After we get back from happy hour."

"Fuck," he groaned releasing you and heading to the bedroom to get changed. There was no way he was getting out of this one. He was going to have to chat with your coworkers all night. A bunch of boring math nerds. Because there was no way there was more than one hot, interesting math nerd at your school. You were an anomaly. You'd cornered that market. 

Plus, Bradley just knew he was going to feel like an idiot all night. You were smarter than anyone he knew, and it would be like a bunch of clones of you walking around sounding extremely intelligent. He didn't even know what he was going to talk about. 

"Ready?" you asked with a smile when he reemerged from the bedroom. You took him by the hand and led him out to the driveway. "I can't wait for you to meet everyone."

---------------------------

It was worse than Bradley thought it would be. Apparently the median age of college math professors was eighty. He held tight to his bottle of beer while you introduced him to way too many people whose names he would never remember. He tried to smile, but he had to stifle a few yawns while he followed you around the small auditorium on your campus.

Everyone knew you. Everyone liked you. Everyone wanted to talk to you. Which was all fine and dandy until Bradley got cornered in conversation with Professor Rosenthal while an extremely handsome man walked up to you and gave you a lingering hug. 

"Who the hell is that?" Bradley asked, completely cutting off Professor Rosenthal.

"Oh," he sputtered, turning to see where Bradley was looking. "Oh, that's Professor Philip Harding. The department dean." 

Bradley's brain was buzzing now as he watched Professor Philip Harding put his hand on your lower back while you laughed. You had mentioned him before. Many times. You told Bradley that you frequently ate lunch with Phil on the benches outside your building next to the rose garden. Bradley was the one who lovingly packed those lunches for you.

He watched as you slowly took a step out of Phil's reach. "That's a good girl, Sugar," he muttered, now completely ignoring Professor Rosenthal. 

But Phil closed the gap and was already next to you again. Was this guy blind? Or just stupid? Did he not see the engagement ring on your finger? Could he not comprehend that you were in a relationship?

"Fuck," Bradley growled, glaring at him as he set his empty bottle down and tore across the room. Phil was tall, dark and handsome, and Bradley knew you liked that kind of thing. Plus, if he was the department dean, he was probably as smart as you were. 

Jealousy pulsed beneath his skin as he came up behind you and wrapped his hand around your perfect hip. "Hey, Sugar," he rasped, leaning down to kiss your neck. He loved the way you melted into his touch, but Bradley kept his eyes on Phil who cleared his throat loudly. 

"Hello," Phil said, looking at Bradley with a thoroughly unimpressed expression. But he could just fuck right off, because Bradley wasn't impressed either. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Dr. Philip Harding."

You smiled up at Bradley. "Phil is the department dean. And his office is next to mine." Then you turned to Phil, and Bradley had to watch his gaze dip down to your chest as you said, "Phil, this is Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw."

"Her fiancé" Bradley added, rather too loudly. 

Phil just smirked at him. "Ah, yes. I believe I've heard mention of you before. You work on submarines or something?"

Bradley clenched and unclenched his fist. "I'm an aviator," be ground out. "A pilot. I fly an F/A-18."

"Right," Phil replied cooly before turning back to you and asking you a question about your calculus lecture. And then Bradley had to stand there and listen to you laugh while he felt like a complete idiot. 

After a few moments of listening to Phil's annoying voice, Bradley pulled you a little closer and said, "Please excuse us," effectively cutting off the conversation and luring you back toward the refreshment table.

"What's wrong?" you asked. "You're acting so weird."

Bradley's eyes bugged out. "I'm acting so weird? Sugar, what the fuck, Baby? That guy is flirting with you right in front of me."

"No, he's not," you replied with an eye roll. "He's always like that."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he growled. "Because it does not. In fact it makes me feel worse."

"He's harmless, Beer Boy. I eat lunch with him all the time."

Bradley managed to speak through clenched teeth. "The way you described him, I pictured a geriatric nerd with a receding hairline and fucking dentures!"

You burst into laughter, planting your hand on his chest as you cackled and gasped for hair. 

"He's not old at all!" Bradley complained.

"No," you said, trying to reel in your laughter. "I think he's forty."

"He's handsome!"

"So are you." Your hand slid up to the back of Bradley's neck as you grinned at him.

"He wants to fuck you!" 

"So do you," you replied calmly. "You're jealous."

Bradley took a few deep breaths. He would never, ever admit to that out loud. "He touched you," Bradley growled. He didn't even care if he was causing a scene right now. You were going to be his wife, and he would be damned if Phil didn't leave here tonight knowing damn well where he ranked with you. 

"I told him to stop," you said sincerely. "I don't think he'll do it again."

"He better fucking not."

You leaned up and kissed Bradley's chin. "I can't believe you're jealous of him. You have no reason to be." You searched his face and sighed, that needy little sound you made when you were ready to go. "I love you. And you look so hot right now."

Bradley's cock twitched for you, and he pulled you snug up against him so you could feel that he was hard. You moaned softly, and Bradley glanced over to see that Phil was looking this way. 

"Let's go fuck in your office," Bradley told you, possibly loud enough for someone to hear. And then he kissed you hard, slipping his tongue into your mouth until you were pulling him toward the door. 

"I don't know what's gotten into you tonight," you whispered, ducking your head as you led him out into the hallway. "But I'm not mad about it." 

Bradley followed you down the hall to your office as you clicked along in your high heels. He was very familiar with this room, and when you unlocked the door, he pushed you inside but not before he noticed Phil was also in the hallway. 

Bradley winked at the other man before he slammed the door shut behind him. You had a smug, needy look on your face as the fluorescent lights started to warm up and brighten the small room. 

"You're mine, Sugar," he stated simply, caging you in against your desk. "And next time you eat lunch with Phil, I want you to think about this," he whispered, reaching down so his hand was underneath your dress, grabbing the back of your thigh and making you break out in goosebumps. "And this." 

You moaned softly as he gently pressed his lips to yours in the sweetest kiss. "Bradley," you whined as his hand slid up to the front of your underwear. "I thought you were exhausted from work."

"I got my second wind," he promised, leading his gentle kisses along your jaw and to your ear. "Now pull your underwear down, bend over, and tell me how hard you want it."

The strangled noise you made had him laughing before he sucked on your neck. But sure enough, you started yanking down your own underwear, and then you turned your back to him. 

You looked up at him over your shoulder, smiling sweetly as you said, "Hard."

Bradley was working on his own button and zipper as quickly as he could. "That's my sweet Sugar," he crooned, and you bent over your desk, moaning his name. He carefully pulled your dress up so your ass was beautifully on display for him. His cock was gliding through your wet pussy as he gently kicked your legs a little further apart. 

You wobbled a bit on your high heels as Bradley ran his big palm along your ass, cupping and squeezing you. "Bradley," you gasped, wiggling yourself back against his hand. 

"You want it hard, Sugar? First, you need to promise me that if that asshole Philip Harding ever touches you again, you tell me immediately." Bradley knew his tone was a little rough, and when you met his eyes over your shoulder, you nodded. 

"Okay." Your voice was soft, just like your skin beneath his palm. Bradley squeezed you before spanking you one time. "Bradley!" you screeched, biting your lip and moaning. 

"Promise me," he demanded. "He never touches your lower back or any other part of your body ever again." His fingers skimmed up along that exact spot on your back.

"I promise!" you groaned, still pressing back against him. Bradley thrust into you, hoping like hell that Phil was still out in the hallway. He wouldn't mind one bit if the department dean heard everything he was doing to you. And if your current volume was any indication, then perhaps everyone else in the small auditorium would be able to hear you, too. 

"You wanted it hard," he grunted, absolutely slamming into you. "You're mine. Gonna be my wife."

"Yes!" you screeched, grabbing along the top of your desk, trying to hang on as he fucked you. Bradley ran his hand along the spot where he spanked you feeling the warmth there. 

"You're smart, Sugar," he praised, slipping his hand around to your clit and bending so his front was pressed to your back. "Now tell me who you belong to."

"You!" Your voice sounded a little hoarse, and he could hear it quiver as his fingertips spanked your clit. 

He growled next to your ear as he alternated between tapping and rubbing. "Say my name."

"Bradley!" 

"Good girl," he praised, pinching your clit until you screamed. And then he spanked your pussy through your orgasm, tapping just hard enough that your legs started shaking. 

"Fuck," you groaned, the single syllable loud and drawn out as Bradley took you by both hips and fucked you so hard, you were whimpering. 

"Mmm," he hummed, palming your ass. "I'd love to cum all over your pretty face right now, but you'll get that when we get home. I'll spread it all around. Mess up your makeup and let you lick my fingers clean."

"Bradley, please?" you begged, but he spanked your ass and shook his head, fucking your harder as he got close. "On my face!"

"No. You insisted we come to happy hour, and it's already going to be obvious what we did without my cum all over you, Professor Sugar."

"I love it when you call me that," you crooned, clearly enjoying this entire interlude. "Now fuck me until you come."

It didn't take long after that. He came inside your tight pussy, painting it up and chanting your name. His hands were tight on your hips, and as soon as he withdrew, Bradley knelt down behind you. He kissed along your ass and your thighs as you tried to stand upright on your unsteady legs. 

"Easy," he crooned, watching his cum drip out of you as he eased your cute underwear back up your legs. You spun to face him as he pulled your dress down. Your hair and makeup were a mess, your lips were a little puffy, and you couldn't stand up straight. You looked down at him, still kneeling before you. "I love you," he promised as you let your hands rest on his shoulders. 

"I know, Beer Boy," you whispered, voice hoarse from screaming. "I love you, too. And I love when we fuck in my office or the study rooms on campus. It's kind of our thing."

Bradley stood and kissed you softly. "Academia really suits me. I went to the University of Sugar."

You bit your lip and giggled as he led you toward the door. He took your left hand in his and spun your pretty engagement around on your finger as you made your way back to the happy hour. When Phil exited the men's bathroom a few doors down from your office and wouldn't make eye contact, Bradley smirked. 

"You were loud as hell," Bradley informed you just before rejoining the group. "And you look so fucking dissheveled, I can't wait to bust a nut on your face later."

"Beer Boy!" you gasped, following him with wide eyes as Bradley made his way back to Professor Rosenthal with a fresh drink. He had accomplished what he set out to do, and now Phil would think twice before he touched you again.

"So sorry we got interrupted before," Bradley said to the older man. "What were we talking about?" Then he listened to Professor Rosenthal talk about the politics of the math department, his upcoming retirement and his hip replacement. And all the while, you kept eyeing Bradley with a very satisfied look on your face. 

----------------------------

"Okay, Beer Boy," you muttered to yourself, sitting on a bench in the rose garden next to your building on campus. You were unpacking the lunch Bradley had made for you, which included a note with huge handwriting.

Sugar, Can't wait to get my hands all over you later. Love, Beer Boy

You snorted and tucked the note into your pocket. This is what he did now. Every day since he met Phil, Bradley wrote you a dirty lunchbox note. The first note last week had been about how Bradley wanted to fuck you in the Bronco when he picked you up from campus. And sure enough, he had done just that, in the parking lot behind the student union building. 

Of course Bradley knew what he was doing, because Phil had accidentally seen that note. And he hadn't eaten lunch with you since then. But now you were waiting for your new lunch pal, Professor Rosenthal.

"You win, Beer Boy," you whispered, texting him a photo of the note along with a little message from you.

I want your lips and tongue, too. 

You smirked and ate the lunch he packed you, excited to get home later. Excited to marry Bradley. Excited for everything. 

----------------------

Love checking in with Beer Boy and Sugar from time to time! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

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[agoodroughandtumble]

Full Resolve - Zoro x Reader

Status: Complete Summary: Not really a plot - just some fluff Warning: 18+, Language, implied smut

Of course Zoro had said it before. Only it was usually swiftly followed by the reassurance that he meant as a part of the crew. So you rolled your eyes and told him not to be so soft.

There were several times he said it with a grateful sigh as you handed him a much needed drink after a particularly stressful day. You always tried to fight back a far too affectionate smile and told him he probably needed it since he looked like shit.

Depending on how many more drinks he had, sometimes the words would come out as a slur as his head slumped against your shoulder so you ran your hands affectionately through his green hair, sighing out a lazy “Yeah, you too.”

And then there were the times when the words were proceeded by a grunted “Fuck” and breathed against your neck, teeth grazing against goosepimpled skin. Those times left you bruised and exquisitely sore. It was hard not to believe him while his hands so desperately clung to any, all parts of you they could find, and his cock was buried so deeply inside you it was impossible to think, to breathe, to exist outside of him, outside of that moment.

But he never meant it. Not in the way you so desperately needed him to. Not in the way you meant it. Usually you didn’t mind – well, you didn’t mind him not saying it but you did mind how bloody pathetic you were about the whole thing. And you certainly minded how your fragile, futile heart always skipped a bit at his words – no matter how many times you them, and no matter how many times you had to remind yourself that he didn’t actually mean it.

Everything was too neatly explained away. He loved you as his crew mate, he loved you because he was drunk and would be saying that to anyone. He loved fucking you, or he was just horny. Either way. You were accepting. Compliant. Because being told a lie hurt far less than acknowledging the truth – and of course you were pathetic. But self-aware, at least. And fully resolved that this was it. As far as it went. He wouldn’t know any of your more self-indulgent thoughts and by the time he got bored of you, you have moved on. Because you had to. Because you were fully resolved.

This morning was being particularly counterintuitive to your newfound resolve. It had started not-so-innocently enough – the activities of the night before still lingering in the air and on your skin. Zoro was still asleep, one arm holding you tightly against him whilst the morning light was making his already ridiculous abs look even more impossible. Just as usual, one hand tangled into his hair, nails slightly scratching his scalp and eliciting soft, lazy grunts from the swordsman.

“Mm, that feels nice.”

You allowed yourself a small, indulgent smile at his words. “That’s the point.”

Zoro shuffled to lie on his side, slinging a leg over your waist. “I love you.”

You tensed. This was new. This was… not in your carefully crafted rulebook of times Zoro said those words. He never said it the morning after. Maybe it was just because he was still half asleep. You stayed silent despite the thousand and one thoughts running through your head.

He must have noticed the chance in your demeanour as he shifted again, this time so he was fully facing you. His eyes were strange. “Why do you never say it back?”

You froze. Your heart was thumping rapidly enough to break a rib. Your brain was completely absent.

“(Y/N)”, Zoro persisted, gaze unfaltering. “Why do you never say it back?” There was a pause, an agonizing, drawn out pause. You squirmed slightly at the unreadable expression across his face. “If you don’t that’s… do you?”

You swallowed hard. Your throat was so dry you weren’t sure you could say the words despite how desperately they clawed at your tongue. “Do I what?”

“Do you love me?” Only then did his eyes leave yours, staring pointedly at anything that wasn’t you.

“Zoro…”

Abruptly, he sat up, the force knocking you back. “Forget it. This won’t happen again, don’t worry.”

You stared at his back and bit your lip, trying to find the backbone to say something, anything to say, for some semblance of understanding. But he was already standing up and getting dressed. You had to stop him. You had to make him stay. “I love you.”

His boxers fell slightly, hands no longer able to pull them above his thighs. “What?”

You took a deep breath. And another one. Fully resolved. Fuck it. “I do. I love you.”

Zoro just stared. For hours, maybe days until an incredulous look met your uncertain one. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You shrugged, apparently only capable of the feeblest of gestures at this point and embarrassed by your ineptitude. “I didn’t think you did.”

An amused smile slowly worked its way onto his lips. You almost let out a sigh of relief as he climbed back into the bed. “I tell you all the time.”

Which he did. Only he didn’t tell you he just said the words. Oh shit. You fidgeted awkwardly, mind replaying every time he just said the words. Only he didn’t. He told you. Hundreds of times. All the times. When he was drunk, when you fucked, when you shared knowing looks, when he sat a little too close, when he was overprotective, when he always wanted to be partnered up with you, when he told you one morning half asleep and in each others arms whilst your fingers played with his hair.

His fingers tracing along your waist brought you back out of your thoughts. “I didn’t think you meant it.”

Zoro rolled his eyes with a small chuckle, “You’re a fucking idiot.” His eyes turned earnest again. “But you-”

“I mean it.”

He kissed you. Perfectly. “You’re my fucking idiot.”

[alphajocklover]

hey there. My name is Derek. Im your average, slightly overweight gay guy from Chicago. I work as a pretty decent graphic designer downtown. And honestly, my life has gotten boring. I’ve been with the same guy for far too long. And I sometimes wish I could be one of those loud, obnoxious straight dudes you see at bars. You know the ones I’m talking about. Total jerks who make rude and crude comments to women. Muscles so big. Obnoxious loud clothing. Yeah. Is it weird that I want to be the most hated straight douchebag in the world? Haha it’d be so different

Hey Derek! I’m glad you reached out. You’re asking a question a lot of gay men have asked throughout history: Is it weird that you want to be a straight, buff, misogynist douchebag? Are you a freak because a part of you wants to be the kind of guy you’ve always hated? You’ve always believed in being proud of your sexuality, in treating everyone, especially women, with respect, in common decency, equality, and respect. Usually you’d find those straight, cocky jerks as obnoxious as anyone else. But just like a lot of men (and sometimes women), both in and outside of the LGBTQ community, there are times where, even though you know you shouldn’t, you wish you were one of those guys. It’s hard to say why people get this strange desire. It could be that you’re jealous of their bodies, how they’re so muscular, beefy, and powerful. It could be that you admire their confidence, the way they cockily smirk like they rule the world. It could be that you long to be like them because, despite their flaws, they’re the manly men that society has always told men we should all be.

Or it could be that you know, deep down, that they’re what you were meant to be. That they’re what you could have been, should have been, and would have been… if you hadn’t been turned gay.

Before we continue I wanna make a few things clear. Being gay isn’t a choice, you can’t cure gayness with dumbass abusive therapy, gay people do not turn other people gay, and homosexuality is a perfectly natural thing that some people just are. But… not all people. There are some people in this world, like you Derek, who have been turned gay. You were supposed to be straight. In fact you were supposed to be a straight, beefy, misogynistic, douchebag. But someone changed you, derailed your fate so that you’d be different. They saw you, didn’t approve, and so they went back in time and changed you. It’s not just you either. There are thousands of supposedly gay men who are really straight douchebags who got turned.

The group of people responsible for these changes are mysterious and covered in shadow. Those who know of them call them the SAD, the Society Against Douchebags. Not much is known about them, just that they come from the far future and use a strange machine to go back in time and change the lives of certain straight douchebags through manipulation and futuristic technology. The reason you were always so unathletic and heavy? You had nano machines working against you, keeping on the weight and taking down your endurance. The reason you could never seem to say the right thing and always embarrassed yourself around cool guys? They’d use those same machines to make you feel awkward and uncomfortable so you’d say the wrong thing. The reason you’re gay? They altered your brain chemistry.

But I know someone who can help you turn back.

A group like the SAD, one that so recklessly changes the timeline, doesn’t go unnoticed forever. Eventually another group formed, one that fought back against them. They call themselves the Douchebag Revolution. They’re exactly what they sound like. Straight, buff douchebags who either didn’t get targeted for one reason or another or were saved from their false lives and wanna take down the people who tried to destroy them. They go around, liberating guys like your from their fake fag lives, fighting the SAD and living that douchebag lifestyle.

Personally I try to keep out of their whole time war thing. I don't think what the SAD does is good, but time travel is so fucking complicated I’d like to avoid anyone who uses it all together. Plus the Douchebag Revolution is pretty homophobic, so they wouldn’t accept an actual gay guy like me in their ranks. But I do have a few contacts in the Douchebag Revolution who tolerate me. I could get you in touch. They have a way to reverse what the SAD did to you. A serum. It’ll make you exactly what you always should have been: a straight, beefy, asshole. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to take it. You can stay this way, always wondering who you would have been. But I don’t think that’s what you want. I can see it in your eyes. You know what you are.

You’re a douchebag. Welcome to the Revolution.

Don’t worry about your boyfriend. Either he’s an agent of the SAD or he’s a fellow turned Douchebag. Either way your new friends will help you take care of it.

**another G2S story. I know they’re controversial but they’re so much fun. Definitely going to revisit the douchebag Revolution idea sometime.**

[tangents-within-tangents]

The Bad Batch as Penguins of Madagascar Quotes

Bc I’ve seen a few posts making this magnificent comparison and both of these squads are near and dear to my heart and bc I need a distraction from the s3 premiere ahhh

Tech: *mission relevant info* Hunter: Tell me something I don’t know! Tech: Without mucus your stomach would digest itself Hunter: … Hunter: Tell me something else I don’t know…something less disturbing

Hunter: (to Caleb) It's okay, kid. We're not going to hurt you Crosshair: *cocks his gun* Not true, Hunter, they did authorize lethal force

Wrecker: *absolutely decking his bros* You pillow fight like a bunch of little girls!

Crosshair: What part of "zip it" eludes you?! The "zip" or the "it"?!

Echo: I don't mind saying it, that guy vexes me. *narrows eyes* He's a vexer.

Hunter: Boys, no training tonight. It's game night! Tech: Trivia! Let's play trivia! I dominate trivia! Omega: Oh! Can we play Simon Says this week? Tech: Yes, Simon says we play TRIVIA!!

Crosshair: I find reason tedious and boring. We'll use force.

Echo: I'm sorry, boys. I sometimes resort to sarcasm when facing the unknown Tech: No doubt

Hunter: Oh I’ve seen accident prone, try Wrecker and Crosshair! With a Chandrilan lantern! And SIX BOTTLES of rocket fuel!! Tech: Worst talent show ever

Hunter: There's no such thing as too paranoid, Omega. Remember that, and forget you ever heard it!

Tech: SCIENCE! WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?!?

Omega: I have an idea! But I'm not sure how safe it is Wrecker: I like it already!

Crosshair: *while fighting* You cannot win, Hunter! I am fueled with a boiling hate! A raging fury! Hunter: And a babbling mouth! *slaps him*

Omega: No! I swore I’d never use my adorability as a weapon again, and I meant it!

Echo: Wrecker, cover Omega’s ears, I intend to use my angry words

Tech: This red line shows the frustration level of a really smart person forced to take orders from some dunder-brained boob. As you can see the frustration just keeps rising and rising and rising. I mean, why don't they put the smart guy in charge, huh? IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE! SOMETHING HAS GOT TO GIVE, PEOPLE! AM I THE ONLY ONE SEEING THIS?!

Wrecker and Omega: *run in making incomprehensible panicked noises* Hunter: Anyone catch that? Echo: *nonchalantly interprets it exactly* The Batch: … Echo: What? I’m fluent in panic

Tech: Cool cars go faster. That's a scientific fact.

Cody, in his one episode: I believe now I know why “volunteers” ends in “tears”

Hunter: No batcher gets left behind, that’s why! Wrecker: What about Crosshair? Hunter: Okay, one batcher gets left behind Omega: and Echo? Hunter: Maybe two batchers get left behind Tech: Um… Hunter: *groan* Comparatively few batchers get left behind, okay?!

Omega: I thought you agreed this was a dangerous weapon! Wrecker: Which is the best kind! What good is a safe weapon?! Tech: He has a point

Hunter: Avert your eyes, young Omega, you’ll never be able to unsee this! Tech, recording bc that’s his freaking hobby: Don’t worry about it I’ll burn you a dvd!

Crosshair: *standing outside the Marauder* Hunter! I have brought you a hand drawn greeting card! It says “Roses are red. Posies are green. Sorry about Bracca, I was too mean. Your pal, Crosshair” :) Hunter: *walks out and shreds the card*

Hunter: Get up here. That’s an order! Tech: *salutes* Permission to defy order? Hunter: Permission denied! Tech: Then I deny your denial (sorry)

Echo: *watching Hunter and Wrecker, captured and surrounded by stormtroopers* Well this hardly seems fair Echo: *jumps in a walker and defeats them easily* Told you it wasn't fair

*Phee and Tech kiss* Omega: *eyes being covered by Hunter* awww Wrecker: Finally!

[emmyrosee]

heres a list of characters from all of my current fandoms who deserve and need to be annoyed (affectionately) bc thats like. my whole love language

1.) sakusa kiyoomi from haikyuu. dont even look at me. read almost any of my sakusa kiyoomi pieces and TELL ME he doesn't need to be bothered. bc he does. you have to be clawing him from the outside in, you need to eat his drywall, need to pick his nose, ANYTHING to bother him, do it, bc his life is too boring when you dont

2.) shinsou hitoshi from my hero academia. omg. please pester him. shinsou finds so much amusement to the lengths you go to to bother him, because you don't do it so intense; like sure, you could rip the manga out of his hand as a means to cuddle with him. but instead, you merely worm under the arms holding his manga, and you're content to cuddle like that for hours, and he is too

3.) the feminine urge to put sukuna- hot take but choso??? needs to have a nuisance by his side. because he is so deep in his head all the time that he needs the lightheartedness of your teasing and affection keeps him grounded. like sure, he could spiral out of control because of his anxieties… or he can let you bite his arm after you “salt it” because he’s “so yummy.”

4.) omg basically anyone in tokyo revengers, just please annoy him. make him so emotionally confused in your presence. like sure, he’d love to be annoyed at the fact that you’ve texted him twice about having to poop, telling him you’ve had no water, you miss him and you want to gnaw on his bones, but he’s not going to be because how could he be? no one could prepare him for the way you talk to him, and now he gets to see what… creative ways you can show him affection. sometimes, he smirks at his phone when you text him, and when he’s asked what he’s smirking about, he shakes his head and sighs, “my troublemaker just took a dump. they wanted me to tell everyone.”

5.) easy, rayne ames HASSSSSSSSS to have an annoying insignificant other. he’s got this whole ‘mysterious’ aura around him that you need to absolutely obliterate. he’s not cool, he’s a nerd who likes it when you gently run your nails over his back and hair, and you have no problem calling him out over it, much to his delight dismay. you love telling people about the stuffed rabbit he keeps on his bed and cuddles with at night when he’s mad at you, just as much as he loves grabbing your hand and dragging you away in embarrassment. he’s not fooling anyone, or escaping the “he actually loves this” allegations by keeping you around.

6.) ITOSHI RIN NEEDS TO BE BOTHERED YO. I DONT MAKE THE RULES. the mental image of poking your head over the side of the bed and flashing him the biggest set of puppy eyes to ask for a sweet treat at ungodly hours is all that’s in my brain. when he slides into bed next to you, and AS SOON AS he gets comfy, you ask him for a glass of water??? BRO HE HAAAAAATES YOU (literally loves you so much he gets it for you)

6.5) also chigiri??? i want to bother him so bad. i want to be his menace. i know for a fact he loves to pretend to hate you when you’ve just spent the past three minutes trying to squeeze a blackhead from his nose, his groans of agony ringing through the house so loud, you’re surprised the neighbors don’t hear. you both know damn well he could fling you off and across the room. but he doesn’t. again, he’s REALLY not escaping the “he actually loves this” allegations by keeping you close. 10/10 would annoy him again 🩷

——-

@reverie-starlight it truly takes one person to say yes and im frothing at the chompers SJDJDENSJ

[toomuchracket]

fourth of july (politician!matty x reader smut)

another summer75 fic. warnings for shibari (light) and breeding kink (HEAVY). bon appetit <3

“you're sure you don't need anything else, ma'am?”

“thanks, claudia, but we're all good,” you smile at your assistant, her eyes flitting between the windows (and the party on the lawn outside) and you. “it's been a busy morning - i think you should go and relax, do some celebrating of your own, yeah?”

her eyes light up. “really?”

you laugh. “of course. just, piece of advice? don't drink anything anyone tries to serve you from a fishbowl tonight,” you grimace, shaking your head. “too many 5th of julys have been ruined for me that way. and for the president, actually, he was so much worse than i was at parties. stupid boy.”

claudia giggles. “noted, ma'am. i'll be sure to have a glass of water after every drink, too.”

“smart girl. well, i'll leave you to it,” you stretch, moving to close the door to the presidential living quarters. “have a good weekend!”

“and you, ma'am!”

closing the door behind you, you wander through towards your bedroom. aside from the sound of your husband humming to himself in there, the place is quiet, only the two of you around.

just how you like it.

you smile as you enter your bedroom, ogling matty as he pulls his shirt over his head. his hands move to his belt, but he stops his undressing in favour of walking towards you with love in his eyes and a grin on his lips; you pretend to sulk, but open your arms anyway. “damn, i was enjoying the show.”

“of course you were,” matty kisses your forehead, pulling back to arm's length to look at you. “i don't look half as good as you do, though. i love that dress, baby.”

“i thought it was pretty,” you clasp your hands behind matty's neck, and his find home on your hips. “it's really uncomfortable, though.”

it's a blatant lie, and you're sure you aren't being very subtle, but matty has the good grace to play along anyway. “is that right, my love?” he coos, hands moving across your back to undo the halter neck “well, we'd better take it off, then.”

“fabulous idea, mr. president,” you snuggle into him, sighing when the fabric of your dress falls to the ground and your bare chests press together. matty's arms wrap tightly around you, and the feeling of home washes over you. the two of you hug in comfortable silence for a second, your fingers gently twisting into your husband's curls, before you speak softly. “m'really proud of you, you know. it was a good morning. and i know you were reluctant to host anything today, but… i'm glad you did. it was fun.”

matty huffs out a laugh into your hair. “was only reluctant because it cut short our usual long weekend plans. and you know how much i love those.”

his hands travel towards your ass, sliding under the waistband of your thong to squeeze it; you giggle softly in response, pressing a long kiss to your husband's neck and enjoying the moan he lets out. “sometimes i wonder if you'll ever get bored of driving to the cabin whenever we get a few days off.”

“if we ever get rid of the shibari rigging hooks, i might.”

“as if we'd do that. be serious, please, matthew.”

matty laughs, scooping you up and dropping you onto the bed. “i love you, my perfect little rope bunny. and wife, obvs.”

“love you too. i also love that you've got your priorities straight,” you bite your lip as you watch matty undo his trousers, leaning up to kiss him messily as he crawls up to hover over you. it's a good kiss, sloppy and passionate, one that goes straight to your underwear and prevents your brain from thinking about anything other than matty inside you. “fuck, baby. tie me up now, please? we still have,” you glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table. “two hours before we need to start driving. pleeeeeeease?”

matty simply raises a brow.

you pout, batting your lashes. “come on, baby, please? just a little design? a little preview for the rest of the weekend?” you wrap your legs around his waist, smiling prettily the way you've done to get whatever you want from matty since you were twenty-two. “because you love me?”

at that, your husband sighs, nodding and trying to keep the smile from his face. sap. “legs only, alright? just because i love you.”

“mhmm,” you take his face in your hands and pull him in for a kiss, smiling at the way he melts against you. “thank you, my love.”

“sweet girl,” matty strokes your cheek, before moving off you and reaching to pull a box from under the bed; inside, you see pink rope neatly arranged in loops of figure eights. your heart leaps and core gushes at the sight, but matty makes a face at it. “not very patriotic colour-wise, is it?”

“pretty sure the amount of time i'm gonna spend on my knees worshipping you this weekend will make up for that, mr. president.”

“fuck. underwear off, now,” your husband quickly takes two separate loops of rope from the box, twisting them into position while you shimmy your thong and lie down, practically vibrating with happy anticipation. “and speaking of knees - bend them for me, darling, that's it. tell me if it's too uncomfortable, yeah?”

“i will.”

“good girl.”

with that, he begins to loop the rope around your left thigh and shin, securing them together with an intricate pattern you hope to god will leave a mark on your skin. you can't remember whether it was you or matty who first suggested trying shibari a decade or so ago, but you both took to it with enthusiasm - since then, every extended private moment you've had together has involved some sort of artistic bondage, exploring new designs and positions and making each other feel good. the rope took a bit of getting used to, initially, but now you love the feeling of it against your bare skin; it's a reminder that, for at least the next few hours in your busy lives, it's just you and matty, alone together, getting to love and appreciate and care for each other at the most primal, most intimate level.

once he's done, matty taps your bound knee. he moves back, smiling at his handiwork. “that feel alright, gorgeous?”

“yeah. thank you, angel.”

he blushes, and your heart flutters. “you're welcome, my darling. gonna do the other one now, yeah?”

“go ahead.”

the two of you settle back into comfortable silence, matty continuing his work while you smile at the way his tongue pokes out of his lips in concentration, one of the things that first endeared him to you when you met at law school. suddenly, those lips part as he speaks. “isn't it funny how many people just, like, handed their babies to us at the garden party this morning?”

your brow furrows slightly. interesting topic of conversation. “happens to me quite a lot, to be honest.”

“yeah, i've noticed. s'happened eighteen times to you in the past week alone.”

your brow furrows further. “you've been counting?”

matty's cheeks go pink again. “well… not deliberately, darling, i just,” he sighs, finishing off the shibari and sitting back on his heels to look at you sheepishly. “i can't help but notice when you're interacting with babies at the minute. like, i really can't.”

oh. how interesting. and, if you're honest, not entirely unwelcome. you smile. “you think it's time?”

his eyes widen. “for… for us to-?” he clears his throat. “for us to… have a baby of our own?”

“yeah, sweetheart,” you reach up to caress his face, smiling softly at the way matty leans into your hand. “do you think now’s the time?”

“well… yeah.”

you smirk, removing your hand from your husband's face so you can use it to pull your bent legs open as wide as possible and expose your glistening cunt. “let's make a baby, then.”

matty blinks. suddenly, your instructions seem to sink in, and he follows, not even bothering to take his boxers off fully before sliding through your wetness and pushing inside you; his lips meet yours as he bottoms out, the two of you sighing into each other's mouths.

home at last.

for a moment, there's nothing but the two of you kissing like teenagers, passionate and messy and desperate, matty throbbing inside you in the most delicious way, and then he moves, pulls his hips back and snaps them forward again, over and over and over, drawing soft moans from your lips every time he slides in. a huge part of the reason matty was elected, everyone says, is because he does everything with focus and conviction - the way he fucks is no different.

he pulls back from your lips, resting your foreheads together in the most tender way and sliding his hands over yours against the pillow; when you intertwine your fingers, he smiles. “sweet girl, taking me so fucking well.”

“your sweet girl.”

“that's right. my girl, all mine,” matty beams. something about the ownership reminder spurs him on, makes him thrust faster and harder and deeper into you. you whimper his name, and he kisses your nose. “what is it, darling? need me to fill you up, is that it? put my baby in you and let everyone know you're mine?”

the words go straight to your cunt, brain too hazy with pleasure to properly take them in. “please.”

“cum for me first, sweetheart, and i will,” he coos, stroking your face and dropping a sweet kiss onto your nose. “touch that pretty clit for me, yeah? and then i'll fill up that needy little pussy of yours. promise.”

“okay,” you exhale, hand sliding down your sweat-shiny chest and between your legs, circling your aching clit the way you know matty would. ecstasy shoots through your body the instant you touch the bundle of nerves, causing you to whine and clench around your husband's dick - which in turn makes him whine - but, somehow, it isn't enough. “matty,” you croak out, blinking up at him. “need you to talk to me. please.”

“oh, my darling,” matty grins, not unkindly. “need me to tell you how good you feel, how much i love how fucking tight your cunt is? even after all this time, after all the pounding i've given you, she's still clenching around me like a fucking vice. could stay inside you forever, you know. wanna do that. i think you want me to, as well, don't you, gorgeous? feels like it, anyway.”

the pleasure's practically blinding you at this point, tightening your muscles and clouding your mind - all you can do is frantically rub your clit, and whimper. “yeah, yeah, want you in me all the time.”

“needy girl,” matty's lips crash onto yours, tongue licking into your mouth before he murmurs against you. “can't fucking wait to fill you up properly, sweetheart. please tell me you're close.”

“i am, oh shit, i am!” you aren't lying, either - your legs are quivering as much as they can within the rope, and the pressure building in your lower stomach feels like it's about to reach breaking point. you're vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face and pooling on your chest, but all you can focus on right now is matty. “gonna cum, please, please let me cum.”

your husband leans forward, cock driving impossibly deep and lips ghosting over your ear. “do it, my darling. cum for me, let me give you a baby. our baby.”

and that's all it takes.

you cling to matty like a liferaft as your orgasm hits, although the more accurate nautical metaphor would be to liken him to an anchor; without him above you, hands digging into the flesh of your legs almost as much as the rope, you're certain you'd float away, buoyant from sheer fucking ecstasy. he cums with a guttural moan of your name as you clench around him, kissing you deeply as his thrusts get more and more shallow, and you don't think you've ever been more full, metaphorically (of love) and literally (of cum, crass as it sounds). once he's done, your husband nuzzles into the crook of your neck, both of you sweaty and breathing heavily.

for a few blissful minutes, you stay like that, weaving a hand into matty's messy curls and scratching his scalp while you exchange murmured “i love you”s. your eyes flick sideways to the alarm clock, and you tap his shoulder in a feeble attempt to get him to move. “sweetheart, we need to get cleaned up before we leave.”

“just give it another minute or two, darling,” matty mumbles into your skin; he pulls himself up just enough to kiss you, looking adoringly into your eyes. “have to make sure the baby sticks, after all.”

you giggle, stroking his flushed face with your thumb. “we'll miss seeing the fireworks from the cabin if we don't get a move on, though.”

“trust me, my love, you'll get your fireworks this weekend no matter when we leave.”

“whatever you say, mr. president.”

[inklore]

impetuous

premise: the little games you and joel like to play become risky when you almost get caught.

pairing: joel miller x smuggler!reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: eighteen+ content, unprotected piv, established enemies with benefits, dirty talk, a certain clothing item being used as a gag, small mention of masturbation and bjs, hints of angst.

note: episode eight changed me as a person, the integration scene rewired my brain chemistry and i just needed to get this out before i collapsed from being in heat. the gif was made by me so don't steal pretty please.

part of this world but you don't have to read it to enjoy this!

“Shh, shh,” Joel silences you, just as a hard thrust of his cock has your mouth falling open, a moan filling the air of the damp shed. The crunch of sticks and gravel outside makes your already thumping heart beat faster against your rib cage.

Brows drawn together, the hands gripping onto Joel’s flannel digging into his sides. The thumb that was just pressed to the column of your throat—dirty palm squeezing your airway just enough to lower your moans, enough to make you wetter and less coherent—now moves down to where you’re bare and his cock is fucking into you. The rough pad of his thumb moving along your clit, “focus right here.” 

Ignore the noises outside. 

Ignore the possibility of getting caught by someone out after dark and up to no good. 

Ignore the possibility of getting thrown in a cell by FEDRA because you two were out after dark and up to no good. 

“Fuc-Joel,” you whine. Clench your eyes shut until all you can see is little white dots behind them. Try to focus on those, on the burn you feel from the tears that are now prickling at your lash line from how hard you’re trying to focus. 

From how hard you’re trying to keep your mouth shut, to not getting caught—at least not before you’ve come. 

Joel’s words “focus right here” mocking and blaring in your head like a song you can’t stop humming, a song stuck in your head, a song you want to bodily remove from your brain stem; your focus on the footsteps outside no longer the issue; your attentions shifting to the head of his cock, hitting every spot inside of you that makes your legs tighten around his hips more, on the burning pleasure he’s delivering to your clit right now. 

You couldn’t focus on anything but him if you tried, and you’re trying really hard to focus that attention on staying quiet. 

Which the two of you know is not your forte, in and out of this situation. 

The countless times when Joel’s not fucking you come to the forefront of your mind of him complaining about your need to argue, to talk talk talk, instead of the two of you doing a trade, or making the other come. 

“Anyone ever told you you talk too much?” 

"Well, one of us has to do the talking, Mr. Resting Grump Face. Besides, you’d be bored if I didn’t make you work for what you came for.” 

“That what you call it? Workin’ for it? You mean until I give you what you want because you can’t seem to ask for it unless you’re deliverin’ me bad news,” he had smirked. Wiped the grin from your face and covered it with his mouth seconds later as he backed you into the wall, groin grinding against your front. “I got better uses for that mouth.” 

The scrape of the metal table your ass is on moves each time Joel thrusts, each time his cock drags against your sensitive walls over and over. If it weren’t for his jeans still covering half of him, the sounds of your skin moving against each other—and your wetness that was more than likely staining the front of his jeans, the small window in the back doing little to help light anything but his face and neck—would cover up the mewls and cries making your throat hoarse and raw each time they slip out when you fight to swallow them down. 

“The only way you know how to be quiet is with my cock in your mouth.” There’s humor in his tone; his heavy breaths add more heat to your face. You feel his free hand run along your leg, moving it from his hip for half a second as he pulls your underwear from your calf and over your ankle until it’s in his palm and he’s pushing the material into your mouth. 

You can taste the remnants of your arousal on the cotton, from even before the two of you started your little game. When it was still just a simple trade of stolen items and things your boss was too cowardly to hand off to the big bad grump. When he had just been scowling at you, listening to your bullshit story, and bidding the time until one of you cracked. Before both of you threw the items to the side and Joel’s hands were bending you over the nearest surface or pushing you to your knees. 

You swallow around the material, your whimpers caught by the fabric and barely audible. His lips press against the material, barely touching your lips; the sweat on his forehead mingles with your own as he presses it against yours. “Focus on comin’ for me, take what you came for. C’mon. Come with me,” he grunts. Moves his hips in a way that has your eyes rolling back and your teeth biting the salvia-soaked cotton. 

The hand not rubbing fast circles on your clit, cups the back of your skull. His dirty fingers wrapped in your hair, keeping you in place. Keeping you bent at the perfect angle so your hips can meet his. So his thumb has access to that nerve that’s making your toes curl—to push his cock further and further into you so the tip hits something pleasurably painful. 

When you’re coming, when his name is muffled against your underwear and your nails are clinging and digging into his skin from the searing heat that has your body convulsing against him—"That's it, that's it, take it” murmured against your forehead—you feel him finish seconds later. Your walls clenching and spasming around his cock. A deep grunt breathed against your skin. 

Your insides feel warm, like jell-o left out in the sun. Like if Joel never moved from between your legs and the two of you stayed connected forever, you wouldn’t mind. 

And after he’s pulled out and his warmth is gone from your body, you quickly shoot down the disappointment rising up inside of you that he didn’t stay between your legs longer. That this part of the night is over, and now you’re back to the game. 

To the reason you snuck out after dark to begin with. 

Completely denying yourself any opposing thought that could put that reason into question. The two of you have been doing this for too long for your mind to think it’s something it isn’t. 

Even when he doesn’t just take what he came for and leave or shoot you a scowl when he helps you find your pants, the way you expect him to. 

Or how he doesn’t let you go first no matter how much arguing you do against it—how he makes sure the coast is clear before signaling it’s safe. Him hanging behind to—cover his ass, you’re sure—make sure when you slip down the dark alleyway, no one is there to catch you sneaking away into the night. 

And later, when you’re laying in bed, you’ll chalk up the pounding need you feel again as you remember Joel’s rough fingers against you—your jaw, your neck, digging into your sides, your shoulder to keep you from moving anywhere but against him, anywhere but where he wouldn’t be inside of you—and his words still playing in your head “focus right here, come with me”, your heart will pick up, and you’ll have no choice but to sedate the ache you feel by making yourself come. Joel’s name on your tongue and bit into your bottom lip; you’ll blame it on his stupid mouth and your lack of options for sexual partners in this hell hole. 

It won’t be because of an attachment or attraction of any kind. 

Fuck that. 

And tomorrow, when you tell Robert to do his own fucking deliveries, it won’t be because of your feelings but instead because you almost got caught last night. This little game becoming more of a risk than entertainment for you, and you’ll be damned if you get in the mix with FEDRA over Joel and the underlying need the both of you have to pick each other apart and pull the hatred you harbor inside out with teeth, tongues, and fingers that make you see stars. 

But Robert is spineless, and you’re not convincing enough to make yourself believe you want to end anything with Joel. 

[uriwoos2]

The Last One. (ksw)

pairing: sunwoo x gn!reader. genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, friends to lovers. overview: sunwoo comforts you after an unpleasant event. you go for a drive in his car, in the sunset. a confession at the beach. kissing. word count: 3k. warnings: depictions of feelings of anxiety/social anxiety and loneliness; self-conscious and self deprecating thoughts. please avoid reading if you find these themes triggering. ♡ notes: I'm finally giving this a try! I'm super excited to write on here!! the beautiful pictures sunwoo posted on ig made me think of the idea for this fic. I got inspired to write it while I was feeling really down myself, and even though it's pretty self-indulgent, I felt like I could share it here, in hopes that this might comfort anyone else who needs it. it took me a week to finish this, but I enjoyed every moment of it. I'd love to hear what you think about it!! like & reblog if you enjoy <3 with love, cream.

♪₊˚ song: tejano blue — cigarettes after s*x.

it's so loud.

you can hear the noisy chatter of the people in your group, bantering and laughing out loud.

what are they laughing so much about? are they laughing about.. about me?

you sink in your seat, hands in pockets, body slumping even more than before, aiming to merge with the chair. your eyebrows set low, unknowingly glaring at the group.

"hey, you okay?" one of them calls out, making you perk up, but you know it isn't a genuine question, so you lower your eyes, nodding briefly.

a scoff. "it's no use talking to them, they're not gonna answer you." another voice retorts, clearly tipsy. you try to pay it no mind.

it was fine before, they didn't care much. why now?

but before you can come up with an answer to your own question, your thoughts are interrupted with laughter, even louder this time.

they're laughing at me.

the discomfort that gradually began setting in since you first stepped into the building, was about to overflow. so you go to stand up and leave, while your mind imagines the remarks they could be throwing at you.

"leaving already? so boring."

"they're so weird"

"wow, that's one scary kid."

"not worth our time."

"yeah, you better leave."

real or not, it didn't make much of a difference for you. you still cared, it still bothered you, no matter how miserable that might sound. the non-spoken words, thought up by your own mind, sharp and piercing, biting at your skin. you brushed your hands on both of your arms up and down roughly to rid your mind of the thoughts.

it burns.

so much for trying to socialise.

you awkwardly squeeze through people crowded in groups outside, keeping your eyes on the ground, paying no mind to where you're headed.

you just need to get away from there, as far as possible, and quickly. you don't even check your surroundings, as your legs seem to be taking charge right now, shaking but not able to stop moving ahead.

I'm so embarrassing. I'm so disgusting.

you're continuously reminded of what happened at the bar, the image seemingly stuck in your brain. the mocking laughter replaying over and over, taunting you, leaving no choice but to think about it.

why can't I just do it the way they can, what is wrong with me?

they all seem to like it.

why doesn't it come naturally to me too?

why do I have to force myself?

you walk with your head down, trying to hold in your tears. you knew this wouldn't end well, you didn't expect anything from it, and yet,

I'm pathetic. I'm disgusting. and I'm miserable.

I knew this wasn't a good idea, why did I even..

they all probably hate me now. the way I am.

I feel so sorry for myself-

there's a halt in you thoughts, as in your steps. you notice you've bumped shoulders with someone.

wait- what am I doing, where am I?

you frantically take a look around, only to find yourself in an unfamiliar place, yet again, the anxiety sets in. you have no way of telling where you are.

the sun will set soon, too. shit-

you walk around in hopes to find a way to get back to your place, maybe think of something. but, you remember-

sunwoo has my location! yes. he'll help.

you mentally thank yourself for thinking of that, taking your phone out to text your friend.

"changed my mind, come get me please."

the reply is almost instantaneous, as it always is whenever it's sunwoo you're texting.

"be there in 10. stay where you are."

a sigh of relief escapes through your lips, your shoulders feeling lighter, knowing you'll be on your way soon. but you still need to-

I have to go back to that place.

reluctantly making your way back to the bar, you linger nearby, just so sunwoo can find you, but far enough not to be spotted by anyone else. pulling your hood up, you put your hands in your pockets, shifting back and forth, unable to stay still.

it's fine. it's alright now. it's over. he'll be here soon. I'm okay..

letting a big puff of air out, you try to steady your stance, your breath shaky. you lean your elbows on the railing in front of some shop, as the light from inside gives you shelter from the darkness of the street.

I wish I didn't have to be like this.

you tuck your head into your arms.

this always happens, I don't know why I thought this time would be different.

I should've never come.

I'm shameful.

I'm ashamed!

regardless of your efforts to hold back, you still feel a single stubborn tear touch your skin, staining your sleeves. a sniffle. you can't be crying like this outside,

but I've already embarrassed myself anyway.

another involuntary sniffle, and a tear on the other side of your face. it's gotten colder. there's a warm hand on your shoulder.

frightened, your head springs up, eyes frantically searching for the person the hand belongs to. your body slackens in his grip. thank god. the hand on your shoulder moves to stroke your back.

"I'm here." a gentle smile.

you feel the tear streaks drying on the sides of your face in the light breeze as you look back at sunwoo. you're so drained that you feel as though you've lost the ability to form words, so you can only hope your eyes are able to relay your thoughts to him.

I'm exhausted.

sunwoo's gaze shifts between your eyes trying to gauge anything that hints at your mood. his other hand comes up to wipe your cheekbone. and it stays there, holding the side of your face.

a quiet gasp. "god, you're freezing! I should've been quicker. I'm sorry." he retracts his hand on your cheek. the one on your back guides you in a certain direction, your body completely relaxed and yielding in his hold. you're safe now, sunwoo knows what to do. you know to trust him.

before you know it you feel warm again. even though the roof of sunwoo's cabriolet is folded, even though it's even colder now, even though the breeze blows rougher. the warmth seems to be spreading from within, a feeling, your heartbeat slow and steady. sunwoo buckles your seatbelt for you and closes the door.

don't go.

he rounds the vehicle to get in his seat on the other side. you knew he wouldn't leave, but

still..

"I'll pull the roof back up in a minute." he has taken off his jacket and it's now spread over your lap. "I didn't know it'd get this cold, should've thought of fixing it before coming to get you." he halts his movements when he feels your hand on his arm.

I want to feel the breeze.

"you want me to leave it?" a mild nod from you, eyes downturned. he gazes back at you, eyebrows furrowed. "okay... but put the jacket on properly, the breeze is strong."

when you don't make a move to comply as he instructed, he leans over and carefully adjusts the jacket so that it covers more of you, giving you a sliver of a smile. a whispered, barely there "thank you" escapes through your lips, which he responds to by patting your head. he's so warm.

soon enough the blow of the wind picks up, as sunwoo starts driving. you lean your head back, resting it on the headrest. the bitter gusts of wind crash into your face, turning it red, keeping you awake. you can feel the frigid air burning your skin, soothing your body. your eyelids drop to focus on the feeling as you take in a deep breath.

that feels nice.

I can breathe again.

you open your eyes and look out the window. the city lights are harsh and bright, dazzling you, making you squint, your view of them softening.

"are you cold?" asks sunwoo in a low voice. yes. but it feels good. slowly tilting your head, you face him, beyond him a glimpse of the beach.

your gaze fixes on sunwoo, eyes listless. only now taking notice of his appearance. laid back in the seat, his elbow rests on the door, the other hand grips the wheel. his arms are bare, making your eyes linger. soon enough they shift to look at his dark hair flying around with the wind. thick eyebrows set firm in concentration. eyes half lidded, but alert. you can still see the restlessness in them. he keeps stealing sideway glances at you, eager to grasp your thoughts. you pay it no mind, because..

he's so beautiful.

and most of all, his skin is glowing golden even in the dark, now illuminated scarlet as you stop at a red light. he turns his head toward you, "hmm?"

ah,

you forgot he'd asked a question. that snaps you out of your dazed state effectively. blinking rapidly to rid your eyes of the haze.

shit, I got distracted.

clearing your throat, your voice raspy, "sorry. no, I'm not cold." you fidget with the sleeves of your hoodie. you hear him sigh softly. he's facing ahead again, the light green. "you.. are you okay?" you can hear the concern in his voice and your heart swells.

"yeah, I'm good." averting your eyes from his face, feeling sheepish.

your response doesn't seem to ease his worry, "you can talk to me, you know I don't mind. I'll listen." his words so gentle, you barely hear them.

he's so kind to me.

your eyes shift to your lap. sunwoo's jacket has slid down, and you can see your fingers picking at the skin on your hands.

why... does he treat me like this?

when other people seem to have given up on me completely?

he's too kind.

"I..." you try to form an intelligible sentence. an exhale- "I'm alright. I'm just fine.. if you're with me." you try not to look over at him. "everything sort of.. feels okay when you're here." you breathe deep, in and out. voice trembling, "I just want you to know that.. I'm thankful- for everything you do for me. even though, I don't get why you do this... I know I can be... difficult. to understand, and to talk to most of the time. I guess, I'm grateful that you try. and that you've kept me with you despite.. that, I don't give anything in return. and I'm sorry." you trail off, tears welling in your eyes. "anyway, just thank you." you finish with a sniffle.

sunwoo is quiet. you're too afraid to meet eyes with him, so you keep your head down.

why isn't he saying anything?

did I make him uncomfortable?

you wipe your nose with a sleeve. another awkward sniff.

should've just stayed quiet. it wasn't even that serious..

I'm sorry for being like this.

however, before your mind can make your grey thoughts into a whirlpool and suck you in, you see colors seep into the darkness. you look up in surprise and find the source. the car has come to a halt. the now setting sun seems to be casting the purple-pink light on the waves just before you.

"it has never once felt like that to me." you turn your head, the beams reaching his face too, making you stare. he's looking ahead.

"our.. friendship. I have never thought of it as a chore, a challenge- maybe. purely because we're so different from each other, there's a lot to consider. but.." he shakes his head, lowering it, "oh my god- I always thought of this-" he gestures between the two of you. "as something precious, something I needed to protect. if anything, it felt like it was you keeping me close." he brings his head back up, but still doesn't glance your way.

...what?

eyebrows furrowed in deep confusion, you question, "you.. but, why? there's nothing I have to offer, I mean.." he brings his head back up, concern evident in the way he looks at you. you avoid his eyes, bashful. "you're.. you're so ordinary. you know.. you can befriend anyone, do anything you want.. you're likable, and I don't know.. I'm- I'm just me. and I can barely take being alive, at least..." you sigh shakily, it's so hard to talk about this. "but that was before, now I don't think it's all that bad. and it's all because you came into my life." you didn't even notice you'd started to cry, until you felt sunwoo's thumb on your face, wiping the tears away. you let him, eyes glazed over.

he makes this even more difficult than it already is.

he retracts his hand. you shift your eyes once more. "you know, whenever I think of myself, I'm always out of place. nothing comes naturally to me, like it does with others, and it- it's so frustrating... it's lonely. and it makes me hate myself. but.. weirdly enough, all it took for me to feel at least a little bit normal, was one person who understood me, understood my pain. who listened to me. you're my link to the rest of the world, the only thing that keeps my feet on the ground. I- I really don't know where I would be right now, if you weren't by my side." you feel more silent tears escape.

my whole existence is disgraceful.

but I don't regret this, he has to know how much he means to me.

even if I look like shit in the process.

"I know it's selfish as well, that I wish for you to stay with me forever. but.. truly, you're the sole good thing in my life." you've never felt so exposed and vulnerable before, putting your heart on display, right in front of sunwoo.

"it isn't. selfish- I mean." he catches you off guard, so you turn to look. you notice colors dimming on his face, the sunset imminent. he's got a warm expression on his face, one full of tenderness. "well if it is, then I must be selfish too. because I can never imagine my life without you in it either." he leans over, resting his elbow on the armrest in-between your seats. "it honestly breaks my heart that you think that way about yourself, I wish I could take those feelings away from you.." he reaches over with his other hand and takes your hood off. you can feel your heartbeat pick up. "I don't know how much I'll be able to help, but I can promise, that I'll always try to. I'll be here, whenever you need me." his gaze shifts to the top of your head briefly, patting your hair into place. "and I need you with me, just as much. so, don't ever think like that, okay?"

you should've known better than to doubt sunwoo's feelings. he's the one that gets you, even if no words are exchanged. of course, he'd understand. he always has. I'm so grateful to have him. you feel emotional as you wipe the remainder of your tears, sunwoo waiting patiently. but.. it's hard to focus right now, when he's just

he's so close.

your heartbeat picks up, alerting you of the proximity between your faces. you can feel the heat of sunwoo's breath on your ice cold face, as you try to keep your own even. try to keep your mind clear, aware.

oh god...

he eyes your lips for a moment, and you can hear it in his slightly quickened breaths-

he feels it too.

your eyes lock, and you feel like you're going insane. with the way he's looking at you, gaze filled with longing. with the way his hand's still resting in your hair, tugging at it softly. with the way your heart just can't seem to calm. with the way your faces have frozen into place, neither moving an inch to break the distance. it all makes you want to..

I desperately want to kiss him.

"I want to kiss you." you're not even sure who asked the question, because it was whispered, and because you're too tired to make sense of anything. "...can I?" oh, it was him, after all. his voice so soft, but breathy- rushed with desire.

please.

instead of answering, you pull him in by the back of his head, rushing to connect your lips. your eagerness visible in the intensity of the kiss. this stuns sunwoo for a brief second, but he meets your lips, mouth turning up at the sides. he steadies the kiss, slowing you down.

..finally.

he holds you by the jaw. your lips moving in sync, almost naturally. you pull at his hair. you can feel him smiling into the kiss at that, letting out a deep whine.

he's driving me crazy.

the kiss can't last forever, having to pull away to take a breath. you can feel the dissatisfaction in the way sunwoo whimpers. it pleases you, to know he yearns for you the same way you do, for him.

I can't believe we just kissed.

your faces remain close still, seemingly unable to pull apart, now that you've connected. the sound of your heavy breaths and the waves crashing, the only thing to be heard. you wait for each other to regain oxygen back in your lungs. sunwoo's cheeks are flushed cherry, but you're sure yours are worse.

I can't believe I just kissed sunwoo.

he holds your cheek in his palm now, thumb stroking the blush on it, gaze filled with adoration. his eyes twinkling, telling you all you need to know about how he feels for you.

is this really happening?

sunwoo's half lidded eyes are relentless in raking over your face, noticing every detail, staring. but it isn't uncomfortable, you don't feel self-conscious. you feel seen.

"you're beautiful." he confesses with care.

he likes me.

he finds me beautiful.

his bold words don't make you question their genuineness. you feel confident in the way you look from his point of view, you know you're beautiful, because he sees it.

tightening your grip on his hair, pulling a strand, you look at his swollen mouth, your words coming out hushed, "you have no idea, how long I've waited for this." he ducks his head, smiling shyly. ...he's so.. cute.

bringing both of your hands together, you cup his flushed face.

pretty.

you take a moment to study him. he lets you. after a few moments of silence, he whispers "me too. I've longed for you.. without even realizing." he's a bit hesitant in his words, avoiding your gaze. you didn't know shy sunwoo would come as a punch to your heart, making your affection for him grow.

so adorable.

smiling softly, you lean in to taste his lips once more. this time you make sure to go slow and sunwoo melts into the kiss. he moves his lips according to your pace, kissing you back tenderly. you feel content in his presence, his lips touching yours, comfortable and familiar.

I feel so... warm.

you gently lift your lips from his, but stay near, foreheads joined together. you can feel the breeze biting. your mind screams at you, begging, to connect your mouth back with his again. sunwoo's low breaths grazing your lips not helping the case.

I miss his touch.

the side of his mouth upturned, as if reading your mind, sunwoo briefly brushes your lips with his plump ones.

I need more.

but brief isn't enough. you yearn for him, his touch in the way that wouldn't be sated with a momentary peck. a noise of frustration leaves your lips, and he catches on, finding your impatience cute.

a chuckle, his lips back on yours.

perfect.