#confident no one will get this and it’ll be a self own

[ismellbitches]

HOLY SHIT ITS THE PRIME DEFENDERS!!!!

[lovieku]

ORDINARY THINGS ⋆ 정국

𐙚 ordinary things, as long as i’m with you.

after a lost match, jeongguk’s only source of comfort is you.

from the grande series ୨ৎ

pairings: soccer captain!jk x fem!reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

warnings: lower case intended, i wanna say that i know very little about soccer, even more about what goes on behind the scenes, but of course i had to put jeongguk in bellingham’s iconic holey socks hehe 😻, it’s a bit angsty at first just bc ggukkie is an angsty boy, but then all of it is just fluff really! hints at mental illness, heavy use of the pet name baby, they’re so funny i love them, theyre also horny! only mentions of sex tho, and sexy kisses and touches keke

word count: 6990

a/n: waaa omg i managed to keep this under 10k words who’s proud of me! this is so slow but im in love w their domestic dynamic 🙁

────୨ৎ────

the piercing whistle cuts through the air.

it marks the official end of the match, sealing the loss of your boyfriend’s team. the sound feels sharp, final, not only to the game.

you knew this was fairly important. it wasn’t too decisive on the team’s position in the ranking, but you knew it mattered to him. like every other game, regardless of stakes.

whether it was a friendly or a tournament, jeongguk had no other mode but all in.

that dedication shows in every tense line of his body now. the weight of defeat begins to sink in, and you can see it on his face, the way it affects him.

you can already sense what’s swirling around in his mind, behind the quiet exterior. you’re sure of it from how he still stands there, avoids his surroundings, keeps his eyes glued to the ground, the green field suddenly more captivating.

you don’t need words to know. he’s retreating inward, locking away his disappointment, and likely taking on more than just the burden of his own loss.

he’s probably thinking of his teammates, feeling like he let them down too. allowing it all to crash on him, the single outcome of this match unraveling everything he worked hard for.

his confidence shatters with the referee’s whistle, and it shuts down the noise of the crowd, makes him unresponsive to the comforting pats on his back from his friends. it’s all a distant hum to him now.

jeongguk is deliberately slow as he almost mechanically leads his exhausted self out the pitch, body moving without his mind’s consent.

he doesn’t care if it’ll take him forever to take these steps. if he’s the last one leaving. he just needs a moment to figure out his next move.

but can he? can he face his team without this ugly feeling gnawing at him? can he keep lying, tell them they did well, that they’ll do better next time, while his own mask suffocates him? is he even deserving of the captain title?

he doubts it, his legs moving as if the world has time to offer him, body struggling under the weight of a lifeless feeling creeping in.

your heart clenches painfully. from the sidelines, watching him like this breaks something in you.

you grip the hem of your tennis skirt, fingers twitching as you fight the crazed urge rising in your throat to just run to him.

it’s hard to find your breaths when witnessing your boyfriend destroying himself as if that’s the only treatment he thinks he’s deserving of. but you also know the last thing you want to do right now is to draw more attention to him when he’s so raw, vulnerable. when every eye in the stadium strips him bare.

and you just want to put his every piece back, cover him in warmth. your mind is made up when you abruptly stand up, hastily making your way toward the locker room before he can get there, offering polite smiles to the players who are already getting inside.

you settle outside the door, waiting.

jeongguk drags behind the others, eyes still casted down. he’s so absorbed in his escape, so lost in the act of avoidance, that you’re certain he won’t notice you, with your beating heart held out to him in your cold hands.

yet, he does find some sort of answer in the ground he keeps staring at, asking for solutions.

amidst the worn, muddied football boots, he spots your shoes. dr. martens platforms, the ones you pair with white socks that ruffle at the top.

the sight is enough to pull him out of his daze, and he looks up.

the door to the locker room closes behind the last player, the heavy thump echoing in the long hallway. it startles you, just as jeongguk’s sudden awareness startles him, and you search for some sort of stability in each other’s eyes.

his own are glossy with unshed tears, and they glisten under the harsh fluorescent light. it doesn’t help the way his vision gets blurrier and pulls you farther from him.

but he needs to see you— the comfort in your face, the one that he feels as though he can’t breathe without.

jeongguk squeezes his eyes shut, the tears slipping free, but the moment he flutters his eyelids open and meets you clearly, he doesn’t care.

his wide, tear-filled gaze takes you in. brows drawn up, your expression seems to mirror his. you’ve always absorbed people’s emotions to an almost extreme degree. when others cry, so do you. and when jeongguk cries, it feels like the whole world is falling apart.

but you can’t afford that happening, and you’ll hold its full weight on your shoulders to prevent such thing.

this time, you need to be stronger for him. swallowing the lump rising in your throat, you blink back your own tears and take a hesitant step toward him.

jeongguk, so much taller than you, seems to shrink before your eyes. right now, he’s the smallest, most fragile boy.

“baby,” your voice is a soft whisper, arms stretching open in a subtle invitation, one that he doesn’t need to be asked twice.

the moment you speak and break the quiet, the dam he’s been holding up crumbles. he crashes into you, hands wrapping tightly around your waist, his nose buried in the crook of your neck.

the impact makes you stumble slightly, but you hold him just as tight in return, focusing on his sharp breaths against your skin, wet with his tears, body trembling in your embrace.

your arms wrapped around his neck, you squeeze him hard, as if he’s a sponge that you’re trying to empty from all the dirty liquid. all the exhaustion, the anxiety, the guilt.

with the way he downright drops his full weight on you, you guide him to sit on the bench just outside the locker room. he slumps beside you, heavy and limp against you, seeking your warmth and comfort the way an addict seeks for the drug that’s able to keep them going.

you sit like that for a while, and you think it’s better this way. he has time to let it out against your chest, and you have the time that you need to compose yourself before you’re met with the full extent of his brokenness.

the second you see his tear stricken face, you think all of the effort was useless. you’re so, so weak.

jeongguk hiccups, lifts his face, his wide eyes flitting between yours like one would follow a tennis match at his peak point, searching for something, the smallest indicator of victory.

the tears make his cheeks red, and it adds to the frantic pleading he trips on, “b—baby, please. i don’t— i’m tired. wanna— home—“

“hey, gguk. ggukie, breathe,” you’re gentle when you cut him off, taking his face between your small palms to try and steady his panic, and mostly yourself. you’re fighting hard to not break too, to try and be the anchor he needs.

you take exaggerated deep breaths, hoping he’ll mirror you, and after a few moments his chest rises and falls in sync with yours, warm breath fanning over your lips.

imperceptibly, you feel his panic begin to ebb. his brows relax and his eyelids blink slower, regaining consciousness of his surroundings.

his hands reach up, covering yours as they rest at his jaw, squeezing them, and he exhales shakily, still not fully over his agitation, “i’m sorry. i wanna go home. i don’t— don’t wanna do interviews, don’t wanna see anyone. don’t wanna talk to coach. i just wanna be with you, please.”

his speech is hushed, pleading, his words slurred as if afraid you’re going to stop him, force him to go through the motions of what’s expected of him before he can beg further.

you brush his cheek with your thumb in a slow motion, moving him closer to you, your voice as careful as possible, “but, jeongguk… we can’t disappear without at least telling the others. coach will want you to answer—“

“please, love. please,” he cuts you, words trembling, “don’t make me go through this. i’m too weak now. i can’t.”

you’ve never seen jeongguk like this before.

it’s been over two years since he asked you to be his girlfriend. that night, he scored a goal for you. you knew it the moment the ball hit the net.

even with his teammates swarming him in celebration, his eyes searched for yours, locking on the moment he found you in the stands.

wrapped in your wool scarf, your face almost fully hidden, the way your eyes turned into crescents and your cheekbones so prominent was unmistakable.

the smile that you shared was sheepish, but brimming with meaning. carrying all those emotions you had both been tiptoeing around for so long.

for a while, your feelings had been caught in a slow dance, never fully picking up, but nonetheless comfortable with the motion.

jeongguk always found a reason to have you near, inviting you to practices and matches, because only your presence could give him the strength needed. and you always found a reason to show up.

even more when you easily fell into the routine that followed every encounter, evenings spent at your apartment, on your couch.

it was a schedule you soon came to love, with him making you laugh, an arm draped over your shoulder, your leg casually resting across his lap. the movies you would put on would quickly become background noise as his playful jokes turned into shared glances, quiet giggles, and stolen kisses.

kisses that felt like the ones teenagers share when they’re crushing on someone for the very first time.

kisses that didn’t evolve into anything more until that night, when he scored for you. it was unashamedly sweet, the feeling he gave you.

back at his flat, his face lit up with a grin so big it was infectious. the rush of adrenaline from winning the game and the joy of finally making you his girlfriend radiated from him.

it’s a stark contrast to his expression, now. it’s drawn with helplessness, clouded with a desperation that makes you ache.

he looks tired of fighting, of holding it all together. and it’s not just that�� there’s a deep yearning, a frantic search, a needy plea to be understood, to be seen by you.

there’s nothing that truly comes more innately to you. it’s second nature, caring for him. knowing him. looking after him. tending to his physical and emotional scars. and you don’t want him to scrape his skin further.

you try to reason, “what— what about your things, don’t you at least want to—“

“i’ll ask taehyung to take my bag with him or something,” for the state he’s currently in, he still looks willing to do anything if it means getting out of here. and so, he begs again, “please. can we go home?”

you know you can’t say no to him. that’s not something that comes as good to you. not in your nature.

“this is not the way to your house.”

still in his soccer jersey, the uniform’s shorts touching his knees and holey socks high up his calves, muddy boots hurting his feet, jeongguk sits quietly next to you in the backseat of his car.

his chauffeur drives steadily, away from the hurt, and each mile puts more distance between jeongguk and the weight of the loss, the field, the pressure. he feels himself leave fragments of disappointment behind, back there.

it’s been a long time since it was just the two of you in his car. jeongguk would be the one driving, his left hand steady on the wheel, the right one always reaching for yours, a quiet confirmation of his love.

now, someone else takes care of the driving, especially after games, or in moments like these when jeongguk’s mind and body are too exhausted to handle anything more.

ever since the goal that changed everything between you two, jeongguk’s life took off. a big team recognized his potential and signed him, a moment that marked his breakthrough as pro in the football world.

then, it became a whirlwind. constant games, media attention, opportunities flooding in, and money pouring from every direction.

he bought a house — a mansion, really, — just outside the city, the kind of place he dreamed of as a small kid with big ambitions. everything about it is luxurious, grand, all jeongguk thought he wanted.

but there’s been something left behind, back in the quieter days when he was just a young player fighting for his place on this planet.

you met him before the fame, before his name was on the backs of jerseys and his face on billboards. you fell in love with the boyish version of him, the one who lived in a cramped flat, working tirelessly to make a name for himself.

you’ve been there through every step, enough to recognize the struggle in his eyes.

you so easily catch that flicker of awareness in him. the jolting confirmation that all of this is real, his orbs trembling. and when it hits, he retreats into himself, lets anxiety creep in.

he may not voice it, but you know the root of it. the fear of losing himself, of becoming someone else, of forgetting the version of him that’s grounded in simplicity and love.

jeongguk fears intertwining himself with what he always wanted will inevitably erase what he’s always been, the son of hardworking parents in busan, raised on sacrifice and dreams.

what he always had with you. quiet, uncomplicated. happy with the ordinary things, eating ramen on the floor of his tiny apartment, driving around just to talk about anything and nothing, reading quietly next to each other in the cafè you’ve introduced him to, your presence a comfort to him long before he realized he loved you as more than a friend.

jeongguk wants to hold onto that simplicity, and he wants you to be part of that. he wants you to stay by his side, to be the reminder of who he is beneath all the noise. what he wants to keep being.

because you’re his constant, unwavering, never changing. you’ve never needed him to be more than who he already is. you never look at him with the kind of judgment or disappointment that seems to follow him after every missed opportunity. there’s no pressure, no expectations of success.

in your eyes, he is just jeongguk— the same boy that approached you with a bad pun only to clumsily blame it on his drink. the one you built a familiar rhythm with, ordinariness always just enough for you. for the two of you, together.

you don’t need mansions, fancy restaurants, designer clothes. you don’t need grandeur. you’ll stay the way it’s always been, and the way you both want it to stay.

he quickly scans your face, letting your words register. your brows are furrowed slightly, pouty lips parted as if you’re about to tell the driver that he’s going the wrong way, headed somewhere other than the house he now calls home.

before you can speak, jeongguk interrupts you, his voice soft and suddenly self aware, “oh, i— sorry, i gave directions to your apartment. i just really wanted to be there with you.”

you blink at his fragile honesty. he had begged to be home, and now here you were, on the way to your own.

warmth spreads through you, and you can’t help but break into a big smile, one that eases the tension in his forehead, and mirrors softly in the grin that tugs at his pierced lips.

leaning in, you place a peck on his cheek, “it���s okay, baby. i’ve got so many of your clothes in my closet, there won’t be a problem.”

his low chuckle is comforting, and he scrunches his nose in that familiar way, shuffling closer to nuzzle into your shoulder. for a moment, the world outside fades. you’re hopeful as you think you can feel the weight on his heart lifting.

looking up, a teasing smile spreads across his face, “i wonder why.”

his playful shift surprises you, though you try not to show it. you want him to feel normal, like there’s nothing you should keep being sad over. your brows raise ever so slightly before you roll your eyes in mock exasperation, the fond amusement clear on your features.

it’s enough for jeongguk’s giggles to fill the car, an arm snaking around your waist, “it’s because you always steal my clothes.”

feigning shock, you gasp dramatically, swatting him lightly. he only laughs more, soft sounds bubbling up again, and you can feel love rushing through you, swarming frantically in your chest.

you play along with him, “no, it’s because you always leave your stuff behind after we— we…”

you trip on your words and pause when you realize what nearly slipped out, sheepishly averting your gaze to glance at the chauffeur, who seemingly looks too focused on the road to hear what you’re saying.

jeongguk’s eyes light up, his smile widening as his fingers teasingly pinch your sides, “after we what? say it, baby.”

you flinch at his ticklish touch, breaking into a grin and stubbornly shaking your head no. his laughter mingles with yours, bodies pressing tighter as he leans his weight into you, his nose brushing your jaw.

being this close to him, you inhale his scent. he still smells like adrenaline, mixed with exhaustion, sweat pearling his back. the feeling grounds you.

he hums lowly against your skin, his lips trailing wet pecks along your throat, “i miss doing that.”

your chuckle turns into a frenzied groan, and you steady yourself with your hands on his arm still squeezing around you, feeling your face heat up, “that was three days ago.”

”too long,” he mumbles, kisses slowly becoming more languid, savoring you.

when he pulls away from your neck, he doesn’t give you a moment to breathe before his lips find yours. the kiss is simple, sweet, but you can feel each beat of his pulse against your mouth.

you break the contact first, your hand slipping into his damp hair, gently brushing the long strands out of his eyes. you think out loud, admiring his perfectly framed face, “you need to cut these.”

but jeongguk isn’t currently interested in haircuts. he ignores your suggestion, his focus entirely on you, and his whispered words hold a kind of raw vulnerability, “i missed you.”

you hum, threading through his locks, “missed you too, my boy.”

that’s all he needs to close the gap between you again. this time, his kiss is more intent, deeper, as if trying to communicate what words can’t. his hands pull you closer, your chest arching into him, and in between the wet sounds of your lips meeting he lets a moan escape him.

you’re quick to swallow it, your own quiet noises vibrating against him before you put distance once again, softly tugging at his hair and finding his eyes lovingly, “let’s get home first, yeah?”

but he protests, a childlike groan reverberating in his throat, eyelids fluttering shut as he basks in the feeling of you against his lips. he attacks your cheeks next, trailing down, and down, and down, kissing you through your shirt.

then, it’s his fingers touching you under it, hand traveling up and kneading your breasts through your bra, only to slide around to trace the curve of your spine.

the sudden contact is overwhelmingly pleasuring, head thrown back on the headrest as quiet whimpers leave you. jeongguk is as hungry as ever, seeking for proximity no matter your bodies already molding with one another, his teeth scraping against your most sensitive spots, almost digging, eating, tasting.

and you want to let go, allow him to give you every last thing he’s holding onto, be selfish and take it all for yourself.

but you can’t when you know this is just another one of his escapes. he’s using this moment to drown out the chaos in his mind, to run from his pain, to bury his burdens and get high on a dopamine rush.

“baby, wait—“ in between gasps, you manage to get your voice out, but its whisper doesn’t seem to reach jeongguk’s ears, his long digits boring holes in the flesh of your bare thighs, prickling with goosebumps at his feverish touch.

in your own daze, you carefully take a hold of his face in your palms, lifting him up from the devoting motion of his lips on the edge of your shoulder, and the look in his eyes is hazed, inhebriated on the the burning of your skin under him, but it’s tinged with desperation.

behind his orbs there’s no other thought but to chase you, his only refuge, and your sweet smile only aggravates his crazed desire, trying to catch your mouth with his before you open it to speak, “i don’t want us to do this while you— you’re still mentally fragile.”

your worry is laced with love, it’s clear from the way it spills out of you, seeps from your delicate touch on his cheeks. but jeongguk’s eyes still widen in shock and shame, orbs shaking with panic.

his brows furrow in an attempt to conceal his turbulent emotions, but the city lights continuously flashing through the car windows only accentuate the glistening under his eyelids. he stammers, “i— i’m not— i’m… please. don’t reject me.”

the plea is shaky, and it makes your pulse race with agitation, fingers grasping his jaw with more intent as you’re quicker on your words than your own thoughts, “oh, honey, i’m not. look at me, please,” the way he flickers his gaze down only makes more panic flood in your veins, and you frantically search for him.

you manage to sound stable, whispered words fanning over his lips, “i just want what’s best for you, okay? do you trust me?”

he seems to lean into your touch, looking up at you through his lashes, brows still betraying him with the way they’re drawn up in sorrow. he hums in agreement.

you smile reassuringly, “perfect. then, i’ll tell you what we’re gonna do, hm?” when he nods, you continue, brushing his hair back through your calm words, “we get to my flat. take a hot shower. i make us something warm to eat. and then, if you still want to, i’m all yours. in our bed. sound good?”

our bed. the flicker in your boyfriend’s face doesn’t go missed. it’s fond, it softens his eyes, and it rushes down to his lips, struggling not to break into a grin. he pouts to hide it, and you can see he’s still ashamed by his earlier rush, his response muffled, “okay. i love you. i’m sorry.”

you coo, pulling his head to rest on your chest, drawing comforting strokes along his damp back, “i love you more. you did nothing wrong, baby.”

the both of you stay like that for a while. his cheek is squished against your breasts, lips parting to release quiet huffs, and your soothing motions run down his arm.

the quiet moment is interrupted by jeongguk’s phone ringing once again, loud and persisent, for the nth time in less than half a hour. he doesn’t even glance at the device when declining the call, and you catch the name flashing before the screen goes black.

it’s his coach calling. you stay quiet as he shuts off his phone completely, tossing it onto the empty seat next to him.

only a few moments pass before he looks up at you, his expression hesitant, a timid smile trying to mask the uncertainty in his eyes. you return his gaze with quiet confidence, nodding subtly, letting him know that you’re here with him— no matter what.

right now, all that matters is that jeongguk feels safe in your arms. you don’t care about the consequences he might face tomorrow. you’ll be there for him, just as you are now, when he needs you the most.

the moment you both step in your apartment, shoes messily discarded at the entrance (you’ll make sure to take care of his boots later), he trails after you like a lost puppy. he becomes your shadow, mirroring your every step with big eyes and a natural pout.

“take your uniform off, baby,” you gently instruct him while letting the water run from the shower head, adjusting the temperature until it’s hot enough for the both of you.

he slumps over on the toilet lid, eyes never leaving you as you move around the bathroom. when he lets them travel down your figure, a low groan escapes him.

you look so good in your skirt, the high socks triggering a weird, primal instinct in him, stirring dark fantasies that have him wishing you’d let him take you right there on the sink.

but he knows better than to mess with the plan you set earlier in his car for the both of you to enjoy the night, so he only allows himself to play with you a little, “can you do it for me? i’m tired.”

he really does seem tired, the exhaustion visible from the way his hands tremble slightly and his eyelids drop, but the look only adds to the lazy smirk spreading on his pierced lips. he knows what he’s truly asking for.

you narrow your gaze at him only to roll your eyes when he doesn’t look like he’s going to surrender any soon, grin only widening, and you pull him up by the jersey.

he complies, brows wiggling in teasing disobedience, looking down at you from his taller stance, “woah, commanding. i like it.”

“shut up,” you only murmur as you hastily strip off his sweaty uniform, throwing it right in the laundry bin. you leave him in his high socks and boxers, smacking his round ass playfully, “take these off yourself, mister.”

he’s ready to protest, to demand your touch back on him, but you shoot him a look with your raised eyebrows, “ah-ah. c’mon, and get in the shower, i’ll bring your change.”

before he can respond, you leave the bathroom. he whines childishly, slipping off his underwear along with the uncomfortable socks, adding them to the pile in the basket under the sink. he yells over the sound of running water, “you’re coming too, right?”

“yes!” you quickly call out from the bedroom, voice raised to reach him over the distance.

you know how difficult your boyfriend can be— if he hasn’t come to drag you in yet, you’re at least hoping he’s taken off the rest of his clothes. you foolishly hope he’s already in the shower, though the chances are slim if he’s not completely sure you’ll be joining him.

that’s why you move fast, grabbing his change of clothes from the drawer where you keep all his left-behind things. in your rush, you take one of his oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxers for yourself, too.

when you return to the bathroom, you’re not surprised to find jeongguk standing in the middle of it, bare and waiting for you. his eyes light up when he sees you, taking the clothes from your hold and placing them on the counter, “i was about to come and get you.”

you scoff lightly, trying to fight the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, but it’s no use. especially when he reaches out to pull you closer, fingers working at the zip of your skirt and sliding it off with ease, his own grin warm on his expression.

you gently push him toward the shower, pretending to scold him, “i can do this myself, thank you. now get in, silly.”

with a disappointed, and very adorable huff, he finally obeys, stepping under the hot steam of water. you can tell by the subtle way his shoulder relax that the heat soothes him, but the tension doesn’t completely ease from his muscles.

he tracks your movements attentively, taking in the way you strip yourself completely bare, and only when you step in the small cabin and close the sliding window door behind you he sighs in relief.

jeongguk engulfs you immediately, positioning you both directly under the cascade of water. it blurs your vision slightly, your bangs flattening on your forehead.

you push them out of the way, your hands then finding his own hair to slick it back, allowing you to see the fondness in his eyes clearly.

you look up at him through wet lashes, chin placed on his toned chest, and his own is dipped low to meet your gaze, take in the smile spreading and making your dimples show.

it grows bigger when he sheepishly scrunches his nose, the love seeping from your orbs suddenly overwhelming, and you press a gentle kiss to his adam’s apple before pulling yourself away, voice a whisper, “let me take care of you.”

jeongguk doesn’t argue, complying when you ask to hand you his shampoo. you’d originally bought it as a joke during one of your grocery runs together, picking it off the shelf with a laugh and pointing out the label— johnson’s baby shampoo, made with honey and wheat extracts, and on sale too. you’d exclaimed how it was so jeongguk, and he’d let you try it on him as soon as you got home.

the joke had stuck, and to your surprise, he ended up liking it more than you did. now, it was the only shampoo you used on him whenever he stayed at your place, a small tradition between the two of you.

as you work it into his damp hair, jeongguk’s eyelids flutter shut. he eases into your touch, body going loose as your fingers massage his scalp with the perfect amount of pressure, the kind that always seems to make him melt, the one that could immediately put him to sleep.

you wash it off and repeat the motion once more, taking your time. only when his hair is thoroughly cleaned do you reach for your vanilla body wash, moving on to carefully lather it over his skin.

tracing every line of his body, you watch the way he softens more with your touch, unconsciously swaying closer.

you’re slow, deliberate in your motions, letting your hands run over his shoulders, down his arms, across his chest. his skin is warm and slick under your palms, and every now and then he lets out a contented sigh.

the sounds get fuller when you finally reach his back. you press a little harder, working out the knots you can feel lingering there. he groans softly, his head falling forward slightly, droplets of water dripping from his hair onto your face.

“feel good?” you ask quietly, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

he nods, his voice low and drowsy. “yeah, feels amazing.”

his moans grow unrestrainedly louder, eyes rolling back, and you would tease him for it if the sight of him like this wasn’t having its own effect on you.

biting your lip, you press your fingers deeper into his muscles, and suddenly his hands grip your waist, tight enough to startle you.

it has your mouth opening unconsciously, brows furrowed at the sensitivity. you almost give in when his palms slip further down, resting on the curve of your ass, and for a moment you consider the temptation, but the triumphant smirk on his face immediately pulls you out of your daze. your own fingers work to move his hands to rest at your shoulders.

you manage to sound stable, but you can feel the slight shake in your voice, “hands up here, mister.”

“oh, c’mon,” he has the audacity to whine, the sound muffled by his pouty, and so inviting lips.

you almost cave at the sight of him, his eyes wide and pleading. but you know better. if you let him push the boundaries now, things won’t stop here, and the careful rhythm you’ve set will be forgotten.

it’s not just him you’re trying to hold back— it’s yourself too, especially when his gaze almost breaks through your resolve.

you shake your head, trying to gather your composure, suddenly turning off the water and sliding the shower door open.

jeongguk groans in protest at the contrasting cold air hitting his skin, but you promptly step out to reach for your bathrobe and wrap it around him.

pout stubborn on his lips, he follows you out the shower, but instead of arguing further, he surprises you by engulfing you both in the same robe, pressing his chest against your back.

his arms circle you, and he starts rubbing the spongy material of his sleeves against your body, trying to dry you both at once.

you snort, amused by his antics, “what are you doing?”

“i’m drying us.”

“this will take us forever—”

“no, see? i’m already done,” with ease, he slips out of the robe, laying it over your shoulders and tying the belt snugly around you.

then he casually walks over to grab his change of clothes, pulling the t-shirt over his head despite the fact that his hair is still dripping with water.

you roll your eyes at the sight of it soaking into the fabric and gently push him to sit on the toilet lid, “don’t move. you’re still wet, god.”

“that’s what she said,” he wiggles his brows, eyes gleaming with immature delight as he grins mischeviously.

you sigh, struggling not to laugh at his pun. instead, you wordlessly grab the hairdryer and start running it through his damp locks.

he obediently leans into you, closing his eyes and resting his head against your chest as your fingers run along his hair. the warmth from the device makes him nuzzle even closer, his posture fully relaxed between your legs.

once his hair is dry and his clothes no longer clinging to his skin, you finally shut off the hairdryer, giving his now fluffy locks a final pat.

the time it took to dry jeongguk allowed the bathrobe to work its magic on you too. you quickly slip into his boxers and one of his many stussy t-shirts you picked randomly, tying a towel around your hair.

you prepare to head out of the bathroom, but before you can his hand gently stops you, gripping your forearm, suddenly towering over you when he stands up, “where are you going?”

“to make us dinner.”

“i’ll do it. you should dry your hair, or else you’ll get a headache.”

“but—”

“no but. you already did enough, baby. i’m okay, i swear,” his voice softens, and the fond look in his eyes makes it clear he won’t let you argue further. he doesn’t even let you respond, stepping out of the room and heading to the kitchen.

a smile tugs at your lips, and you take a deep breath, the comforting scent of vanilla and honey still lingering after he leaves.

you’ve always appreciated jeongguk’s attention to detail. he knows how long it takes you to care for your thick, long hair and also remembers the countless nights you complained about your head hurting from leaving it damp. he always listens, even to the smallest things.

twenty minutes later, you’re warm and dry, stepping into the kitchen where the delicious smell of soup greets you. jeongguk is behind the stove, stirring a pot and softly whistling as he tends to another pan on the burner.

when he notices you, his eyes brighten, trailing over your legs and the way his t-shirt sits just above your thighs, revealing glimpses of his boxers. as you approach, he grins, “what’s a pretty woman like you doing here, alone?”

you’ve been with him long enough to know this is just the start of one of his playful roleplays, so of course you instantly know your line, “i have a boyfriend, actually.”

“oh, really? is he here too? can he fight?” his voice drops lower with every step you take towards him, with the last words coming out as a growl as you stand in front of him, looking up into his eyes.

you snort, “you’re so dumb.”

he stays in character, raising his eyebrows, “no, tell me. can he?”

you hum thoughtfully, pursuing your lips as you pretend to consider, your eyes wandering before settling on his again, “yes. he’ll break your nose.”

he chuckles, feigning surprise, “god, he sounds tough.”

“he is.”

with an arm snaking around your waist, he pulls you closer, his lips brushing your ear, nose tickling your lobe, and he whispers, “but i just want you so bad, young lady. don’t tell him, hm?”

his mouth is on yours next, molding together in a sickeningly sweet, lingering kiss, and you let him find your tongue with his own, your front arching against his.

with your arms wrapped around his neck, you part slightly, your eyes jumping on every corner of his face. your voice is thick with pure love, “do you feel better, big boy?”

jeongguk smiles, presses it against your forehead, “so much better, thanks to you. i love you.”

“i love you more,” you momentarily lose yourself in his expression, and you have to blink harshly to pull yourself out of the daze before you fall too deeply into your emotions and start waxing poetic, letting your heart run as wild as the love in your veins.

you move from his hold, busying yourself with setting the small table in your kitchen, grabbing the usual pink glass for yourself and the yellow one for him.

he chose them himself a long ago, said pink reminded him of the way you blushed at his every action, and the yellow symbolized a sunflower always turning toward its sun, because, “that’s how i’ve felt ever since i met you.”

as you arrange the glasses, you almost forget what you were about to ask, but the faint ring of your phone from the bedroom reminds you, “is your phone still off? coach has been calling me.”

his brows knit slightly, betraying his otherwise calm demeanor, but he doesn't meet your eyes, focusing instead on plating the soup. “can we— not talk about it? just for tonight?”

a small gasp escapes you at his quiet plea, and you rush to his side to help him, taking the plates from him and placing them gently on the table, your words hushed, “of course, baby. i was just worried you might want to hear from him. i don’t care about all of that, i only care about you.”

a sheepish smile breaks through his composure, his front teeth worrying at his lip piercing. he looks up at you, lets himself be coddled by the warmth of your gaze, and he sounds just as timid as he looks, “hm. that’s what i wanted to hear.”

you shake your head fondly at his vulnerable side, motioning for him to sit with you, “silly. come, let’s eat, and then we can get some sleep.”

even after swallowing the burning soup, jeongguk still finds a way to tease, nudging your foot under the table with a mischievous grin.

"you’re not getting any sleep tonight," he quips, his voice low with playful intent. you roll your eyes and kick him lightly, making him yelp in exaggerated shock.

it becomes a game of back and forth, his dirty jokes pushing boundaries just enough to make you question if he’s actually serious. there’s a part of you that selfishly hopes he means it, but the side of you that knows him inside and out knows better.

sex for jeongguk isn’t just a casual thing, especially after a night like this. for the two of you, intimacy is more than physical— it’s an act of devotion, a way to connect deeply when words can’t express everything.

it’s never about distraction or escape, but about grounding one another, the flicker of something real and tender at the core of it.

tucked under the covers, waiting for him after he convinced you he could handle the dishes himself — arguing that picking a movie was just as much work — you’re not surprised by what he says when he finally enters the room.

“baby… i think i’m happy with just cuddles for tonight. that okay with you?”

you break into a big grin, brimming with unspeakable feelings for the man standing at the foot of your bed, for which you spread your arms open, “of course, sweetheart. come here, you big child.”

he doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly burrowing himself against the warm sheets, intertwining his limbs with yours. he nestles his head on your chest, sighing contentedly as if he’s found the safest place, “i love you. have i said that already?”

“a million times. and i’m never sick of it.”

“say it back.”

you snort at the insistence in his tone, words muffled by the fabric of your shirt, and your fingers unconsciously play with his straight locks as you swing one of your legs around his waist, your voice a whisper above the shuffling, “i love you more.”

he tilts his head up, chin resting on the softness of your breasts, “no, you don’t.”

brushing his bangs away from his eyes, you smile fondly, “i do. believe me.”

he huffs in faux protest, narrowing his eyes. but he gives in as quickly as he tried to argue, his cheek settling back to rest just where your heart beats, its steady beat lulling him into calm along with your gentle strokes along his nape.

jeongguk doesn’t resist it, doesn’t fight your love. accepts it as the purest form of closure he can get for himself, “hm. okay. i love you.”

[6esiree]

𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧

The first time you sunk down onto your knees before Alastor, he stared down at you through a mask of unwavering confidence and indifference that almost deterred your nimble fingers from working away at his slacks. But the anticipation, which coated the cotton fabric of your panties, was much too thick… that and the unforgettable revelation he had murmured against the shell of your ear that he knew not what it felt like to have another’s touch between his legs.

Alastor was a virgin.

So, when you asked him if you could pleasure him with your mouth after a rather drawn out affair of exchanging kisses, tongue, teeth and all, he withdrew from your swollen lips with a twinge of perturbation on his brow. After almost a year in your relationship, he was ready to engage with you intimately, but he never anticipated that you’d ask to pleasure him in a manner that he considered filthy—debauched, even. What happened to conventional sex? To missionary?

“It’ll feel so good, Al…” You leaned in, arms wrapped firmly around the broadness of his shoulders, and planted your tongue slack against his lips. “Like this—and you like when I do this.”

You painted the thin line that was his mouth with a slow, sensual stripe of saliva, and oh, his slacks tightened almost instantaneously. But when you lowered the swell of your ass onto his lap and jutted your hips forward, clothed cunt teasing the considerable tent he had with a meager wriggling, he turned away from you with a sigh that just oozed static and mock-contemplation. You were already familiar with his tendency to put on a facade in the face of temptation, though.

“I suppose you can,” He offered half-heartedly, but the way his clawed-hand patted your hip with a “Get going,” betrayed his true sentiments… including the drawled out “Attagirl.”

You rolled your eyes with a giggle, the bed softly creaking as you shimmied off of Alastor’s lap. You found yourself missing the sensation of his erection rubbing your clit through your panties… until you sunk down onto your knees and came face-to-face with the sight straining painfully before your eyes. God, he was big. He had to part his legs and jut his hips forwards much like yours had earlier, except more slower, timider, to snap you out of your self-imposed trance.

And it worked, your stare palpitating with a stager in your movements as you leaned in and worked away at his slacks, nimble fingers trembling with a surge of anticipation. Besides the feeling of uncertainty and slight trepidation gnawing at him, an amused smile managed to find its way on his features. Your huffs and puffs of unsteady breaths mingled with the sound of his zipper being undone, and as it resonated throughout your shared bedroom, he managed to collect himself.

“Look at you, being so subservient to me,” Alastor hummed, the gratification behind his statement accentuated by the crackles and pops behind his radio filter. “You’re such a good girl.”

“Oh, let’s see if you’re still as confident as you’re making yourself out to be—” You dipped your hand into his slacks and groped the outline of his cock, “—when I do this.”

“Please, that’s nothing I can’t do with my own hand,” Alastor immediately scoffed, but you hadn’t missed the slight downwards twitch of his lip. “Now, are you going to—”

Your knees rubbed against the carpet fibers of your bedroom floor, but as you finally freed his aching cock from the constricting confines of his briefs, the head glistening with a thick layer of precum, you easily ignored that uncomfortable burning sensation threatening to spoil this moment. He sunk his teeth into the inside of his cheek as you wrapped your hand around the base, the metallic taste of blood greeting his tastebuds at the tentative squeeze you gave it.

It was just so thick and heavy and everything your heart desired… but most considerably your mouth, wet and warm from your salivation, the perfect environment for that thick cock. The same one that only you would ever get the privilege to see, to hold, to suck, and to milk dry when you experienced your first rut together. But right now you had to suck him, you reminded yourself, especially as your cunt throbbed longingly between your shifting thighs.

“Sorry,” You batted your lashes at him innocently and rested the side of your head on his lap, tongue darting out of your mouth to lick at the underside of his cock, “For proving you wrong, I mean.”

Alastor scoffed at you yet again, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as he tore his heavy-lidded gaze from the filthy sight below him and stared ahead, and all while your tongue moved up, and up, and up the length of his cock, till it found the head, so red and weepy, and circled it slowly and sensually. His clawed-hands subtly gripped the silken sheets, but besides that, he refused to give into your ministrations, and to give into your need to prove yourself right.

“Why are you still speaking?”

He was confident, and he was also adamantly opposed to allowing you to feel as if you were in a position of power, your lips finally wrapping around his cock and swallowing whatever your mouth would allow you to take. Halfway—he mentally noted, your hand pumping the other length of his cock you couldn’t quite take without dissolving into a pitiful mess of flushed skin, teary eyes, and gags and sputters. You wanted to enjoy the process of pleasuring him for the first time.

You gave Alastor a little taste of what to expect by hollowing your cheeks and giving him a generous suck, hand squeezing and mouth leisurely moving up and down his cock. However, it was at that moment that he wished he had partaken in carnal pleasures in life. That mask of confidence and indifference fell as he dipped his head, his brows came together to form a deep crease in his ashen skin, and a small, shaky moan seeped past those razor-sharp teeth of his.

If you weren’t wet before, you surely were now, the cotton fabric of your panties bunching into your folds. To hear a man as powerful, as dangerous, as Alastor produce such a sweet, innocent sound, that made you let out a moan of your own around his cock. And he felt the vibrations of your gratification, including the way the tip of your tongue worked in tandem with your mouth and caressed the vein on the length of his shaft. But he felt entirely opposed to you.

Alastor was mortified.

“Oh, fuck, that was…” You pulled back from his cock with a filthy ‘Pop!’, chest heaving at how breathless the sound left you. “God, you sounded so—and I mean so—fucking pretty.”

Out of all the noises that could have escaped his throat, a grunt, a groan, and perhaps even a meager ‘Fuck,’ it had to be a wretched little moan that made him sound so innocent, so inexperienced, like a teenager that barely discovered sex. But when you said he sounded pretty, a statement he thought that he only he would tell you while making love to you, his cock sliding in and out of your cunt in deep, passionate thrusts, he decided he had had enough.

Yes, he was the virgin in the relationship, but he would not dissolve into a blushing bride on her wedding night, no matter how good it felt when you wrapped your lips around his cock again and bobbed your head up and down. As the room resonated with the sound of your relentless sucking, he dipped his head and carded a clawed-hand through your hair, scratching at your scalp rather affectionately. Like a pet—his pet—and while that irked you, you would not stop.

“And so do you, my dear,” Despite how close he was to finishing, he grasped your hair and encouraged you to take more of his cock in your mouth, making you choke. “Oh, now that’s pretty.”

But that wasn’t the only thing he had in store for you. His tendrils manifested from the ground in a series of wisps before slowly winding around your thighs, and they journeyed up north till they wriggled underneath your shorts. His mouth fell open with a staticky hum as a surprised sound, albeit gargled, emanated from your throat. Two tendrils found its way inside of your slick-drenched panties, one from the front of your waistband, the other from the seam of your thigh.

“Come now, you must continue to suck,” Alastor reminded you, his hips jutting upwards, the head of his cock kissing the back of your throat for a fleeting moment. “Fuck,” He added with a hiss.

A tendril curiously flicked at your swollen clit, while the other shimmied its way past your folds to get to your fluttering hole, slick with the pleasure you had derived from sucking off Alastor. Your eyes fell shut as the thick, slimy appendage stretched your walls, whatever discomfort you would have felt assuaged by the other tendril working away at your clit, its movements ungraceful and yet pleasurable in its inexperience, the flicks feeling similar to kitten-licks.

“Where is that confidence that you previously wore, hm?” Alastor asked you rather rudely, tugging your hair back and pulling you off of his cock before he could finish. “It’s gone.”

While he sounded so demeaning, you could see what he truly felt, even as your eyes remained shut, the tendril buried deep inside of your hole experimentally twisting and turning, grazing that spongey flesh within your walls that had your thighs shaking with an impending orgasm. His ears had fallen back at this point, and his skin was absolutely flushed—he just had an incredible amount of self-restraint in his favor. And you? Well, all you had was experience with sex.

“I can’t do what you’re doing—gah, fuck, right there!” You cried out in ecstasy, your other hand scrambling to grip his slender thigh. “Unlike you, I allow myself to feel—mm—to feel good.”

“I am, you’re just being too… ” Alastor reintroduced your mouth to his cock, hoping to distract you, but it didn’t work. Not even as his tendrils began to properly fuck you. “ …smug.”

“You’re just the same, Al—uh, this is so weird,” You spoke every time you pulled away from his cock, prolonging the coming of his orgasm. “Never thought I’d get my pussy filled with ten—“

“Now, now, there’s no need for such crude language, my dear,” He scolded you, forcing your mouth down once more, no longer allowing you to speak. “It’s not becoming of a lady.”

But you were no lady, and you felt nowhere near like a lady as Alastor’s tendrils drove into your cunt and rubbed your clit at a feverish pace, the filthy squelching enveloping your bedroom instead of the usual mixture of soft jazz music and the ambience of the bayou just behind you. It simply amazed you that he was hesitant to sexually engage with you for a while, but the moment you finally did and you overpowered him, he did the least conventional thing imaginable.

“I don’t want you ruining my slacks more than you already have with your saliva,” Alastor groaned as he felt a strong wave of pleasure wash over him, his hips stuttering and his length stiffening.

“I want you to swallow,” He added, but he had no idea that you were prepared to do that since you started. You wanted to taste the warmth and stickiness of his cum. “Have I made myself clear?”

Still, you nodded, your eyes flitting up to him and palpitating as heaps of cum painted the roof of your mouth, and all while your own walls began to clench around the tendrils working away at your cunt. Their movements were sporadic and hastier than ever, but the filthiness of it all to you was just enough to have you finishing right after him, a streak of cum cascading down the corner of your mouth as you pulled away from his cock and parted your lips with a long whine of ecstasy.

“My, my, look at you,” Alastor spoke almost adoringly, relinquishing your hair to hold your face in his palm so gingerly. “You look like an absolute mess, my dear—like a virgin, I daresay.”

“Ass… asshole,” You muttered, glassy eyes staring back into his heavy-lidded gaze, but they were fixated on the streak on your skin. “Just wait till I… till I peg you... then you’ll see what it’s like.”

His tendrils immediately vanished, leaving your cunt clenching around nothing. And while Alastor was unfamiliar with the term ‘pegging,’ he had a general idea of what you meant, an amused chuckle seeping past his teeth as he reached out and pressed his thumb against the corner of your mouth. Ha! He would never allow you to take his body in such a way that would force him to submit to you, he thought as he wiped the evidence of his pleasure from your flushed skin.

“Is that any way to talk to your partner?” Alastor tsked with a semblance of disapproval etched onto his features, his thumb prodding at your lower lip. “Today’s generation has no manners.”

“We do, we just don’t blindly follow that whole ‘Respect your elders’ bullshit,” You giggled as your tongue greedily darted past your lips. “Not unless they return it, of course.”

By they, you meant him, and Alastor narrowed his eyes at that. However, you weren’t put off by the look of obvious displeasure he loomed almost menacingly over you with, your tongue proceeding to swirl around his thumb, lapping up the remnants of cum that you had failed to swallow. In your defense, he knew what he had gotten himself into when he entered in a relationship with you… but you supposed your knack for all things history blinded him.

“You insolent little girl,” Alastor half-growled, and you would have laughed if he hadn’t retracted your thumb to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. “I shall do what your parents failed to do, then.”

You seized his face and craned your neck slightly, lips slotting against his so perfectly; and you stood up from your place on the ground, too, knees trembling and aching from the carpet fibers that had burned your skin. But at least he helped you up halfway into your pathetic ascent, a tendril manifesting around your waist and bringing you up onto his lap, soft cock grazing your clothed core as it relinquished you. You yelped, but he swallowed it with a gentle squeeze of your hips.

“Like my daddy?” You murmured sensually into the kiss, to tease him, to rile him up. He loathed when you called him that, and the rude strike he dealt to the swell of your ass showed it. “Hey!”

‘Don’t call me that,’ he told you with an authority that had your back arching and your chest pressing into his. His cock also stirred awake against you, but he could not go at it again—no, not when he wasn’t ready to. No matter how powerful, how confident, and how intimidating he could be even on the most normal of days, he was still a virgin. And if he hadn’t used his tendrils on you, you were certain that he would have given you more than just a breathy moan.

Perhaps a bleat… which you were also certain he would have given you if you would have slowly reached behind him and wrapped your hand around that tuft of fur below his spine. His tail. You sucked in Alastor’s lower lip and sunk your teeth into the swollen flesh, eliciting a grunt from his throat. He had no idea what sort of sinful thoughts were swirling in your mind. His tail, his ears, his antlers—you would tug and pull at each and every one of them next time.

[gangplanksorenji]

Kinknuary Day 2: Praise Kink

Pairing: IVE Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader

Word Count: 3,760

[Kinknuary Masterlist]

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Sophisticated and classy—that’s one of the few words to describe this girl that has been on your nerves since probably day one. You hate her attitude and so is the luck every time you’re with her as everything seems to fall out of place, maybe in the worst-case scenario, you guess. 

Well, in all honesty, you don’t hate the princess. You never did.

It’s just all about jealousy and distraught with your own confidence that whenever she steps in, it crumbles like paper—easily defeated and turned into a ball of nothingness.

Well, everything changed within a singular snap of a finger (it’s figurative, of course) and you feel light-headed just being here, with her, holding her soft hands as she reassures you. She wasn’t even going to try anything that’ll exhaust such a plethora of energy because she knows herself how her charisma and visuals can make a man fall in love with her, not to mention rejecting dozens of men trying to ignite the love in heart but failed miserably.

But here you are, being the biggest irony of Wonyoung’s definition of love… or is it?

“Come on, oppa, we even have two hours left! Please, just stay…”

You can’t and you don’t want to. She can meet you anytime around the day or even in the whole week but you know she ain’t going to give up so easily, knowing she’s not going to stop until she gets what she wants. She wanted you to stay but your job is done here, you’ve taught her well, she pays the price and you’re going to leave her. Simple, yet her charms allure you but you fight yourself against it.

“I said what I said, Wonyoung, okay? I can’t—”

“You can't what, hm?” Wonyoung thuds her foot on the floor, frustrated upon your own actions of leaving her. She grabs your wrists, pulling it with maybe all of her strength (you can’t really tell it because on how easy it is outpower her, your muscular arms against her thin figure doesn’t make it a challenge) and then pouting right after, wanting you to stay and not leave her at this moment, at least.

Well, you can’t just let herself win all the time like she was always used to. You want to see the defeat on her sparkling orbs full of anticipation and her hope being lost—

“Then leave! I don’t need you anymore, oppa! Don’t touch me ever again!”

And there she goes with her reverse psychological attempts of gaslighting and never ceases to make you feel the sudden urge of being dead inside, unable to think clearly and having struggles within deciding the most beneficial one, for you, of course.

Here’s the thing: you don’t want her yet you like her—it’s a win-win situation and why should you overthink yourself about this? It’s like you’re going to lose a lot from this or gain a lot yet you know how cranky and bratty Wonyoung can get and it’s the greatest bane of your existence. Seeing Wonyoung becoming a nuisance and ill-tempered unlocks your irascible self and you hate her for that (and thank god, it happens pretty rarely).

You wanted to fight your urges but you don’t want this to escalate further, knowing how selfish Wonyoung can be and how she won’t adjust even in the tiniest bit.

God, this girl—you muttered upon yourself as it was laced with venom, cursed and damned about meeting this not-so-angelic girl. You can’t resist your temptation either—staying with Wonyoung probably will end in both ways, hoping it’ll be good or better.

“Okay, tch—” You quickly rushed your way onto the couch, sitting on it and earning a loud thud which made Wonyoung gasp at your harsh actions of the possible damage on the furniture but you didn’t care. “There, happy, hm, Wony?”

Her earlier stern and helpless countenance was now replaced with joy and satisfaction, knowing you chose to stay (and it’s like you have a choice because it’s impossible whenever she’s near). 

“Hah, yey! You’re definitely the best, oppa!” Wonyoung sat beside you and rested her head onto your shoulder, signaling the delight that she’s feeling knowing that she’s with you and you choose what’s best for her. “I know you can’t resist me, oppa.”

“Heck yeah I can't cause you’re gonna go nuts if I reject you.”

“What did you say?” Wonyoung pouts yet the glare in her eyes are evident, and so is the distaste that she feels after hearing such unacceptable cacophony. You know that she didn’t mind it, not even the slightest so you just brushed it off with a single “Nothing, Wonyoung.” and all things went normal yet an uncanny feeling in the can be felt—no, it's just Wonyoung on her knees, in front of you—

“What are you doing, Wonyoung?” 

You don't feel so good about this and have this nerve of an unwanted vice happening anytime soon. You knew this would come and you shouldn't have given in to her wants yet the other side of you is full of anticipation as your primal desires are slowly taking over you.

“Don't be so oblivious, oppa. Let me return the favor of everything you've done earlier.” You didn't deserve such a thing, even though you're not new to this—well, also thanks to her, she took your virginity away—you still don't need this favorable return. You just helped her study and tutored her but why would this be the return? Isn't such a simple soul like you enough for a gift?

You can't turn back now; you're only going to move forward and it's just only going to get better from here.

“But why, Wony? I don't deserve such—”

“Shut it, oppa—” Wonyoung tugs your pants as those perfect, dainty fingers scramble on unbuckling your belt and loosening up the clothed defenses that protects the desired grand prize. “—now would you let your little Wony reward you, daddy?”

Of course, the pet name—it turns you on so much that now, you can't contain anything but let your animalistic desires out. You can't stop her because it's too late and in fact, you want this and you're an absolute hypocrite if you don't. 

Things went like a flash—it felt like everything felt too fast as time sped up like a rocket but you didn't care because you wanted her, utterly.

With the last clothed defense on your iron wall, it collapses down to your ankles as it was proven worthless now, your hardening member is now within the sight of her refulgent orbs—god, it just feels better, doesn't it? You're maybe in heaven but the devil is just beside you and the oxymoron never failed to be in its own party.

With the draw of her nails onto your leaking slit, it draws pain and pits gasoline of the fire—pain associated with pleasure and not close to drawing blood. 

“Oh god, Wonyoung—we don't really need to d-do this…”

“Oh stop it, daddy. I know you wanted this and let your little girl pleasure you for the time being—” Wonyoung places her lips onto your swollen head, giving it a small peck that makes you shudder, your mouth escaping beautiful moans that fuels the primal lust and ego of Wonyoung. 

She seems to be the one that likes her ego getting petted and you're here to absolutely do it.

“Such a good g-girl for daddy, Wonyoung. So skilled and so good—you're definitely loving the taste of my cock don't you, hm?”

You're getting cocky and you know Wonyoung is loving this despite the utter brattiness and hypocrisy running down her mind.

“Gah—you know y-your cock is something I can't r-resist, daddy…”

She continues her moderate bobs as your base is now getting wet with her drool that is now starting to drip all over your sensitive head and her chin. She's in her own league and in an absolute masterclass when it comes to dick-sucking—such lips made like a cocksleeve is truly the one to be treasured as it perfectly hugs around your shaft like it was molded around it, her pleasurable suction being the cherry on top.

Her cheeks hollow in every thrust she does with her talented mouth, and you're no stranger to tell her how great she's been blowing you and it only has been a minute—and god, she's making your brain go haywire.

You stroke her hair and caress her cheeks, letting her know how great she is in terms of sucking you off. “Keep doing that, baby. This cock is all for you, princess. So, so, good—god, fuck!”

And it is incredibly off the charts—the corkscrew motions of her fingers, the dance of her tongue filled with enamore and the overstimulating suction is just, nearly, too much to handle. 

No one can top off her skills as she's just a professional in this—every second sending you weak, on your knees as every technique known to enervate your defenses is being presented right now and you can't think of anything articulate except the fact that Wonyoung's mouth is exerting too much effort as it's getting near the promised land—

“Just like—that—baby, ah! So fucking good—god, how are you so incredibly talented in possibly anything?”

Stroke her ego and she definitely loves it—her pupils dilating everytime you commend her is one strong piece of evidence. It's true even though it may seem like you're playing with her and it's crazy to think about it. She may be the jack-of-all-trades when it comes to everything but it’s definitely not even close with that in accordance to her selfish and diabolical attitude—it’s contradicting but you guess it’s just the fact that she always wanted to be treated like a princess and her sophisticated life explains about it. 

Well as much as you’d wanna do the opposite, it’s going to be completely questionable if you’ll degrade the superior job she’s doing between your legs. A flick of her tongue nears you onto that finish line as well as the dexterity of her slender fingers—it doesn’t help at all, considering you still want to savor and cherish every second of Wonyoung’s masterclass, the inevitable can’t be stopped as the growing sensation in your loins is ready to unload everything inside her heavenly mouth.

“Your mouth Wony—”

Her pace is ridiculous, unmatched han any other as her warm cavern glides onto your shaft like a loose speedster, in a hot pursuit—

“—it’s too good—”

Her silken plumpness made to unleash the profanities inside you, unshackling them and bringing them to their endgame but—

Pop. 

“B-but why’d you stop? I’m so close, Wony!”

You vent out the little frustration towards Wonyoung as your high suddenly became on the lowest point, subsided even before you’ve truly noticed it. Wonyoung just pouts at you adorably, apologizing for what she's done and god, the saliva dripping down to her chin and all around your cock is just a sight to see. It was feeling so damn good until she played with you but you’re not furious about it because she’s maybe wanting something and probably—this last bit is what you’re hoping for—having multiple things in store for you, for later.

She’s only getting started and it’s only going to get better than this.

Her quivering plump lips, her disheveled hair, her beautiful façade—every inch of her perfect is such a sight for a nice canvas to be painted on but it is what it is.

“Want you in my pussy now, daddy. God—I really love your cock, so much I just can’t get enough of it.”

Yes, it’s like her favorite candy she’s ready to brag about and it’s addicting. Ever since you’ve slept with her, it became a whole different story being with her as you always envisioned the nastiest things with her whenever you think about her and it’s clouded your mind ever since. Well, now, you have a lot of things to fulfill with her and the blowjob earlier was just the beginning of a show that’s bound to happen.

“I can’t get enough of your mind-boggling blowjobs too, Wony. You make me feel—” You switch places with her, pinning her down slowly onto the couch, your face now inching closer and closer towards her. “—great and that’s what I like about this.”

Without any foreplay, you capture her lips off-guard as you make the most passionate kiss possible that’ll make her feel butterflies in her stomach. Its saccharine taste makes it insatiable, wanting more of her yet a hot half a minute of this flustering moment is enough for the both of you to exchange breaths.

“Like the taste of you, daddy? ‘Cause I do—like, a lot.” Your face was puzzled after Wonyoung said that, also confused and unsure on what to imply as you playfully retorted against her. “I mean, your lips really made everything insatiable. Just can't get enough of you honestly…”

You continue the intimacy, fueling the lust inside you by dominating her with your tongue as she eagerly reciprocates, the kiss getting too heated but Wonyoung taps your shoulder, signaling you to detach away from her lips. You don’t know why exactly she wants this to be over but with Wonyoung’s enlightenment of the climax, your mind has been cleared and awakened, and so are your primal desires.

“As much as I want to kiss you, daddy, my pussy’s been wet since I’ve sucked you off—so p-please, daddy—hng!”

And who are you to reject it? You want to pound her tight cunt as much as you wanted her today and there’s no one to stop you right now, and neither is she. With the best of both worlds, you elevated the anticipating climax yet a brighter idea will make this session a wilder ride.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom, princess—would pound your tight, perfect pussy so hard that you’re only going to think about me only.”

And there and there, everything went off the cliff, up to the highest paramount of events…

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

“Too good, daddy!” Your fingers up her delicious cunt never fails to earn the most heavenly whimpers escaping Wonyoung’s mouth, let alone fueling the lust inside you as your slit leaks precum just from the sight of her tight cunt squelching and clenching around your digits.

“It’s only going to get better from here, princess—” A harsh spank resonates around the puny room as the dissonance of her orchestrated moans makes your hardened length throb in need, unable to control anything. “—because I’m going to treat you like a princess but fuck you like how you deserve it.”

“W-wha—what d-did I deserve, daddy?”

“A rough one, Wony. Since you’ve done a great job at the start…”

As the heat in the air is still ignited, you take the last bit of teasing with your digits and hard spanks as you’re lost for words once you’ve plunged your length inside her. It never gets old and she’s still as suffocatingly tight as ever, not to mention with even the slightest of movement and her pussy responses with the tightest clench possible. Gripping her hips for a small leverage, you thrust in her slowly as you ensue a few kisses onto the nape of her neck, earning such moans that just makes you want to build up the pace even more.

“Ahh, daddy—it’s so good! You’re s-stretching me—ahh—so w-well…”

“And you take me so well, Wony. Your pussy is literally made for me to be hammered, hm?” You quicken the pace, just withdrawing with only the tip inside and then slamming back in, filling her up to the hilt. She mewls in every thrust you do, further arousing you as she grips onto the sheets as a leverage on the harsh acts you’re doing on her tight cunt. Adding some spanks in every oscillation of your hips, you notice how it clenches every time you do it and you’re loving every second of it—loving how helpless and lewd your princess has become is truly a sight to behold. 

“You’re so good at taking my huge cock, princess…” Your brush off her silky-smooth hair off her shoulders as you pepper her neck and back with kisses that further makes the act hotter than what could it be. You trace the curvature of her waist down to her slender thighs that probably run for days and god, why does a princess have to be this perfect? Down every last feature Wonyoung has is in its absolute flawless state and you can’t help but be in awe as you in every ram you do inside her clenching heat is the praise of her faultless figure.

“Good god, Wony—down to your beautiful face up to your pussy, you’re just so fucking perfect aren’t you?”

“Gah, daddy! Fuck me harder please!”

A spank as the retaliation of her hostile takeover of lust has won, and you, the dominative one will orchestrate things onto your own accord, not hers.

“Wonyoung, you’re lucky I can fuck this good because no one can and you’re mine—every perfectly tight hole in your body is mine to use, do you understand?” Between thrusts you spat her with venomous yet genuine words, but she could only cry in pleasure as your thrusts are just too much for her to think of something articulate enough of a response so, it only took her ten seconds to come up with something— “Yes, d-daddy—ahh!”

Such rampant actions never cease to make someone scream in delight and it’s every man's dream to be in this position. Kiss, spank, thrust and repeat, it goes around in circles and you’re not going to stop it because you’re in a state of do-or-die (figuratively, of course) because in any second now, you can feel yourself getting on your high and so is Wonyoung’s, her pussy creaming all over your enraged length is enough of an evidence.

“Wonyoung—fuck! You’re so tight and so good!”

“Daddy I’m going to c-cum—gahh, so s-soon! Please!”

That’s the green light to bring another onslaught of thrusts with no-return, hammering her cunt like it’s rent due alongside grabbing her hair for her heavenly moans to be unshackled (and if you’re wondering, her arms gave out two minutes earlier because of too much pleasure as she rested her hair onto the mattress, muffling her moans in which, you didn’t really like). With the obviously lewd moans (almost screams) of Wonyoung and the repetitive clenching of her tight heat, you know that she’s about to get off so you gave her the final set of the harshest thrusts possible to mankind as it was too enough and all are let out.

You pull out of her gripping pussy as she squirts all over the bedsheets, your cock and even to your toned abdomen. You finger her repetitively in a deft pace that she cries in a wanton need and that even fuels you further into abomination.

“You good, Wony?”

“Y-yes, daddy—unload it a-all in my pussy—” Her shining orbs pleads you onto her desires, wanting you to fulfill it. Her pupils dilate once again, anticipating on a good note with you— “—please…”

“I’m dying to cum inside this perfect pussy of yours, Wonyoung.”

Pinning her down onto the bed (not so harshly), you tease her pussy with your swollen cockhead for a bit, in which earns the finest moans escaping her lips and so are the needy whimpers. Without any time to waste, you plunge into her dripping core once again but this time, the penetration is crazingly-deep, achieving the sensation of a lifetime that makes you feel butterflies. You command her to place both of her legs onto your shoulders, wanting to achieve the deepest penetration possible as she did and god, that felt way better than earlier and it’s too heavenly to be true.

“Ahh—daddy—I—gahh, so so good and d-deep! Fuck me h-hard—cum i-inside me—gahh, please!”

The desperation in her eyes says it all. Even with the messed-up makeup, tears and her disheveled hair all over the place, it’s not even a challenge to sense how needy she is for you and your seed to be deposited inside her. Now bringing the thrusts that surpasses the harshness of your actions earlier, and making Wonyoung the most raucous she’s ever been—all in the experience on the paramount of delight as everything seems to be at that moment, just a step away from your both desired promised lands. You weren’t far off of your high and Wonyoung can sense it through your eyes as she helps out, fucking herself onto your length as you chase your high, grabbing her waist and hips harshly as the leverage with your relentless pursuit onto her pussy.

“I’m going to cum, Wonyoung! So fucking close in this perfect cunt of yours—fuck!”

And you break, everything loose as you bury your length inside her, balls-deep as you unload everything you’ve got and your moans and Wonyoung’s blessed the entire room as it reverberated all over. With your last groan and the hard grip of her hips, your orgasm finally subsided as it was an euphoric one—it was so euphoric that you almost passed out but it wasn’t really close. Wonyoung on the other hand, laid down flat on the bed, enervated from the steamy sex session yet she smiles widely, knowing that your load is inside her pussy as the warmth of it elicits the sultriest of moans.

“Thank you, daddy—hah… For this load… Hah, I love i-it…”

That changed your demeanor from a stern, dominative one to softer, warmhearted as you blush because of her, feeling so grateful and thankful for this moment as the earlier omnipotence of power now subsided, back to your old self.

“Thank you too, Wonyoung—you took me so well… hah, that was exhausting…”

“Yeah, I know, oppa…” She brushes her fingers all over your chest, tracing it slowly as she looks at you endearingly, her eyes telling you how much she loved this moment, disregarding the fact of the pain that she felt—she liked it because it turned her on even more—from all of your harshness and spanking. She’s genuine about it and you could tell it without her even uttering a single word.

“We should clean up, oppa, actually.”

“Yeah, oh no, I think you need some new set of sheets after this.”

“You’re the one to blame here, oppa! You made me squirt so hard!!”

And the bratty, sophisticated Wonyoung is back and here we go again, back from the despair and being the bugbear she is…

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Bratty!Fem!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Tired of your antics regarding how cavalier you take your sexual relationship, your lieutenant cuts you off and that has you immediately plotting. You know you can get him to break and all it'll take is one purchase. How can he keep his resolve when he sees what you've bought? And how will he act when he catches you?

Word Count: 6.8 k

Warnings:

The office is silent now except for the distant sounds of movement filtering in from outside the door of people coming and going through the building. Your shirt clings in a rumpled mess to your body, sweat speckling across your limbs from that specific heat that gets shared between two bodies, euphoria still running through your veins when the man sitting beneath you speaks. “We’re not doin’ this again, so get that straight. Understand?”

You tilt your head to the side and raise a curious eyebrow, staring back into the face of your lieutenant as he gets you to your feet and grabs his shirt to throw it back over his head, covering his sweat-glistening torso. “Care to explain what you’re talking about or am I meant to just guess?” you ask with snark in your tone as you pick up the rest of your clothing off the floor.

Buttoning his pants and re-buckling his belt, he takes his time before answering as you finish and stand there impatient and agitated. “What the fuck did I say about startin’ stuff with me when I’m busy?” Lt. Riley questions back, his voice harsh. “Did ya think I was jokin’ or are ya just hell bent on gettin’ caught? Cause that’s what’s gonna fuckin’ happen if ya keep temptin’ me in the middle of the day.”

“You could turn me away,” you say with a roll of your eyes, “ever heard of self-control?”

Stepping up close to your body, the lieutenant grabs you by the chin and looks down his nose at you. “You’re too much of a distraction. And ya need to be taught a lesson, sweetheart; when I say somethin’ I fuckin’ mean it. Consider this my self-control.” 

“Oh, gonna punish me now?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest as you pull your face out of his grasp with a flick of your head. “Okay, go ahead. Let’s see what you got.”

“Ya ain’t gettin’ nothin’ from me til I can be sure you’re gonna listen. You’re cut off, sweetheart, and until ya can learn, we’re done with this.” 

You hold his gaze steadfast, not intimidated in the least. If he wants to play this game, then you’ll play it, but if he thinks this is going to end the way he wants, he is going to be sorely mistaken. “Fine.” You don’t argue, there is no sense to. “Have it your way, sir. Is that all?”

You’ll have it your way soon enough. All it’ll take is patience.

He doesn’t say anything, opting to sit back in the chair behind his desk without uttering another word. It is a gross miscalculation on Lt. Riley’s part not to immediately take your acceptance if his reprimand as a giant red flag, but if he isn’t willing to put his knowledge of your competitive temperament to use then that is fully on him; he is a big boy and since he wants to talk about consequences, then he should be ready to receive his own.

You double check yourself in silence before you leave his office with a smug sense of satisfaction, though a plan isn’t in mind just yet. It doesn’t matter really, the bigger they are the harder they fall and you are confident that you can make him fold with very little effort because despite being a man of mostly mystery, you know the intimate details of what makes that 6’4” military officer weak. 

The day isn’t even over before you already have a plan in mind and it all involves one very specific item. It’s a shame you have to order it, but the time it’ll take to come in the post will work in your favor. Lt. Riley needs time to cool off, to miss his pretty thing, to let his appetite for you get ravenous again.

Patience was never your virtue unless it came to getting something you wanted, so you bore your restlessness in silence as you waited for your order to come in. You give the lieutenant his space without a fuss, letting him believe his little delusion that at any moment you’ll come crawling back ready to obey him just as he wants.

A week passes and then nearly another when finally you are gifted with your prize that comes in the evening mail that Friday. You can taste the sweetness of your retribution already as you rip into the package and pull out the smallest, tightest pair of jet black hot pants with white trim. No more keeping this body for his eyes only; if he doesn’t want to give you the attention you desire then someone else will. 

You rush to your barracks the second the day comes to a close with your package in hand; you have only a short window of time to pull your entire plan together or you’ll be forced to wait till after the weekend and you are tired of waiting. Tonight is the night that you make your lieutenant come crawling back to you and stop with this nonsense.   

The tiny swath of fabric covering your ass barely hides a damned thing from view, hugging around your hips like they are painted on and resting at the very top of your thighs so that the underside of your butt peeks out from below the hem. There is a slit that goes up the side and it is doing its job in making your legs look extra long while also showing as much skin as possible. It leaves almost nothing to the imagination for anyone who happens to look your way… and boy do you want as many eyes on you as you can get.

Let’s see him be steadfast in his resolve to teach you a lesson now.

With a head full of devious thoughts, you leave your room and head out onto base and into the oncoming night. Shoulders back and head held high you walk past the buildings with confidence on the way to your first stop of the night: the officers building. You had checked the clock just before you left, it’s nearly time now. He’ll be leaving his office soon and you need him to catch sight of you on the way to your second destination: the rec center.

How lucky it is that the lieutenant is a man of routine and so giving it another minute or two you step out in front of the building and start heading directly for the rec, though at a slower pace than usual. And sure enough, when you’re still within eyeshot, you hear the front door to the building open. 

Stepping out into the cooler evening air, Lt. Riley looks up and his sight is captured by a figure moving just up ahead in the distance. People coming and going isn’t abnormal on a military base, but what really catches his attention is the familiarity of the body and the way that body is dressed. He is stunned in his tracks because you are barely wearing anything at all with shorts that look like they’ve been painted on. Paired with the tight black tank top you’ve chosen and you might as well be naked for all the covering it does. After a good almost two weeks of no action, the man is starved…but also curious as to where the fuck you are going dressed like this. 

The best thing would have been for the lieutenant to turn tail and walk away, leave it and you alone, but as smart as Lt. Riley is when it comes to temptation the man is a goddamn fool that cannot help himself.

You are a good bit ahead by the time he takes action and decides to follow you, but he keeps the pace as heat floods his body from staring at the back of you walking away, desperately wanting to take a bite out of all that juicy meat tempting his gaze as it bounces with each sure-footed step you take. Fuck, he is a sucker for all the plump, tender parts of your body and having them on display like this is a regular buffet that he can’t help but soak up even with his nosiness into what exactly has you looking so killer. 

Those auburn eyes of his continue to follow you as you come to the front of a building and enter. Now that you are out of view, he can think more clearly and he realizes that it’s the rec center that you’ve just entered. The closer the lieutenant gets, the more he catches raucous sounds of many voices braying like a pack of crazed hounds, making him quicken his steps that match his rising blood pressure until he stands just outside the doors to peer in without being detected yet.

Through the glass doors he can see towards the back of the main room that a group of privates surrounding the single government bought pool table with cues in hand are now circling you like wolves circling a wounded deer, practically begging you to join them for a few games while he knows that its only to get you to stay longer so that they can enjoy the view. It makes his blood boil to watch them ogle you like that, getting far too close to what isn’t theirs. 

…to what belongs to him.

Standing in silence, now cloaked in darkness as night has fallen, he watches angrily as a private gets bold enough to place his hand at the small of your back just as you lean over the table to make your first shot and suddenly he is seeing red. He can barely comprehend anything through the angry haze clouding his vision, but he can feel the cold steel of the door handle in his hand as he wrenches it open and stalks inside as if he is ready to kill.   

All eyes immediately drift towards the source of the sound. You look up through a giggle to see the form of the lieutenant standing there, sharp gaze boring straight into you specifically and the man who still has his hand on you. 

“What’s goin’ on ‘ere,” that deep voice booms through the small space to quiet the rowdy bunch.

“Is there a problem, sir?” one of the more brave privates speaks up.

His sight doesn’t leave you. “Seems we need to have a chat about propriety,” he growls. “This is a military base, not a fuckin’ strip club.” 

You smirk. “I don’t know what kind of strip clubs you frequent, sir, but I can assure you that this is more clothing than most will allow.”

A few of the privates snicker behind you, impressed with your audacity to backtalk someone as imposing as the skull-masked officer and that does nothing but add fuel to the fire.

“Come with me- now.” His voice is firm. 

A collective “ooooh” passes around the bunch that is quickly quelled with one harsh glare. “If I were ya I would get back to my fuckin’ game,” Lt. Riley barks. “Or would you lot rather be placed on permanent fire guard to drive the goddamn point home, since ya want to meddle in an officer’s business?”

His command is absolute and none of the privates have the balls enough to question it. Quickly they scramble back to their game, keeping their heads down and eyes locked to the table. Whatever trouble you are about to get in is none of their concern, not when being reprimanded by the imposing lieutenant is on the line.

Satisfied, those amber eyes snap right back to you. “Move, now,” he demands and points towards an area of the rec that is blocked off by a wall, essentially cutting the room in two and will give enough privacy that the others inside won’t be able to witness what is about to transpire. 

“Of course, sir,” you say in agreement without a syllable of dissention. 

Turning on your heels you take off in the direction pointed out to you, walking ahead of the masked officer eagerly. He’s mad; there is no need to turn around, you can feel his glare on you the entire walk over and it makes you smile. You’ve hit the nerve you had hoped to. Now to bring it all home and get your lover back the way you want. 

As soon as you make it behind the cover of the corner his hand is on your waist as he shoves you into the wall with brute force. Your back hits it and you let out a surprised gasp. He stands towering over top of you, a powerfully intimidating figure with a massive presence to match as he glares you down with fire in his gaze. 

“Can I fucking help you?” you ask as you quickly regain your composure.

Christ, when you want to get his attention you sure know how to do it. “What the fuck do ya think you’re doin’, hmm?” he questions back heatedly. “Puttin’ on a fuckin’ show for all the privates? Do ya fuckin’ think this appropriate, what ya got on?”

Something about having this conversation with the barrier of his balaclava covering his face infuriates you as if this was any other time he would have already had it off his face. “You think you can just treat me like everyone else after all we’ve done? Fuck you; take off the mask when you’re talking to me.”

His eyes narrow as he shakes his head side to side. “You don’t get to make demands a me anymore, princess.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenge back. “That what you think?”

Leaning in a bit closer, you can feel the heat of his breath even as it filters through the fabric. “That’s what I know. Now answer the question. Do ya think this is appropriate?”

Your shrug is nonchalant. “For field work? Well, it depends on the climate I suppose. That doesn’t really apply here does it, since we are still on base. Why? Do you have a problem with it?”

A sharp hiss of air exits rapidly out of his nose. “Like hell I do,” he says and suddenly you can make out the feel of his fingertips as they toy around with the fabric at the edge of your shorts. He lets them brush against your outer thigh as he follows the line of the hem up the slit that goes higher towards your hip. There is electricity in his touch and it makes your pulse start to race. “You're distracting my men. An outfit like this is askin’ for attention. Whose fuckin’ attention ya tryin’ to get, hmm?”

“Who said anything about attention?” you question him back as if you can’t possibly understand what all the fuss is about. “I just wanted to be comfortable. You know, unwind and all that after a long week.”

“Comfortable,” he scoffs as he rolls the fabric in between his fingers. “Ya barely have a god damned thing on.”

“Maybe that’s how I feel most comfortable,” you push, your reply a little more breathy. “You of all people should know that.” 

Oh you are walking on thin ice, lying to him like this. He is not that innocent that he can’t tell what you’re doing and you are not that naive to think that he won’t immediately figure it out. Harshly grabbing your chin, he holds your face firm in his grasp as his dark eyes shadowed within the confines of his mask stare back into your own. 

“Don’t ya lie to me, sweetheart,” he says, that gruff voice metered and unyielding in its severity. “The way ya were just eatin’ up how those boys reacted, I know ya didn’t fuckin’ dress like a slag for nothin’.”

“Are they not allowed to look, Simon?” you ask without missing a beat and using his name as if it’s a curse.

The question hangs in that air as Simon shifts in his stance while not saying a word, eyes narrowing as he realizes that there is no right way for him to answer that without giving himself away that he has dug himself into trouble.

A smug grin crosses your lips before you try to lick it away. “Ah, so that’s the problem right? That they were looking at me? Strange, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were… jealous. But that can’t be right, can it Simon? Because I thought I was cut off and that you were done, so it’s all fair game yeah? Unless there is something you want to fess up to?”

Simon’s chiseled jaw twitches under his mask as his eyes shimmer; you are pushing it, though why is he even surprised. “Ya better watch it, luv,” he warns under his breath as his grip along your chin tightens. “You are playin’ with fire and if ya ain’t careful, your pretty little fingers are gonna fuckin’ burn.” 

And before you are even made conscious of it, your mind immediately knows what to say in response. You hold his gaze steadfast in your own. “Make me.”

Those two little words and their variations are Simon’s kryptonite and you know it; that’s what got you on his cock in the first place. Nothing else can make that man go feral than a threat from a bratty bitch that puts him in the position to show them the consequences of what their cocky attitudes get them.  

You smirk, satisfied with how you seem to have the upper hand in this little confrontation. Simon is now in a place where he will either have to admit he still wants you and that his threat meant nothing or he will have to let you go… and you know by the rapid increase in the rise and fall of his chest the longer you stand between him and the wall that the latter is looking less and less likely. 

“Still waiting on your answer,” you say with a smug, satisfied grin spread across your lips, “or is it that if you say anything, it’ll make it clear that you are now regretting a certain… decision… you so hastily made?”

God, you know just how to rile him up in the exact way that both infuriates and entices him. His devil with a pretty face, his sin that feels like heaven; he is drawn to your stubbornness like a moth is drawn to a flame.

“Ya vicious little bitch,” he says, the words sharp. 

Gotcha, you think to yourself. You have that serious military officer right where you want him. Now all you have to do is go in for the kill. You take a step into him even with your chin still secure in his grasp. “Oh yeah,” you respond, your voice husky. “As if you don’t fucking love it.”

You are met with only silence as a shiver runs straight through him. He’s barely able to react in time to hide its presence, but grits his teeth hard and stifles any movement other than the rapid breaths he continues to take. 

“Cat got your tongue?” you ask and wait for a response that doesn’t come; you don’t expect it to. “That’s what I thought. So, here’s how it’s going to work: I’m gonna wear what I want, when I want, and if you don’t like how others react to my wardrobe then that’s on you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got a game to return to.” 

Pulling your head back forcefully out of his grip, his strong, rough fingers release your chin and he watches as you make your move to step past him, but he can’t let this go like he had originally planned. This is the game you both play and he just can’t quit you. You are his, his, and he isn’t going to just let you forget that. You barely take the first few steps around him headed back the way you came when you hear Simon mutter under his breath. 

“Fuck,” the sigh hits your ears before his arm jettisons out and grabs you by the wrist. 

Your body is spun around and pulled into him, your back flush against his warm chest as he leans himself back against the wall. His hand shoots up to cover over your mouth, cupping across your cheeks to stifle any sound that may come from the shock of his action. Sure enough you gasp into his palm as he straps you to his chest by locking you in place with his other arm. 

“You’re not goin’ anywhere, princess,” he grunts lowly into your ear. 

Stoic and silent he pushes a knee up through the gap in your legs to widen them before his hand slinks down your abdomen, over your pants, and comes to rest against your sex. That large palm now nestled in between your thighs presses up into you and it only takes a few seconds for Simon to realize that he can feel the lips of your pussy straight through the thin fabric of your pants without any barrier. No panties, really?

You fucking witch. You planned this, didn’t you?

There are still soldiers hanging about, out of sight for the moment, but still not something that is conducive for such an encounter. He wouldn’t risk something like this…would he? What you think is going to be a quick touch and pull back turns into his hand locking to your pussy as he begins to massage it through your pants. He pushes his fingers up through the cloth until he can feel the outline of your clit on his fingertips.

A quiet chuckle falls from your lips behind his handmade muzzle as his fingers make contact with the crotch of your shorts and you feel his chest jerk as he struggles to catch his breath. Feel something you like, lieutenant? you think as the corners of your mouth upturn against his skin. 

A moan barely squeaks out from around his hand before he presses it harder against your lips. “Don’t need someone catchin’ us, do we? Not til I’m finished with ya.”

Those heated words cause your heart to race violently, thudding strong against your ribcage to match a certain throbbing growing in strength between your thighs. 

“You gonna keep quiet?” he asks and you nod in his hand. “Don’t make me regret it or else, princess.”

Simon removes his palm and wraps his arms around your waist; you’re not going anywhere. “We could still get caught, you know,” you say softly, stumbling over your words as his fingers continue to play.

“Ya should've thought of that before ya tempted me with this fuckin’ skin, luv,” he murmurs against the side of your head. There is no way in hell you are getting out of these shorts without him fucking you out of them, he will stop only when he can feel a wet spot soaking through the crotch. “ ‘Sides, maybe I want that prick that had his fuckin’ hands on ya ta see that he doesn’t stand a chance.” 

He won’t, he has never been the type to share but the threat serves its purpose. The boys at the pool table continue to distract themselves, but who knows how long that will last. If they come creeping over, there is no way they won’t instantly know what is happening. And yet over and over his large fingers grind against your clit until it begins to ache. 

“Gimme your hand,” he searches for the appendage, only to be met with resistance once he locates it. 

“I said give,” he reiterates the point in that more authoritative tone he is used to using with his men.

You shake your head that still rests in his grasp; you don’t want to make this easy for him. If he wants something he is going to have to work for it. Encapsulating your wrist in his hand, the muscles along his forearm strain as he drags your arm up from your side. He takes your hand firmly in his, fingers lacing themselves over the top of your own as he descends them both down the front of your body and slips them into the waistband of your shorts. No time is wasted in bringing them directly between your legs, parting through your warm, soft lips, and nestling both sets of fingers inside. 

“Gonna need ya ta participate in this part,” he says, low and bassey at the side of your face. “You’re fuckin’ achin’ bad, aren’t ya? Christ luv, I can already feel how swollen your clit is.”

Simon keeps your conjoined fingers resting up against that tiny bundle of nerves. There is a tension-filled pause as he takes a deep, labored breath as the end of his thought hangs anxiously in the air, waiting for him to finish it. His lips are right at the threshold of your earlobe, you can feel their presence as they ghost near the tender flesh, the skin tingling as his warm breath wafts over the area.

You suddenly realize the lack of oxygen filling your lungs as he finally speaks. “Let’s make it worse,” he growls. 

A shiver snakes through your spine as he forces your fingers to work in tandem with his in rolling circles over your sensitive clit, stroking again and again in a steady rhythm that he has set. 

“Best hope they decide to leave soon, sweetheart,” he breathes the words into your ear as he rests his forehead against your temple. “Cause if ya want me to let ya fuckin’ come, they’re gonna have to be gone. Until then we’re just gonna have to keep ya wet and fuckin’ ready.”

His phallus pulses against your ass through his pants, bobbing with his racing heartbeat as it prods into the cheek of your ass. A struggled, shaky breath escapes your lips as he moves his hips to press it into you; your sanity is hanging on by a thread. All you want is for him to bend you over, rip your shorts down, and thrust inside, but no matter how much you rub against it he does not take the bait.

Time passes so much slower as you stay strapped to him, his hand and yours shoved down the front of your shorts keeping you wet. Your sanity is beginning to wane; no one should be expected to keep it together when a lover who knows your body like the back of his hand is using everything to his advantage to keep you aching.

Pressure gathering in the pit of your stomach only to dissipate before it can ever come to fruition, over and over Simon brings you to the brink only to back off once you get close enough. It feels like eternity in the haze of his capable fingers working your body before the men finally decide that they have had enough with standing around the quiet center when the local bar is just a short drive down the road and head out, completely forgetting that they haven’t seen either you or the lieutenant for quite some time, but they also haven’t seen either of you leave. 

The moment the door shuts and the last sounds of talking can be heard drifting off into the distance, you are released and again turned only to be shoved back against the wall. Simon is immediately pressed against you, one knee collapsing into the wall between your legs as your hands greedily claw at the cloth gathered at base of his neck, fingers pulling up the bottom of his mask without hindrance so that they can get underneath it and push it up to expose his hungry mouth. A devilish, toothy grin waits to meet you as the fabric is removed; he’s proud of the desperation he has left you in. 

“They’re gone,” you say with a heavy bit of neediness. “I did what you said.” 

“Ya want me ta give it to ya now, that it?” he asks with a smug sense of self satisfaction. 

“You promised,” you shoot back, the agony of waiting becoming unbearable the longer he takes. 

His face inches in closer to yours, hot breath meeting and wafting over the skin on your lips as he exhales. “Ya think this is gonna be some sorta reward?” he asks, his voice lowering into the deeper part of his register, that gravely vibrato that turns your legs into jelly just from the sound.  

Those full lips of his ghost over your own, making the skin quiver from the proximity. Your mouth parts open as suddenly you feel like you can’t get enough air while waiting in misery for him to break and crash on you with all of his desire. A breathy gasp escapes through the gap as that thick thigh of his presses up into your pussy. He has you right where he wants you now.  

“Ya still got a fuckin’ lesson ta learn, princess,” he says. “So, I’m gonna have ta fuck the attitude til it comes drippin’ right out of ya.” 

And with that he leans down and forcefully connects your lips together so that your head hits the wall behind you. Fiery and aggressive he embraces your mouth again and again, lips fighting for dominance with each new connection. Breath and spit are shared as the wet smacking sounds of skin on skin hits the air and fills up the quiet of the place. 

You haven’t gotten your fill yet, but suddenly you find your body being lifted into the air and carelessly flung over one of his broad shoulders as he drags you back into the middle of the room. He eyes his destination the moment it comes into view from around the wall and quickly makes his way over to it; somewhere he can put you so he can get to work.

Your backside makes contact with the smooth felt of the pool table as Simon sets you down on top of it. The cool surface of the rails raises goosebumps on the back of your thighs as he situates you right at the edge. No longer pressed together, a spot of cold radiates from his thigh and he looks down to see a present you have left for him right on the fabric.

“Look what ya did,” he growls, pointing to the obviously darker patch on the inner thigh of his jeans. “Made a fuckin’ mess.”

“Whose…ng…fucking fault is that?” you whimper, adjusting yourself as every little movement puts pressure on your aching clit. 

“And I’d do it again ta keep my brat in line,” he smirks as his irises sparkle like a predator locking on to its prey. “Now, open your fuckin’ legs.”

You widen the gap between your thighs more, but he still has to use his hips to shove them open enough that he can fit in until he is right up against you. The sharp edge of his teeth cuts into the plump flesh of your bottom lip as he sucks it into his mouth to give it a hard nip. He swallows down the harsh groan you produce at his delicious brand of roughness like it’s honey. Every single sound you make in response to his actions is music to his ears. 

“Need ya ta know this type a shit isn’t gonna fly with me.”

Fingertips play around the perimeter of your cunt until he hooks them through the cool, damp crotch of your pants and wrenches them to the side to expose your entrance. “Let’s ruin these fuckin’ things,” he smugly says as he works with one hand to undo his pants and slide both that and his boxers down his thighs until his cock pops out of the waistband and stands hard and throbbing for you. “Don’t ever wanna see these goddamn things again after tonight.”

His vice-like grip on the crotch of your shorts causes a few of the overly taut threads to snap as he holds the fabric out of his way to align the swollen head of his cock with that dripping, aching hole he’s been working so that it’s already ready to take him in. You can feel the tip of his hard girth push against the moist skin before he bucks his hips and it strains through the barrier. His grip moves to your waist to force your body further down on him as you whine, the stretch overwhelming, but divine. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, princess? Why you wore these tight fuckin’ things, yeah? Ya tryin’ ta make me take ya like an animal?” he grunts, the feel of your tight, silky walls fluttering around his cock as he fills you full threatening to send him straight to hell. 

“The moment I saw ya in ‘em I thought I was gonna lose control. Been a while since I had ya. That on purpose too?”   

You fall backward against the table, your back arching up off it and your eyes roll back into your head as he pulls you down while slamming the length of his phallus up into you until he reaches the base. He doesn’t give you a moment to gather your sanity and instead snaps his hips into you, the intensity in each stroke causing your body to jolt over the felted surface. 

“Look at me,” he grunts as he reaches out to grab at your chin and pull you back up to him, “look - at - me.”

You’re unable to deny him when he’s thrusting so deep and your eyes open to meet his gaze again. “You’re mine, ya hear?” he breathes the words desperate and firm. “Nobody else can look at ya like this, got it? Nobody.”

His breath hitches a moment as a shudder runs through his cock from the way you tighten around it. “Those boys out there mighta gotten a show tonight, but that’s the last they’ll ever get,” he growls more intensely. “Don’t even want ‘em to think they have a fuckin’ chance wit ya cause you belong ta me. You were made for me, princess. Only me.”

Harder and harder he pounds into your pussy with a need that feels like it cannot be quenched no matter how deep he goes. “And nobody else - nobody else- ya don’t need anyone else ‘sides me. Say it.” 

A pathetic whimper is all he gets in response as his cock digs in deep, but that isn’t good enough. You’re gonna do exactly as he says and repeat it - out loud. His grip around your face tightens.

“Say it,” he demands again. 

“Don’t… need a-anyone…else…” you stammer out as it is a struggle now to speak. 

Then you hear it, the distinct sound of fabric beginning to rip. The seam along the crotch has had too much strain put on it and it is starting to give, threads ripping more steadily the harder Simon thrusts. God, that sound is the catalyst to you suddenly feeling wild, like all you want him to do is shred the fucking things off of you by screwing you out of them. It’s at that moment that familiar warmth begins to gather in your belly. It won’t be long now and you’ll be spilling.

“Say: you’re the only one I fuckin’ want,” he insists as he clenches to make his cock pulse inside of you.

Simon’s wide hand slides down from your chin to just at the base of your throat where he wraps it around and gives it a light squeeze for emphasis. The pressure feels like heaven amongst all the stimulation and trying to keep your eyes on him and speak at the same time is nearly impossible, but find your words soon enough.

You lick your parched lips. “You’re the only one I want, Simon,” you moan.

“Again.”

“You’re the only one I will ever want, Simon.”

Another couple of desperately strong thrusts. “And you’re gonna listen from now on, yeah?”

“Yes!” you blurt out.

He pulls you by the throat so that you meet him in a kiss as his hips never stop snapping into you. “Such a fuckin’ obedient girl for me,” he groans against your mouth as he breaks free from it. “Now, let’s make ya come so ya never fuckin’ forget who it is that ya belong to.”

Releasing your neck, Simon brings his hand down, parting through your dripping lips to find your clit so that he can rub over it as he thrusts. There is not much more you can take now; all his work before has done its job to perfection and your body is falling apart so rapidly it feels like the nosedive off that first ddrop of a rollercoaster. 

“G-gonna… gonna come, baby,” you stammer out. You bring your lips in closer to his, desperate to kiss him again, but the pleasure is just too much to handle that you devolve into simply panting instead. 

He inhales in ragged breaths the sweet air from your mouth, his teeth grinding together the harder he thrusts. All those days without you have been frustrating as he waited for you to come crawling back. He missed the feeling of you wrapped around him and right now he needs you to come on his cock. 

But this isn’t going to teach you what he wants. Pulling out amidst your whined protests, he pulls you off the table onto your feet and spins you around before pushing your upper body down while guiding you to spread your stance wider and ripping the crotch of your pants aside again, this time he doesn’t hesitate to enter you.

From this angle the penetration is even deeper and as his finger finds that tiny bud of nerve endings again, you are right back where you want to be - a mess ready to explode.   

“Come for me.” He is demanding while trying to hold it all together. “Now.”

Harder and harder he pushes, thrusting and stroking, and like the flick of a switch all that heat and all that pressure culminates in an explosion that has you crying out loudly as you come with force, your back arching to pull you away from his grasp. Waves wash through your body as the intensity of your orgasm shakes through you until your legs are vibrating around his hips. 

The moment you cry out he allows himself to let go, finally finished with his task, and fucking you through your orgasm he comes so hard that he has to grab the sides of the pool table to keep himself upright. Grunting like an animal he coats your walls and thrusts his cum continuously back up into you until he is spent and cannot go another second. 

Simon stays inside as you both come back down from that exhilarating high, two glistening bodies conjoined at the forehead with eyes closed until he has enough strength to pull his sensitive cock carefully out of you. Both of your mixed juices follow his cock out, dribbling out of your entrance to collect in the crotch of your pants as they snap back into place now that there is nothing keeping them pushed aside. 

You flip yourself back over and lean against the edge of the table to look down at what’s left of your shorts. They are completely soaked, drenched in so much of your juices that they look wet. The ruined fabric clings to your body as if it’s glued on and you are left feeling cold down there as Simon pulls away.

“That’s better,” he says with satisfaction as he studies his handiwork of the ripped, saturated fabric. “And so is this.”

A more gentle kiss is placed on your lips this time, one in praise of you doing so well for him. You reciprocate the feeling by cupping his face in your hands.

“And we’re not gonna have any more a this, right?” he asks as he pulls from your mouth.

Looking into his eyes, a subtle smirk contours your lips. “We’ll see,” you say as Simon shakes his head.

He wouldn’t expect anything less.

“So,” you continue, “I’m just wondering if you thought about how I’m going to leave here, now that I look like this. Gonna need something so I don’t have to cross base.” 

Across the way he spots a random jacket hanging off the back of a chair, left by one of the privates no doubt. Looks big enough and he returns with it in hand. Carefully he circles the sleeves around your body and ties them in front to cover you until you can get back to your room and change. Don’t need anyone seeing anything they shouldn’t.

“I did really like these by the way,” you pick as Simon pulls you by the knot in the sleeves wrapped around your waist back into him to catch your lips one last time with his.  

“Don’t ya worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna be gettin’ you a new pair, ones that I chose,” he says. “Cause I’m gonna be the only one that gets to enjoy this fuckin’ view from now on. And it’s a view you’re gonna give me ‘gain and again, darlin’.”

[tropes-and-tales]

It's That Simple

Day 16:  Praise Kink (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Light angst, kinda (Bob gets deflated); talk of panic attacks and self-doubt; smut (handjob); 18+ only.

Word Count:  5656

AN:  This was requested by an anon!

AN2: If you've been around a bit, you know the drill: this isn't edited or re-read or beta'ed.

It’s another terrible first date.

Bob struggles to even snag a first date.  He’s unassuming; he lacks the swagger and extroversion to stroll up to a woman and talk her up.  Most of his dates are obtained from other members of the Daggers—double dates, set-ups, stuff like that.

The latest one was set up by Fanboy, a friend of his sister.  Within moments of meeting his date, Bob knows it’ll be a mess:  she makes a face when she greets him at the door, and it goes downhill from there.

It ends when she gets a text.  An emergency, she tells him, and Bob is too smart and perceptive to buy the lie.  But he’s a gentleman, so he nods seriously and offers to drive her home or wherever she’s needed, which she declines.  He pays the bill of their abortive dinner, and he pretends not to notice how his date practically skips out of the restaurant and into the waiting car of a friend.

He should go home to lick his wounds.  Another failed date, another night alone.  He sees the stretch of his life in front of him and despairs that he’ll ever meet someone, and he should go home to sulk, but he goes to the Hard Deck instead.

He might as well break the news to Fanboy, at least, and maybe Nat can cheer him up with her usual sarcastic humor.

-----

The Hard Deck is as packed as always, and Bob—in his date clothes of dress pants and a button down shirt—stands out among the uniformed pilots and fellow wizzos.  He finds the Dagger Squad, confesses his failure to Fanboy, then settles into a stool near Nat and Rooster.

Nat puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him a comforting squeeze.  “I’m sorry, Bob,” she says.

“Her loss,” Rooster offers.

Bob shrugs.  It’s not anyone’s loss but his, but he offers them a weak smile that fools neither of them.

It’s Hangman who sidles up to Bob, and in an uncharacteristic moment of thoughtfulness, the cocky pilot offers to be his wingman—which makes Bob laugh, and it comes out laced with some bitterness.

“No offense, Bagman, but you’d be a terrible wingman,” Bob says.

“What?  Why?”

Bob lifts his hands in a helpless shrug.  “Because you’re….you.  And I’m not like you at all.”

“So?”

He scoffs in frustration at Bagman being so obtuse.  As if any woman would look at Bob if he walked up to them with Jake at his side.  It’d be like an Aston Martin rolling up alongside an old Honda Civic, and that’s the analogy he uses to make Jake understand.  But Jake shakes his head, clasps him on his shoulders and gives him a friendly shake.

“Nah, Baby on Board.  You got it all wrong.  You just need some confidence.”  Another teeth-rattling shake.  “Trust me, there’s a girl out there for you.  C’mon.”

Bob finds himself powerless to resist as Jake pushes him off of his stool, then shoves him gently in the direction of the crowded bar.

-----

The first pair that Jake sidles up to is a bust, but it’s not Bob’s fault:  Jake had hooked up with the one woman before, forgotten about it completely.  He’s moments from getting a drink tossed in his face when Bob tugs him away from the danger and they pull back, reevaluate.

The second pair is a bust too.  The first woman doesn’t even let Jake get the full sentence out before she’s wagging her ring finger in his face.

“Married,” she says, her words clipped.  “Move along, sailor.”

The third pair?  The third pair works out.  Jake hones in on one immediately, a blonde with big doe eyes, but the second one—you—rolls her eyes at him.

But when you turn to study Bob, you don’t roll your eyes.  You hold out a hand, introduce yourself, ask for his rank, then pat the empty chair beside you.

“Settle in, Lieutenant,” and your smile is easy.  “Let’s chat while we watch your friend strike out, huh?”

-----

It turns out you’re drunk, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

For one, you’ve fallen in with Bob Floyd, the most gentlemanly man a drunk, single girl could come across.  He’d never take advantage, and in fact, he’ll end up driving you home at the end of the night, getting you into your apartment.  He will take your shoes off of you, tuck you into your bed, and press a glass of water and a couple of ibuprofen on you before he sees himself out.

For another thing, Bob Floyd has fallen in with you, the most fiercely sweet drunk that a down-on-himself man could come across.  You’re one of those loud cheerleader types when you drink; the kind of woman who chats up other women in the bathroom, who tells them they’re beautiful, that you love them.  With your friend and Jake otherwise engaged, Bob finds himself caught in the tractor beam of your charm.

“You look sad,” you tell him around the rim of your glass.  “Are you sad?”

You’re drunk and Bob is sad, and you’re staring at him with wide eyes that glitter in the low light of the bar, so he tells you.  He tells you about his terrible date, the latest in a string of terrible dates, that he’s been single for so long and he’s not entirely convinced he’ll ever meet someone, that he’s too scrawny, that his glasses are terrible (one date called them serial killer glasses), that he’s too reserved to ever catch the eye of a woman, too unremarkable looking, let alone—

“No!”  You cut him off by exclaiming it, a near-shout, and your hand finds his forearm and grips him there.  “You’re gorgeous, Bill!  Don’t even say you aren’t!”

He grins despite himself.  “It’s Bob.  But thanks.  I mean, it’s nice of you to say—”

“Bob.  Yes.  Sorry.  Bob, not Bill.  I say it because it’s true.”  You release your hold on his arm and sit back in your chair, your eyes narrowed now as you study him closer.  You’re quiet for a long beat, and Bob squirms under your attention, but then you tell him more and he swears he breaks out in a full-body blush.

“You’re gorgeous, really,” you tell him.  “It’s just that you have a sneakier handsomeness, you know?  Like, that one there—” You gesture broadly at Jake.  “—He’s, like, Ken-doll handsome.  Like, he catches your eye because it’s all symmetrical and stuff, and he’s fine, but symmetry can be boring and someone like you, it’s sneaky.  You have a nice face, and these nice blue eyes, and nice hair, and I bet people think about you after the fact like, ‘oh, that Bob guy, he’s not bad at all,’ and then even later it’s like, ‘oh, Bob, he’s pretty handsome.’  Because you’re that sneaky sort of handsome and that’s the worst damned kind.”

Bob isn’t entirely tracking what you mean, but he shakes his head at the unearned praise, and he can’t stop the smile that’s plastered on his face.  He probably looks like a dope.

“Why’s that the worst kind?” he asks.

“Because it’s deadly!”  You lean forward again, put your hand on his arm again.  “Sneaky-handsome guys are like a virus because by the time you realize they’ve infected you, it’s too late.”

Bob chuckles.  “I’m a virus?  Suddenly my night has gotten worse, somehow.”

“No, not at all.  It’s just…”  You trail off, polish off your drink.  You wave down Penny for another.  “It’s just that you sneaky-handsome types never understand the power you have.  Ken-doll over there knows he’s hot, and by the mere fact of him knowing he’s hot, he loses a considerable amount of hotness.  But you have no idea you’re handsome, and that makes you even hotter.”

“I think there’s a string of women in the San Diego area that would disagree with your assessment,” Bob replies.  “But I appreciate the compliment, nonetheless.”

“Oh, them.”  You flap a hand, a dismissive wave.  “There’s a lot of idiots in the world, Bob.  You can’t let a string of women in the San Diego area make you feel bad.”

“I guess I just need to find someone who isn’t an idiot.”

“Ah, well!”  You set your drink down and wave your hands in front of yourself in a ta-da sort of flourish.  “Cal Tech graduate, Bobby.  I work for NASA.”

He feels a warm flush at you calling him Bobby.  “You’re a rocket scientist?  Definitely not an idiot, then.”

“Astrobiologist, actually.  And only an idiot sometimes, but never when it comes to the sneaky-handsome men here at the Hard Deck.”

Bob shakes his head, a little embarrassed at how much he likes you, a drunk stranger, talking him up.  He tries to dial it back, afraid he’s going to fall in love before last call.

“You’re way too smart for me, then,” he tells you.

That makes you arch an eyebrow at him.  “You afraid of smart women, Bobby?”

“Not at all.  It’s just that smart, beautiful, and sweet?  Do you understand the power you have?”  He keeps his tone light, teasing, but he’s in over his head with this:  he’s definitely going to fall in love before last call.

Of course he is.  His question makes you laugh, a warm sound that knocks free the lump in his chest from his earlier failed date.  Your laughter makes him feel drunk even though he hasn’t touched a drop; he feels warm and light and big-headed at how kind you’ve been to him, how sweet, but your laughter is the sound that makes him fall in love with you.

-----

The two of you stay until last call.  Bagman and your friend disappear hours before then, and you shrug at Bob, say you called it all wrong, that you didn’t think Jake was your friend’s type.

Bob drives you home.  You’re unsteady on your feet, so he hovers near you, but you manage reasonably well until it’s time to unlock your door.  He watches you try it, then he reaches out and takes the keys from your hand.

It’s the first time he touches you.

He gets you inside.  He gets you to your bedroom, and you flop gracelessly across the mattress, and Bob immediately goes into caretaker mode.  He slides your shoes off of you, sets them in a neat row by your closet.  He makes his way to your kitchen, gets you a glass of water, then stops in the bathroom.  He rummages through your medicine cabinet—you use the same brand of toothpaste as he does, the same type of toothbrush, and Bob marvels at the strange intimacy of learning these things, the everyday things that not everyone is privy to about you.  He finds some ibuprofen and shakes two out, then takes them and the water back to you.

You’re already drifting off to sleep, and Bob has to cajole you into sitting up.  He gets you perched on the side of the bed and gives you the pills and water, which you take without complaints.  He takes the empty glass back from you, and then there’s a moment—

—you sit on the edge of your bed and Bob stands over you, and you look up at him with your bleary eyes and he sees fear.  You’re understanding what you’ve done, maybe:  you’ve invited a strange man back to your place and you’re drunk, and he could do anything, and Bob sees the flicker of uncertainty, the beginning of fear in your eyes.  It makes him feel sick because he’d never take advantage.  It makes him sick that the world, being what the world is, makes this fear lance through the whiskey fumes in your head.

He reaches down to the foot of your bed where there’s a blanket neatly folded.  He shakes it out, urges you to lie down, and when you do, he covers you up.

“Be sure to drink more water when you wake up,” he tells you softly. 

The nascent fear fades out of your expression, and it’s replaced by a loose, goofy grin.  You free a hand from under the blanket and give him a sloppy salute.  “Aye, aye, captain.”

Bob sees himself out but not before he’s struck with a bit of brave optimism.  He sees the little whiteboard by your refrigerator, and he writes out his name and his number.  He drives home and sends up a silent prayer that his sneaky-handsome virus has already infected you, charmed as he is by your earnestly drunken (albeit clunky) analogy from earlier in the evening.

He wakes up the next morning and feels less hopeful.  He queues up a playlist and sets out on his morning run, but his morning pessimism is misplaced:  you call him a mile into his run, and Bob stutters in his steps to hear your voice—a little rough, but sunny nonetheless.

“I’m looking for a guy named Bobby,” you tell him over the phone, and he can hear the smile in your voice.  “Lieutenant Blue Eyes.”

-----

The two of you make plans to meet up at the Hard Deck, but you don’t call it a date so Bob doesn’t either.  He’s in unfamiliar territory:  things have always been a date or not a date in the past, but he’s noticed that many of his Dagger teammates speak in looser terms—meeting up, hanging out—with potential partners.  He’s unsure how to handle it; if he seems too casual, you might miss his interest.  If he comes on too strong, he might scare you off.

He decides to just turn up in his uniform, as he usually does, and when he arrives at the Hard Deck, you are already there.  You’re perched in a bar stool and chatting to Penny, but when he strolls in, you see him.

You smile at him as he walks over to you, but then you shake your head in a mock-rueful way.

“Oh, no,” you say as you hop off of your stool.  You open your arms and Bob steps into them, and you hug him warmly like you’re old friends.  “I thought maybe it was just whiskey-goggles that night, but you really are cute.”

Bob chuckles.  He releases you, then takes the stool beside yours.  “Well, I’ve been downgraded.  You called me handsome that night,” he points out.

“Sneaky-handsome, actually.”

“There seems to be a whole spectrum here that I was never privy to.”

You wave down Penny who comes and takes your orders.  Once your drinks are in front of you—a hard cider for you, a shandy for Bob—you click your glass against his.

“Here’s to the sneaky-handsome men of the world,” you say.

Bob ducks his head and grins  “And to the rocket scientists,” he adds.

A date or not a date…the evening passes in a blink, and you leave Bob that night entirely sober after long conversations and a lot of easy laughter.  You pull him in for another hug before you part, and this hug lingers longer than the hug you gave him as a greeting.  When you pull away, though, you gaze at him with a somber expression.

“I wanted to thank you for the other night,” you tell him.  “For being a gentleman when you took me home.”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean it.”  Your hands on his upper arms squeeze him a little firmer.  “You could have taken advantage, and you didn’t.  You’re a good one, Bob.”

He shakes his head, tries to wave you off, but you squeeze him again.  You don’t let him shrug off your thanks.  You don’t let him downplay his goodness.

“You are a good man, Bob,” you repeat, and you stare at him, like you’re daring him to disagree. 

Bob, who finds that you’re something of a force to be reckoned with, wouldn’t dare to disagree.

-----

He’s still not entirely clear if this is dating or not.  Neither of you actually says the word.  You text each other steadily, and you meet up sometimes at the Hard Deck, but your schedule isn’t great and Bob’s is even worse.  He worries that he’s missed his chance.  When he talks about it to the other Daggers, Hangman rolls his eyes and tells Bob he should have taken his shot earlier, that Bob is pretty much friend-zoned now, but Nat rolls her eyes at that and says he’s overthinking it.

Of course Bob overthinks it.  Bob overthinks everything.

He doesn’t know yet that you overthink everything too.  That you are going through your own pangs of regret, that you think you’ve missed your chance too, that your friends circle around you too and give you tough-love pep talks to build up your courage to take the lead on this burgeoning thing with Bob.

And ultimately, Bob’s hunch that you’re a force to be reckoned with is correct.  In the end, you take charge.

-----

You end up inviting him over for dinner on a night when your schedules align, and Bob overthinks that too. 

What if it’s a date-date, and he turns up too casual, with nothing in his hands—no wine, no flowers?  Or the opposite—what if he dresses up a little, brings you a mixed bouquet, and it’s just a casual friends-type thing?

Bob has no idea how he can manage the systems on a sophisticated plane because his brain grinds to a painful halt the moment he starts to contemplate this dinner at your place.  It’s Nat—it’s always Nat, with her no-nonsense lens into the mystique of her fellow women—who smacks some sense into him.

“Wear a nice shirt, shower beforehand, and take a bottle of wine,” she tells him.

“But what if—”

“It’s always polite to take a gift, Bob.”  She rolls her eyes, heaves a sigh.  “And it’s always polite to, you know.  Shower.  Show up fresh-smelling and neat.  Jesus Christ.  Just go.”

So Bob turns up at your apartment, a mid-tier bottle of wine in his sweaty hand.  Freshly showered, a daub of cologne behind his ears, and a nice blue button-down that brings out his eyes. 

And it’s a good thing he took Nat’s advice too, because you open the door in the sweetest sundress, and there’s music softly playing and the most heavenly smells wafting from your kitchen.  Bob realizes all at once that it’s a date-date after all, and his heart does an alarming little stutter in his chest, enough to stun him until you take his hand and gently pull him inside.

-----

Part of Bob’s issue with women is his inability to pick up on subtle, sometimes invisible cues.  He has always fallen in with the sort of women who play mind games, who play coy and say one thing while meaning another.  He always feels back on his heels; it feels like women speak a language he’s only slightly fluent in, so he’s always playing catch-up to translate what they mean.

But it’s refreshing with you, in this moment, because as you both sit down to the feast you’ve prepared, you just talk with him.  The two of you chat about your lives, you catch each other up since the last time you’ve talked, and Bob almost forgets to be nervous.

Almost.  A pair of tapered candles flicker between you and cast your lovely face in a golden glow, and low, bluesy music sets the soundtrack as you eat.  You sip at the wine he brought, and he eats your home-cooking, and Bob imagines an entire life like this…and he almost misses the way you keep swiping your palms along your thighs, like you’re nervous.

Almost.  He leans into his WSO work, studies you closely like you’re a dashboard of lights and alarms and switches.  He watches you a little closer, and he sees the way your throat bobs when you swallow a mouthful of wine, like you’re swallowing past a lump or going all dry-mouthed on him.  He sees the deep breaths you take, the way you press the back of your hand to your neck, like you’re flushed and trying to calm yourself.

“You’re nervous,” he blurts out when he realizes it for sure, and you pause in where you’re lifting the wine glass to your mouth and stare at him.

“I am.”  It’s that simple.  No mind games, no coy pretending. 

“It’s just me,” Bob says.

You smile at him, and it trembles a little at the corners.  He can feel the nerves in you now, and he reaches out a hand across the table, palm up.  He makes a grabby motion with it until your smile firms up and you lay your hand in his, and he grasps you lightly.

“It’s just me,” he repeats.

“And I like just-you,” you tell him.  “Like-like, I mean.  I wanted to tell you so tonight.”

His heart does that wicked little stutter in his chest, but he squeezes your hand.  “Sounds like you just told me then.”

“Guess so.”  You watch him, and your smile seems tremulous again, so Bob replies, “I like you too.”

It’s that simple.  After you each put yourself through your own overthinking hell, each suffering through your own sleepless nights and needless worrying about dumb things like friend zones, it comes down to a moment so simple that it’s stupid:  just the two of you holding hands as you confess your mutual feelings matter-of-factly.

-----

It feels too easy.  After months (years) of struggling to even land the occasional first date, suddenly Bob’s dream girl turns up just like that.  It feels too easy, and so Bob slips into his overthinking almost immediately.

It goes fine after dinner, when the two of you trade nervous kisses on your couch until the nerves burn off enough that your mouth slotted over his feels natural, that you move in concert with each other—your head tilting one way, his tilting the other, no longer bumping noses or knocking his glasses askew. 

It goes fine as you climb into his lap, the solid weight of you a welcome sensation because Bob’s head feels like it’s filled with helium, drunk and fizzy from the feel of your lips against his, your tongue against his own.

It goes fine when you climb off of him, shaky-legged like a newborn foal.  When you hold out your hand and take his to lead him back to your bedroom.

The moment he finds himself stripped down to his boxers and lying on your bed is the moment it falls apart.

It’s like every mean comment, every brush-off and ghosting, every roll of the eyes and beleaguered sigh and overheard commentary about him crowds into the room and leaves no space for this moment with you.  Bob thinks of all the feedback he’s ever gotten on dates—the serial killer eye glasses, the lack of muscles, the lack of game.  He tries to take a deep breath and finds he can barely pull in a lungful, and his throat feels like it’s closing on him—

And he can’t get hard.  His near-erection from making out on the couch deflates, and even though you are perched over him—you’ve shed your sundress, and you’re in the sexiest, sweetest lingerie set, powder pink, like the underside of a cloud at sunrise—he cannot coax himself back to attention.

The panic that floods him—he recognizes the feeling.  He’s felt it a million times.  He feels the hot, splotchy redness as it breaks out across his chest and neck, and his face flushes furiously bright, and you notice it all in real time.  The sultry, heavy-lidded look on your face disappears and is replaced by pure concern.

“Bob?  Bobby?  Are you…okay?”  You reach a hand out and cup his face, and your palm had felt warm earlier but now it feels cool….which proves how hot he’s flushed, how feverish his panic makes him feel.

“I’m sorry.  Shit, honey.  I’m…I gotta go.”  He tries to sit up but your mattress is soft and he flails a moment, and if Bob were just a bit younger he’d burst into tears at how sideways this has all gone so suddenly.  You served him up the perfect evening, you’re kneeling right beside him in the hottest fucking lingerie, and he’s been reduced to a stuttering, red-face idiot who can’t even get hard—

“Hey.”  You lay your hand on his bare chest, steady him.  “Hey, hey, hey.  Take a second.  Just breathe, Bobby.”

“I gotta—”

“Just relax.”  You press against his chest, tap your forefinger against his skin.  “Breathe for me, okay?  Everything’s fine.”

“It’s not.  Fuck, it’s not!”  He raises his voice, winces at how shrill he sounds, and the dam in him breaks.  Something in him dislodges, and it all spills out:  every mean, rotten thing he’s ever thought about himself.  Every bit of unfair criticism, every insult and slight and how his own insecurity has twisted it all into a crippling imposter syndrome.  How he only ever feels competent at his job but how he struggles with everything else, and now how he’s fucked it all up with you because he’s overthinking, always trapped in the own tangled maze of his mind, always waiting for the other shoe to drop because he’s not good enough, he can’t even get hard even with you looking like a dream—

“Hey.  Whoa.”  You remove your hand from his chest, but you scoot over to sit beside him, turned to face him, your expression very similar to the night he met you—the same easy smile, the same studious eyes.

“Nothing’s ruined.  You haven’t fucked anything up.  Take a breath.  Is this because of that bad first date you had the night we met?”

He nods.  “A little bit.”

“There’s been other bad first dates, I guess?”

Another nod.

“And now you’re worried this is just another bad first date?”

“Yeah.”  It comes out a croak, a roughness in his throat. 

“Hmm.”  You lean forward, press a soft kiss to his forehead.  “You wanna hear about my worst first date ever?”

“No, honey, it’s okay—”

“His name was Justin.”  Another soft kiss, this one to his temple.  “Good job, good looking.”  Another kiss, to the other temple, right at his hairline.  “Picked me up and gave me flowers, took me out to San Diego’s most exclusive restaurant that has a reservation list a mile long.”

Bob chuckles weakly.  “Sounds awful,” he says, wry.

You hum again, kiss his flushed cheek.  “He was charming at dinner.”  A kiss on his other cheek.  “Said all the right things.  Asked about my life and listened to my answers.”  The lightest of kisses on the tip of his nose, and it makes him smile despite himself. 

“Halfway through dessert, a woman comes up to our table.”  Bob feels the gentle press of your lips at the corner of his mouth, and he turns his head to kiss you back, but you pull away. 

“It was Justin’s wife.”  A flurry of kisses now, to his chin, along his jawline, near his ear. 

“He was cheating,” Bob says.

“Nope.”  A kiss, this one lingering, under his jaw, on his neck.  “Turns out, this was a little game he and his wife play.  Some weird cheating, cuckolding fantasy.”  Your lips skate over his pulse point.  “He takes a girl out, his wife pretends to catch them, and then they go to a nearby hotel to fuck each other senseless.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Oh, shit is right.”  You lift your head to gaze at him.  “Asshole left me with the bill for dinner too.  So Bobby….you’re not my worst first date.  You’re not even close.”

“Honey—”

“You have no idea how hard you’re gonna have to work to really, honestly fuck this up.”  You grin at him, and then you straddle his lap again, and he lays his hands on your hips and stares up at you.

“Because you’re, like, exactly the sort of man I’ve always been looking for.  You’re that sneaky-handsome sort, and you’re smart and sweet, and you took care of me that first night when I was too drunk to make good choices.”  You cup his face in your hands, and you stare at him hard, that sweet forcefulness on full display, like you dare him to disagree with you.

“It’s already a sure thing, Bobby.”  You lean forward, kiss him gently.  “There’s no pressure to do anything tonight.  Don’t even think about needing to do anything.  How about you just let me love on you, and you just relax, and if you can keep your secret wife from busting in and turning this into a cuckolding fantasy, we’ll end the night just fine, okay?”

That makes him laugh, and it breaks the spell of his terrible ruminating.  Bob laughs, and he slides his hands from your hips up to your waist to feel your soft skin.

“I didn’t even think of getting a secret wife before I came here,” he confesses.

“See?  It’s a sure thing, then.”  You lean forward again, whisper in his ear, your warm breath making him break out in goosebumps as you tell him to just relax and let you love on him.

-----

The antidote to Bob’s awful overthinking, as it turns out, is your care and praise.

As far as first dates go, this is the one where Bob learns something new about his own sexuality.  He learns, thanks to you, that he has a praise kink, because your hands and mouth and body on his feels amazing, but it’s your words that make him hard.

Loving on him means you touch him everywhere.  You kiss him everywhere.  You stroke him, press your soft lips to him, lick against parts of him until he feels like he’s on fire in a way that is completely different than his panic attack.  You kiss every inch of his face and neck.  You trail your mouth over his shoulders and collarbones, across every bit of his chest and belly, and you praise him whenever your mouth isn’t otherwise occupied.

Look at you, Bobby.  Hiding this body away under that uniform.

You praise his arms, the muscles of his chest and abs.  You praise his shoulders and back, the smattering of chest hair, the trail of hair that leads down and disappears under the waistband of his boxers, and you glance up at him, the question in your eyes as you toy with the elastic.

“Can I?” you ask, and Bob nods, swallows hard, and you go lower, you push his boxers down and his cock is there, hard from your honied words.

“Holy shit,” you blurt out.  “Bob, are you for real with this?”

It probably seems like a cliché, like the pretty girl in a movie who somehow never realized she was pretty, but Bob has never really considered his size.  He’s been around plenty of other penises through the course of his career, but he’s never exactly eyed up other men and measured himself against them.  The handful of women he’s slept with never said anything so he assumed he was average, but you praise him here too—you tell him he has a beautiful cock, and Bob blushes at the compliment.  He’d never call it beautiful, but when you wrap your palm around his shaft and grip him gently, he’d agree to any adjective you might offer, so long as you never let him go.

This feels too easy too, but the panic never claws at Bob’s throat again.  You’ve chosen him, you’ve made it a sure thing for him, and you’ve cut through his awkward moment of near-flight to get him to this:  your body stretched alongside his, your breasts pressed against his arm, your hand working against his cock while you whisper praise in his ear. 

And every time doubt starts to creep in—he should be touching you too, he should be making you feel good too—you hush him, you still his mouth by kissing him, and you tell him that he has all the time in the world for touching you, but he should let you take care of him now.

His orgasm creeps up in fits and starts, and it seems to ratchet closer with each bit of praise you lavish on him, more so than each movement of your hand working against his cock.

“I want you to come for me, Bobby,” you whisper against his neck.  You kiss his pulse point, a plush, open-mouth kiss that makes him shiver as you grip him tighter, work a faster rhythm with your hand.  “Come for me like a good boy.”

He wants to be good for you; he wants to do as you say.  Some not-so-small part of him craves your approval, and maybe the two of you will play around with that sort of dynamic in the future, but for now, he just wants to obey you.  He wants to do his part to salvage the night he thinks he almost ruined, so he breathes in time to your strokes, focuses on every sensation—the softness of your breasts pressed against him, your wet, hot mouth kissing him, the light scent of your perfume.  The tension in his belly is a coil, and it tightens and tightens until it snaps, and his hips stutter against your grasping hand.  He gasps out your name, warns you, and then a beat later, he comes.  He spills over your hand, thick ropes of cum coating your fingers and wrist, spilling over onto his belly.

“Just like that, baby.”  You kiss his panting mouth, and he feels the curve of your lips as you give a pleased smile.  “It’s that simple.”

[l3viat8an]

Asmo walking in on MC masturbating whatever will he do 🥴 -💖 

Nsfw!

Imo- Asmo’s going to have some fun ‘n play with you for as long as he can~

Asmo already knows exactly what you’re doing when he walked in. The lust rolling off you in waves feels sooo good already. His eyes slowly taking in your body, stopping between your legs and watching the way you quickly try to cover yourself and giggling, “Don’t stop now, sweetie~” I mean- he’s here to join you ofc!!- But first he wants to watch you cum on your own fingers. So just relax and go back to what you were doing.

It won’t matter what you do. No matter how much you whine ‘n beg for him to just fuck you because this is embarrassing, not even the adorable pout on your face can convince him. Asmo’s self control is honestly so impressive when he’s playing with you~

He grabs the chair from by your desk and puts it by the foot-end of your bed, making sure you can see him and he can see all of you~

Slipping his pants down just enough to pull his cock free, he sits there lazily pumping his hand up and down, rubbing his thumb over the tip and smearing his pre-cum, all slow teasing touches even on himself.

As your moans get louder Asmo smiles at you and says, “sweetheart~ I need to see you come first, before I can touch you. But I promise you, you’ll feel amazing~” the last word trails off in a soft moan as he watches your fingers work at your clit.

This is like a game for him, a simple one to see who can last longer and he knows it’ll be him. He knows you’re going to break down even more, turning into a whimpering mess. it’s obvious because you’re already making those adorable little noise for him. Soft gasps of his name, begging for him, for whatever he’ll give you and he hasn’t even touched you yet-

It’s all going straight to his cock, and yet he’s still confident he’s going to outlast you. After all it always feels even better when he gets to fuck you after a couple of orgasms, although, usually he would have helped you with those-

He thinks he’ll go slow this time, he wants to have you rutting against him with the same desperation you’re grinding against your own hand with….you just have to make yourself cum. Simple <3

[whiskersz]

Hello all, I wanted to dedicate some time to writing some self indulgent stuff, so here's some Adam dating HCs! Do tell me if you'd like more ^o^ Also I'm trying to play around with the format of my posts.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Adam x Reader - Dating Headcanons

✦ Adam undoubtedly has a soft spot for you; from refraining to call you distasteful nicknames to trusting you to preen his wings, many are the ways in which he demonstrates that you’re special to him, not just another Angel. You’re one of the few souls who willingly shows him kindness after all, so how could he ignore that? Despite acting like a jerk most of the time, he really can’t bring himself to be that way around you.

✦ To get someone like him to fully respect you takes a lot of time and patience; just ignoring his unpleasant comments and jokes alone won’t do, you’ll sometimes have to retort with a joke of your own, or even laugh at them. If you do it’ll boost his confidence stratospherically, it’ll make him full on puff up his chest and give one strong flap of his wings to hear you laugh at something he just said.

✦ Something that I also mentioned in another one of my headcanons posts is that he loves naps; he’s a pretty lazy guy in general, so between meetings and training he’ll surely want to relax, even better if he gets to do that with you. He likes lying on his couch with you wrapped up in his arms and wings - bonus point if you’re peacefully sleeping – with his TV playing in the background. If you’re in bed though, expect him to move around a lot as he does so unconsciously in his sleep, unless he’s holding you...in which case his arms will practically trap you and you won’t be able to leave without waking him up.

✦ Another thing he quite enjoys doing with you is playing videogames, just to chill a bit together, and if drinking was allowed in Heaven I feel like he would be the type to play drinking games. He surprisingly doesn't need much to have fun, even in the house.

✦ Adam loves eating ribs, but he can’t cook for shit. He’ll always order those or takeout on a daily basis, so you decide that it’s a good idea to teach him at least the basics. He’s very clumsy in the kitchen, doesn’t really understand how most things work but hey, at least he can tell when the water’s boiling! So teaching him how to cook his own ribs is a bit of a process, but eventually he learns and takes pride in knowing how to make his favorite dish on his own. Give it some time and he’ll be parading around and telling anyone who asks about how his ribs are way better than the ones you can get at a restaurant.

✦ Speaking of food, he’ll almost always take you somewhere to eat if you’re on a date. Even if you’re just getting fries from some stall on the side of the street, he’ll make sure you’ve gotten a treat at the end of the day.

✦ He’s a big show off too, so he’ll 100% propose you to try playing guitar only to exhibit his own skills. If you compliment him enough and you appear to be genuinely interested in learning though, he will gladly be your teacher. He will show you how to play the songs he likes them most – his own – and reward you with a ‘You rock, babe!’ or something along those lines and a kiss whenever you get something right. He’s really, really proud of you and of being able to teach you something.

✦ Adam loves casually calling you pet names. He won’t use extremely cheesy ones, but things like babe/baby, sexy and hon. He’ll use them in sentences where they don’t even really belong, even, just because he’s willing  to show you this sweet side of him that nobody else gets to witness. The one thing he will never call you is shortened versions of your name; he finds those extremely corny.

✦ He’s also not really afraid of showing his love in public, PDA is very much his thing when you two are together. Hand holding, a wing draped across your back, an arm around your shoulder...careful not to do too much though, he’s not really a fan of kissing in public or anything on the more intimate side like that. If this happens he won’t deny you a kiss or a hug but you’ll have to deal with his attitude for a while.

[richarlotte]

something on your mind?

Time to talk about love.

My friends, my good friends who are in Chicago, D.C., Montreal, Philly, and New York and who are in amazing relationships, share one thing: they focused on bettering their lives and themselves, and good men fit into the picture they were focused on painting. There was no “I’m going to find a good man and do the work later,” and there were no excuses made as to why they were neglecting themselves in favor of finding someone to take care of them; there were many distinct efforts made to better themselves, and when the right people came along, things fell into place naturally on both sides and progressed smoothly.

 

There’s a lot of focus on whether someone will fit into your life on Tumblr, but not a lot of talk about what’s going on on the other side. If you’re unhealed, uneducated, emotionally unstable, and unfit for a relationship, do you really think that you’ll find someone who’ll want to stay with you and do the healing for you? I say this not to be unkind but to be realistic. In order to form a strong, long-lasting relationship with someone, you have to be healthy and ready to deal with the conflicts and disappointments that occur in anyone’s life. If you have never had to deal with the things that can arise in any romantic relationship and you’re not mentally prepared to in the first place, you’ll find that it’ll be harder for you to keep things together and remain stable when life feels hard.

 

I have been in relationships before—healthy relationships—and I have thrived in them. But I’m also a person with trauma, and I know how that trauma presents itself and I know my triggers. It took me plenty of therapy, lots of listening to myself and acknowledging my feelings, and tons of breakups before I recognized both what I needed and what I was subconsciously seeking out. All of my friends who have made their longterm relationships last know what they’re looking for, know what they need, and know themselves well enough to walk away before things end on bad terms. Self-work must be done if you want to truly thrive in life, and you must have the ability to reflect on the things you could have done better.

 

Myself and the people I’ve known who’ve gone from struggling to thriving in relationships all share one common denominator: we’ve done the hard work associated with success, and we’re all willing to continue doing the work needed to get what we want. It’s incredibly hard and very damaging to one’s psyche to go through life with a clear image of what you want in your mind but a lack of awareness that limits you from getting what you want. It’s important to understand that you can overcome the obstacles in your own path and you can also overcome being an obstacle yourself. There are effective ways to heal, books you can immerse yourself in, therapists you can see, and things you can do to build yourself up so that you can thrive and feel more confident in your love life.

TL;DR:

You have to be willing to do the inner work before you seek out a romantic partner. A relationship won’t repair you if you feel broken; only you can heal yourself and fix your trauma. It’s an important part of finding yourself and finding a love that lasts and feels healthy.

[readwritealldayallnight]

Right With You (Part 2)

Captain John Price x Reader

wc: 2.8k words

warnings/tags: fluff, mutual pining

“Any time you’re ready lass, would be real convenient!”

“Well you’re kidding me right?” You shout back to the Scot stood on the other side of the door. “This isn’t actually the dress you expect me to wear??”

“Laswell wanted something where they wouldn’t suspect you’d be able to hide any weapons on you.” Gaz, equally waiting for you in the hallway, attempts to interject some logic into the situation. “Sorry if it’s a bit small…”

“A bit small? I don’t suspect I can hide myself in this thing! Let alone a gun.” You mumble to yourself, begrudgingly pulling the zipper as high as you can manage in the garment. Admittedly, it’s not the worst dress that could’ve been picked out for you.

It is your size, and it’s certainly not constricting enough that you worry it’ll compromise your ability to perform the mission tonight. It definitely is much more form fitting than anything you’ve worn in a long time, and certainly hugs your figure in a way the 141 hasn’t seen before, leaving you feeling apprehensive.

But Soap is right, unfortunately. You don’t have time to waste feeling self-conscious about your outfit, you’re here to play a role tonight. And part of that role is going to have to be coming across as much more confident than you currently feel.

Taking a deep breath, you smooth the fabric of the skin tight dress down, definitely not trying to dry the nervous sweat off of your hands. Deciding to just get it over with, you swing the door open, stepping out in the hallway to meet the waiting Sergeants, pointedly avoiding their eyes. At least, until Soap lets out a wolf whistle.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph… look at you bon…” Soap murmurs under his breath, heavy gaze looking you up and down.

“Shut up, Soap.” You grumble, adjusting the hem of the dress, feeling a blush spread across your face.

“Nah, he’s right, love. You look proper stunnin’.” Gaz adds, doing a better job of keeping his eyes on your face, a kind smile plastered on his own. You offer him a meek smile in return, brushing your hair over your shoulder.

A part of you feels silly. You’re got makeup on, your hair is done, you’re wearing a pair of modest but still fancier-than-you’d-ever-really-wear heels, and a dress that leaves little to the imagination. In comparison to the intimidating, fully geared-up, macho Sergeants stood before you, you look like you belong in different worlds, let alone the same task force.

But even you cannot deny, this get up of yours will certainly catch the attention of your target, which is the whole point of this operation. It doesn’t feel like it right now, still smelling of hairspray and remembering not to accidentally smudge your lipstick, but you are contributing the team, which is all you ever really want.

Any doubts that still linger in your mind are immediately squashed however, the moment your Captain turns the corner and locks eyes with you.

“Ah Cap! Finally got this one out of her cave.” Soap teases, having spotted Price. His elbow playfully nudges your side, and though you’d usually get him back with as much vigour, you cannot avert your gaze from the pair of sea glass orbs that slowly, oh so slowly, move away from your own and take in the sight before him.

You can see his throat bob as he swallows harshly, heady gaze travelling from your heel strapped feet, up your legs, perhaps straying a fraction of a second too long on your chest, before landing on your face again. Any feelings of self consciousness have been completely erased, your cheeks feeling as though they might be catching fire with how warm they’ve become.

“Everything in order?” He asks, slowly slinking his way closer to the three of you, a hand reaching up to scratch through his beard. You notice your Captain is fully geared up as well, and you hope you haven’t been making everyone wait for you as you got ready.

“Aye, sir.” Gaz confirms with a nod, hands grabbing ahold of his tactical vest. “Do we know which vehicle I’ll be takin’ her in?”

The plan was for Gaz to act as your driver, taking you as close to the gates as he would be allowed to go. The rest of the lads would be approaching from a different direction, finding their own opportunities to get as near as they can without drawing attention. The goal was still for you to distract the target, and hopefully lure him to a secluded spot where your men would be waiting for him.

In theory, it should be straight-forward enough. You’d memorized photographs of your target to be able to pick him out of the crowd more easily, there were a handful of other operatives that would be lingering throughout the party, ready to interfere should something go wrong. Really, all bases had been covered and accounted for, which is why you were genuinely surprised to hear the Captain say:

“Slight change o’ plans. I’ll be takin’ her myself.” His deep voice sent shivers down your spine, something you hoped wasn’t noticeable to the two men who were now glancing at their superior in confusion. “I want you on with Ghost and Soap. We’ll rendezvous once I’ve seen her in.” He reaches into one of his pockets, pulling out a pair of keys.

You can tell the Sergeants want to ask questions, glancing between each other and Price, but the Captain’s voice holds a certainly finality to it, that they choose instead to nod in agreement.

“Sure thing, Cap.” Gaz says to him, before turning to face you. He offers your upper arm a gentle squeeze of encouragement. “You’ve got this.”

“Aye, yer right she does! We’ll see ya on the other side, aye lass?” Soap forgoes the gentleness of his colleague and instead gives you a firm but loving punch to the bicep. The men offer their Captain nods of acknowledgement, before they’re slinking their way past him and down the hall, leaving the two of you alone.

With a few feet still separating you, you poke the floor with the tip of your shows, suddenly finding his gaze too heavy to meet.

“I know. I must look like one of those beauty pageant toddlers they ha-”

“Beautiful.” Price cuts you off instantly. Your head snaps up, finding him to be stepping closer, shortening the distance between your bodies. “You’re … so beautiful.”

Okay, now you’re certain that it has to look as though you’ve applied an absurd amount of blush to your cheeks, feeling your face grow impossibly warmer at this compliment.

“Don’t even try an’ call yourself anything else, love, because you won’t be convincing me.” He’s now stood in front of you, only a foot apart, so similar to how close he’d been just a few nights previous, as he taught you to dance. His hands claps and unclamp at his sides, as though he’s unsure of what to do with them suddenly.

He knows what he wants to do. When you’re shyly smiling up at him like this, sweet blush painted across your soft skin, wearing something like that, all he wants to do is hold you as close as he once dared to, to feel your heart beating rapidly against his own, to slide his hands up to your face and pull your lips to his once more, just once more.

However, he knows he has to be a Captain right now. The two of you aren’t hidden in the privacy of his office late at night, where the consequences of your actions feel inconsequential in comparison to the heat building between a man and a woman. You’re in a public hallway on base, where anyone could walk by and see you, not as two individuals with raging, undeniable chemistry, but as a soldier and her superior.

Price knows how hard you’ve worked to get to where you are now, and how much pride you take in everything you do. He would never want to risk putting you in any position where someone could question how you earned your way up the ranks. He is still your Captain, and as new and exciting as whatever has begun to build between the two of you is, in addition to how tight the front of his slacks have suddenly become, he has to remember that fact.

“Thank you,” you whisper softly to him, equally aware of your surroundings. “You’re driving me now? Something happen?” You can’t help but to ask with a raise of your brow.

“Nah,” he informs you, jutting his chin in the direction where he’d come from, indicating you’d best start heading to the garage. He permits himself to spread a palm between your shoulder blades as he walks alongside you, a perfectly respectful, appropriate touch, but still an excuse to get his hands on you. “You’ll have to forgive me love, but I’m not lettin’ any of these other muppets alone with you while you’re lookin’ like this.” He tilts his head down enough so that only you can hear him, giving you a quick wink when he sees your eyes widen slightly.

“I think I’ll be a little more forgiving when I’m not wearing these heels anymore.” You tease, trying to not let his comments get to your head. This is the first time you’re alone with John since he’d kissed you in his office those few nights ago. From such a large, intimidating, burly man, you might have expected his kiss to have been rough, commanding, assertive.

But the way John Price had held your face in his large palms, gaze scanning your expression for any hint of reluctance, groan of desperation rumbling in the back of his throat, he was nothing short of reverent. When your lashes had fluttered shut, his lips met yours in the softest, gentlest caress, as though he were still waiting for you to change your mind. Realizing that you weren’t going anywhere, he allowed himself to release a deep breath of relief though his nostrils, warm breath fanning across your features, as his lips more insistently pressed against yours.

His stubble grazed your skin and you both stood there for what might have been a minute or an hour, the rest of the world long forgotten as you held one another close. Truly, John could not recall the last time he’d felt so at peace. Everything just felt so right with you.

When he had eventually pulled away, lungs desperate for air, your gasping breaths met in the middle as satisfied smiles tugged at the corners of your mouths. Still holding onto you, John had pressed one final kiss to your forehead, before declaring that it was well past time you made your way to bed, watching as you practically floated out of the room, both of your hearts still threatening to leap out of your chests.

“They hurtin’ ya?” He asks in concern, glancing down at the heels in question.

“They’re alright. Don’t think heels are meant to be comfortable honestly. You oughta start making recruits wear ‘em as punishments.” You joke, earning you a small scoff and a sideways smile from him.

“Well, m’afraid you’ve still got a long night ahead of you yet, pretty.” You’ve finally made it to the garage, and he opens the door for you, letting you walk in first. If you catch him looking at your bum it’s only because he’s making sure his soldier is ready for a mission, definitely nothing else. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good. I’m ready. I feel ready.” You’re surprised at how confident your voice sounds as you answer him. It’s true, you do feel as ready as you can be for this mission. You’d all gone over every aspect of the mission again in that morning’s briefing. The impromptu dance lesson from John put your only real concern at ease. But a small part of you isn’t being so truthful. Yes, you’re ready for the mission and you’ll do whatever has to be done to ensure its success. However another part of you, a part that been lying dormant until only recently, doesn’t feel so ready to dance. At least, not with someone who isn’t John. You don’t feel ready to put your hands on someone else, and to in turn feel their hands on your body.

But this is what the mission calls for this time. Hell, maybe if you’re really good at your job you can sweet talk the target and get him alone without ever having to get him on the dance floor. The sooner the job is done, the sooner you’re out of these heels, and back with your boys (because you definitely love them all equally and don’t favour any superior at all, nope).

“That’s good.” He says, eyes scanning the garage for the vehicle he plans to lead you to. Noticing a distinct absence of anyone else present, Price allows the hand between your shoulder blades to slowly slip down more towards the small of your back. “We’ve already got eyes covering nearly every inch of that place. We’ll be closer than you realize.” His reassurance is welcome, as is the heat that his wide palm spreads to your skin through the thin fabric of your dress.

You walk up to a black armoured vehicle, one of the bases more civilian resembling ones. Price leads you to the side door, where you presume he’s going to open the door for you again, but instead he leans his shoulder against it, turning to face your front.

“Grabbed this for ya.” He says, reaching into another pocket before extending his palm out to you. The tiny earpiece almost looks comically small in his massive hand, but that’s the point. The device is small enough that no one should notice it, and it’ll allow you to stay in contact with the rest of the team while you’re inside. You take it from him, ignoring the spark that shoots through your nerve endings at the feeling of your skin touching his for a brief moment. Slipping the device in your ear, you wait for him to move from the door, but he still remains in his spot.

“Anything else?” You question, brows scrunching in confusion, noticing that he’s not exactly meeting your gaze anymore. His eyes meet your once more, almost as if he hadn’t himself noticed his distraction.

“Right, yes. Um-” He’s reaching into his back pocket, appearing as though he’s more reluctant this time around. What he pulls out, steals your breath away. A shimmering, simple jewel the size of your thumbnail hangs from a delicate chain. This item clearly didn’t come from the armoury nor the technology sector of the base. “Wanted to give you this as well. Wanted you to have it.” His fingers delicately wrap around your wrist, gently pulling your hand up to slip the jewelry into your palm, closing your fingers around it.

“John…” You say, taking the time to admire the necklace, and how each angle catches and reflects the light so stunningly.

“It’s a panic alarm as well.” He explains after clearing his throat. “You press on it and I’ll come runnin’, love. No matter what.”

“It goes to everyone?” You question, holding the necklace up to the light.

“No. Just me.” At that, you lower your hand, gaze shifting back to his eyes, which haven’t left your face for a moment. “Want you to feel as safe as possible on this one. You feel hesitant about anything, you press it, and I’ll be there.” He steps closer now, reach to hold both your hands in his own, attempting to get across how serious he is. Mission be damned, you are your safety is his priority.

“Just you, huh?” You whisper, gazing up at him with a look on your face that if you could see, you’d probably want to smack off. But right now, you can’t feel anything but grateful towards the man in front of you.

“Just me.” He whispers back. You stand there for a while, holding each others hands, gazing into your eyes as though the answers to the universe are hidden in them, if only you can search far enough. But you know that time is ticking. Wordlessly, you slip your hands from his, holding the necklace up for him to see. With a lift of your brow, you tell him everything he needs to know, turning around so that he may slip the dainty jewelry around your neck.

As he fastens the clasp securely, his hands rest atop your shoulders, spinning you back around to face him.

“I’ll be with you the whole time.” He says. “Right with you.”

Part 3

[brujamala-aka-gigi]

sea bunny plushies and random tarot messages

( ( i had to take some time off because life was being too exhausting but now i'm back with my pac readings, missed tumblr so much tbh. ) )

so: pick a sea bunny plushie and let's see what random pieces of advice you can get from the tarot.

number 1 number 2 number 3

number 4 number 5 number 6

꒰ঌ ✦ scroll down for the results ໒꒱ ༘*.ﾟ

-ˋˏ ༻ ❁ Masterpost and Tarot Menu ❁༺ ˎˊ-

images are from pinterest and dividers are by @nicodefresas

reblog if you enjoyed this reading or if you enjoy sea bunny plushies <3

༘⋆♡⸝⸝💌⊹。°˖➴

꒰ BUNNY NUMBER ONE ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Being overly confident and reliant on thoughts that don’t come from healthy spaces is understandable if you’re in a desperate rush to find stability in your life. But sometimes these ideas will make you unable to move further, especially if moving on involves the questioning of such toxic beliefs. It is quite normal to find comfort in what we already know, but just because something is normalized (on the outside world or on your inner world) it doesn’t mean it’s healthy, or that it’s actually genuine to you. Even if your ambitions are coherent, take time to reflect on how you understand and conceptualize your own struggle and your path to success.

꒰ BUNNY NUMBER TWO ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Neglecting healthy conversations about your emotions for the sake of other’s comfort is definitely stunting the development of many unrelated matters, not recognizing the importance of preserving your mental and emotional stability, is taking a toll on other aspects of your life. You’re giving away too much of your energy to people and places that won’t make an effort to comprehend the real complexity and validity of your purest emotions. Even if you feel like you’ve recently been too emotional, that won’t be solved by dissociating yourself from something so human and natural as feelings are.

꒰ BUNNY NUMBER THREE ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

This is a great moment to understand that it’s okay if you are not entirely sure on what to do next with your life. Taking the time to rest or taking an entirely new direction is also part of your own life path. Don’t expect answers that will come from outside yourself, you will find more clarity if you focus on building your own spaces of comfort and growth with the resources and people you already have in your life. Don’t look for things that are not meant to find you yet, find the time to take care and nurture what’s already there for you to help you grow.

꒰ BUNNY NUMBER FOUR ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Even if it is quite undesirable to be in situations where you have to embrace chaos and accept uncertainty, it is helpful to understand that uninterrupted stability eventually begins to feel like stagnation. Situations of conflict are necessary on time to time in order to test the value and strength of anything. It’s key to understand that what’s needed in moment’s of instability is not a toxic sense of optimism and hope, but more so an objective analysis of  what can be done since the problem is giving an opportunity to fix what’s broken and check what could break next.

꒰ BUNNY NUMBER FIVE ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Your decision taking abilities might be affected by a false sense of urgency on time to time. If your mind is moving too quickly and it seems like there’s only few options where you have to go all in, just know that it’s likely that you are not thinking completely straight. Being paralyzed and stuck on unhealthy thought patterns is keeping you away from seeing the full picture. The overly rationalized insecurities and negative self talk might be unperceivable due to it being incorporated as normal and healthy “self criticism”. Is not, and it’ll affect your life negatively.

꒰ BUNNY NUMBER SIX ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

It’s okay to embrace the simple pleasures in life and feel confident in material success, yet being overly fixated on this will take away many opportunities to develop a deeper perspective on many issues you might be wilfully ignoring. Don’t allow yourself to change your core beliefs in order to appease hedonistic needs, as this will bring you to periods of stagnation. Take the time to establish your priorities and keep them in mind whenever anything feels too good to be true, if you don’t care for your success, nobody else will.

Hey hiii, it's me, Gigi. I hope you enjoyed this reading and you found something helpful or entertaining on it. In all honesty, im so so soo obsessed with those plushies like, i couldn't resist the urge to use them as visuals for this post i dont care how unserious it seems.

anyways, i'm back to being cronically online, my bookings are open so check my tarot menu if you're interested. and my masterpost has all my pac readings so far if you're into them.

if you feel like reblogging and liking this post, i appreciate the shit out of that and i love you.

i think i don't have much else to say, other than hi im back, missed this place so much.

so,,, bye <3 much love, gigi.

[provide-milk]

Ford Pines NSFW Alphabet

!Minors do not interact with!

Inspired by @roolette and their Johnny Cage NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Didn’t know anything about aftercare at first. He seemed to be deep in thought after everytime you guys first had sex (he would still be in the middle of processing everything that happened). It annoyed you how silent he was after finishing.

“How was it?” You would ask as you scooched closer to him on the bed.

“Good.” He would mumble, staring at the ceiling (that post nut clarity getting to him).

But now He enjoys every second of you, giving you kisses all over your body and always making sure he has a towel. He spoons you from behind, giving you pecks on your neck. “That was great dear. I didn’t know you were so flexible.” He’d say in a teasing manner. “Oh shut up Ford.” You’d smile. He loved those tender moments after sex, whispering about different things and holding onto one another.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

Used to hate his fingers. Emphasis on the ‘used to,’ That is before he watched the way you kiss each of his fingers and sensually put them in your mouth, while making eye contact with you. He loves how much you love them, especially how you compliment how good they feel inside you and how he’s able to find just the right spots to have you screaming his name (come on, have you seen the way that man handles a dice). As for you, he loves every part of you, but especially your thighs. When you guys are sitting down together at a restaurant, he’ll squeeze your thigh under the table, causing you to accidentally kick the person in front of you. He swears he could die a happy death between your thighs (we’ll get back to this at letter O..).

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

He was terrified of the idea of accidentally cumming inside you, always making sure to wear a condom. But one day he finally gave into your pleas. “Ford, please. I’m on the pill. It’ll be fine.” He sighed, “I suppose we can try it one time.” After that he was addicted to it. Always begging to cum inside you and making sure to fuck every last bit of it inside you. Sometimes he’d pull out and watch it drip out of you, forcing it back inside with his fingers. It felt like he was claiming you as his own which he loved the feeling of. That you were his and his only.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Secretly loves the age gap (much to his chagrin). Something about a pretty, young thing like you being head over heels for him only added to his ego. He’d ask you, “Why don’t you date guys your own age?” “Because they can’t do the things you do to me.” He loved hearing your answers. Once his discomfort about the age difference goes away, he’s bragging about you constantly. You feel like a prize to him that he needs to show off. During a rough session, the words, “You perverted old man. You like fucking me, knowing that I’m half your age.” You could feel Ford’s dick twitch inside you. “Did you actually like it when I said that?” You’d ask after. “Let’s talk about something else…” He’d respond, avoiding eye-contact with you.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Not experienced, basically a virgin which shocked you to no end . But man, does he learn fast. He observes exactly what gets you going and writes it down in a journal (for research only of course..). Starts off shy at first, constantly looking for reassurance that he’s doing a good job, but once he’s got it down he quickly becomes more confident and a little bit cocky too. The fact he can make you squirt now is still a high he hasn’t come down from. You start to wonder where that innocent man went when he’s hitting all the right spots, making you scream out his name.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

He absolutely loves cowgirl. His back sometimes hurts after hours of pouring over his journals. Being able to lay back and watch your erotic expressions while you take the lead turns him on to no end. He’d hold onto your waist, his fingers almost leaving six bruises on your torso, thrusting into you once you started losing momentum, loving the way you threw your head back and let out a loud moan. Once while cleaning, you found a detailed drawing in his notebook of you naked, riding him, your face twisted in pleasure. You flipped the pages to see nothing but similar content, but in other positions with little notes on what he noticed turned you on the most during your session.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

Not a big fan of jokes in bed, thinks you’re laughing at him if you start to giggle at a joke that comes to your mind. One way to get him to be rougher with you is to tell him a joke while you guys are going at it. Will immediately manhandle you and start fucking you into oblivion until you completely forget what you even said. Will make sure to keep a serious face even if he does find it funny. He finds that it ruins the mood. “Don’t say stuff like that while we’re doing this.” He’d grumble. “Or else what?” With a response like that you were definitely willing to not be able to walk right for the next few days.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He doesn’t shave unless you ask him to, which he doesn’t very often because he knows you love his happy trail. He argues shaving takes too much time away from his research. Doesn’t mind if you don’t shave either, he couldn’t care less. During the beginning of your relationship, if he wanted to have sex and you didn’t shave you would feel slightly uncomfortable about it, telling him awkwardly. Once you got the reply, “You think that’s gonna stop me?”, the embarrassment quickly went away.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

Things can get rough with Ford, but he still makes sure to treat you like a goddess. Giving you kisses all over your body and praising you the whole time. “Despite all the dimensions I’ve been in, you by far are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.” Somedays, he just wants to be as slow and tender with you as possible, fully enjoying just how much of a safespace you’ve become to him. During times like those he loves missionary so he can be as close to you as possible and indulge in every one of your lustful expressions.

J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)

Prefers not to and would rather just have you get him off instead. But sometimes, as he’s looking through the erotic art that he’s drawn of you, while he’s alone in the lab, he can’t help it. He definitely wouldn’t tell you unless you asked and he would get very embarrassed by his answer.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He has definitely asked you if you could cosplay as one of his favorite science fiction, fantasy, or Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons characters. For his birthday you decided to surprise him, dressed as an elven princess with the gown and all. His jaw basically dropped the moment he saw you waiting for him in your guys’ shared bed. It was like his college wet dreams came true in that moment and he was on you in almost seconds.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

His desk has become one of the most common place that Ford fucks you.It feels all so spontaneous and somewhat rebellious each time. You’ll be sitting on his lap in his chair and suddenly you’re getting manhandled onto the desk, with him shoving everything to the side to make space for you. If he’s feeling particularly rough, he’ll bend you over the desk. Only negative is that now Ford has difficulty focusing at times at his desk because that’s all his mind is thinking of. But Ford does love how intimate it gets when you both are in your shared bed. It would have to be a tie for him.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Anything you do. Could be something entirely random and immediately he’s turned on and ready to go. Come on, here’s a man who hasn’t been touched hardly at all his whole life. Once you come into his life and become physical with him there’s no going back. A slight brush of the hands and he’s grabbing it, whispering in your ear all the dirty things he wants to do to you. Sometimes you’ll be doing something like liking the cream off your lips from a cake or bending over to grab something and Ford is making his way over to whisper something absolutely obscene in your ear, causing you both to start getting handsy with one another immediately.

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Not a fan of extreme bdsm. You’ve asked him to slap you before but you decided that it would only be something you can dream about when you saw how uncomfortable he looked at the thought. Sure, he’s down for light bdsm, like tying you up, maybe calling you a few names (depends on how he’s feeling), spanking, and being a bit rougher than usual. But things such as knife play are a big no to him, even though he does like the taste of blood… He would just be too worried that he was going to hurt you in a negative way or go too far.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

It is very rare for Ford to turn down a blowjob. He especially loves to cumming all over your face and tries to memorize the sight to draw later. But man, could he spend hours between your thighs. This man eats you out like he’s starving. He loves to hear the sounds you make which rile him up even more so. It took him a little bit to get the gist of it, but after some practice (which you were more than happy to teach him how) he became a pro at it. When you pull at his hair and squeeze your thighs tight around his face he swears he could cum right there and sometimes he has.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Usually it starts off slow and sensual. With soft kisses and loving compliments. But somehow it tends to get rough halfway through. Whether it be a slight comment you make or his possessive side kicking in, he can get lost in the moment and the next thing you know you feel like you just ran a full marathon. But you love it, watching his primal instincts kick in and his uptight self disappearing.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

You've had many quickies in his lab before to the point it has become a weekly occurrence or even more sometimes. He definitely enjoys them and it’s a great way for him to let off steam when he’s been at his work for hours straight.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

As someone who has spent decades traveling between multiple dimensions, of course he’s down to do some risky things. At first he was pretty nervous. “Are you sure this is a good idea, love?” He’d ask, looking around nervously. But once his confidence in sex grew, so did his confidence in experimenting. It was even his idea to have sex in the Stanmobile once when Stan gave him the keys to get some groceries (of course this is a secret the two of you planned on dying with).

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

In the beginning, he did not last very long. Sometimes cumming just by pleasuring you without even getting touched. But this grew with time and for someone at his age, you were surprised by how much of a sex drive this man has. You guys have been able to go at it for a couple of hours before. You both are usually willing to go a few rounds if you’re doing it in bed.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

You decided to bring toys into the bedroom one day and Ford was not much of a fan. At a certain point he just threw the toy to the side. “Ford! What are you doing? I paid good money for that?” “I’d rather be the one touching you.” He grumbled. It hurts his self esteem to watch you get pleasured by something that isn’t directly him. But he didn’t mind the handcuffs you bought. Whether that be you or him being handcuffed it doesn’t matter to him (which you think has something to do with Bill changing him up).

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Can be a tease. Sometimes you’ll just be minding your own business and Ford will come up to you and whisper something dirty in your ear and tell you all the things he plans on doing to you. But then he’ll get so occupied in his work that he’ll forget what he even said. “So Ford… About what you said in the kitchen..” You said seductively. “What did I say?” He’d asked confused, his eyes not leaving his journal as he writes. “Nevermind..” “Dear?” “I said nevermind..” He’d just look at you confused before going back to his writing.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Definitely vocal, lots of moaning and grunting from him, as well as dirty talk. He tries to keep it down, but when you’re riding him or sucking him off it’s nearly impossible for him not to make noises, even if he’s biting his lip to stop himself. He even moans while eating you out which only adds to the pleasure. He whines every now and then and looks mortified each time. You make sure to tease him after which he responds by pretending not to know what you’re talking about. You both can be pretty loud which is why you’re thankful that most of the sex you have is away in his lab.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

You were surprised by just how possessive he is. He loves to mark you with hidden bite marks and hickeys, loving when they peak out every now and then. If anyone flirts with you or stares at you in public, he will pull you by the waist closer to you, a frown on his face and that’s when you know you’re gonna be up for a long night. You bought a necklace with his name on it and he gets hard just thinking about you wearing it.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

When it comes to length, he’s average size. But he makes up for it in girth and the slight angle to it which hits just the right spots. You didn’t know if you could fit him all in your mouth when you first saw it. As for the color, the tip is the same color as his nose.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

As I’ve said before, anything you do can turn him on, meaning that he’s down to have sex most of the time. This of course was unexpected to you and the seemingly innocent facade he had at the beginning has been completely shed and now he’s pretty vocal when he wants to fuck, which is pretty frequently. You swear that the first time you guys kissed is when you opened the floodgates and there was no going back after that. Of course, if you are not in the mood he will respect that.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Takes him a bit to fall asleep because he struggles with insomnia. Waits for you to fall asleep first before he can fully relax. He’ll play with your hair as you drift off and kiss the top of your head. Has a habit of holding onto you tight to the point that sometimes you can hardly move, this due to his fear of something happening to you that he feels the need to protect you even in his sleep. Ford’s a pretty light sleeper, so if you do move he will feel it and wake up pretty quickly.

[zzencat]

How To Energetically Get The Most Out Of Your School/Work Life - ⏳

Since we’re getting into the groove of things…let’s gaur!!!! For entertainment purposes.

From left to right. Breathe and choose the one(s) you can't keep your eyes off of.

TO ENHANCE ACCURACY BEFORE CHOOSING: Clear your mind. Time is now patient and still. Close your eyes, inhale deeply, fill your chest up to the fullest, feel the soft air brush up against the ridges of your nose. Breathe out.

Pile 1 | boomer mentality?

• change your ways. Bad habits, weak ways of thinking- sure, it’s uncomfortable. Growth is uncomfortable. Success is uncomfortable (I’m pretty sure someone super famous said that once maybe someone should remind me- 🤔) . You’ll find that if you look at things from a new perspective, a new angle, it’ll be beneficial for you in the long run. Just like looking at stress in a good way- there are studies on it that show that if you look at stress in a more positive way and use it to your advantage, you could really stretch out your life and live longer than those who were pessimistic about it (lol fun fact for you)

if you let go of the old, your luck will change. embrace these new changes, beliefs, environments, and people.

don’t keep your time and resources to yourself. allow for self reflection and transformations to happen!

big focus: don’t let history repeat itself. it’s time for a change! let go and let in.

—————————

Pile 2 | feeling stuck or stagnant

• pile 2, you tend to overthink everything. You let your mind run its course. That ain’t good news. It prevents you from reaching new heights- prevents you from even starting on something, just because of fear or even roots of perfectionism. There’s a huge lack of motivation, confidence, and trust in yourself- so much that even when I was pulling your cards they were hesitant to come out. it feels like russian roulette but it’s firing on its own. some people here might tend to overreact/throw a tantrum as well or be immature in situations that need sensibility (in this case, ya gotta take this time to mature.)

• I feel this group has trouble with balance in general. Nothing wrong with that on occasion but if that’s your default setting and you’re stuck in your mind all day, wondering about this and that—just a crazy clash of thoughts and ideas��ruminating and running around in a vicious cycle full of mental bullshit then it’s gonna stop you. It’s gonna stop you from growth, from achieving things, from getting started, from living life normally. That’s the bare minimum, isn’t it? All we gotta do is breathe and when life makes it hard, the brain works harder. The mind is truly the most dangerous thing and you have to embrace it, marinate in it, and pick at it. find out where the balance is between intuition, logic, and emotion.

you might feel restricted and the need to break free, but what you also need is a breather to calm down and assess yourself before making decisions. rmr, deep breaths.

•Do your own research, form your own opinions, figure out who you are, how you operate, and what you want in life. That’s how you begin to build character. That’s how you can move forward, even if it’s little by little. (A more stable foundation comes outta that too.)

big focus: practice self control. when they say “lead with your head,” they really mean the control center of logic, intuition, and emotion…but who’s doing more of the controlling here, you or your mind?

——————————

Pile 3 | “how could I miss that?”

• What you need to focus on is slowing down. it’s easy to miss things when we’re busy or taking on a lot of responsibilities. give yourself some love and care—tend to those inner callings. It’s good for your mental health as well. Remember: mental becomes physical.

• put yourself first for once. Connect with yourself and loved ones- go on one of them self dates- Yessir those exist 😳

• pile 3, you are easily the most efficient and speedy group- cards were legit being shuffled like they were being handled like a pro- but you know the con of that? You miss all the moments you could’ve had with friends, lovers, family. Yourself. You get to miss all the details because things are going too fast pow pow pow one after the other until it piles up and then you end up beating yourself up for small and simple mistakes…calm down and adjust yourself. You will be okay.

• I’m telling you fam- TAKE BREAKS. Give yourself moments to relax and rejuvenate before you push yourself!! You put too much pressure on yourself as it is

• connect with your inner feminine energy when you have the time—you gotta MAKE that time for yourself

• don’t be so neglectful in your relationships btw! Romantic, platonic, familial, wtv- learn how to manage your time so that you can separate work and assignments with social relations. Keep that communication up!! This includes your inner and outer voice. Reflect and acknowledge how you feel.

big focus: be more open minded to making new connections! spend more time with others. you’ll find emotional happiness and fulfillment in it :)

————————————

Ending Teddy note:

Hello hollywood people 😎 it has been a long minute! thank you for taking the time to read through this—YOU ARE AWESOME!!! Always remember to take what resonates and leave what doesn’t! I’ll cya fam ciao :)

[thatanimeramenchick]

Yandere Vox x Secretary Reader Part One

No one asked for this, but whatever. Bite me. I’ll get to the asks, I swear

3,516 words

Part Two - Part Three

–-

The last thing you wanted was to draw attention to yourself. In a place like hell, where the worst of society sunk together and only somehow seemed to get worse, it was a good idea to not catch other people’s eyes. If their eyes were on you, it was almost never for a good reason.

So when you decided to start working, it made sense you would do something quiet and in the background like data filing for a large media company. While there were many more unsavory jobs that paid more, you wanted to avoid the obvious and dangerous crime life of hell as much as possible in your daily life. You had had enough of being unwillingly tied up in that kind of stuff when you were alive. You might as well spend your eternity in some type of peace, or at least as much as someone in hell can get.

So, you made sure you were presentable as you walked into Voxtekk on your first day to work, dressed simple business attire and keeping a quiet demeanor.

“There you are!” said who you presumed was your new boss, a short man with glasses and a blue hair dye, “Was wondering if you were going to show up!”

“Sorry,” you said, “The traffic was bad.”

“Well, you better get used to leaving early,” he said, “Traffic is always a bitch in this part of Pentagram City.”

He continued to speak as he led you to the elevator.

“So, I’ve been told you have a lot of experience with this sort of thing on earth,” he said.

“Yes, I did library work while I was alive,” you said.

And some smuggling. Especially with weapons.

You didn’t think it would be necessary to tell him that though. The job had come in handy though by giving you a knack for remembering where things were.

“Good, good,” he said, “I expect you’ll be able to figure out how to do this on your own then.”

He led you to a room that was filled with file drawers as well as a large computer off to the side.

“There’s thousands, if not millions, of files in here, both physically and digitally. It’ll be your responsibility to make sure that everything new brought in gets put in its proper place, as well as that anything that is requested can be easily found,” he said, “As the biggest media company in hell, it’s important that we know at all times where every piece of information or media can be located.”

It was overwhelming, like the world’s largest and most complicated library. It made your head spin a little looking at it all, but you always liked a challenge.

“You think you can handle it?” he asked.

You nod with some confidence, though you don’t quite feel it. This was going to take some getting used to.

“I hope for both our sakes you’re right,” he said, “Last filer I hired couldn’t tell left from right and Vox fried me to a crisp. Took me a good week before I was able to regenerate properly.”

Crap, that sounded bad. Note to self, don’t let that happen to you.

“I think I’ll be all right,” you said.

---

It was a bit overwhelming the first few weeks. You were competent enough to keep things in order though. Your experience was paying off, and you weren’t hearing any complaints or news about any assistants getting fried, so you supposed you were doing your job well enough.

Within two months of starting your job, you finally met the rumored big man himself. He had come in one day, visibly in a bad mood as he walked over to your desk, a man trailing behind him.

“I don’t know why I even pay you morons,” he said, “I have to hear important information secondhand from fucking Valentino because you can’t be bothered to keep up with what’s happening in hell.”

“Look, sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to not tell you,” he said, “I just didn’t think you’d care.”

Vox had stormed over to your desk.

“So you KNEW and thought it would be a good idea to just not tell me at all?” he said.

“T-that’s not it! I just-”

Vox held up a hand to interrupt him before turning to you.

“I want the file we have in here on Alastor,” he said, a static buzz of irritation on the last word, “Now.”

“Of course, sir,” you said.

You hurried over to the file cabinet and quickly located it.

“See, not everyone around here is as useless as you are,” Vox said to his other employee.

You saw the hapless employee mutter something under his breath out of the corner of your eye, and before you knew it a chain had appeared and Vox yanked him closer.

“What was that?” he said

“N-nothing, sir!” said the now visibly sweating employee.

A shock went through the poor guy before Vox released him.

“Useless,” he said, “You know what? I think you need some time learning exactly who is in charge around here.”

Vox pointed a clawed finger at you.

“You,” he said, “It’s your lucky day, kid. You wanna promotion?”

“Um… yes?” you said.

“Great. Samuel, have fun in janitorial work for the next decade,” he said, “You’re being replaced. What’s your name?”

“F/N,” you said.

“Hope you have customer service experience as well as filing,” he said, “You’re moving up to my office. Need someone with a functioning brain to run the front desk. Pack up!”

You hesitated for a minute before grabbing the stuff under your desk. You figured the last thing you wanted to do was piss this guy off more than he already looked.

---

Despite him being in such a bad mood that first day, you soon found that most of the time Vox was relatively calm, at least compared to what you heard about the other employers in this building. While he at times could get pretty irritated with things, especially if a certain never-to-be-named demon was brought up by an idiot intern, he rarely took it out on you. He usually took the daily bothers of running the company in stride.

Besides that, running a front desk of an office wasn’t too different than running the front desk at the library. You didn’t have to do near as much organizing in terms of files, but you still did spend a lot of time making sure that everything in Vox’s life was organized from his meetings to when he had lunch.

He didn’t talk much with you outside of work related stuff, which is why you were so surprised when you found out what he was doing one day.

It was a nice enough morning, at least as much as a nice morning can be in hell. You took a sip of your coffee briefly as you stretched and looked out your office window. While you missed the blue sky of earth, the red sky of hell had its own sort of charm you supposed. You glanced down, looking at the people walking back and forth, small as ants. Running around willy nilly. Someone was moving into the building that afternoon, a common occurrence here, as you had heard talk that Valentino liked to keep his employees in close quarters. Seems like they had a similar taste in furniture to your own. Almost frighteningly so.

Except… wait. Was that your sofa? And your dresser? Your bookshelves? You lowered your coffee to the windowsill as you squinted down at your entire catalog of furniture being moved into the building. Something wasn’t right.

You knocked on your boss’s door and entered in a bit of a rush as you heard him say to come in.

“Vox, what on earth is going on?” you asked, trying not to sound panicked.

“F/N, that could be ten different things. I need you to be more specific,” he asked, his tone nonchalant as he didn’t even look up from his phone.

“I just saw what I’m pretty sure was all my belongings being moved into the building,” you said.

“Oh yes, that. Well, I had wanted to surprise you, but I guess it’s too late for that,” he said, somewhat absently, “I hate that you have to take such a long commute to the other side of town. And I know all the apartments there are so run down, I figured I’d just move you into the studio like a lot of our other valued staff.”

What? While it was true your apartment was kind of rinky dinky, it was yours. And you liked the privacy and soft solitude it offered after work. Besides, you didn’t like the idea of your boss just moving you willy nilly without your permission. Still, you didn’t want to show him you were upset.

“Vox, you don’t have to do this,” you said, “I’m ok with where I’m at. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble at all. Think of it as a courtesy as my secretary,” he said.

You could feel your entire face tighten as you got more frustrated. Some of it was probably starting to show, despite your best efforts.

“I never asked for this though,” you said, trying to tread carefully, “and I like my old apartment. I… I don’t really want this...”

“But you do want this,” he said, finally looking up at you, “You want to be in a nicer apartment, closer to work, safer, don’t you? You always want to be here.”

That… You supposed that was true. Something about his tone soothed you, sent a pleasant lull through your skull and made your body relax as he looked in your eyes. Your protests now seemed a bit foolish and childish. In all honesty, you supposed it just made sense that you move in to the studio. Everything you needed was here, truly, why would you want to live away from here? You did want a nicer apartment without the stressful commute.

“O-ok,” you said, a small uncomfortable feeling of doubt still in your stomach, “Yeah. That’s true. I do want to be here more… closer to the office...”

He smiled at that and walked over to you. He placed an arm around you, guiding you back to your own office.

“Of course you do! And besides I already had them move everything here, so why don’t you just go back to work, and they’ll have finished moving everything in by the time your shift is done,” Vox said, “I guarantee once you’ve had time to think it through you’ll be glad we did it.”

“If you say so,” you said.

As he walked you back to your desk, he continued his calming chatter.

“That’s a good girl. You and I both have a lot of work today, anyway, so I think we can agree that you should just focus on that for now,” he said as he nudged over to your desk.

You sat down and turned to the planner on your desk as you heard your boss walk into his personal office and closed the door. You just stare blankly for a good minute, feeling a little light, like you were on Zoloft before shaking your head back and forth. Might as well just go back to work. You could think more about this later.

---

It had been happening so slowly. One day, week, month at a time, Vox was implementing himself into your life inch by inch, despite the fact that the two of you weren’t bound on paper. He had moved you into the building, where you knew that you were almost constantly on camera. He kept you so loaded down with work you barely had a social life anymore, with no time to hang out with friends or date. The pay was ok, you supposed, but it felt minuscule compared to the amount of work he was expecting you to do on a daily basis.

And then there was the… weirder things that had been happening. Whenever you tried to talk to him, he had a way of getting you to forget about whatever it was you were upset about, at least for a little while. But it would always come back eventually, and as you thought about it more, it irritating you that he was dismissing your concerns.

You hadn’t really noticed it until he had gone on vacation for a week with the other Vees. You had been quite busy with work, but without him there to calm you down whenever your “concerns” came up, you realized that maybe you had let your priorities get a little askew. You needed a career change.

So, perhaps against your better judgment, a few days after he had returned, you had left a two weeks notice on his desk before he came in. It only took about fifteen minutes after he came in for him to summon you to his office.

“F/N? What is this?” he asked, holding out the letter.

“It’s my resignation,” you said, trying to sound steady and confident.

“I’m sorry… your what?” he said

“I-I regret to inform you that I will be moving out and relocating to the Doomsday Sector in two weeks,” you said, “I appreciate all that you’ve done here for me as I worked here, but I am making a career change.”

He looked baffled for a second, like he couldn’t believe what you were saying before chuckling a little.

“No, you’re not,” he said, “You don’t want to leave he-”

“Stop!” you yelled out with more force than you intended.

As soon as he had started speaking that familiar fuzzy feeling had entered your mind, and you had closed your eyes, shaking your head. You didn’t want him talking you out of this.

“I-I’m sorry,” you said, as you reopened your eyes, but didn’t really look at him, “But I don’t want to talk about this.”

It was awkwardly silent for a minute.

“Is it a pay thing?” he finally asked, “Because that can be adjusted. You do good work. I certainly wouldn’t mind paying you more.”

“It’s not a pay thing,” you said, “It’s not anything. I-I don’t want to talk about this, so I’m going to go-”

“You’re not leaving!” he said, slamming his fist on his desk.

You jumped, a little surprised at his reaction. While you knew he wouldn’t be thrilled, you hadn’t expected him to be so volatile. He was always so calm and collected that this kind of reaction to something so minuscule confused you.

“Vox, I know you like my work, but I think you’re overreacting a little bit,” you said.

“Overreacting?” he said, looking pissed, “Overreacting?!”

He grasped at the air, a look of surprise entering his face when no chain appeared. You look at him bewildered. Had he really just tried to…?

“Vox, we don’t have a contract?” you said, “Did you forget that?”

Had he really gotten so comfy with you that he thought that you were another one of his little pets? To hell with the two week notice, you were going today.

“I think I should go back to work,” you said.

He didn’t say anything as you went back to your desk. You finished filing information extra fast that day, doing a bit of a sloppy job. As soon as it was noon, you left for what appeared to be a lunch break, but you had decided was actually going to be your escape.

This situation was getting uncomfortable. You hurried to your room and haphazardly threw clothes and necessities into your suitcase. Anything you left behind on accident you would just have to replace. On a final note, you shoved your wallet into your back pocket and walked over to the door.

Except it didn’t open. The nob didn’t even turn when you yanked on it. You tried it a few times, to no avail.

“Dammit,” you murmured under your breath, and you pounded your fist on the door.

You were about ready to start kicking it when you heard a burst of static behind you. You turned to see your boss coming in through the camera system. While it had always been an eerie feature to your arrangements, it was a million more times so to see Vox using it to his full advantage.

“What the hell is going on?” you asked.

“I should be the one asking that,” he said, “Just where do you think you’re going?”

“None of your damn business!” you said, “I don’t know what security you have on this door, but you better take it off now or-”

“Or?” he asked.

Now it was your turn to look tense as he gave you a self-satisfied smirk. You could feel your face flushing in a quiet rage as he spoke. Though you were hiding them behind your back, you could feel your fists clenching, as well as the shape of you mouth hardening.

“Vox, you are being ridiculous! We don’t even have a contract! I’m not bound to you, so you can’t keep me here,” you said.

He cocked his head at you, raising an eyebrow, “Oh really now?”

Something about the nonchalance in his tone only pissed you off more.

“Yes, really!” you yelled, “I’m not staying here. I’m leaving whether you want me to or not.”

“And just how do you expect to do that?” asked Vox, “Jump out the window? I mean you could splatter yourself on the ground, but it’d be a bit rude considering I’ll have to send some unlucky interns to scrape you off the pavement and put you back in your room until you regenerate.”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in and clenching and unclenching your hands with an unnecessary amount of force. You tried to calm your voice down.

“Vox, I understand that you like the work I do for you, but you’re being ridiculous,” you said.

“You think this about work?” he said, “F/N, don’t act stupid. I can get a new secretary anytime I want, ten secretaries. You and I both know that’s not what this is about.”

You looked at him confused. It wasn’t?

“For someone who is so smart with data, you are being so unbelievably slow right now.”

He advanced on you, causing you to shrink against the frame of the door as he leaned over you. He pushed you against the wall and gripped your chin in his hand, forcing you to look him in the eye. It all happened in a flash, too fast to register, and before you could realize it, he was pulling you into a rough kiss.

It wasn’t what you had expected, though it wasn’t as if you had thought a lot about what kissing your boss would feel like. On the rare occasions when you had wondered about it, you had assumed kissing Vox would be like kissing the screen of a laptop. Apparently though, he had a literal working mouth as you could clearly tell from the sensation of his tongue and even teeth connecting with your own. Your chin ached in his firm grip, which could have been more tender if it didn’t feel like he was keeping you from turning your face away. You tried to do so, but he didn’t even seem to notice it, he was so preoccupied.

He held you like this for a good two or three minutes, his saliva coating your mouth. Though it was barely there, you could feel a slight buzz to it, as if some of his electricity was in his fluids. He finally released you though, some of his spit getting on your lips as he removed himself. A sigh filled the air as your lips parted.

“Even better than I thought it would be,” he murmured

He shifted a bit and was leaning in for another kiss when you kicked him in the shins.

“Ow!” he said, releasing you and giving you time to dart away.

You had moved in a burst to the other side of the room, glaring at him with what you hoped was resentment. There was also something else though. A feeling of deep rooted anxiety and fear was stirring in full force, despite the fact that over the past few months you had been pushing it down as much as possible. You hoped he couldn’t see the weakness in you.

Whether he did or not though, you could tell he was visibly pissed for a minute. He finally got his features under control, but as he spoke his tone held all of the avarice that had left his face.

“Whatever,” he said, “Contract or not, you’re still mine, and you’re not going anywhere until you accept that. Throw a tantrum if you want to, but you’re stuck here.”

You watched as he went back into the camera system as easily as he had come. You curled up on the floor, burying your face in your arms.

[wraithdance]

Do you have any advice when it comes to dating straight men?

Short answer? Don’t. Long answer, under le cut we go for Calvary’s survival guide to dating men🙄

Actually curious why you want advice from my emotionally bereft ass but lmaooo. I’ll give you the advice I give my male dating family members and friends

1. Do not go into dating men desperate

you need to have at least the barest amount of confidence in who you are and what you want before dating a singular man.

Like I mean that shit, I’m not kidding. You don’t have to be self confident enough to write a self help book, but you need to be able to feel as if you can walk away when you are disrespected. no matter what fantasy you have of love, you WILL be disrespected babe. Learn early how to identify it when it happens and walk the fuck away with your self respect when it’s too much for you to ignore.

2. Do not let being ‘nice’ keep you from finding your dream partner

Start off with a working list of what kind of man you want and be as detailed and insane about it as possible. I mean everything down to what color underwear he wears if that’s something that might be a point of contention with you.

After you have that list write some hard rules for how a man is allowed to speak/act towards you and use that as a litmus test for if you continue a relationship. It is a privilege to be near you not a guaranteed right, so reinforce that or get walked over

3. Masturbate frequently and have your options open

Legit work out any hang ups surrounding sex and consider dating more than one person at a time so you don’t get stuck romanticizing one man.

No, that doesn’t mean you have to fuck all of them, but getting used to going on dates helps with nerves and prevents you from making the mistake of thinking you found ‘the one’ because you’re seeing the same dude. Please invest in a sex toy or 3. Being horny will get you into trouble!!

4. Do not trust a man’s word over your own senses

People lie. Don’t believe shit a man says unless he backs it up with receipts. He says he has a condo in France? ask to see the deed. He got his std labs done last week? Ask him to go with you to your regular doctor for a new screening.

Protect yourself always and if he gets mad that’s a red flag. Do not pass go because it’s life or death out here, babes. Which leads me to

5. Be a bitch. Be the biggest bitch you can be

Legit fuck every single thing anyone ever told you about being nice to a man. Work on getting comfortable with being an asshole and calling them out or you will be pushed over. This honestly goes for any gender like be a literal cunt when the time warrants it.

Someone pushy about you not letting them back to your place? Be loud and tell them they’re making you uncomfortable. Someone negging you? Look them in their eye and lean close, tell them “you know, when I first met you I thought you were a lot smarter. I guess not, since you had the nerve to say that to me without any regrets.”

Don’t like the date? Leave. That simple. It’ll save you heart ache and sometimes save your life.

Uh if you have more specific questions you can follow up but those are my top five rules. Men aren’t some scary mythical creature or hard science experiment. It’s all about setting yourself up to get what kind of love story you want. Good luck babes you’re gonna need it!!

MWAHH 💋💖

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Friends...for now

Summary: Unable to sleep, you slip out of camp for a breath of fresh air and find Astarion struggling to tend to his wounds.

No matter how many times you toss and turn, sleep continues to elude you. Staring up at the ceiling of your tent, you groan in annoyance at the throbbing sting of the wound in your arm and sit up, checking the bandages. The blood hasn’t soaked through the cloth, so the sting is probably from the medicine Halsin applied earlier to accelerate the healing but it doesn’t make the feeling less annoying. It does make you less worried about your wound, however, so you decide to take the chance and slip out of camp into the quiet still night, breathing in the fresh air.

You relish in the peace and quiet, something that had been hard to come by as of late with how rowdy your companions could be but you would never trade them for the world, you enjoyed their company far too much. Among them all, Astarion in particular had caught your eye, his facade of confidence and sensuality a far too familiar mask, hiding the quiet strength that you respected greatly. The vampire spawn was an enigma, ruby red eyes letting on far more than the honeyed words that dripped from his lips. The way his words always managed to make your heart flutter, the silent gestures of gratitude whenever you helped him that made you giddy, it made you feel like a teenager hopelessly in love.

Maybe you were in love with him.

You shake your head, dismissing the thought. What Astarion needed right now was a friend, not a lover. He needed to know that people could care without wanting anything in return, that there could be intimacy in non-sexual acts, and that he could be his own person.

Once your hear is cleared, you head to your favourite spot to get away from the hustle and bustle of the camp, only to find a certain someone already sitting there.

“Oh, hello there darling. Come to see me? I’m touched, really.”

“You’re in my spot,” you snort, making your way over. “How’s your back wound?”

“What back wound?” He smiles.

“The one that’s dripping blood all over my favourite spot?”

“Ah, that one. You have to be more specific next time dear. It’ll heal in time, don’t you worry your sweet self.”

“Let me help you with it.” You take the medical supplies hiding behind the rock the both of you are leaning on and start preparing the materials you need. Astarion stares, first at the medical supplies then up at you when he realises its the exact same supplies he haphazardly stashed away upon hearing your approach.

“I don’t need your help,” he hisses. “I can take care of myself.”

“It’s poisoned, you’ll need more than this to get rid of the poison.” You take a couple of herbs out. “Halsin said to ground these into a paste and then apply the paste to the wound before bandaging it.”

Astarion scowls, glaring at the leaves sitting in your open palm. Of course the druid would go around poking his nose into other’s businesses. He tentatively reaches for the leaves, then pulls back when he realises he has no idea how to ground them into paste. You then pull out a mortar and pestel and start grinding the herbs while he watches quietly, observing your every move. Once the herbs have been sufficiently ground, you slide the mortar over to him.

“There, all done. Next time you want to use this spot, just let me know in advance alright? Then I’ll know not to disturb you.” You grin, pushing yourself to your feet. “See you back in camp.”

With that you turn to leave, but his next words stop you in your tracks.

“Wait, Y/N.”

You turn around.

“Could…could you help me treat the wound. I can’t exactly see where it is,” he admits nervously. He’s still uncertain about letting you touch his back like that, but you’ve never meant him any harm, he could let you see him all exposed, right?

“Sure.” You seat yourself next to him and he turns around, the moonlight casting a glow on his scars. This is the first time you’ve been able to properly see them, the markings permanently etched into his pale skin and your own back throbs at the thought of the pain he must have gone through.

“I’m going to wash the wound first then apply the paste, alright?”

He nods wordlessly, biting down on his lip when the pain flares up once more the moment water contacts the wound. You murmur an apology before gently applying the paste on the wound that is quickly turning an ugly green. You feel him flinch as your finger makes contact with his back, a small trembling in his shoulders and pause, unsure if you should continue. You could just leave the wound like this, the paste would work its magic, removing the poison while his vampiric healing took care of what remained. A bandage was more a precaution to ensure the wound didn’t get infected, but if he was going to remain here for the rest of the night he wouldn’t risk an infection.

“Do you want me to continue? I could just leave the wound as it is right now and it’ll heal.” You voice is gentle, soft, not like the rough and grating tone Cazador speaks in.

“Continue. Please.” He whispers the last part but you hear him all the same. A small smile flicks across your face at the trust he’s putting in you and you continue, bandaging the wound neatly. He remains as still as possible while you work, with the occasional flinch when you accidentally pull the cloth a little too tightly but a quick apology soothes everything over and soon you’re done.

“There. All done.” You pack the remaining supplies as he pulls his shirt back on, turning around to face you.

“Thank you.” He inclines his head. You smile in response, “welcome!”

He sits there in silence for a while, unsure of what else to say. He wants to express more than gratitude, to tell you that you’re the first person he’s ever let touch his back, his scars, that he’s been afraid of letting anyone near him, fearing that they will hurt him, that you’re so many of his firsts, and yet words elude him, lost to the night’s breeze.

It’s only when you check on your own wound that he finds something to say.

“Would you like me to kiss it better?”

You laugh, the melody carrying through the crisp night air. “Why thank you for the offer, Astarion, I am rather tempted to accept it but alas, the doubt that kissing it wouldn’t help in the slightest has overtaken the temptation.”

“You wouldn’t know unless you tried, love. What is there to lose?” he smirks, back in familiar territory.

“My dignity perhaps?” You chuckle.

“There’s no one else around, only you and me. No one will know but us, it’ll be our little secret.” He leans in closer and winces at the twinge of pain from his back.

“Don’t strain it,” you frown, concerned. It’s when you look at him with that look in his eyes that his undead heart skips a beat and all he can think about is how much you care for him without wanting anything in return. You lavish both time and energy onto him, far more than the others and yet you’ve never asked a favour of him. He keeps trying to pry your ulterior motive from you but nothing ever gets revealed, meaning you have none, which only makes him even more confused.

“Y/N.”

“Yes?”

“Why do you concern yourself with me so much? What is it you want from me?”

“Hm? What I want from you? Nothing, honest! You’re my friend, it’s only natural I should care for your wellbeing.” Friend, nothing more.

Friend, a foreign word to him. He’s never considered anyone anything more than a tool, a way to protect himself and everyone has done the same to him, using him for their own gains, their own purposes. Yet here you are, shattering everything he’s been used to and showing him something he never once considered. Maybe having a friend wasn’t so bad, it meant he could do things he never could’ve done alone, it meant feeling a little less alone in the whisper of the night. Most of all, it meant he could spend more time with you, listen to your voice, have you all to himself.

“Hmph,” is all he says out loud and the two of you continue to sit in silence, watching as the moon bathes your surroundings in its silvery light.

Friends for now, perhaps something more in the future.