#everyone just keeps going more and more over the top with like what isn’t going to be referenced

[sorchathered]

Got my sights set on you- Jake Seresin x reader

Pairing- Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader

Warnings-language, drinking, Jake being a massive flirt

A/N- I don’t have much of a summary for this, just clearing out my wips for you all and found this little gem I wrote last summer! Hope you enjoy!

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If there was one thing you knew about Jake Seresin it was that he was a massive flirt. Men, women, non-binary, didn’t much matter your gender he was a tease and everyone knew it. Lately he’d set his sights on you, and he was relentless. You had to admit you liked the attention, and dropping him down a peg with snappy comments was always entertaining. You enjoyed the banter between the two of you, it had been fun and games until one night you noticed another girl from the bar had seemed to catch his attention, pulling out all the stops for her instead of sitting and chatting you up. It shouldn’t have bothered you, it was just a game right? Neither of you had ever made a move and he had every right to talk to whoever he pleased. Rooster could see through all your bullshit, sidling up next to you as he followed your eyeline to Jake and the brunette that seemed to have him enthralled in conversation.

“So Vixen, when you gonna admit to yourself that this little thing you’ve got going with Hangman is more than a schoolgirl crush?” You glared up at him and opened your mouth to snap at him but it died in your throat when you saw the sympathetic look on his face, you hated that he could see how transparent you were. “It was just a crush, really, I thought I just enjoyed the back and forth but… shit rooster what am I supposed to do here? It’s Hangman we’re talking about, he doesn’t do relationships, and in the end I’ll just get hurt so what’s the point?” You cradled your head in your hands against the bar top as Bradley patted your shoulder. “Kid I hate to be the one to burst your doom bubble but if you gave that man the time of day he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. I've seen him when he’s just looking for a hook up and that’s not what this is with you. He may be chatting that girl up but he won’t take her home, in fact I don’t think he’s taken anyone home in months, most of the time he just moons over you. I bet if you walked over there right now and told him to take you home he’d be putty in your hands, you wield more power than you know honey.”

You rolled your eyes at him, there was no way in hell he was into you like that, but as rooster passed you a shot of tequila you glanced back at Jake and he was looking right at you. Fuck it, you were going for it. Tossing back the shot you squared your shoulders and swayed your hips as you walked towards him, he wasn’t paying a bit of attention to the girl talking his ear off anymore, eyes completely focused on you. “Hey Vix, haven’t seen you all night-“ he said as you pressed yourself between him and the brunette, shock crossing his features as you waved her off.

“Uh we were talking!”

“And now you’re not, see how that works?”

You hit her with an icy glare and blessedly little miss tag chaser seemed to take the hint, off to lick her wounds with god knows who. That wasn’t your business or your problem. Right now you need to keep the momentum going and get your man.

“So a little birdie told me that I should shoot my shot, how about it, Seresin? You talk a big game, wanna take me home?” For once in your life Jake Seresin was at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing like a fish, completely in shock.

“Uh-I- yeah-yeah absolutely. Sweet Jesus darlin’ please don’t fuck with me, I don’t know if my heart can take it.” The cocksure grin is back, but you can tell he’s still unsure, so you slide even closer and press your lips to his. It starts out completely innocent, just reassurance that you are actually into him, but you quickly remember who you’re dealing with and Jake Seresin certainly isn’t all talk, sliding one hand into your hair and the other into the back pocket of your jeans, running his tongue along your lips as you give him entrance, letting him make out with you right here in the middle of the bar, where all your coworkers can see.

You can hear whoops and whistles from your friends and it breaks you both apart, taking in deep breaths between your giggles. “Still up for taking me home?” You whisper as you smooth your hands through his golden hair, and where you expect more sexual innuendo and banter you’re left with something more. He smiles down at you and kisses your nose, the look he’s giving is melting you from the inside out, maybe Rooster was right; maybe this wasn’t just fun and games. “I can definitely take you home sugar, but I don’t want just a hook up from you, I’m thinking tomorrow you let me take you on a real date, you deserve to be treated to all the bells and whistles baby girl.” If you gave him the chance he’d wife you up on the spot if he was honest, but he’d give you some time before he told you all the ideas he had for the future.

You looked a little shell shocked at that, sure he’d been flirty but he’d never once made you think he was interested in more than a night or two.

“I can see the wheels turning in that pretty head y/n, don’t overthink it baby, just let me show you how good I can be.”

And he was, in fact, very good.

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Tagging- @roosterforme @shanimallina87 @jessicab1991 @honeytwrites @heavenssins @dizzybee03 @kissmecaitie @sio-ina-bottle @sunsetsimpsblog @mynameismckenziemae @trickphotography2 @seitmai @callsigns-haze

[martygraciesversion381]

SO HIGH SCHOOL (OP81)

oscar piastri x reader

WARNINGS‼️: SMUT!, pnv, bit of angst, that's all i think

Series name: the tortured poets department Song: so high school

a/n: the story behind 21 how Oscar and Y/N met

You were at Oscar’s house to make your homework with some other of your friends. You met Oscar once he moved to the uk for his racing career (he isn’t in f1 already!) and you immediately clicked. He got along with all of your friends and you all soon became a big group, they were part of your family. 

"Hey guys why don’t we play spin the bottle?" Emily your best friend suddenly said. "You’re saying this just because you want to kiss James." You point out. Emily and James were two of your best friends ever and they’ve always been in love it just took them 10 years to realise it. You all sat on the floor and took a bottle. 

You were the first one to spin it and it landed on Emily. When you spin it again, it landed on James. Emily squealed happily and went to kiss her boyfriend. Oscar fake gagged and you chuckled. They both broke apart and it was Emily’s turn to spin the bottle. The bottle first landed on Oscar and then on Melody your other friend who joined your group only last year. Oscar and melody kissed and James whistled while Emily looked at you with a sad smile.

She was the only one who knew about your crush on Oscar. Seeing him kissing another girl made you want to throw up you got up and immediately ran to the bathroom closing the door behind me before spilling out in the toilets. Oscar came in a few seconds later. He held your hair up in a ponytail while rubbing your back as you threw up and felt hot tears going down your cheeks. 

After this everyone went home and you were left alone with Oscar. He made you sit on his bed and wrapped a blanket over your shoulders before heading to the kitchen and coming back with a hot chocolate. "Thank you" you mumble. Oscar sits down next to you and rubs your back concern plastered on his face. "You feel better?" You nod and feel a tear spilling from your eyes. 

Oscar whipes it and tilt your head to make you look at him. He smiles softly and you try to smile back but the the image of him and melody kissing keeps replaying in your mind. "I have to go" you say before grabbing your things and nearly running out of his house. 

The next day, you ran into a group of people after school and melody was in the middle of them. "I’m sure she got sick on purpose that slut only wants Oscar’s attention like he’s hers. I can’t stand her anymore can’t she see that he likes me more?" She says. "Yeah she thinks that he’s going to fuck her one day but the girl who’s gonna end up in his bed isn’t her." Another girl said and they all laughed. Tears started to build in your eyes as you ran away from the scene. 

Your feet guided you to the first safe place that they knew and you found yourself in front of Oscar’s house. You knocked at the door and he immediately opened it. "Gracie what happened?" He asked seeing your glossy eyes. "Can we talk inside please?" He nods and you both head to his room.

You both sit down on his bed after he locks the door behind him and you start telling him everything from the beginning. How you felt the day you met him, how you realised that you fell in love with him, how you felt when he kissed melody and everything that she said about you. Tears were spilling non stop from your eyes from sadness and fear of being rejected by Oscar and ruining your friendship.

When you stop talking, Oscar immediately crashes his lips into yours. Your eyes widen but you immediately close them and wrap your arms around Oscar’s neck. He pulls back from the kiss. "I’m so sorry for everything melody said. I love you too sweetheart I always have." He kisses you again and makes the both of you fall on his bed. His back hits the mattress and you crawl on top of him not breaking the contact of your lips once.

 He bites your bottom lips gently and runs his tongue on it making you moan and open your mouth for him. His tongue enters your mouth and he tastes it gently. You gasp as his hands squeeze your ass and he groans into your mouth. 

He breaks your kiss and latches his mouth to your neck leaving soft kisses there before nibbling and sucking the skin behind your ear. He keeps marking up your neck with his bites before he glides his tongue all the way up and connecting his lips with yours again. 

You whimpered as you felt his now hard erection pressing against your pussy through your clothes. You craved him and he craved you. He looked up at you through half lidded eyes and you nodded. He made you sit up straddling him and he took off your shirt before taking off his. 

You run your hands over his toned chest and shoulders and he groans as his hands find their way to your hips. "You sure you want to do this?" You nod "If you want to stop at any moment just tell me" You nod and he smirks before cupping your breast, who was still covered by your bra, with his hand and squeezed it gently. 

You moan and he sits up still with you straddling him and unclamps your bra before throwing it on the floor with both of your shirts. "God you’re so gorgeous" he groans running his tongue over your breast before starting to suck your nipple. You moan and arch your back. Oscar lays you down on the bed and latches his lips to your other nipple while you buck your hips in search of search of friction. 

"Ozzie….fuck me please" you moan. "Your wish my command babe." He answers. You take off your shorts while he goes to search a condom in the bedside drawer. Oscar’s pants were soon discarded too and your panties and his boxers found their way on the floor too. You watched as his erection sprung free and hit his abdomen while unconsciously licking your lips at the sight of him. He ran a finger through your slit. "Look how wet you are for me" he then brought his finger to his mouth humming before wrapping the condom around his shaft and using your arousal to coat his dick to ease himself more easily inside you.

You felt every inch of him gliding inside your pussy and you dug your nails into his back both from the pain and pleasure. You both gasped once he was fully inside you and he left you time to adjust to the stretch of his cock before rocking his hips slowly against yours. You moaned as Oscar continued thrusting into you.

"O….Oscar fuck…feels so good" you moaned and he sped his movements placing both hands on each side of your head to stabilise himself. He curses under his breath and hides his head in the crook of your neck and sucks on your shoulder gently while groaning. 

You felt a familiar feeling building in your stomach and you knew you were close. You tapped on Oscar’s shoulder. "Osc…I’m close" he sped his movements determined to bring you to your climax. He brought his thumb to your clit rubbing circular motions. The sight of him looking at you and his damp hair stuck to his forehead was what made it for you. You reached what was the best orgasm you’ve ever had. Oh god how many times you dreamed of this with your hand between your thighs.

You were a shaking and moaning mess under Oscar as your release milked his cock and spilled down your legs. Oscar grunted as he spilled into the condom and prolonged both of your highs. When you both rode down your highs, Oscar pulled out of you and collapsed on the bed next to you pulling you in his arms. "Love you" he mumbles against your hair before getting up and helping you to clean yourself up. You both got dressed and headed to the living room to watch a movie. You cuddled with Oscar when there was a sudden knock on the door. 

Oscar got up from the couch and opened the door. Melody was standing in the doorway. "Hi Ozzie." she said and bit her lip. "I was wondering if I could spend a bit of time with you…alone." she whispered seductively. Oscar pushed away her hand which was trying to reach for the hem of his pants. "First of all don’t call me Ozzie you are not my friend anymore. Second I already have company." He opened the door a bit more revealing you to melody. She gasped as she saw you wearing one of Oscar’s shirt.

"Are you still trying to steal him from me you slut?!" She spat out to you. "I’m not stealing him from you I was here before you!" You get up and shout back. "You bitch!" She shouts trying to slap you. Oscar blocks her hand and shots her a glare. She backs off. "You’re not part of our friend group anymore. Go have fun with your fucking little friends." He told her. She looked at him shocked before walking away. 

Oscar closed the door and turns to you. You smile at him and he hugs you tightly burring his head in the crook of your neck. "You deserve so much more happiness sweetheart I’ll make sure to give it to you" he murmured and you melted into his touch hugging him back. You loved him so much and were going to spend the rest of your life with him. You felt so high school.

Tagglist:

@motorsportbarbie13 @f1addict3 @swiftlyconehead @gorgeusreputation16 @carloswinner @paulinegba @g00d--vibes tell me if u want to be added to the tagglist!!!

[jaepen]

that’s why he my man! (part one)

✩♬₊˚.ᝰ. 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧’ 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐈 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐦

/ᐠ˵- ᴗ -˵マ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 note: hello everyone! i hope you like this drabble, this song is living rent free in my mind right now, so enjoy♡! not edited nor proofread!

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 ... enha!hyung line x romantic tropes x reader

𝐭𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐜: 𝟐𝟎𝟒𝟐; 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫: 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐) ‧₊˚♪𝄞࿐₊˚⊹

𝐋.𝐇𝐒 희승’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞: 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝. (𝟓𝟏𝟑)

I’m just tryna hear you say my name, love to play your ruler, be your Jane, you could be my Tarzan, toss me up, other hoes is lacking, call me up

Halloween, the one holiday where any individual can be anyone and anything they want to be. Not to say that there is or is no judgment to what individual is going to be for Halloween, but nonetheless, being someone else for a night could pay off. You were going to the infamous ENHA frat party, your boyfriend being a pledge, he got to invite a plus one, you his lovely girlfriend. The pledges had to do a costume roulette as part of their tasks to complete for initiation, and he got the gorilla. Naturally, when he told you that he was going to be a sexy gorilla, you rolled your eyes in judgment as he begged you to be his sexy zookeeper.

“Please Y/N, be my zookeeper to my gorilla-” “Why should I?”

“I’m so close to initiation, the boys like me and this couple’s costume will go great if you dress up with me.”

“Fine, but you owe me.”

Come night of the frat party, your boyfriend owed you more than anything. Dressing as a sexy zookeeper was not for the faint of heart, it was freezing, packed with drunk frat members, pledges, sorority girls, and more. In your tight shorts and thin top, you immediately rush inside, trying to find solace somewhere. Your boyfriend, suddenly nowhere to be found, ditched you. ‘Great,’ you thought, ‘what a gentleman.’

Maneuvering your way through the hordes of people, you find yourself in the kitchen with practically a whole liquor store supply of alcohol. Overwhelmed by the various options, you stood there in contemplation in which poison you should go for first. Heeseung, ENHA’s president, rolling in his Tarzan outfit, immediately sees you. His mouth rolls into a smirk, checking you out. Sauntering over, he loops an arm around you.

“What’s a girl like you doing around here without being served a drink?” Heeseung, moving his arms around you, makes a drink quickly in front of your eyes. Heeseung serves the drink with a devilish smile, and you return it with a small grin.

“Thank you…” “Heeseung, president of ENHA.”

“So, president of ENHA, what are you supposed to be?” You take a sip of his drink, humming at the sweet and sour combination of the drink he made.

“Tarzan,” he makes himself a drink, “and you?”

“Well my boyfriend,” Heeseung looks up, “is a pledge here and had this pledge costume roulette thing and ended up being a gorilla. So, I guess as a good girlfriend I am his sexy zookeeper.”

“Sexy zookeeper huh? Aren’t you supposed to be keeping your animal in check then?” Heeseung walks back next to you, continuing to admire you.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, isn’t that your boyfriend right there?” he points to the corner, with your boyfriend slobbered over another girl.

“Well,” you pour yourself a shot, “I guess I don’t have a boyfriend anymore.”

“That’s ok, want to be my Jane to my Tarzan?”

“I just met you,” you teased.

“Well I don’t bite, sometimes,” he smirked, “let’s go have some fun.”

𝐏.𝐉𝐒 제이’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞: 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞. (𝟓𝟓𝟔)

You kinda cute, but play too much, don’t play yourself, I’m not the one, but we can still pretend this can be my man woman

“Jongseong!” you singsong. Jay looks at you with mixed fear and grimace, not ready to anticipate the torture.

You skipped over to his lunch table, where him and his other friends are sitting. Sunghoon, Heeseung, Jake, and Niki are all watching amusingly at the sight, seeing their best friend squirm under the sights of his alleged “most hated person on earth.”

“Hello boys,” you circled around and stopped behind Jay, “Guess what I got for today?”

The boys, super excited for their small treat that they get for the day, sat up straight. Jay glares at all of their eager selves, disappointed by their lack of loyalty.

“Did you make cookies-” “Is it cake? I love your tiramisu-“ “Oh oh! Is it brownies-“ “Is it-“ “Guys!” Jay yelled, “let the girl talk.”

You instantly smiled and warmed up to his cold demeanor, pulling out your sweet treat of the day: strawberry shortcake. You pass the boys a neatly, cute packaged strawberry shortcake. The boys immediately tear open the package and dig in like heathens. You inwardly cringed at their behavior, but you rationalize that boys will be boys.

“Do you guys like it?” you asked nervously, looking over to see everyone but Jay eating your sweet treat.

The boys nodded happily, clear enjoyment evident in their facial expressions. You deflated as your eyes landed on Jay, seeing your sweet treat untouched.

“Jay, are you going to try the shortcake?” “No.”

“Why aren’t you going-” “I don’t want to try another disgusting treat of yours.”

Taken aback from his statement, your eyes start to well up. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, so you immediately wipe your tears and put a smile on your face.

“That’s alright, you can give it to one of the boys since they like it so much,” you hurriedly put out two more, not wanting to stay there longer, “Make sure to give these to Sunoo and Wonnie for me?”

You didn’t want to attempt hearing another rejection, immediately fleeing away from embarrassment.

“Seong, don’t you think you were a little harsh?” Heeseung went over and flicked his forehead hard.

“Asshole,” Jay whined, rubbing the spot, “I just wanted her to stop giving the stupid treats, she’s playing herself.”

“Hyung, you don’t think she’s a little cute? She always brings all of us sweet treats, not just you,” Sunghoon munched on the last remains of the shortcake. Jay stays silent at Sunghoon’s question.

“Hey, if you don’t want that shortcake, I’ll tak-” “No.”

Jake whines at Jay’s answer, “You’re not even going to eat it, so why waste it?”

“I’ll eat it,” he mumbles. “What? Couldn’t hear you there hyung,” Niki teases.

“I’ll eat it fucker,” Jay says louder, rolling his eyes and opening the shortcake. 

Jay, taking a small bite of the shortcake, increased his bites of the shortcake until the package was pristine. The boys, smirking at his behavior, immediately started flicking his forehead, one by one.

“Alright, alright, stop hitting my forehead, my knowledge is valuable,” Jay hides his forehead, “I’ll go apologize.”

“Yeah confess to your girl Seong, stop playing hard to get,” “Get your woman hyung,” “She’s not my woman guys.”

Jay gets up from the table and leaves in pursuit of finding you, ready to apologize and stop pretending about his cute little shortcake.

𝐒.𝐉𝐘 제이크’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞: 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝! (𝟒𝟗𝟖)

Know my baby packing, why I’m stuck, that’s why he my man, young and he fine and he tall and he handsome, talkin’ so fine, I might hold it for ransom, put in drive, I’m not shy, I might let ya, cruise all night

You and your boyfriend Jake decided to take a romantic getaway to Jeju Island the moment you both saw a free week on both of your calendars. It was rare for both you and Jake to be free at the same time. Common enough for a couple of hours, uncommon for one day, somewhat rare for a couple, and extremely rare for a whole week. Your time with Jake in juju has been nothing short of bliss. Nature hikes, swimming and seashore walking, and eating delicious comfort Jeju native dishes, you couldn’t have asked for a better vacation with your boyfriend. Currently at the beach, you were currently sitting with Jake and scrolling through TikTok. You come across this TikTok of a couple singing to SZA’s new song ‘BMF,’ and the girl pranks her boyfriend by shaking her head and making an X with her arms when it mentions that the man is tall. You immediately got an idea, and giggled.

“Yun, can you-“ “You are so pretty.”

You give him a deadpanned look as his sparkling eyes are staring at you with complete admiration.

“Jake.”

“Not my name.”

“Jak-“

“My baby knows better than to call me by my other government name,” he states with a finger pointed up.

“Baby,” “Better,” he piqued, “Can you do me two small favors?”

“What do you mean by small,” he narrows his eyes.

“Yes or no Yunnie,” you emphasized.

“Yes, my love,” he reluctantly agreed.

“Can you lotion my back while I film a small TikTok? As a memory of our once in a lifetime, non-calendar colliding, romantic-“

Jake pecks your lips, effectively shutting you up. You, flustered, playfully smack his chest and shift your body in the chair. Setting up the camera to see you and Jake, you tried to not giggle at the anticipation ahead of you. Giving Jake the bottle of sunscreen, it was go time. Turning the sound up, you press record. You lip sync to the lyrics, and Jake immediately looks up and gives you that boyish smile you fell in love with. As the lyrics ‘he tall’ comes up, you stopped lip-syncing and shook your head and crossed your arms into an X shape. Jake’s face immediately dropped. You immediately laugh as you continue to lip sync the lyrics.

“Hey!” He stops putting sunscreen on your back, “I’m taller than you! I am technically average male height if you must know baby.”

The video stops recording as you are laughing to a point where it becomes wheezing, still humored by Jake’s reaction.

“Stop laughing,” he whines, “or I’m going to lift you with my packing body and drop you into the ocean.”

“You wouldn’t.” “I would.”

“Fine, I guess I won’t make it up to you tonight then-“

“Alright, I surrender,” he says immediately, putting his hands up, “so what are we doing tonight?” Jake, wriggling his eyebrows, giving you the same look of admiration as he did earlier.

“We’re cruising all night baby.”

𝐏.𝐒𝐇 성훈’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞: 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮? (𝟒𝟕𝟓)

Young and fine and dark and handsome, the boy from South of somewhere came walking in, I can’t keep my panties from dropping, he’s so fly, fly

Being the top student at the school was no feat. You worked hard to get where you are, and you were the school’s top academic weapon. Until Park Sunghoon came along. You were nose deep into your books, waiting for the next period to start. You heard whispers around you, growing by the minute.

“Have you heard about the new exchange student?” “Yeah, I heard that he’s young, fine, and handsome.” “Did you know he came from South…” “He’s definitely out of your league!”

You tuned these whispers out the best you could. It was hard. The whispers continued to grow and eventually turned into chairs scraping and fangirl squeals. Agitated, you looked up from your textbook to see your whole class pushing themselves against the classroom windows. Getting up, you wanted to know what all the commotion was about, and you immediately regret it.

Walked in Park Sunghoon, the new exchange student at your school. You rolled your eyes as girls around you were blushing and trying to get his attention. Sunghoon walked down the halls, marveling in all the attention he got from everyone. He flashed his smile left and right, waving around. His friends, Sunoo and Jake are next to him, helping him adjust to the second week of school. Sunghoon’s eyes land on you, interested in how you out of everyone is not wanting to swarm on him.

“Hey you,” he called out, pointing at you.

Annoyed at his action, you immediately turn your back on him and head back to your desk. Sunghoon, shocked by your cold and distasteful response, walks into your classroom and spots you at your desk reading. Sunghoon pulls up a desk chair and sits in front of you. Not saying anything, he starts poking you, repeatedly.

“Hey will you cut it out,” glaring at him, not knowing why he won’t leave you alone.

He looks at you intently, pausing his poking for a couple of seconds before continuing.

“Cut it out,” you gritted your teeth, staring at him to stop.

“What’s your name?” “What?”

Sunghoon grabs your face and squishes your cheeks with his big hands. He moves your face to lock in with his eyes, boring into your very existence. You start to feel warm, picking out the small details of his face. He wasn’t bad looking, per say, annoying, but hot.

You moved your face out of his grasp, smoothing out your cheeks. Going back to your textbook, you phase out his presence.

“My name is Y/N.”

“Y/N huh,” he smirks, “want to go on a date with me?”

Eyes bulging out of your head, you immediately looked up at him with your ears and cheeks flushed with red.

“No.”

“You won’t be saying that soon,” he gets up from the desk chair, “see you later princess.”

Oh, you’re in trouble.

thanks for reading, i appreciate any feedback as i am still kind of getting back into fanfiction writing!

part 2 for maknae line coming very soon, stay tuned ദ്ദി（• ˕ •マ.ᐟ!

[potionsformaya]

𓏵 ˖ ⋮ emily davis headcanons. . ֹ ₊

❝ often a lack of confidence manifests itself as over confidence. . ❞

this is part 1 of my emily headcanons, because she’s my angel and yet I never gush about her on here (smallest piece of angst somewhere in the mix but it’s like a: “must’ve been the wind” sort of thing.)

Emily isn’t exactly the biggest animal lover. She doesn’t like being around dogs (Sam’s dog likes to chase her when she’s comes over. Now she demands it gets put outside when she visits.), and cats are more tame (Ashley’s cat falls asleep in her lap, and she awkwardly pets it) but she wouldn’t want one as a pet. She does, however, have a soft spot for rabbits.

HATES losing. The sorest loser you’ll ever meet. Falling second place is enough to make her go crazy. It doesn’t even have to be anything academic or sporty. Losing to someone in a game can also ruin her day.

Being a mathlete, she sticks out like a sore thumb when grouped together with the other mathletes because most of them are on the geekier side. But despite her sour attitude, she’s managed to befriend a handful of them.

Even when she and Jessica were friends, she always felt like she had to be better than her in some way. Jessica being more out there and popular because of her brash and extroverted attitude, Emily felt as if she couldn’t keep it. While everyone was drooling over Miss Homecoming Queen, it was always a hit or miss with how people felt about Emily. It was always “she’s too bitchy” or “she’s okay”, no in between.

When Emily started dating Matt, she put on this flirty, suggestive persona just in case there was a chance of him leaving her for the same reason Mike dumped her. Being “too frigid”. However, Emily is still insecure about her performance in the bedroom due to Mike making it pretty clear she wasn’t his best experience.

Emily can be a bit bitter, but she’s never been all that serious. The smallest things are enough to tickle her, including her own jokes.

When around adults or authority figures, Emily is a completely different person. Very respectful and and well mannered. The first time she visit Ashley’s house, she went from ranting to Ashley outside the door, to having a polite conversation with Ashley’s mother in the living room.

Emily did in fact feel guilty for the prank they pulled on Hannah, and had zero intentions on going back up to the lodge. After a talk with Matt and thinking about how much it probably meant to Josh, she caved in.

Emily realized her eyesight was getting a tiny bit bad when she was only two seats away from the board and still couldn’t exactly make out what it said. If then became concerning when she was beginning to have a hard time reading up close, Sam told her she was going to have to get glasses sooner or later, but Em kept putting it off because she felt glasses would make her look dorky. She secretly ordered some online, and the prescription glasses were a little chunky and thick. She only wears them in the comfort of her own home.

She actually loves giving gifts on special occasions. And she’s loaded so her gifts usually aren’t that casual. She likes spending money on her friends to see their faces when they open up whatever she got them.

She doesn’t exactly have a fear of roller coasters or rides, they just make her sick every single time. And if you’re not fast enough, or you’re unlucky enough (like Chris), you’ll end up in the spray zone. 

She topped Chris’s high score in DDR.

Emily got stuck in an art class as an elective. She hated every minute of it and she’s great at everything, but her art skills, not so much..

Ironically, Emily can be one of the most sensitive people you’ll ever meet.

She loves teasing and messing with her friends, but when it’s done back to her, she’s thrown off completely.

[tarareindeer]

Hello pookie.

Since you're taking requests, I'm gonna shoot my shot.

How about something with Vander, where the Reader came into The Last Drop, perhaps they are like a friend/acquaintance of Babette's that had a rough confrontation with a rude client of the brothel earlier. And the client like also appears in the bar and some kind of brawl happens? Gender neutral reader if possible, maybe they're also like low-key sassy and strong. This is totally self indulgent not gonna lie.

Off topic, I love the Vander part 1 fic you wrote! The concept is so AAAAAAA FIRE to me. I can't wait to see what's going to happen next. I have so many assumptions in my head about events that might take place further on.

Also you're so real for the writing in English when it's not your first language, I'm the same.

thank u pooks,I'll do more in future give sum time to come up with the story :)

The Last Drop was as rowdy as ever, the kind of chaos that felt like home if you squinted hard enough. You stepped in, shaking off the leftover annoyance from earlier. Babette had convinced you to help out at the brothel for the night a solid mistake in hindsight. You were expecting the usual: side-eyeing greasy clients, keeping an ear out for any trouble, maybe breaking up a spat or two. What you didn’t expect was some wannabe top dog mouthing off like he owned the place.

And of course, now here he was.

You clocked him the moment you stepped into Vander’s bar. The same slimy guy with his oversized ego and cheap cologne, leaning over a table like he thought he was in a K-drama.

“Oh, hell no.” You muttered, weaving through the crowd. Your face must’ve been giving away your internal commentary because Vander caught sight of you from behind the bar, raising a brow.

“You alright there?” he asked, sliding a pint to another patron.

“Peachy,” you shot back, but your eyes were already locked on the dude. “Just peachy. Except for him.”

Vander followed your gaze and let out a low chuckle. “Guessing there’s a story here?”

“More like a Yelp review: one star, do not recommend, would fight again,” you said, rolling up your sleeves.

But apparently, karma was playing the long game, because there he was, right smack in the middle of the bar, holding court like he owned the place. You stopped dead, your jaw clenching.

“Don’t do it,” you muttered to yourself. “Not worth it. Be the bigger person.”

Then he spotted you, and his face lit up with a grin so smug it should’ve been illegal. “Well, if it isn’t Babette’s little errand runner,” he called out, loud enough to make the whole bar turn your way.

Oh, it was on.You grinned, all teeth, and took a step closer. “And yet, here I am. Living rent-free in that hollow skull of yours.”

You squared your shoulders and marched toward the counter, locking eyes with Vander. “Vodka,”

The guy stood up, all swagger and no substance. “Still salty from earlier, huh?” he sneered. “Thought you’d learned your place.”

“Yeah, I did,” you shot back, stepping closer. “It’s somewhere above you.”

The crowd ooh-ed, and Vander sighed, wiping a glass as though he hadn’t seen this exact situation play out a hundred times before. “You break it, you buy it,” he muttered under his breath.

You smiled, slow and dangerous. “Alright, bet.”

And with that, chaos erupted. Tables flipped, drinks spilled, and the poor bartender who tried to intervene got a swift “Stay out of it, Huck” from you. Vander didn’t step in until the dude was flat on his back, groaning like a broken accordion.

“That’s enough,” he said, grabbing the guy by the scruff of his neck and hauling him toward the door. “Out.”

Once the guy was gone, Vander turned to you, his arms crossed. “Feel better?”

“Immensely,” you said, brushing your hands off. “Also, sorry about the mess,"

“Yeah, but I’m the fun kind,” you said, grabbing your drink off the counter like you hadn’t just caused a small riot.

And just like that, the bar settled back into its usual rhythm. Well, mostly because now everyone was watching you like you were some kind of folk hero.

“Round’s on me,” Vander finally said, chuckling to himself. “Least I can do for the entertainment.”

[iconicstoner]

behind the scenes

gn!bau!reader x aaron hotchner (fluff, confessions)

words: 956

summary: Reader and Hotch have been keeping their love a secret, not even willing to admit it to each other, but when the reader starts having some financial issues Hotch knows he has to do something. The reader isn’t willing to take money from Hotch, but they gladly accept a confession of his love.

“Why did you call me into your office, sir?” you ask, closing the door to Hotchner’s dimly lit office. It’s not the first time you’ve been alone together in his office. Despite what you might want, nothing intimate has ever happened, just many late-night talks; venting to each other, telling stories, laughing, and even the occasional card game. You sit across from him as he slides his stack of paperwork to the side.

“I heard you’ve been struggling with money,” he says bluntly, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. You and Hotch had a confusing relationship. It was obvious to most people the two of you were head over heels, but you would never admit, even to each other, that you were in love. So, you were left to steal glances, let your hands linger when passing paperwork, and lean on each other only after everyone else on the jet fell asleep. With this line of work, anything else was too dangerous.

“Sir, you called me into your office to discuss my financial situation?” you ask quizzically. Aaron rarely called you into his office, not wanting anyone to suspect his true feelings, so this was strange.

“Garcia may have let it slip to me,” he responds, clearly taking this very seriously. You internally facepalm, knowing you shouldn’t have mentioned it to anyone.

“Yes, well the rent at my apartment went up, and on top of that I have student loans to pay off, and it’s just been hard to take care of everything on my salary,” you respond awkwardly.

“I see. I can put in a request for a raise for you if you’d li-”

“No, no that’s fine,” you say quickly, cutting him off. “I know the BAU is dealing with enough budget struggles as it is.”

“I could find the money,” he stares up at you, your features dimmed by the low light. He’d be disappointed if he hadn’t already memorized it.

“Aaron, you cannot give me federal funds to pay my rent,” you say in a hushed whisper, shocked that he would even suggest it. He just smiles.

“Embezzlement? No, I’d like to give you some of my money to help.”

“You can’t do that. What about Jack?”

“I promise, Jack and I are doing perfectly fine. He could go to Harvard for free with the money I have saved.”

“With a father like you, I’m sure he’ll get in.”

“You’re calling me smart?”

“No,” you grin, “but you’re in the FBI, so I’m sure you could guarantee his acceptance.”

“Right, with all the government money I’m embezzling,” he jokes. You just smile, taking a moment to look at him. His smile lines. The faint rings under his eyes from long nights at the office. It was all so perfect. “I just want you to know, I’m serious about this offer.”

“Aaron, my financial situation has been better since I last spoke to Garcia. I’m moving soon and I found a roomate.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says with a small smile, staring into your eyes.

“Will that be all?” you ask, smiling back.

“Yes,” he says reluctantly. “But I have one request.”

“What’s that?” You stand up and Hotch is quick to follow suit.

“You’ll let me visit the new apartment?”

“Of course. As coworkers?” Aaron’s smile fades, his face forming a pensive expression, but he doesn’t say anything. You watch as he swallows thickly, struggling to form a response.

“Yes, of course, as coworkers,” he clarifies. You stare at him, not saying a word, barely struggling to hold your laughter in. He cracks a smile, seeing your expression. “Something to say?” he asks you.

“Maybe you should come over as more than a coworker,” you say slyly, hoping you aren’t pushing the envelope too far.

“I’d like that,” he quickly agrees. Relief floods over you, causing you to smile with glee.

“Is it too soon to kiss you?” You ask playfully, shooting him a wink.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he says, leaning into you. You grab his tie, pulling him in close. Gently, he presses his warm lips against yours. He kisses you deeper, pressing your back against the office door. His big hands grab your waist, keeping you close. You snake your hands up his chest, wrapping them around his neck. Slowly, he pulls away, leaving you hungry for more.

“We should probably stop, maybe we could continue this when I get the new apartment tour?” he suggests.

“I’d be very open to that,” you reply with a smile. He smiles back, filling your stomach with butterflies.

“I’ll see you then,” Hotch replies, straightening out his suit. You do the same and open the door, revealing Garcia, Morgan, Spencer, JJ, and Emily staring at you with wide grins.

“I knew it!!” Garcia exclaims, high-fiving Morgan as she giggles.

“Never took Hotch for a ladies man,” Emily jokes dryly.

“You must not have been paying attention,” Morgan chimes in, “the guy’s smooth.”

“Right, and I’m sure he learned it from you,” JJ says sarcastically. You laugh at her remark, drawing attention back to you and Hotch.

“Really?” you ask, embarrassed, “even Spencer knew?

“I pick up on body language very well,” he says straight-faced. “Plus, you didn’t think we were all asleep on the jet, did you?” he asks, smiling wide. The whole team playfully laughs and you turn back to Hotch.

“I think our secret is out,” you tell him.

“They were going to learn eventually,” he says with a smile. He cradles the back of your head and gently kisses your forehead in front of the team. Cheers erupt from your friends, causing you to blush, but Hotch doesn’t seem embarrassed, if anything, he’s proud.

[lyriumsings]

The assumptions people are making on Veilguard bc ALL decisions won’t carry over are insane to me “OH so morrigan won’t mention her ONLY SON!! or her roMANCE??”. We have no idea what context or capacity she’s going to be in the game? In skyhold, she stayed at skyhold for a while, so it made sense to chat her up and ask about her life. Also Kieran was THERE bc he was TEN. Kieran is now in his twenties and most likely living his own life. If we’re saving the world and fighting darkspawn WHY would her grown ass son come up? Esp when she doesn’t even know Rook?? Like i would understand if we had veilguard in our hands and people were complaining bc Morrigan actually had dialogue invalidating their canon but for fuck’s sake the game isn’t even out yet. They’re saying it doesn’t matter as in it’s not gonna come up bc Rook is busy doing other shit, rather than quizzing characters who aren’t companions on their lives. “What about Varric”. Varric seems to have a pre-established relationship with Rook which means you can headcanon that they already had the talk about Varric’s life story considering he called them his “second in command”. Like cancel your preorders, preorder, do whatever you want no one on the internet is the boss of you. But oh my fucking god complaining about something you don’t even fully know about is already getting so old. Best case scenario, you’re right and i guess your bitching is validated yay for you ig. Worst case, you’re wrong and like wasted so much time and energy bitching for nothing. Like I completely understand being upset the choices don’t carry over, it IS disappointing! But we don��t even KNOW what it’s going to affect if anything at all. It’s just so funny how everyone was like “it’s not about the Inquisitor” and now that the focus is confirmed to be pretty much entirely on Rook and the inquistor’s choices barely seem to matter in game and half of everybody has lost the plot bc of it and we don’t even actually know how this will affect the game like ????

[fushitoru]

rainy days and brownies

pairing ⸺ college/modern!au: bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you wake up for some soft moments with your boyfriend that involves brownies (turned freaky)

warnings ⸺ smut, tooth rotting fluff, some mild angst?, gojo unfortunately mentions skibidi toilet, I think I made gojo gen z here, boob worship, brownies and baking, established relationship, oral (f!receiving), gojo eats pussy like a champ, NOT EDITED, might be incoherent to everyone except me, product of a forceful effort to escape writer’s block, rainy mornings <3, lots of intimacy, art by 3-aem, probably in the same universe as this

general masterlist

Rainy mornings with Satoru means baking.

It’s a ritual the both of you have fallen into. On a day like this, where the air smells like rain, you blearily wake up from your nap to smell the warm distinct aroma of overly sweet brownies.

The slutty brownies were Satoru’s masterpiece. Even if he did overdo the sugar, you can’t admit that your stomach was growling as you rubbed your bleary eyes and frowned while raking a hand through your head. This bed head was going to be a bitch to untangle with the hairbrush.

“AND IIIIIIIIIIIII, WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUU—“

You jumped, caught off guard by Satoru randomly deciding to pay homage to Whitney Houston. Standing up, you headed towards the living room of you and Satoru’s apartment—-not before you adjusted your tank top so your tits weren’t out and the boy shorts you chose to sleep in properly covered your ass.

“WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUUUU—-“ You cringed at Satoru’s attempt of a high note, grumpily looking at him use his chocolate covered spatula as a makeshift mic. He was in the kitchen—-shirtless, of course—-now bending over to peek at the state of his brownies in the oven. Deciding the brownies weren’t done yet, he closed the oven door and stood up once more, reaching for his phone to undoubtedly scroll through TikTok. Continuing to hum different variations of the chorus, he swiped at his phone, ignorant to your presence behind him.

You think he’s kind of sweet like this. If it weren’t for him, the both of you would never be in this position. You would always be the cold frigid bitch he saw in freshman orientation and occasionally at parties across campus, and he would be the sweet, friendly guy that all the girls would continue to fall head over heels for.

To be honest, you don’t really see what he sees in you. You’re like a Disney villain, the witch that entraps him in her webs of insecurity and jealousy, but he remains the valiant prince, fighting to get to you. When he finally has you in his arms, he kisses you into believing that you are his princess instead.

It’s obvious in the way he fought for you—memorizing your schedule, rushing across campus just to walk you to class, pleading with you to grab dinner. And each time, you’d brush him off with sharp rejections, finding excuses to keep him at arm’s length.

But when he finally had you, finally cracked all your defenses—he was never going to let you go. You could see as much; the way he proudly walked on campus with you at his side, across the main quad so he could boast that he got you. You were his, and he was fully, undoubtedly yours. At parties, his eyes would always be on you, raking his eyes up and down your figure in your nurse outfit, conjuring up the hundred and thirty four positions he would fuck you so good in, even if there were prettier girls clinging onto his arms asking for a morsel of his attention. Pettily enough, you would just need to sigh and mumble “This party isn’t fun,” to have Satoru whipped, ushering you out of the frat house while those girls glared at the back of your Halloween costume, angry beyond measure that a nobody like you has the campus sweetheart wrapped around your finger.

Loud booms of the Vine gunshot sound effect snaps you back into the present, where Satoru is snickering at some god awful brain rot. You choose to approach him, wrapping your arms around his waist and smothering your face into his muscular back.

“Hi baby,” you mumble.

“Guess which sleepyhead is awake!” He announces to the world and turns around, and your traitorous heart jumps in its chest while looking into his eyes. It’s stupid. You’re both in your PJs on a morning where the rain thuds against the window pane, blurring both the window and all outside life, suspending you both in this moment. His eyes look affectionately down to you, and he plants a wet kiss on your forehead. “How was your nap, baby?”

“It was good.” You watch him turn around again to peek at the oven, and he hums, upper arm flexing as he grabs the heavy bag of flour, dragging it closer to him. “When’d you get up?”

“Around 7.”

You shoot him a bewildered look as you hop onto the counter, a better space to observe your boyfriend. When he realized that you had woken up, he had left his phone open to give you a kiss, reel playing noises. You peek over and almost snort at what is playing.

“Satoru, why are you watching alligators get chased away by a shovel?”

He looks up from the bowl of brownie batter he was now cleaning—-with his tongue, mind you—-and grins boyishly. “Isn't it crazy how hundreds of years of evolution get destroyed by a shovel?”

”Your feed is not normal,” you shake your head, keeping a stony face as you continue to scroll through his TikTok. In fact, it’s hilarious—-the things he got were weirder than one could dream, with toilets producing heads of men taking over whole cities. You’re not sure what that means about your boyfriend, but you accept it as you watch the nonsensical video.

“Wait,” he makes his way over to you, standing in between your legs. “Is that skibidi toilet?”

“What the hell is that.”

“Baby,” he whines. “You don’t know the lore? I don’t know if I can be with you for any longer.”

Your bite back a grin. “And subjecting me to hours of FNAF backstory wasn’t testament to how much I love you?”

Before he could whine back, you noticed he had some leftover chocolate on the side of his mouth and leaned over to lick it. Humming at the taste, you grabbed his hands and took in his brownie coated index and middle finger into your mouth.

He frowns. “Are you trying to seduce me into forgiving you and giving you more brownies?”

You laugh softly and give him a soft smooch on his shoulder. “No, silly. If I ate any more than half, I would have diabetes.”

He grabs the back of your hips and pulls you closer into him, nuzzling his nose against yours. The physical contact rubs at your nerves the right way, firing off that emotional part of you that makes you think loving him is so easy. How lucky you are that he’s chosen to give you his love.

His god-awful alarm blares—same annoying sound he keeps hitting snooze on for his 7ams—and the moment breaks as he reaches for the oven mitts to pull out the brownies. The aroma hits you instantly, making your mouth water. Satoru blows dramatically on the brownies, pouting and mock-yelling, “Hurry up and cool down! My girlfriend wants to eat you.” You can’t help but giggle. Once Satoru finally decides they’re cool enough, he grabs one and offers it to you. “Make way for the choo-choo train!” he snickers, guiding the brownie through imaginary tracks, a shit-eating grin on his face, before plopping it into your mouth.

You can’t help but let out a soft sigh as the brownie melts on your tongue, its warmth enveloping your senses. Rich, velvety tones of chocolate overwhelm your mouth, with each bite releasing a symphony of deep, indulgent flavors that linger long after the brownie is fully swallowed. “Wow, this is actually good.”

He pauses, brownie and hand held in mid air. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug innocently but stick your tongue out to him regardless.

Popping the brownie in his mouth--but not before sending you a pout---he brushes his hands together to remove the brownie crumbs as he makes his way back in between your legs. The way he settles between them makes you all too aware of the heat of his groin encompassing you. He lazily drags his eyes up your figure, but not before settling on your outfit. His eyes then flick down to watch his hands trace the hem of your tank top, and your eyes follow his hands, a little dizzy by the action.

You’re always a bit sensitive in the mornings, and before this day, you and Satoru’s interactions have been limited to a kiss before he runs for his 7am and then doing college work until 3am, where you’re both too tired for anything particularly frisky. So, yea, you are kind of pent up---and judging by the bulge that’s starting to form in Satoru’s sweats, you assume he is too.

You put your elbows on his shoulder blades to give him head scratches from behind and lean towards his jawlines giving small kisses. You can feel him close his eyes, purring silently like a cat, and underneath your hands, his back and shoulder blades tense and relax as you rake your hands over his scalp.

“This new?” He uses his index finger to snap the strap of your tank top against your shoulder, using his mouth to given open mouthed kisses to your collarbone.

“Mhm,” you hum, a little deliriously at that---he’s begun to trail down, mouth working at the swell of your breasts.

He slowly pulls the collar of your tank down, down down down until your breast pops out. His eyes trace the swing urgently and groans. “I missed these, sweet girl.”

You gasp sharply when he puts it in his mouth, tongue swirling around the nipple. Satoru’s always been a boob guy, joking about his hands being your bra to support “those mommy milkers.” Right now, he’s doing just that; groping the hell out of them and giving them kisses, as if they were God’s greatest creation.

As much as you were enjoying your boyfriend’s boob worshipping, you need more. You were throbbing in want of contact on your pussy, and you made sure to relay just that. “Toru, I need more,” you whined.

“God forbid a man appreciate nice boobs.” He rolls his like the sassy man he is and parts with your nipple like lips after a messy and wet make out session. Your breasts are gleaming with his spit, a string connecting your nipple to his lips. He trails his face down your torso, making his way down to his knees until he was facing your crotch.

You whine and clench your thighs together to draw his face closer to the space between your thighs. He looks up at you and coos, giving your inner thigh a kiss. “I can smell you from here, cutie.”

His statement reminds you that you’re not too wet in the mornings. As soon as you wake up, some of your morning sessions with Satoru require the aid of lube to ensure no pain. Irritation flares at you at the thought that you might need to leave your position to grab some l—-

Oh.

“What the hell. I thought you wet your pants,” Satoru giggles. The finger running through your folds glides messily, as you both marvel to how wet you are. You’re also on another plane; you haven’t felt his touch for weeks, and the feeling overwhelms you as the squelches your pussy makes echo throughout the kitchen.

Satoru gives you a kiss on your neck. “Baby, can I?” You deliriously remember that he’s lightly circling his finger around your entrance and when you finally give him the okay, he pushes in.

Both of you groan at how tight you are. “Satoru,” you moan and proceed to bring him in for a kiss as he pistons in and out of your pussy, curling them just the way you like and making you see colors.

“Pretty, pretty girl,” he groans. “Left my baby so pent up.”

At that, all you can do is nod and whimper in agreement. All that leaves your mouth are gasps of his names and oh my god’s because he’s making you feel so good.

And then, you almost scream as you feel him blowing hot air onto your folds, leaning down to give teasing kitten licks around your clit, but not directly on it. His tongue drags up and down until he finally stops it right next to your clit as if feeling the sensation of your pussy throbbing, echoing your fastened heartbeat skin-to-skin while drooling.

Frustrated, you try to move your hips, but Satoru grabs them to stay in place. He’s so close to the place you want him, but he’s stationed in one place, spit flowing down as his tongue is still and his dark eyes are staring at you as if enraptured by your struggling.

“Satoru, please lick my clit,” you moan wantonly, begging for him to change his position.

But Satoru Gojo wouldn’t be Satoru Gojo without some teasing. “What was that, baby? Avoid your clit? You got it.”

“No,” you sobbed, grabbing onto his hair and directing his tongue to your clit. This time, he relents, sucking the bud into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks, making you see stars.

But soon, his quick and fast lapping turn into lazy licks, and you get frustrated, grinding against air and pussy oozing out wetness as Satoru keeps his tongue outstretched in front of you but not close enough to make contact with your skin, teasing. You hate the feeling of your pussy throbbing and the inner thighs and pussy wet with your slick, lacking the sensation you needed to finally climax. “Oh my god, Satoru, please make me cum.”

“I don’t know baby, you sound pretty commanding to me.” The motherfucker shrugs as if he has nothing to do with your dilemma and starts trailing kisses up your inner thigh. His touches were close to where you needed him most, making you ache for the sensation of his wet laps against you.

“Please, baby,” you beg. “You feel so good, you’re making me feel soo good. I love you so much. Please let me cum.” You’re full on sobbing, hips writhing to get any sensation in.

Satoru, at your display, seems to give in, because he’s coming in once more, giving you a sweet little kiss on your clit. You nearly ascend.

He’s diving in, making a rhythm of dipping his tongue into your entrance and coming back to give sloppily wet laps on your clit. It’s when he groans while his tongue is inside, hot air and vibrations needily simulating your clit, that you come up with a gasp. You roll your hips, Satoru giving you little licks to help you ride out your orgasm.

For how hard you came, you’re bucking your hips frantically, body on a mind of its own as you almost fall off the counter. Satoru has to grip your thighs to prevent that potential injury and rubs soothing circles on the outside of your thigh as you pant, wetness and sweat likely painting the counter beneath you. It’s not until your breath returns back to it’s normal pace that you notice Satoru’s head against your thighs, looking up at you with lovesick eyes.

You’re probably giving him the same look back, you realize, given he made you ascend to heaven and back. He gives an affectionate kiss to your mound, moaning corny shit like “Your pussy tastes sweeter than the brownie.”

And then he stands up, knees popping on the way back up, and despite your fucked out state, you can’t help but giggle. “You old man with the popping knee caps.”

He glares at you playfully, but you know his expression too well to know there’s no real offense in it. “Hey. Rude to say that after I just made you cum your brains out.”

”And you’re about to get the same thing,” you purr, putting a hand on his hard-on. He hisses but looks at you with lust blown eyes as he grabs the back of your thighs to carry you to your shared bedroom.

Yes, rainy days do mean baking with Satoru, but not without intimacy with your even sweeter boyfriend in bed.

general masterlist

comment or reblog to let me know your thoughts! I appreciate all of them <3

a/n lol this was a bitch to write. this might be a word soup or salad or whatever for all readers and that’s ok! I’ve written this primarily at 1am so…

eugh ok im going back to writing ch5 of bridgerton!gojo and fixing the em dashes in this post when i wake up LOL

[beloveds-embrace]

Part two of the Lavender Marriage au! Considered adding smut to this but I chickened out lmao if the ending is abrupt it’s because of that 🙂‍↕️

The four men are fuming.

Since witnessing the lip-lock battle, they’ve been stewing in barely-contained anger. Every time they see you- on your porch in one of those sweet sundresses, humming to yourself as you water the flower boxes or hand them freshly-baked cookies- they’re consumed by a burning desire to tell you the “truth” about your cheating husband. But the ring on your finger, and your seemingly cheerful demeanor, stop them every time.

Still, they’re restless. It’s wrong to let you live in ignorance like this. But also, it’s not their business even if they want it- even if they want you. The thought of ruining your cozy life, despite your husband’s unfaithfulness, isn’t an easy one to swallow.

It becomes easier to think of admitting it all to you with each passing day, though.

“He’s walking around like he’s done nothing wrong! The bastard. How does she not see it?” Kyle grumbles, gesturing wildly with his tea mug. He grits his teeth, watching your husband saunter inside the house without offering to help you. He just puts down a plate of steak Kyle knows is too fucking cooked. Heathen. Bastard. Ughhh.

“She’s either blind or loyal to a fault,” Johnny agrees, sprawled out on the couch, looking far more despondent than usual. “Breaks ma bloody heart, lads. She’s makin’ us lemonade an’ cookies, an’ he’s aff canoodlin’ wiith some bloke under her roof.”

Simon grunts, his eyes narrowing as he joins Kyle’s side. “What kind of man cheats on her? She’s…” He trails off, unwilling to finish the sentence, but everyone knows what he means: She’s perfect.

Meanwhile, John leans back in his chair, puffing thoughtfully on a cigar. He’s been unusually quiet, though it’s clear he’s just as agitated, fist clenching on his lap. Finally, he speaks, his tone commanding.

“We wait until he leaves,” he says, much to the others’ dismay. “We don’t meddle now. If she finds out on her own, we’ll be there for her. Until then, we keep our mouths shut.”

The others grumble, but they nod in agreement. For now.

You, meanwhile, are oblivious to the internal warfare raging next door. Your days are filled with your usual routine of pretending to be the dutiful wife, gossiping with the neighborhood ladies, sweetly cooing about your hardworking husband, and pretending you don’t know they will gosspi about you after you leave. On the way, you also deliver a basket of homemade muffins to your handsome neighbors.

Such good men; they didn’t even yet know they were your little kitchen rats to taste-test everything you make for the annual baking contest. This year, that bitch Beatrice will not win and you swore it.

“Oh, these look incredible,” Johnny says when you hand over the basket. He flashes you a cheeky grin, and you can’t help but smile back, cheeks warm. “Y’know, if yer husband does not appreciate all this, I might just have ta steal ye away, lass.”

You laugh, waving off the comment as a joke, but the other three men go rigid. “Not the time, mate.” Kyle mutters, elbowing Johnny, though you really don’t notice. Their house is coming along so nicely and so fast; the perks of having handy men as its owners, you suppose.

Later that day, while you’re trimming the hedges of your precious little garden , you spot Simon working on their roof. You catch him staring at you- not that you blame him, you are wearing your one of cutest skirt and top- and you give him a small wave. He almost falls off the roof even if he does wave back, so you decide to just focus on the damned hedges and hopefully avoid any more incidents.

They’re so distracted by your lovely self that they almost forget their rage toward your husband. Almost. Because just as Price and Johnny are helping you carry bags of groceries back to your house, your husband- traitorous bastard- walks out of the house all patient and whistling.

“Be back soon, honey! You know how long my business trips take.” your husband calls over his shoulder, giving you a quick wink before he hops into a car and drives off.

Unbelievable.

The tension is palpable. John glares. Johnny looks like he’s seconds from sprinting after the car. Simon mutters, “Unbelievable,” under his breath from where he and Kyle are watching from the window.

“Oh dear,” you sigh, though on the inside you are very happy. You know your husband’s boyfriend has a nice surprise picked for him- you helped get it, after all- and now you have the house all to yourself again. Perfect.

You turn to John, batting your lashes up at him and it is as if all his anger melts away. “Be my guests this evening, John? I’d be terribly lonely, all by myself in this big house.”

John really, truly, fucking hates your husband for doing this to a precious, lovely thing like you. But at least it means they’ll be the ones in your company.

“Alright, doll,” he nods, fond as he watches the grin stretch across your face. “Let me just go tell the muppets, then we’ll come by and help.”

“There’s no need-“

“I insist, sweetheart.”

That evening, as promised, the four of them come by to “keep you company” and help. You’re in your element, flitting around the kitchen in an apron as you serve drinks and chatter away, oblivious to the tension radiating from the group. You are practically glowing; your pretty flowers were complimented and the food looks so good you can’t wait to post it on your instagram.

Simon leans against the counter, arms crossed, staring daggers into the walls- into the portraits of you and your husband. Kyle is poking at one of the cookies you made like it’s done something to offend him, his mind adrift. Johnny’s chopping away at vegetables, muttering under his breath and wishing it was something else under his knife. And John? He’s nursing his whiskey like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. It might as well be. You talk so nicely about your husband and what he’s customized for you in the kitchen, still so unaware of the truth.

John contemplates just telling you right then and there, but then it happens.

The front door swings open, and in strolls your husband, laughing loudly with none other than his boyfriend- the one the group saw kissing. They’re holding hands, both grinning like idiots.

“Sorry we’re back so soon!” your husband calls out, completely unbothered by the fact that your house is now hosting four very large, very angry military men. “I forgot my wallet-”

The rest of his sentence dies in his throat when he notices the four men staring at him, expressions ranging from pure disbelief to murderous rage. His boyfriend freezes too, glancing nervously between you and the men like he’s walked into a firing squad.

“What the bloody hell is this?” Johnny practically shouts, pointing between the two men with the knife. “You’ve got the audacity to bring him here? Here?”

Kyle crushes the cookie when he slams his fist on the table, standing abruptly. “Under her roof? After all she’s done for you? Again?”

Simon doesn’t say a word because he truly doesn’t need to- he’s just staring, fists clenched, practically vibrating with barely-contained fury.

John finally speaks, his voice low and dangerous, pulling your surprised self against his side protectively. “You’ve got some confessing to do.”

Your husband just… blinks, then glances at you. “Wait, you didn’t tell them?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I didn’t think it would come up like this.”

“Tell us what?” John demands, his tone sharp. He is still glaring at your husband and the boyfriend

You wave your hand dismissively, like this is the most normal thing in the world with a soft sigh. “Oh, we’re not really married for love, John. It’s just for the benefits- y’know, keeping his parents off his back and mine off mine.”

The room falls silent. Dead silent.

“What?” Simon finally growls, his voice low and dangerous. All this time…

Your husband grins sheepishly, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Yeah, I’m gay. This is my boyfriend. He’s great, isn’t he?” He says, kissing his boyfriend’s cheek.

Johnny looks like he’s just been hit with the frying pan the vegetables he’d been chopping was meant to go in. “Yer what?”

Kyle stares at you, wide-eyed. “You knew? This whole time?”

You shrug, popping a cookie into your mouth. Ohh, Beatrice should count her fucking days. “Of course I knew. We planned the whole thing together. It’s not that complicated, really.”

Simon mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse.

“Anyways, we do have places to be,” your husband sighs. “I’ll just get my wallet and leave you all be to your date.” When he returns with his wallet a few minutes later, he kisses your forehead. “Bye, love. I snuck some of the cookies too- Beatrice is absolutely not winning this year, trust me.” And then he leaves at last.

John exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let me get this straight,” he says slowly. “You’re married but it’s just… out of necessity, and you’ve just been… pretending to love him?”

“Exactly!” you say brightly, clapping your hands together. “See? Not so hard to understand.”

The four men just stand there, utterly gobsmacked.

“You mean to tell me,” Johnny starts, pointing an accusatory finger at you after placing the knife down. “that we’ve been stewin’ for weeks over a cheatin’ husband that doesn’t even exist?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” you reply with a giggle, pouring a drink. Your eyes widen then. “But you cannot tell anyone here, in this shitty town, about this!”

“We won’t, love, promise.” Kyle groans, slumping back into his chair. “I need a bloody drink.” And then he perks up when you slide him the drink you just made. “…fucking lifesaver you are, love. Thank you.”

Simon just shakes his head, muttering, “Unbelievable.” under his breath.

John sighs, downing the rest of his whiskey in one go. “You’re going to be the death of us, doll.”

You grin, completely unfazed. “Oh, come on, boys. It’s not that bad.”

The four of them exchange a look- one of disbelief, exasperation, and maybe just a hint of relief. Because as much as they’re reeling from the truth, one thing’s clear: you’re technically single. And that, at least, is something they can work with.

[rememberwren]

Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand your horizons, you get your first tattoo from an enigmatic artist deemed “Ghost”. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

-

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep. 

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!” 

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking. 

“What guy I recommended?” she asks. 

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?” 

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.” 

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.” 

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day. 

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life. 

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.” 

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?” 

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all. 

-

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it. 

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line. 

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?” 

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him. 

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says. 

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted? 

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?” 

“Five. Don’t be late.” 

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

-

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in? 

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost. 

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting. 

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize. 

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek. 

“The water is for you,” he says. 

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.” 

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.” 

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.” 

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

 He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question. 

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair. 

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing. 

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book. 

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?” 

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer. 

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.” 

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him. 

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again. 

“Here.” 

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean. 

His thoughtfulness touches you. 

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you. 

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?” 

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death. 

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.” 

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?” 

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.” 

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears. 

-

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend. 

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks. 

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?  

Masks are cute, you say. 

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

You’re terrible. 

You’re…thinking about it. 

-

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST. 

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness. 

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one. 

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.  

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that. 

-

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another. 

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.” 

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed. 

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.” 

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions. 

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’. 

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary. 

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that. 

What is it? 

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true. 

But all he said back was: how can I help?  

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working. 

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better? 

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better. 

-

You bring the pasties anyway. 

-

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass. 

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs. 

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

“Hi,” you squeak. 

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t. 

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more. 

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.” 

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing. 

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years. 

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length. 

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas. 

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you. 

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way. 

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.” 

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.” 

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face. 

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.” 

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax. 

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt. 

“Thank you,” you say softly. 

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.” 

“I’m not backing out.” 

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line. 

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Good,” you squeak. 

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.” 

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs. 

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it. 

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up. 

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats. 

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through. 

His thumb gently strokes your sternum. 

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast. 

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again. 

He hushes you, surprisingly tender. 

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.  

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain. 

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.” 

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again. 

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again. 

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow). 

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length. 

“Eager to be done?” you wonder. 

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. 

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply. 

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently. 

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.” 

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.” 

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way. 

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?” 

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.” 

-

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable. 

-

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call. 

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much? 

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.   

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring. 

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering. 

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello. 

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry. 

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?” 

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.” 

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.” 

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?” 

“Twenty minutes from now?” 

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye. 

-

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop. 

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow. 

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes. 

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.” 

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands. 

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation. 

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks. 

“Not that I’ve noticed.” 

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit. 

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.” 

“Forget what?” 

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.” 

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one. 

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?” 

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.” 

“Nosey.” 

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out?  “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.” 

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt. 

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off. 

“Maybe you should look closer.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.” 

“You could—if you wanted to.” 

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat. 

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair. 

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.” 

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.” 

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness. 

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex. 

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple. 

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind. 

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?” 

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing. 

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips. 

“What else do you need?” he asks. 

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly. 

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.” 

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure. 

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth. 

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh. 

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola. 

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite. 

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.” 

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?” 

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?” 

You nod, feeling like a bobble head. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps. 

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter. 

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art. 

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.” 

“Good,” you breathe. 

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right. 

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length. 

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily. 

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure. 

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?” 

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.” 

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin. 

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it. 

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.” 

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit. 

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat. 

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms. 

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit. 

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex. 

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again. 

He hums behind you, a smug sound. 

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.” 

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead. 

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you. 

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you. 

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?” 

“Yes.” 

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see. 

-

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Regretting it already?” 

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.” 

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head. 

He scoffs a little. 

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.” 

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.” 

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”

[miupow]

투모로우바이투게더 一 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐗𝐓 𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐌。

★ pairing。txt x fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎g。⧼ 📖 ⧽ smut , pwp ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cw。dom!txt , unprotected sex , creampie mentions , men whimpering and moaning 🙏 , praise kink , dirty talk , pet names/name calling (bitch is used in bg’s sorry) , breeding kink if you squint | to library。

notes from lia。inspired by a skz post i saw on my dash teehee >_< a little drabble thingie to help me get back into the swing of writing ! hope you enjoy~ <3

수빈 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍

while soobin is a yapper outside of bed, he’s relatively quiet in it— that being said, that doesn’t mean he isn’t noisy. cute little whines and whimpers spilling out from between his plush bunny lips, staccato moans that grow higher and higher in pitch the closer he gets to his orgasm. but god he’s anything but quiet when his climax overtakes him, his eyes rolling back in his head as he moans so deep and broken, a complete 180 from his falsetto hiccups from before >< he pants like a dog as he rides through it, hips stuttering and twitching like he can’t bare the thought of staying still. his big cock spills so much cum everywhere, thick and sticky, makes a complete mess wherever it lands (in your holes, on your face, on your tits, on his own hand and belly, etc..) immediately floods you with praise once he remembers how to speak again, he’s so sweet <3

“o-oh, fuck, bunny, i’m cumming—! t-take it all, that’s it, that’s a good girl…”

연준 𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐍

the prettiest porn star moans you’ll ever hear, pouty lips open in a perfect “o” <3 he gets so stupid on pussy he can’t even think straight, babbling complete nonsense cos he can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life !! his moans get so whiny and pathetic the closer he gets to his climax, his whimpers sounding almost like he’s crying as he’s chasing his orgasm <3 lets out one long, loud, shrill pretty whine when he cums, high pitched and needy, trailing off into broken little sobs as his hips keep thrusting like he’s trying to milk himself dry, he just can’t stop!! his face gets so pink when he cums too it’s so cute :( buries his face in ur neck to hide his embarrassment as he comes down from his high hehe huffing like he just ran a marathon

“oh god, baby, i’m gonna cum, ‘m gonna cum, i c-can’t— w-where do you want it? i-inside?! oh, fuuck…”

범규 𝐁𝐄𝐎𝐌𝐆𝐘𝐔

throws his head back and lets out a moan so deep and broken it almost counts as a howl, so animalistic as his body shakes with his release. his pretty adam’s apple bobbing up and down his veiny neck, sucking on it will only make him cum harder <3 gets so loud you’re always worried he’ll wake up the neighbors, but if anything that’s what beomgyu wants— he loves letting everyone know how good you make him feel, how hard you make him cum with your pretty body beneath or on top of him ! won’t stop yapping even when he’s in the middle of the throws of his orgasm, stuttering out in his gravely low voice broken, nearly nonsensical dirty talk as he struggles to gain control back over his body <3 mixing up praise and degradation and everything in between, he’s just so cute you can’t help but giggle

“fuck, fuck, fuck! ‘m gonna cum, don’t fucking stop, shit—! fuck yes, take it, take this cum, that’s my girl, that’s my bitch!”

태현 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍

loses all composure once his climax starts creeping up on him, suddenly all he can think about is how badly he needs to cum!! he’s always so focused on your pleasure over his own, but once his orgasm is close he becomes nothing more than an animal !! huffing and puffing like he’s in the middle of a serious workout, so poised and focused even when his head is all empty except for pussy teehee <3 he’s always on the quieter side in bed but he gets pretty loud when he cums, crying out all high and whiny as he spills hot thick cum everywhere, preferably in your pussy, he hates letting his seed go to waste ! <3 sucking his dick is the best way to get him to get really noisy , he loses his mind with his cock in a tight wet throat <3 always grits his teeth and bares them like a predator, sharp canines on display with his pretty face all screwed up ..

“i-i— oh, fuck, fuck! i’m gonna cum if you keep doing that!”

휴닝카이 𝐇𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐊𝐀𝐈

kai gets so lost in pleasure sometimes, he just can’t help but turn into a wild animal… and it’s even worse the closer he gets to his orgasm, the tightening knot in his belly all he can think about, focus on.. practically starts using you like nothing more than a pocket pussy , big hands grabbing tightly ahold of you and moving you against him however he wants, just lay still and take it!! <3 cums so hard he cries sometimes, pretty broken moans sounding like angel choruses, rendered completely unable to speak the closer and closer he gets! just grunting and moaning, slack jawed and cross eyed, pussy drunk and fucked stupid… his cry of relief gets so loud that sometimes he has to bite down on either a pillow or your flesh, just to keep from waking everyone up !! whiny, high pitched, almost a sob.. he sounds so completely broken when he cums, fat dick spurting so much cum it’s insane.. leaves the whole bed wet and messy with both yours and his release by the time he’s done with you <3

“i’m gonna cum, i’m— im cumming, baby, oh my god, please don’t stop! o-oh fuck, i’m cumming, i’m cumming—!”

[mywritersmind]

WINNING KISS - LN4

summary : lando isn’t used to being a human mirror, but when a pretty girls tells him to hunch down and let her fix her lipstick in the reflection of his glasses, he’s more than happy to oblige.

listen up : no warnings!!

word count : 750

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I can practically feel the music through my veins. The lights of the club are flashing and my friends are laughing and swinging shots back.

I won today. Singapore has been fucking amazing honestly. Besides the whole drowning in sweat thing.

“So…” Max Fewtrell claps a hand on my shoulder, “Taking a girl home tonight, winner?” He teases me as I roll my eyes and sip my drink, “What- You too tired?” he fakes a frown. I didn’t really want to go out tonight but decided it’s sort of a one in a lifetime thing.

“Go find your girlfriend, idiot.” I eye him.

He throws up his arms and laughs, “Gladly!” As he walks away I feel a hand on my shoulder, spinning me around. I’m surprised who did it had such force for being so small.

A girl stands in front of me, a pencil in hand and for a second I think she’s going to ask for an autograph, “Bend down a bit!” She tugs on my shirt and I do as I'm told because I'm genuinely so confused and the pretty girl means business.

She takes the sunglasses from my head and pushes them over my eyes, looking directly into them and bringing the pencil to her lips.

The ‘pencil’, I now realize, it’s a makeup product and deposits a dark color to her lips as she uses me as her mirror.

As she’s stood in front of me, my eyes can’t help but analyze her. This club is stuffy and smoky but she’s so close I can see everything she has on.

She’s got messy brown hair, silver jewelry, a mini skirt, a fur jacket, and a white corset top. Something about her feels magnetic. She’s stunning.

My eyes go to her lips which she smacks together before pulling out a proper lipstick, as she runs the makeup over her lips I start to smile a bit. She finishes quickly and doesn’t pauses as she starts to place the makeup back in her back.

I slide the glasses down to hang around my neck, I see the recognition appear on her face, “Shit.” She says confidently, “You’re that guy!”

I laugh a bit, standing up straighter and looking down at her, “Nice to meet you too.”

“Sorry! Everyone’s been talking about you today!” My tongue runs over my teeth, smiling a bit, “Thanks for being my mirror. And- congrats, I guess?”

“Thank you. And no problem, I’d never deprive a pretty girl of her lipstick rights.” This makes her laugh and fuck I want to keep her laughing.

She gets a look in her eye, her arms behind her, and her eyes staring up at me, “Well I appreciate it. Like it?” I look at her lips again and I’m beginning to think this is a trick just to make me want to kiss her.

“I do. It suits you.” Her lips pull into a wide smile and she steps a bit closer. “You know- people are talking about me for a reason.” I say, building myself up a bit.

She squints, “Right… A win?” I nod, “You’re celebrating then?”

I nod again, “A bit boring though… if only there was a girl to make my night better.”

She scoffs, “Suppose you want a winning kiss then?” I eye her, sipping my drink once more. My eyes flick to her lips but she doesn’t stop looking at me.

“I mean- your lipstick would look great on me.” I say smugly as she stops herself from smiling, humming and nodding.

“Would it?” She says into my ear, the club getting louder with the music.

“Suppose we’ll have to check and see.” I say in her ear this time and when I pull back, I can tell she’s trying to figure me out.

She hums again, leaning in close and slipping her hand onto my neck. Her cool rings practically sting my hot skin. She turns my head slightly, I feel her stand taller to softly kiss my cheek.

When she pulls away, I’m smirking again, “Let me get your number.” I don’t even ask it as a question.

She pulls the lipliner out of her bag once more, uncapping it with her teeth and taking my arm. She scrolls the numbers slowly against my arm, holding me close.

When she’s done and there’s red numbers up my arm, she closes the product and smiles kindly, saying “Congratulations, winner.” before walking away.

[deadsetobsessions]

Alley Drunk! Danny AU- Part 1

[Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4]

To not turn into a giant raging asshole hell bent on murdering people and destroying the world after everyone he loved died, Danny had ran from Amity with his chosen vice.

A bottle. That’s right. Even after Jazz’s talks about alcoholism as a poor coping mechanism as a form of self harm, he still chose alcohol. Or maybe that’s why he picked it, because it reminded him of her, right before the booze took the sting of grief off of her memory. He was never really all that good at listening to Jazz.

And now she’s gone, so it’s moot point. Danny really hated Nasty Burger.

Danny made it all the way to Gotham, bottle constantly glued to his hand. It’s better than Vlad’s creep-o-self looming over him all of the time. He bummed out on the streets, fitting into crime alley like a native. Danny learned to pickpocket. Not much, just enough for a bottle when his ran out. He stayed human. At first he tried to convince himself that it was because he didn’t want to be perceived as a meta in a city where Batman notoriously disliked metas. Then, as he sunk deeper, he admitted to himself in a shameful curl of a whisper that it was really because alcohol affected his human side much easier.

Ghosts need an ungodly amount of alcohol to even get slightly buzzed. Danny’s human side? Only one full bottle the shittiest tequila he could find could even hope to be more than buzzed. It sucked.

He’s spent two years being an alcoholic that didn’t actually get that drunk. Technically, underage drinking was a crime. But then again, so was being a vigilante ghost. So, whatever. He does what he can to dull the grief. Mostly, he slept on covered and hidden nooks on top of Crime Alley’s roofs. Gotham city had taken pity on him and cleared her smog clouds when he was awake at night. Stargazing helped, at least. It gave him a little hope. It gave him a little wish to change and better and live like he wants. But then the night ends and when the day comes, Jazz isn’t there. Sam isn’t there. Tucker isn’t there. His mom and dad are not there.

Danny always went back to the bottle, in the end. Not that it did much.

Which was why, when he saw three looming figures over a tiny child, Danny’s saving people thing flared with a vengeance and his surprised ectoplasm burned what little buzz he had achieved by downing most of the bottle away, leaving him stone cold sober and pissed.

Danny sighed, dumping the rest of the nasty tasting liquid out. There’s no point drinking that little.

He approached the trio, who were beating up an actual child. Ancients, he hated Crime Alley sometimes.

“Give me your shit, you little punk!” Asshole 1 decided to say like a typical mugger, raising his leg to kick the curled up kid below. Danny doesn’t let him land the kick, smashing the bottle on the asshole’s head before any of them clocked his presence. He pivots, pushing a bit of that extra strength he normally keeps on a tight leash into his hands, and punched the other two in a quick fashion, knocking them out.

With that taken care of, Danny turned back to the kid who was still curled up. Danny sighed again, the trembles in small shoulders plucking on his heartstrings.

“You okay, kid?”

The kid uncurls, and Danny stared. Holy shit, is he looking into a mirror? Blue eyes, black hair, and tanned skin. Holy shit, he’s even got similar jaws to Danny.

“Huh.”

The kid flinched.

“Y-y’er the drunk,” the kid flinched again, eyes darting to the broken bottle still clenched in Danny’s hand. “I- I ain’t got money, honest. Please-”

Danny blinked down at the kid, brain connecting the dots after so long without actual interaction. He’s panicking and staring at the bottle in Danny’s hand like it’ll kill him. Danny raised the bottle and the kid closed his mouth with a click, terror worming its way into the kid’s eyes.

“I wasn’t going to mug you myself, kid.”

“But- y’er the- the Alley drunk.”

Danny blinked. Did he get a reputation without knowing again? Goddammit.

“I guess. Am I famous or somethin’?”

“Nobody- nobody fucks wit’ ya.”

“I also don’t hurt kids.”

“…”

The kid stared at him dubiously and with a sinking feeling, Danny realized that maybe the kid already had some terrible experiences with a heavy drunken hand. He promptly chucks the bottle further into the alley.

“I drink, yes. But I’m also not the kind of scum that would lay hands on a kid, let alone anyone that didn’t provoke it first.”

“Oh.” The kid uncurled more, looking at Danny warily, more at ease now that the bottle has left the chat.

“Yeah. I’m Danny. Stone cold sober, right now.”

“…”

Danny waited.

“Peters.”

“Okay. Peters, do you wanna take their shit?” Danny pointed a thumb at the knocked out would-be-muggers behind him.

“Y… yeah, sure. What’s my cut?”

“All of it.”

Peters stared.

Danny shrugged and started looting.

"Y'er so fuckin' weird."

----

See, the thing is, Danny hadn't anticipated saving Peters- "'s actually Jason"- would result in having a duckling following him around. The kid, Jason, glared at everyone who even looked at them wrong. But that's not the problem, because Danny could take anyone who took issue with Jason's looks, it's more like there's a child following him around now and Danny doesn't want to be the reason Jason turns into an alcoholic. It's- well, it made him cut down on the drinking. He even got jobs- legitimate jobs that sucks out his his poor ectoplasmic soul.

Why? Because Jason's apparently homeless. While that's something Danny's okay with for himself, he can't ever condone that for an actual child. Jason's walking around in threadbare clothes and thin soled shoes in the middle of Fall, for Ancient's sake.

Danny grumbles as he piled a bunch of clothes into the shopping bag as he checked out. Gotham's Walmart is a different kind of hell, but Danny feels right at home.

Sure, the work might suck out his soul and he might hate being sober, but Jason's face every time he comes home to an actual place to live, warm clothes, and food was worth everything.

[quin-ns]

Getaway Car (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Word count: 4.7K

Summary: your boyfriend, topper, isn’t making midsummers as fun as you were hoping. lucky for you, rafe is there to fix that

Tags: (18+), cheating, smidge of topper x reader, fingering, car sex, unprotected sex, rafe and reader are messy asf

A/N: kinda old bc I was gonna make it a series but it wasn’t working out so here it is as a stand alone 🫶 it’s been a while and I wanted to post something before the year ends

OBX masterlist + main masterlist

You were beginning to wonder what you were even doing here.

Midsummers was supposed to be the perfect summer event. Everyone got all dressed up to dance with their friends and have a fun night. You were more than ready for a fun night.

The light pink dress flowed down to your ankles and fit your body just right. Your makeup and hair were done nicely, courtesy of your best friend, Sarah. Unfortunately for the both of you, she was sick and couldn’t go this year. You were grateful to her for still helping you out despite her stuffy nose. You even had a date that you knew turned heads. The two of you were the perfect couple on the surface.

The problem with Topper was that he seemed more interested in showing you off than actually just being there with you.

Dating Topper was nothing you had planned. You first got to know him as a friend of friends, but you liked him enough. You couldn’t think of a good reason to say “no” when he asked you out and said he wanted to get to know you better.

Now here you were, holding Topper’s arm as he led you around the party, moving between conversations with his friends.

You didn’t mind so much at first. But when you broke off on your own to try and find some friends of your own, Topper popped up behind you.

“There you are,” he commented, placing himself at your side. “I’ve been looking for you.”

You looked over at him as an arm slid around your waist. In your peripheral you saw the girls you were talking to moving away from the both of you. You forced a smile so as to not make a scene.

“You can talk to your friends, why can’t I talk to mine?” you wondered, raising your brows.

Topper laughed and shook his head. “I never said you couldn’t. When Sarah gets here we can meet up with her.”

His words meant nothing. He was already leading you back where he wanted to go.

“Sarah’s not coming. She’s sick,” you reminded him.

“So she’s not coming?” He sounded disappointed. You shook your head, feeling the same disappointment. “That sucks.”

You ended up standing idly by while he talked to Rafe and Kelce. You knew both of them pretty well, more so Rafe than Kelce. Rafe was Sarah’s brother after all.

You occupied yourself by trying to remember all the words to your favorite song in your head, tuning them out almost entirely.

“What about you, Y/N?” Rafe said, cutting through your second repeat of the song. You blinked, missing the question. “Are you having fun?” he repeated what you assumed he had asked before.

You almost laughed to yourself. There was a slight shift in Rafe’s face. It was like he could tell.

“Yeah, I’m having a blast,” you agreed sarcastically, giving Topper a phony smile—one which he bought.

Rafe smirked.

“Hey, there he is,” Kelce said in a hushed tone to Topper and Rafe, nodding his head past you. You turned and spotted the bar, where two bartenders were trading places. “The taller guy—he’s the one that doesn’t card.”

You must’ve missed that part of the conversation, and you had no interest in it as you turned back. It didn’t surprise you that getting drunk had climbed to the top of their priority list.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m feeling thirsty,” Topper decided.

“Actually, I’m good,” you spoke up when he tried to tug you along. You saw his smile fade when you kept your feet planted. “You go ahead.”

Topper chuckled suddenly, like you were messing with him.

“For real?”

“I’ll keep an eye on her, don’t worry,” Rafe said as if you weren’t standing right there. You would’ve been offended if you didn’t see what he was doing.

Topper laughed it off with a, “Thanks, man,” and followed Kelce away to the bar.

He trusted Rafe, so maybe he didn’t think he had to compete for your attention with him like he assumed he had to with your friends.

Rafe eyed you up and down, taking in the way you let yourself relax.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re happy to get away from him,” he said after a moment.

“Oh no, I’m having a blast. Can’t you tell?” you questioned, voice dripping with sarcasm. You caught yourself after a second, reminding yourself that Rafe was basically Topper’s best friend. “Sorry, I’m being mean. It’s not that bad.”

“Be mean all you want,” Rafe replied, stepping closer to stand directly across from you. He leaned like he was telling you a secret. “And don’t apologize for it.”

You narrowed your eyes a little, looking him over as he stood back up straight, trying to decide if he meant it or not. After only a second it was clear he did.

Rafe threw a look over his shoulder to the bar. Topper and Kelce were waiting behind a few others.

“You wanna sit down? They might be a while.”

You nodded, because why the hell not?

Finding an empty table was a bit of a challenge, but the two of you managed eventually. Rafe pulled out your chair for you, and even chuckled at your comment about chivalry not being dead after all.

Instead of crossing around the table to sit down opposite of you, he pulled out the chair right next to yours. He sat in it sideways, so you turned in your seat to face him. Your knees were basically touching, but you didn’t mind.

“So, you here by yourself?” you wondered, just making conversation.

“I’m here with you.”

You were tempted to roll your eyes, but not in the same way you had been with Topper most of the night.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Yeah, I am,” Rafe revealed, smirking to himself before adding, “But it’s not like I didn’t have options.”

You raised your brows at his brazenness—not shocked, just amused.

“Because you’re so interesting?” you teased, the corner of your lip tugging up.

“Among other things.”

“Like what?”

You placed your elbow on the table and leaned on your hand, watching him, waiting for his overconfident answer.

He had to have known you were messing with him, maybe even baiting him. You usually did. You always enjoyed the back-and-forths you’d have with him. Rafe gave you a subdued smile.

“Like… I wouldn’t treat my date like an accessory and then ditch her, for one.”

You chuckled in spite of yourself. “Touché.”

“And I know how to have fun,” he added, voice laced with charm. You’d never noticed that before.

You hummed and straightened back. “Well, maybe you should’ve asked me,” you joked.

“Maybe I should’ve,” Rafe drawled. He sounded genuine, which caught you off guard. “You seem bored out of your mind—well, before we started talking,” he pointed out, giving himself an ego boost, slightly changing the topic. “Why even come?”

“Topper wanted to,” you filled in, willing to let it slide for now. “I thought it would be fun, but all the things that would’ve been fun for me got totally ignored.”

“So, what do you want to do?” Rafe wondered. You didn’t remember his blue eyes ever looking this intense, but then again, you didn’t think you’d ever been this close to him.

“Right this very second?”

“Sure.”

You glanced around at the other tables. Everyone was caught up in conversation, having a nice time with their friends and their dates and their families.

“Leave, probably,” you admitted, looking back at Rafe.

He nodded, silently thinking it over.

Finally, he shrugged a little and said, “Okay.”

You started to laugh. “You’re not serious…” you trailed off as he stood, raising his brows, as if to say he was. “What about Topper?”

“What about him?” Rafe asked plainly, like he’d already forgotten all about his friend.

You blinked, then stood. You weren’t exactly sure why he’d been able to convince you so easily.

“Damn the consequences,” you whispered to yourself, although it was easier said than done.

Rafe gave you a subtle smirk, nodded his head to the door. He even held out an arm, which you took with a nervous smile.

It felt strange, being on Rafe’s arm. It was a position you’d never thought you’d be in, nor had you thought about it. Sure, you got along with Rafe pretty well, and he did look handsome tonight (and most days…) but he was always just Sarah’s brother. Then, your boyfriend's best friend.

Now? Now he was your rescuer, saving you from this dull affair that should’ve been an exciting night.

Maybe it still could be.

Rafe was leading the two of you to the door, quietly making comments to you about other partygoers. You laughed at the jokes, unintentionally drawing attention to yourself.

Rafe didn’t seem to mind the way your peers began to look at you, not exactly hiding their staring. It seemed like everyone knew you and Topper were together despite only about a month of dating. You could guess what they were thinking and word traveled fast in the Figure Eight.

It probably should’ve bothered you more than it did, the way a few started to whisper, but you were more concerned with leaving than trying to correct their perception.

“Don’t look, walk faster,” Rafe muttered, leaning down close to you.

You didn’t realize what he was talking about until you disobeyed him and glanced over your shoulder. Sure enough, Topper was making his way around the room. Presumably looking for you.

You snapped your head back forward, trying to make your escape while doing as little damage as possible.

The big entrance door, soon to be an exit, was right ahead.

“Y/N?” Topper’s voice carried across the room, but you kept your head forward, not daring to look. “Hey, over here!”

In the large windows, you saw his reflection vaguely in the distance. He was getting closer to you, weaving through the crowd, waving a hand.

You didn’t want him to stop you. Sure, you could’ve turned and told him to stop and that you were leaving, but that was way more of a scene than you wanted to create. What you did wasn’t exactly any better, but it avoided a verbal altercation in front of everyone you knew.

You broke apart from Rafe to move faster, speed walking the last few feet to the door. It was like he read your mind, jumping out ahead of you to pull the door open.

You hadn’t planned on it, but the two of you were rushing down the stairs of the country club.

“My truck’s up ahead parked on the street. I didn’t want to park in the lot,” Rafe informed when you got to the bottom step.

“Of course you didn’t.”

You spared a glance to one of the large windows and saw Topper looking out it. You snapped your head back, not wanting to make eye contact in case he saw you. You picked up the pace. By a lot. Not figuratively but literally running away.

Rafe easily could’ve out run you, but he chose to stick close when he caught up. You weren’t expecting it when Rafe reached down to grab your hand, making sure you were right by him as the two of you ran for his truck.

You let your shoes fall off your feet as you broke out into a full out sprint. A laugh tore out from you, filling the air around you. You felt so free as the sound of your own joy hit your ears.

You knew people were watching from the patio area, but as you arrived at Rafe’s truck, you hardly noticed.

“This is crazy,” you said to yourself as you reared to a stop. Your lungs were close to burning and your bare feet started to ache, but you were smiling so brightly. “Are we actually doing this?”

“If you get in the truck we are,” Rafe replied smoothly, opening the passenger door for you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but something in the distance cut you off.

“Hey! Y/N!” shouted a familiar voice.

Looking back towards the club, you saw none other than Topper in that beige suit you were starting to find tacky. He was running towards you, even holding one of your shoes. You would’ve laughed again if your heart wasn’t racing.

Your eyes met Rafe’s, finding the same anticipation in them that you felt coursing through your body. The corner of his lip curved up into a smirk, like he knew what you were going to do before you did it.

You climbed into the passenger seat without further hesitation. Rafe shut the door behind you and ran around the front of the truck to the driver’s side.

He fished his keys out of his pocket and jammed them into the ignition. The truck roared to life. Rafe looked over to you with a full grin.

You shared the same expression until you made the mistake of glancing out the passenger window, seeing Topper running towards the truck.

“Go, go, go!” you rushed out, urging Rafe to slam on the gas. You didn’t even know what you were saying.

That’s exactly what he did, speeding the two of you away from the country club until there was only the sound of the truck's engine and heavy breathing.

When the twinkling lights faded far behind you, Rafe eased in the gas. Topper was left in the dust, no way to catch up.

You exchanged a look, studying one another. The panic on your face shifted back to a smile, causing Rafe to do the same.

A victorious laughter left you suddenly, realizing the insanity of the situation. Rafe looked between you and the road, letting out a chuckle. Whether it be for the same reason as you or the way you reacted, you didn’t know. It didn’t really matter.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, finally relaxing back in the seat. “That was so exciting. Why was that so exciting?” Rafe didn’t answer, but it seemed like he at least thought of one as he smirked to himself. “Thank you for the prison break,” you told him, letting your appreciation seep into your teasing words.

“You looked like you needed it, I could tell before we even sat down,” Rafe pointed out. Why did he get that but Topper didn’t? “Besides, that was way more fun than that entire night combined.”

You let out a sigh, trying to not let guilt overcome your adrenaline high. “Topper’s gonna be pissed,” you acknowledged, recalling his face as Rafe sped away.

“So?” Rafe wondered without hesitation.

Your brows curved. Topper was supposed to be his best friend, and he’d just run off with his girlfriend. Or were you his girlfriend that ran off with his best friend? The semantics didn’t really matter in the end, it wasn’t like it meant anything other than the fact that you needed to be anywhere but that party.

You looked out the window, resting your elbow on it and leaning against your fist. You stayed like that for a few minutes, watching the dark shadows of trees and dispersed mansions as they passed by.

“Just in case Topper didn’t tell you, you look beautiful tonight,” Rafe commented out of nowhere, filling the silence.

You gave him a curious look. You couldn’t remember if Rafe had ever said anything like that to you.

His gaze was mostly fixated on the road, but you saw the way his eyes darted to the side, checking on you.

“Thank you,” you said softly, because he was right, Topper hadn’t even mentioned it.

He’d complimented your dress for the way it fit your body and went well with his suit, and he’d been relieved by the way you’d shown up perfectly on time, and even mentioned how Sarah had done your hair, but nothing about you as a whole. Just the bits and pieces.

“For the record, you look very handsome,” you told Rafe, a small smile forming. “And I’m not just saying that ‘cause you said something nice to me.”

He glanced over to you fully this time, a look you couldn’t quite place on his face. Sure, he was smiling, but there was something else in his eyes.

“Well, that’s good to know.”

In the past, you would’ve found admitting that out loud weird since he was Sarah’s brother, but something about being with him now felt different. He wasn’t Sarah’s brother who you were sorta friends with, he was Rafe, the guy who’d gone out of his way to rescue you from a shitty night.

Well, now maybe you could upgrade him from “sorta friend” to just “friend”. He’d earned it, that was for sure.

It was still crazy to you, what you’d just done, even if it was only minutes ago. Something about it all stuck in your head. The rush you got from just talking—okay, maybe even flirting a little—with Rafe was more than you had felt with Topper in weeks. And the great escape added on? You couldn’t remember the last time you felt that exhilarated.

“You just gonna stare at me the rest of the drive?” Rafe teased, eyeing you in his peripheral.

Your cheeks felt warm as you looked away, focusing back out the window instead.

“Where are we even going?” you wondered, ignoring his comment.

“Good point,” Rafe said. “I actually don’t know.”

You weren’t expecting him to pull the truck off to the side of the road. There was nothing around you except for trees and distant street lights on either side. He parked in a gap between houses, making sure to not be in front of anyone’s property. People were weird about that, especially the older ones. Although you guessed a decent amount of them would be at Midsummers anyway.

“Why’d you stop?”

Rafe shrugged in response, eyes taking you in. “Just wanted to be able to look at you. Kinda hard when I’m driving.” He was purposefully trying to make you feel flustered, and it was working. “Figure out where you wanna go and I’ll take you.”

Your first thought was home, but something in the back of your mind urged you to not end the night so soon. You were having fun with Rafe, something you didn’t anticipate. The impulsiveness was still making your heart race.

It only took you a moment to realize it wasn’t just that. Rafe was watching you, and you were watching him. Your lips parted as you took a shallow breath, the air in the truck somehow becoming thicker. His eyes flicked to your lips as you did so, and it wasn’t subtle by any means.

Your own hushed words rang back in your mind.

Consequences be damned.

You weren’t sure who lunged forward first, but in a matter of seconds your lips were attached to Rafe’s.

You weren’t sure of the exact how or why, either, but you wanted to. That was enough for the moment.

Rafe’s hand gripped the back of your neck, holding you to him as he dominated the kiss. All the air seemed to leave your lungs. Your eyes slid shut as you moaned into the kiss.

If someone would have told you even minutes ago that you’d be making out with Rafe Cameron, you wouldn't have believed them.

Now you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Your mind began to make the comparison to Topper, noting Rafe’s neediness for you and the passion of it all, but the other boy faded completely from your mind.

Rafe kissed you like it was the last thing he’d ever get to do and had to make it count. You’d never felt so desirable, and it sent a rush of electricity through your body. When he bit your lip it added an extra jolt.

It was the opposite of graceful, a fumble of limbs and tangled fabric and trying to not part from one another, but you eventually ended up in the backseat.

Rafe was on top of you now, curious hands sliding down your body as he devoured your lips. You made no attempt to stop him. You didn’t want him too. The rush was too strong.

You gasped against his lips when Rafe pushed your dress up around your hips, hands gripping your waist, savoring the feel of your bare skin beneath his palms.

Rafe knelt between your legs, fingers dipping in the waistband of your underwear. They moved further until he was running a finger through your folds. Your face grew warm knowing he could feel how wet you already were.

A low groan rumbled from deep in Rafe’s chest and you couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed. You were too consumed by lust.

Rafe slid one finger in, stroking it inside slowly before adding another one. You shivered as he thrust and curled his fingers. You lost track of the minutes before he added another one, and you were gasping by the time he pulled them away entirely.

Before you could beg for more he was already abliging you. He gripped the edges of your underwear and ripped the material from you with sheer force, then discarded the remains on the floor of his truck. He could’ve just taken them off, and you both knew that. Maybe he was showing off his strength to fluster you or he really just couldn’t contain himself, but it didn’t matter.

His hands went for his belt next, whipping it off like he was going for speed. Your eyes fell, watching as he unbuttoned his pants.

Your gaze immediately flicked away when he shoved them down.

Were you really gonna do this? Hook up with Rafe Cameron?

You felt Rafe’s eyes on you as he gripped his cock, stroking himself, watching you.

It only took one look back at him to decide yeah, you were.

The smirk that crossed his face was one of pure lust, it was like he could read your mind.

Still, when he situated himself between your legs, lining himself up with your entrance, he asked, “This what you want?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, your body already overheated. “I want it.”

That was all it took for him to push into you. The slow stretch of him took the air from your lungs.

You finally took a breath when he was fully seated inside you. He watched you with hungry eyes, hands running along your thighs, attempting to sooth you and control himself.

Words failed you, but when you adjusted, you gave him a nod.

The first thrust was experimental, testing the waters. When your body reacted, quivering with anticipation, Rafe moved again.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him close. He had no choice but to hover on top of you, placing his forearm near your head, but neither of you were exactly mad about it.

The space in the back seat was entirely too cramped. You were completely consumed by his presence. It was perfect.

You moaned into his mouth when he captured your lips for a kiss, the roughness matching the slam of his hips as he found a pace he liked. You were already a mess beneath him, body shivering with each thrust.

“Rafe,” you whispered his name over and over. It was the only thing that you could manage to say.

His lips trailed to your neck and your hand rose to tangle in his hair. His teeth pressed to your skin, threatening to bite. Before he could, you pulled him back. He groaned into your collarbone instead, hips slamming into your ass, cock filling you entirely.

The sound of skin against skin paired with noises of desperation from both of you filled the small space. You wanted nothing else to exist outside of the backseat.

Rafe found your sweet spot in little time and elicited moans from you with every thrust. Your hands went to his back, fingers clutching the fabric of his blazer as your toes curled.

You took everything he gave you, even when the heat and overwhelming pleasure began to smother you.

Rafe could tell when you were getting close and refused to let up, wanting to not only feel but watch you experience bliss all because of him.

You felt exposed beneath his hungry gaze, but in the best way. Like you were the thing of his dreams that finally, finally came true.

Your whole body tensed, nails digging in and cunt clenching down as your orgasm crashed over you. The wave was so intense you thought you might drown in it, but Rafe was there, muttering sweet nothing in your ear, dragging you back to shore.

Before you could come down from your high, Rafe was tipping over the edge. He gave a few more sharp thrusts of his hips before his cock twitched inside you. With a deep moan of your name that made your cunt throb, Rafe let go, filling you.

Your legs tightened around him, holding him there as the two of you heaved for air, riding out the pleasure together.

Finally, Rafe pressed a long kiss to your swollen lips before straightening back up.

You needed a few extra seconds to recover, so you instead watched as he tucked himself back into his pants and redid his belt. He ran his hands through his hair and for the most part he was good as new. Aside from your lipstick staining his lips, that is.

You, on the other hand, knew you probably looked like a mess.

Rafe helped you sit up. He straightened out your dress and hummed.

“I know I said it before, but you’re so fucking beautiful,” Rafe praised, eyes drinking you in, and his words left little room for you to doubt him. “You don’t get what you do to me.”

“I think I have some idea,” you mused, cracking a small smile.

Rafe smirked, because how could he argue?

Getting back into the front seat was a little more awkward than falling together into the back in a fit of passion.

You were aware of what was dripping between your legs, and tried to not further the mess. You’d already have to wash your dress, might as well spare his car seats.

“You wanna come back to my place?” Rafe offered as he started the car again.

You could hear in his voice that he hoped you’d say yes, but you didn’t think you could pass by Sarah and pretend you weren’t there for her brother.

Oh god… Sarah.

As you looked to Rafe, you were forced to remember that he was your best friend’s brother. And if that combination wasn’t bad enough, someone else crept into your head—your boyfriend, who you’d totally just cheated on. There wasn’t a nicer way to put it.

Your mouth felt dry as you swallowed. The carefree, relieved attitude you held faded.

“I need to get home,” you decided, voice weaker than it had been before.

Rafe was quiet for a moment before agreeing.

You felt silly, not knowing what to say to him now after all that, but you couldn’t get out of your own head, wondering if you were a terrible person.

Well, more accurately, you couldn’t stop thinking about the answer. You were certain you knew it.

When Rafe stopped outside of your house and put the truck in park, he looked at you with a gaze so intense you were held in place.

“He doesn’t deserve you, Y/N,” Rafe professed, tone steady. He believed it. “I know you know that.”

You almost opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat.

“Goodnight, Rafe,” you said instead, climbing out of the truck.

As you crossed across the front, you heard the light buzz of his window rolling down.

“I’ll see you soon, alright?” Rafe called, prolonging the goodbye. “I had fun,” he added, and your footsteps faltered. “And I don’t regret a thing.”

Rafe stayed until you got to your front door, found the key under the mat, and slipped inside.

Only when the door shut did the truck pull away. You may or may not have watched out the window, his parting words replaying in your mind.

As guilty as you felt, you didn’t either, and that might’ve been the worst part.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Ken "Okarun" Takakura relationship headcanons

warnings: established relationship, fem!reader, tooth-rooting fluff, spoilers up to episode 8 in the anime.

divider by @cafekitsune

Ken “Okarun” Takakura is a socially awkward guy with an all-consuming interest in anything related to the supernatural, especially cryptids and aliens. Some people may think he is too much to handle because he’s a nerd or his appearance is a little off-putting, but he’s used to that after being bullied throughout elementary and middle school. He can handle the taunting, the jeers. It’s nothing new to him.

But when he hears a nasty rumor being spread around school about you, his precious girlfriend? Momo is going to have a hard time keeping him calm and will definitely drag you away from class as a last resort to revert the transformation into his yokai form. Good luck with handling an extremely overprotective boyfriend, especially if you unintentionally get caught in the crossfire of whichever ghost or alien are targeting him for his reproductive organs.

He doesn’t know why everyone is after his junk, so please do not ask him that question.

You are important to Okarun, so his happiness is your happiness. He’s not really a person who would do over-the-top gestures just to make you smile, though he shows his affection for you in the small things like leaving little snacks on your assigned desk or waiting to walk home with you once classes are over for the day.

Physical intimacy with him is going to be like a slow-burn in those romance novels, so please respect his boundaries and decision to relish in the feeling of your interlocked fingers or sharing kisses on the cheek before going into the heavier stuff. He’s shy and wants to do things the right way, even when every relationship is different for everyone. If you start something instead of him for a change? His face will resemble a ripe cherry, and smoke will come out of his ears before squeaking in embarrassment.

Cuddles? Definitely possible, but much further down the road once he gets more comfortable in the relationship.

He’s the guy who doesn’t mind doing an X-Files or horror movie marathon on the couch with you and it counts as a date. Any time with you is precious.

You have a part-time job? No worries, he’ll be more than happy to wait until you get off if you’re working late to walk you home!

Okarun trusts you, and he hopes you will trust him. Communication is also key, so if there is something bothering you, please tell him. He won’t know unless you say something, and you avoiding or giving him the silent treatment will have him second-guessing and thinking he really isn’t good enough for you. He’s a green flag. Seriously, talk to the guy if you got troubles on your mind. He will listen and not judge you.

Remember what happened when Aira tried to kiss him in the school courtyard during lunch and he pushed her away? He did it once, and will gladly do it again to her, to any girl who tries to make a move on him because he doesn’t want them. He wants only you.

Treasure this cinnamon roll and treat him like the amazing person he is, because there is no other guy around who would fight yokai and aliens to protect you like Ken Takakura.

Taglist: @hoodiepandaninja16 @napbatata @silverklaus @karai-frost @anonymity-222 @melodiblues @myduality @cumbersome-robes @taesy-miranda-lee @osarumi @satorousgf @theofficialfem @sadprimrose @miaurieee @bumblebeebutter @shidousprincess @minnie-1-3 @cherie-soup @kazudare @sleep-all-day-everyday @decay-1 @justamegafan @bdudette @skwunkler

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: I Choose You

Request: Anonymous said: "jealous tyler or jealous reader would be interesting to read 👀"

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: none!

A/N: not sure how i feel about this one but I gave it a go and wanted to make sure I posted!

Tyler tells himself that he’s over thinking… maybe even reading too much into things. 

But God, he swears he isn’t imagining the way that you and the reporter he’d agreed to let tag along for the next week naturally interact with one another with such ease. 

Tyler is not a jealous person– he’s confident and secure and he trusts you. Jealousy is petty and it’s stupid. And Tyler’s been trying his whole life to prove to himself and everyone around him that he’s not stupid.

Tyler has a loose shock to repair before the storm they’ve been tracking rolls in later that day. He’s currently laying on the dirt at the rest stop they’ve pulled in, with a wrench in his hand. Dani’s shining their flashlight for him, and it’s important he stays focused. And he tries… really, he does. 

But Tyler looks up just as the reporter laughs at a joke you’ve made. And then, he reaches out to touch your arm for the added effect. Tyler nearly drops the wrench he’s holding on his face at the sight. 

“Easy, T,” Dani says, studying him closely. 

He takes a deep breath before looking back towards the truck. 

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Dani asks, kicking his shoulder gently with their boot. 

“Nothing,” Tyler grumbles in a tone that screams there is absolutely something wrong. Thankfully Dani doesn’t push. 

…

Throughout the rest of the week, Tyler tries to talk himself down whenever jealousy rears its ugly head. He keeps telling himself that he’s being irrational– you’re not flirting with the reporter everytime you walk with him into the gas stations they stop at, or offer to ride with him in the van instead of Tyler’s truck, where you normally sit. You’re just trying to be friendly… make him feel at ease. 

But did he really have to look at you that way while you studied the GPS monitoring system? Or share his fucking cookies with you when everyone ate lunch in the field? And did you have to laugh so loudly at every single joke he made?

Tyler finds out on the second night he’s tagging along that Henry’s a fucking Columbia grad on top of a stupid self-proclaimed comedian. The two of you are sitting around the fire talking about graduate degrees when Henry turns towards him. 

“Did you two meet at school then?” Henry asks.  

Tyler smiles, but instead of warmth it’s laced with sarcasm. “Nope, I don’t have one of those fancy degrees, Henry. In fact, none of us but her do.” 

Henry turns back towards you and proceeds to ask more questions about your time studying meteorology at the U of A. Meanwhile, Tyler is left to simmer in his own self pity, wondering if it bothered you that he isn’t educated like Henry. 

Tyler has to spend the rest of the week fighting the urge to make it known you’re his– he’s had thoughts of keeping a permanent hand planted on your waist right in front of Henry. Maybe if he pulled you in for a kiss a little more often, and really claimed you as his, this guy would back the hell off. 

But Tyler quickly shakes away the thought. 

Because claiming you like an object is stupid, and Tyler is not stupid. 

…

Tyler grabs you a coffee from the nearest gas station and brings it back to the motel because he’s really trying to move past all this shit. You’re sitting with Lilly and fiddling with the drone when he tries to hand it to you. 

You offer him an appreciative smile that warms his entire chest. Tyler’s definitely been overreacting, because you’re looking at him with such love and admiration in your eyes. 

“Thanks, but I’ve already had some today,” you say, crushing every hope inside of him in an instant. “Why don’t you give it to Dani?  They take their coffee the same as I do.”

“When did you have time to get coffee?” he asks, trying to play it cool. 

You reply so simply, like the words don’t slice right through his heart. “I didn’t, Henry brought me one.”

Tyler’s jaw tightens. It’s a gesture you don’t notice, because you’re too busy focusing on the drone half in your lap. 

What you do seem to notice, is the way he scoffs. It makes yours and Lilly’s heads both turn. 

But before you can reply, Tyler’s already walking away. He clutches the coffee firmly in his hand and without a word, drops the full cup in the trash can outside the motel. 

…

Tyler has to remind himself that he’s not angry.

At least not at you.  

You and him have a great relationship. He trusts you and that’s all there is to it. Whether it’s Henry or whoever else–  you never gave Tyler a reason to be worried. 

But Tyler doesn’t like the way seeing you with the reporter makes him feel. Because at any moment, you could leave him for someone with a more respectable career– someone with fair skin and button up polos who just looked like they had their shit together. Someone with a college degree… someone a hell of a lot smarter than him. 

Seeing you with him made Tyler feel vulnerable, like he had something to lose– because he had everything to lose. 

…

The crew spends another week chasing in Oklahoma. The season’s winding down, but they still managed to catch two EF0s and an EF1. 

Tyler’s been avoiding you for most of the week. He’d offer the truck space to Boone and Lilly, he’d sit next to Dexter around the fire at night… hell, he would hardly even look at you. 

You turned down his coffee earlier in the week. Only after the fact did you realize that you should have just taken the damn thing. You understand that rejecting him after he went out of his way to do something nice for you hurt his feelings… But you can’t understand how that turned into an entire week of the silent treatment. 

On numerous instances, you try to approach him. But he always has somewhere to run off to. 

“I gotta help Dani with the van’s oil change.”

“I gotta see if Boone got the footage we need.”

“I gotta give Dexter a hand with the radar.”

You’re getting sick of it. 

You try to distract yourself for the rest of the week– you ask Lilly to explain more about how to work her drone, you keep on top of the radar– looking for forming storm cells, and you try to make the reporter Tyler had invited along for the week feel welcome. 

Henry’s nice– he’s completely new to storm chasing and has loads of questions all the time. You find it slightly annoying that he’s so interested in Tyler… but you get it. And even though you’re a little irritated with Tyler for your week-long silent-treatment sentence, you still want him to sound as good as possible in the article, so you talk him up every chance you can. 

You know that this lack of communication can’t last. And the second Henry goes back to Boston to write his piece, you plan to corner Tyler and force him into telling you what the hell you’d done wrong. But until then, you don’t want to cause a scene. So, you sit back, spend more time talking with Henry about Tyler, and try like hell not to lose your mind.

…

It’s more for his own sanity than anything. It’s like seeing you with Henry has caused this sudden realization to pop into his head… You can do better– and honestly you deserve better than him. The thought is all consuming. It makes focusing on anything else incredibly difficult. 

“You gonna tell us what the hell is up?” Lilly asks one day. 

Tyler’s currently standing in the bed of his truck, tinkering things that didn’t really need to be fixed just to stay busy. 

“What do you mean?” he replies without looking up.

“I mean are you going to tell us why you two love birds haven’t spoken in like three days?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler notices Boone glancing his way with an expression on his face that says he was wondering the same thing. 

“We’ve spoken,” Tyler says dismissively. 

“Telling her you don’t have room for her in the truck doesn’t count,” Lilly retorts. “C’mon, seriously, Ty. What’s wrong?”

Tyler sets his tool down and looks down at Lilly. “Nothing is wrong.”

Lilly rolled her eyes. “Okay, well are you sure she knows that? Cause Dani and I saw her crying in the bathroom.” 

Tyler lets out a long exhale– the thought of you upset instantly filling his insides with sorrow. But the thought that he was the one to make you upset is even worse. 

“I know it’s not my business,” Lilly adds. “But I’ve been watching you give her the silent treatment all week, and that’s not going to fix anything. I know Henry’s still here and it’s been a crazy week–”

Tyler can’t help the scoff that escapes his lips at the mention of Henry’s name.

Lilly pauses before a look of understanding washes over her. “You’re pissed that she’s been hanging with Henry.” She says it as a statement instead of a question. 

“I’m not–”

“I’ve known you for six years, don’t even try to deny it. You are– you’re jealous, aren’t you?” 

With his lips pursed in a thin line, Tyler raises an eyebrow at her. “Maybe I am. Does that make you happy? Is that what you want to hear?”

Now it was Lilly’s turn to scoff. “Of course it doesn’t make me happy. You’re being an idiot.”

“What?” 

“I said that you’re being an idiot,” Lilly says, annunciating each word insultingly. 

“Yeah,” Tyler nods. “I’m well aware that I’m an idiot, but thanks for reminding me.”

“I said you’re being an idiot, Tyler. Not that you are one. Now stop sulking and fucking listen for once in your goddamn life.”

It’s so out of the ordinary for Lilly to snap that Tyler actually does shut his mouth. 

“You invite a reporter on the road with us and then you don’t give him the time of day to answer any of the questions he has. You’re short and curt and to be honest, kind of fucking rude anytime he asks you anything. Y/N is being polite– and she’s hosting the guest you invited along. So don’t fucking blame her just because you’re insecure.” 

Tyler can feel the anger rising in his own chest, he wants to get defensive– to snap back at Lilly. But deep down, he knows she’s right, so he stifles any comebacks and instead hangs his head. 

Lilly sighs. “You’re not an idiot, Tyler. So stop acting like one.”

…

After letting Lilly’s words really sink in, Tyler decides that she’s right. For the first time all week, he’s motivated to actually talk with you and make things right. 

Or at least he is right until he sees Henry approaching you in the parking lot. He’s too far away to hear what Henry has to say. But he’s not so far away that he doesn't see the folded up piece of paper that he passes you. 

In an instant, everything Lilly had said– along with all the things he’s said to convince himself he’s been overreacting flies away with the wind. Because Henry just gave you his fucking phone number. 

Tyler turns– needing to get as much space from whatever exchange he just witnessed as he possibly can. In a few, long, angry strides, Tyler reaches his truck and climbs inside. In the distance, he hears Lilly call after him. But he pretends he doesn’t hear. Instead, he slams the door shut, starts the ignition and drives away. 

…

“Where’s he goin’?” Boone says just as you approach him and the rest of the crew. 

“Dunno. He didn’t say anything to you?” Dani asks, turning towards Lilly. 

She shakes her head, eyes squinting against the bright sun. 

“What the hell is his problem?” you say frustratedly, biting back tears. 

Stupidly, you’d let yourself get your hopes up earlier in the day when Tyler had offered you a small smile over breakfast. You had thought that maybe things were alright, and that he was finally over whatever had been bothering him so badly. 

But now you’re standing in the cloud of dust he just left behind after taking off in his truck without a word to anyone and you know that isn’t the case. 

“Here I was thinking I helped last night,” Lilly says under her breath. 

You snap your head in her direction. “You talked to him?”

She shrugs. “I tried to.” 

“Did he say why he’s been so upset?”

Lilly hesitates. And truthfully, you understand why. Everyone here was Tyler’s friend first. You were the last to join the crew– inducted into the group just by being Tyler’s girlfriend. They have no obligation to be loyal to you over Tyler. 

“Forget it,” you say defeatedly, turning away as soon as you feel the familiar burn of tears behind your eyes. “It doesn’t even matter.” With that, you make your way towards the RV, painfully aware of everyone’s eyes trained on you the entire way. 

…

Tyler drives to the nearest gas station, desperate for space to clear his head. 

He knows he’s being dramatic and irrational at this point, but if he stayed at that rest stop another second, he didn’t know what would come out of his mouth. He really really had to get it together. But he can’t escape the fear inside of him– the one saying that meeting Henry helped you recognize that you could do so much better than him.

And now you had his phone number, to reach out whenever that realization hit. 

Why wouldn’t you be interested in Henry? He’s got a goddamn master’s degree from Columbia, he writes articles for the Globe, works out every morning before they go chasing–  apparently makes hilarious jokes… 

Tyler rests his forehead against the steering wheel and groans.

…

Tyler’s gone for an hour. But when he finally parks the truck back at the rest stop, he hasn’t shaken the sinking feeling inside of him. 

In a preemptive attempt to avoid questions he had snagged a bunch of snacks from the nearest gas station. If you ask where he’s been, he can just say he had a hankering for potato chips and call it good. 

Except, you don’t even look at him when he gets out of the truck. Boone’s got corn hole set up in the dirt. It looks like Boone and Henry versus Dani and Dexter while you watch. He only watches for a moment before bringing the bag of snacks into the RV. 

Secretly, Tyler’s been simultaneously excited for and dreading the end of the week. He’s excited for Henry to leave and excited to sleep in his own bed. But he’s dreading being back in your shared house. It’ll be the first time the two of you are forced to be alone, and he knows he’ll have to find the words to describe what he’s been feeling. 

But apparently Tyler’s stupid, because he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. 

All he knows is that he doesn’t want to lose you. And seeing you with Henry makes him feel like he’s about to lose you. Tyler doesn’t know how to say that to you without coming across as a total lunatic.  

…

You don’t want to cause a scene at the rest stop. But the minute you see Tyler head for the RV, you’re out of your seat and beelining it towards him while the rest of the team is distracted.

As soon as you hoist open the door, you find him hunched over the fridge, grabbing a water bottle. 

“What the hell?” is all you can manage to blurt out. You’re fuming and on the verge of tears. But you can’t help it– Tyler’s silent treatment has just about pushed you to the edge. 

Tyler whips around at the sound of your entrance… and maybe it was a little dramatic– but you need to get your point across. 

There’s a long pause while Tyler’s eyes study you. 

“Are you gonna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me all week?”

You’re met by more silence.  

“This is ridiculous, Tyler. Will you just talk to me?”

Finally, Tyler scoffs, “The reporter gave you his number, right?  Why don’t you talk to him?  I’m sure he’d love to talk.”

In an instant, a wave of understanding washes over you. But it isn’t overshadowed by the anger you feel. 

“Are you serious right now? You’re jealous of Henry?”

He shuts the fridge before cracking open his water bottle dismissively, ignoring your questions. 

“Tyler, are you forgetting that you’re the one who invited him with us this week? I mean, did you think he was just supposed to sit back and observe? He’s a reporter, of course he’s going to have questions… Questions that you were way more qualified to answer, but you were too busy being a jerk all week to answer any of them. So I did it for you–”

“I never asked for you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to– I did it for you!” you cry. “I did it so that he’d write you a good story– because you deserve that.” 

“Oh, how convenient. So you two just get along so well for my sake then?” he says. 

You exhale sharply. “Are you kidding me right now? We’ve spent the last week talking about you! I’ve been talking you up– telling him stories about what you do– how good you are at what you do– all the people you’ve helped–”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “Yeah right,” he scoffs. 

You pause, anger slowly melting away at the realization that he genuinely didn’t believe anything you were saying. 

“Tyler,” you say seriously. “There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Henry. I’ve been answering his questions and telling him how fucking brave and generous and smart you are–”

“Don’t patronize me,” he snaps, voice cracking just slightly. “Just forget it, it doesn’t matter.” He sets his water bottle on the counter before moving to step by you. 

“Tyler stop–” you say, reaching for him. But he’s too quick. He reaches the door before you’re able to stop him. 

“Will you please stop walking away from me!” you blurt out frustratedly, tears forming in your eyes. “You’ve been running from me all week– I just… I just want to talk about this. Please–”

Tyler doesn’t turn to face you, but to your relief, he stops before opening the door. 

“There is nothing happening between me and Henry, Tyler. I mean, I promise you, absolutely nothing– I… I don’t know how else to convince you. But there’s nothing going on. I’m not into Henry–”

“I know,” he says quickly, eyes squeezing shut. 

You let your mouth fall open, confusion washing over you. “What?” 

“I know there’s nothing happening between you and Henry– I trust you and I believe you.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “So why are you so mad at me?”

Tyler pauses and bites his lip before saying, “I’m not mad at you–” he tries to explain. “I just… I don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“I don’t understand why–”

You sigh. “Tyler, you’re not making any sense–”

Tyler’s face twists in anguish. “Why aren’t you into him?”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s everything I’m not. And I mean– Seeing you with him– it just made me realize that you can do so much better than me,”  Tyler says desperately, the pain almost palpable in his voice. “He’s got the fancy degree– he’s obviously smart–”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence, because the idea of anyone ever being better than Tyler was even more ludicrous than him being jealous in the first place. “Tyler, you’re smart–”

“I didn’t go to Columbia. I didn’t even finish my first year of undergrad.”

“I don’t care about any of that– you know I don’t–”

“Why?” he blurts out harshly, finally turning to look at you. “Why do you even want me when you can have someone like him?”

Tyler didn’t think he was good enough for you– and that admission broke your fucking heart. In an instant, all the reasons you loved Tyler flow through your head. There’s so many, you can’t even keep up. 

So instead, you reach into your pocket and pull out the note Henry had given you just hours earlier– the one Tyler apparently saw him give you. He watches as you unfold the piece of paper, quickly revealing that it’s not a phone number. 

“It’s his mom’s cookie recipe,” you explain. “The ones you refused to try. I talked to him about how you have a sweet tooth, and I said how much you love chocolate chip cookies, so he wrote it down for me. I thought I might be able to make them for you when we got home. Because I love you– and I love doing things that will make you happy. Because that’s what you do for me– you make me happy. All the time, just by existing.”

You watch as the realization washes over him.  

You sigh. “Did you ever stop and think about how I feel the same about you?”

He pauses before looking at you questioningly. 

“I mean, you’re you,” you say, gesturing towards him. “People adore you, Tyler. And rightfully so– but I’m always worried you’ll find someone better. But I don’t get hung up on it, because I trust you. I trust that you mean it when you tell me you love me and you choose me. And I need you to do the same for me, Tyler. I need you to trust me. Because I love you– and I always will.”

Tyler exhales, his eyes watery. 

“Can you do that?” you plead. 

To your relief, after a moment, he nods. 

You don’t hesitate before closing the gap between you and wrapping your arms around his middle. You lay your head on his chest just as his arms wind around your shoulders in an attempt to make up for all the hugs you’ve missed out on this week. Because as much as you love chasing in Oklahoma or Texas, your absolute favorite place to be is at home in his arms. 

“Cookie recipe, huh?” he muses above you, chin resting on top of your heads. 

You nod. “I’m a horrible baker, but I was going to give it a shot.”

Tyler tightens his grip around you. “Well horrible baker or not, I love you and I choose you.”

You let your eyes fall shut and inhale the familiar, comforting scent of him. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” you say honestly.