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f1byjessie · 9 months ago

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SUGAR, SPICE, AND EVERYTHING NICE ━━ FA14.

being the wife to a formula one driver is hard, especially when they're far away.

( fernando alonso x wife!reader )

━━ one shot.

When you were ten, you baked with your grandmother for the first time and fell in love. With the flour up to your elbows, an apron two sizes too big looped twice around your waist, and your grandmother's sweet voice crooning along to Sergio Endrigo, she taught you the differences between a teaspoon and a tablespoon, that a pinch sometimes means two, and when it comes to cinnamon you can never have too much.

“My angioletto,” she called you, her little angel, “it doesn’t have to look pretty when it’s done. When I was younger, I made my husband, your nonno, the ugliest cookies you could imagine. But I put my love in it, and he loved me very much, and he ate every single one and for the rest of his years claimed they were the best cookies I ever made for him.”

She’d lifted you onto the stool at the counter, so you could peer down at the mangled mess of cinnamon rolls. “It may look odd on the outside, but it is just as delicious as the others, and you know what? It’s even more special because it was made by my granddaughter.”

She’d wrapped you up in her arms then, pressing a kiss to your forehead and laughing loudly and warmly when you tried to squirm out of her arms with a giggle of your own.

“One day, my angioletto, you will find someone who loves you with their entire heart, and it won’t matter how pretty your baking is, because they will eat it, and to them it will taste like heaven.” She’d pulled apart the cinnamon roll, looked you in the eye, and smiled— “Until that someone gets here, I will stand in.”

You ate the whole pan together, and neither of you cared that it ruined your appetite for supper or gave you a stomach ache a little while later.

She’d driven you home that night after the sun had set, and when you got to the little shop on the corner of the market square, a little storefront overgrown with ivy, she’d slowed to a cruise and pointed out where the old sign used to be— where there was just an off-color splotch where the walls around it had been bleached by the sun.

She had regaled you with another story of her time as a girl in the kitchen baking bread with the owner, as she did every morning before school in exchange for a few dollars a month, and then she told you, as she always did, that one day she’d buy it for herself and turn it back into the best bakery Italy had ever seen.

When you were twenty— a law school dropout, struggling to find your place in a world that didn’t seem to have any room for you— you bought the small shop on the corner of the market square, turned it into a bakery, and named it after your grandmother.

It was all on a whim, a result of what you're pretty sure was some quarter-life crisis brought on by feeling as lost as you were. Still, you were living out the lingering ghost of a pipe dream from your teenage years that your father's harsh words and mother's disapproval had shattered to pieces, and following in the footsteps of the woman who inspired your passion for creation.

You’re nearly thirty now, and you still don’t regret buying the bakery. It’s your home away from home now— your home when your heart is halfway around the world and waking up as you go to bed. You love what you do, and you feel grateful that you’ve lucked out in being able to spend your days doing something that makes you so genuinely happy.

But that doesn’t mean that every day is easy.

Today is one of those hard days. Valentine’s Day is just a week away which means orders are coming in like crazy, and on top of the hecticness it’s also the thirteenth anniversary of your grandmother’s passing. Even though you’ve made it these thirteen years without her, the reminder of her legacy— her dream, which you now live for her— is no easier to deal with now than it was all those years ago when you’d just lost her.

The smell of fresh bread from the kitchen and the deep lull of Sergio Endrigo over the bakery’s speakers do nothing but remind you of her and the afternoons you spent in her kitchen, kneading dough and icing cookies. You feel like a little girl again, laughing over old stories of your mother and flushing bright red when she’d bump her hip against yours and ask if there were any boys at school that had caught your eye.

You’d give anything to hear her talk about her days at the bakery one more time, have her guide you through another recipe, or listen to her sing along to old Italian classics.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Beatrice asks. She’s a young American woman you met a few years back when she was studying abroad. She hadn’t known much Italian back then, and you were the first person she’d met who could speak English, so she’d asked you for directions to the nearest bus station and you had walked her there to make sure she wouldn’t get lost, which had led to you both talking, trading contact information, and eventually you offering her a job at the bakery when she announced to you months later after continued talking that she’d be staying for the foreseeable future.

You wipe your hands against your apron and offer her a smile. It doesn’t come as easily as it normally does, and you feel like it shows. “Just being a bit nostalgic today,” you admit, turning your gaze to the picture of your grandmother that hangs on the wall across from the display case.

There are other pictures hung up with her— you in front of the bakery on the day you bought it, the bakery back when your grandmother still worked there nearly sixty years ago, you and your husband the day you got married, and Beatrice with her three dogs to list a few, all things and places and people you love and want to remember.

“My grandmother, who I named this place after, have I ever told you about her?”

Beatrice hums, thinking back to the many conversations you have both shared you imagine. As she does so, she reaches for a cloth to start wiping down the front of the display case. “I don’t think so,” she finally answers, rounding the counter to the glass front. “I knew the bakery was named after her, and that she taught you to bake, but not much else. You don’t really talk about her much.”

You frown, “I guess I don’t.”

“But it’s okay,” Beatrice adds quickly. “I know family can be a touchy topic. If you’d rather not talk about her, I understand. I’m not very fond of talking about my brother, to be honest.”

The only time Beatrice does talk about her brother is when she’s drunk, which she usually tends to be when the two of you sit down over a bottle of wine and gossip about the happenings of your lives. You’ve heard plenty of stories about him, and thinking back to the most recent one in particular startles a laugh out of you.

Beatrice seems relieved when you glance back over to her with a soft smile.

“My grandmother was the greatest woman I ever knew,” you start. “Do you mind if I talk about her?”

Your employee— your friend— smiles gently at you and continues polishing away the smudges on the display case. “I would love it if you talked about her.

“She used to call me her little angel…”

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yourusername i’ll leave a piece just for you, nonna.

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user that looks delicious!!

user it’s actually my dream to visit y/n’s bakery 😍

↳ user no cuz literally same, idk anyone else who makes smth as simple as bread look so amazing

↳ user it’s like how irl some foods don’t look that good but somehow in cartoons they make it look like it’s the most appetizing thing in the entire world i would actually cut off my own arm and leg just to get to try a single bite

user così carino!! ❤️❤️

user how is it possible to make food look heavenly 😳

user every time she posts food it makes me want to marry a husband that can bake bc there’s no way i could ever do this myself but i do in fact want to live a life like this so very badly

↳ user FELT THIS OMG

user what a beautiful way to remember someone 🫶

user she’s gorgeous aND SHE CAN BAKE???

↳ user she’s really the most wag of all wags 😩

↳ user fell down a rabbit hole of wag interactions throughout the years and y/n’s introduction into the group is so iconic bc she baked them all cookies and brought them when she first met them all

↳ user i read that in an interview that she knows all their favourites and tries to make them all throughout the season when she goes to races

↳ user she’s actually such a sweetheart irl too, i visited the bakery before i ever knew who she was or what f1 is and if i hadn’t already seen that ring on her finger i would’ve shot my shot no joke 😔😔

↳ user what’s alonso’s secret??? where can i find me a wifey like that???

user this is gorgeous

user using food to celebrate a loved one is one of the most loving things a person can do in my opinion. so much love goes into food, but especially baked goods which take time and patience and practice. this is a really touching and beautiful way to honor someone, and i hope she’s watching down on you and thinking the same thing ❤️

↳ user didn’t think i was gonna be crying today but here we are ig 😭

fernandoalo_oficial mi vida, she would be so proud of you 💛

↳ yourusername i hope so, i am who i am because of her 💛

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yourusername arrivederci 💛

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fernandoalo_oficial and may it be soon, mi vida 💛

user obsessed with the way fernando is obsessed with his wife

↳ user the fact that he calls her mi vida every time he addresses her has me walking into oncoming traffic 🙃

↳ user “my life” in spanish 😭😭 i literally fucking can’t when is it my turn to get a man that loves and cherishes me like this

↳ user honestly i think it’s just time to accept we’ll be alone forever cuz if he don’t treat me the way fernando treats his wife then i don’t want him

user for the ppl asking, arrivederci means until we meet again in italian, it’s a pretty common way to say goodbye in italy

↳ user AND FERNANDO SAID AND MAY IT BE SOON OH I AM ILL

user when will he return from the war…

↳ user it’s only february the season hasn’t even started yet so why isn’t he with her??

↳ user aston martin’s hq is in the uk and fernando has to be there for the car reveal, testing/sims, training, promo content, etc. it’s the logistical pr side of formula 1 that makes the season start a lot earlier than what ppl might think

↳ user AND OVER VALENTINE’S DAY TOO??? 😭😭😭😭

user mama y papa

user i want to grow old with someone and have pictures of our vacations to look back on and remember and i don’t think that’s too much to ask for

user she’s posting like he’s dead or smth 💀

↳ user i mean i would be too if my husband was missing valentines day bc of work tbf 🤷‍♀️

user i can’t believe fernando alonso bagged a baddie who ain’t even 30 yet

↳ user i can have you SEEN fernando alonso?? 👀👀👀

↳ user have you SEEN y/n?? 👀👀👀

↳ user two baddies bagged each other guys there’s not a lot to try and comprehend

Fernando being gone has never really mattered to you much. You miss him, of course. He’s your husband and ideally, you would be able to travel the world with him on a whim without needing to worry about who’s in charge of the bakery, but despite how perfect your life seems with Fernando by your side, there are a lot of things that don’t go according to plan and Fernando’s hectic work schedule is one of them.

The constant traveling across the season is exhausting for both of you, even though you’re not the one doing the majority of it. You attend his races when you can— usually when Beatrice forces you to, which is more and more recently as of late, with the logic that you should get the chance to see the world while you’re still young and while Fernando is still racing— but even when you’re home in Naples, the worry that you feel for Fernando as he flies around the world and races in a dangerous car takes its toll.

You wouldn’t even think of ever asking him to give it up, but not being by his side is hard and you cannot afford— for the sake of the bakery— to follow him wherever his sport takes him. So for now, you will always worry and stress about the toll it all takes on him as well.

You honestly hadn’t given much thought that he’d be missing Valentine’s Day this year, but it occurs to you now as you scroll through the comments on your post.

It’s by far the first time he’ll be gone for the holiday, but something about this year just feels different. Maybe it’s the stress of the extra workload you’ve taken on at the bakery to make up for the extra orders this year and the employees that have had to call out, or maybe the anniversary of your grandmother’s passing is hitting you harder this time than it has in the past, but whatever it is, the idea of Fernando not being here to celebrate with you has your eyes filling with tears as you sit curled up in bed.

Alone.

As you have been for the last few weeks now.

Fernando is in Silverstone, preparing for the launch of the new car and getting back into the swing of things before the new season starts, and this is part of the job you understand. You’ve been his wife for many years now. The racing may start in March, but the real season begins much sooner, and to a certain degree it never truly ends.

There’s always a push to be staying in shape, eating healthy, and staying up to date with all the up-and-coming news. Fernando has worked hard to try and find the middle ground, to enjoy his break while he has it, and take a step back from the Formula One world if only to de-stress from the sport’s particular brand of pressure.

And you’ve worked hard to accept that he will always be thinking like a race car driver.

Nonetheless, though you have enjoyed the interview clips and photographs of him being posted around on social media, and you love even more the pictures your husband’s teammate has been sending you and you alone, you can’t help but want to be selfish. You want to have him with you, in your home, cuddled up beside you instead of 1700 kilometers away in another country.

But that’s the way of things.

You’re about to turn off the lamp and, maybe, cry yourself to sleep while ignoring the very cold and very empty other half of a bed that’s too big for one— a bed you haven’t slept in the middle of since before you ever met Fernando, too used to occupying one side and finding another body on the other— when your phone lights up with an incoming call and his contact image flashes across your screen.

It’s late in Italy, nearing midnight now, and the UK isn’t too far behind. With the strictness of his daily schedule and the importance of a full night of rest, he should already be in bed by now. He should’ve already been in bed hours ago, if you remember correctly from past seasons.

“Fernando?”

“My love,” he greets, soft and sweet and sounding like just hearing you say his name has left him breathless. You can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I am sorry that it’s so late. I hope I did not wake you up, but I am calling because I simply could not bear to fall asleep without hearing you.”

You sniffle, wiping away at the tears in your eyes, but the quiet noise must’ve been enough for him to hear because he makes an inquisitive sound.

“Mi vida,” he calls to you, concern seeping into his words. “What is wrong? Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum back to him, shifting around in bed to face the window and the scenic view that lies beyond. You can see the ocean from your home— the dark water pulling in and pushing out and glittering with the reflected light of the moon, and the boats docked at the marina, still, silent, asleep. The moon’s glow paints the cityscape in an ethereal haze, like something from a fairytale. “I’m okay. Just a bad few days. I miss you, Fernando.”

“I know, my love,” he coos. “But we will be together soon. Do you remember what I told you when I left?”

As if you could possibly forget. The morning he left, a fog had rolled in from the sea and you’d swathed yourself in a shawl to chase away the early, damp chill as you stood on the stoep to see him off.

Fernando had wrapped you up in his arms, an embrace so warm and safe that the feeling had lingered for hours afterward still, and he’d whispered in your ear that he would move mountain and sea to get back to you if you ever needed him.

“But I always need you,” you’d teased. He’d chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, a promise, and then pulled you in even closer, tucking your head beneath his chin and letting his fingers run through your hair and comb through the remaining bedhead tangles.

You would similarly move earth and sky to be with him again now, just to feel his arms around you, or in the bed beside you.

“I meant what I said,” he says over the phone, drawing your attention back.

You hum again, “I know. But sweetheart, you have a job to do. It’s a very important job, too.” You curl the blankets around you tighter. “Pay no mind to my musings, okay? It’s just been a rocky start. The bakery has lots of orders to get through for Valentine’s Day, and I am short-staffed now.”

“What has happened?”

“What hasn’t?” You joke, heaving a sigh. “Rodrigo broke his hand in a biking accident this past Sunday, and the doctor says he’ll be out for a month at least. I can have him work the register and do minor cleaning chores, but we really need him in the kitchen because Andrea hasn’t yet been trained to use the equipment. I am trying to have Beatrice help with that, but it will take time we don’t have. On top of that, Samuel’s wife is having her baby so he has taken paternity leave, and Gemma has gone back to France for her mother’s birthday.”

Fernando makes a noise of understanding. “You are so stressed, mi vida. I wish there was more I could do. I am sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You have no reason to. In fact, I should be thanking you because I’m feeling so much better just hearing your voice,” you answer. Feeling the tears dissipate as your husband’s joyous laughter trickles into your ear from the phone’s speaker.

“And I am better just hearing yours,” he says. “But I will leave you to sleep now. It’s too late for you to be awake. Te amo, mi esposa.”

“Ti amo, marito mio.”

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lance_stroll i’m really only here to take pictures for his wife

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fernandoalo_oficial the heart is for her only

yourusername and i appreciate you very much for it lancino 🫶

↳ lance_stroll at least someone cares about the work i put in 😔

astonmartinf1 Breaking News: Aston Martin’s Lance Stroll challenges Aston Martin’s social media admin for their job

↳ lance_stroll thanks but i think i’ll stick to driving fast cars. it’s less stress.

user FERNANDO MAKING FINGER HEARTS FOR HIS WIFE 😭😭😭

user if you look closely you can actually see me about to jump off the roof in that last picture 🫠

↳ user real

user why is the first one so cute??

user lance is really just fernando and y/n’s kid at this point, he’s the disgruntled son who reluctantly takes pictures of his dad to send to his mom, and he complains about it, but he secretly loves doing it

↳ user i mean have you SEEN what y/n does for his birthday each year??

↳ user no????

↳ user she specifically learned how to make bannock and a bunch of other traditionally canadian desserts and baked goods for him

↳ user i bet lance’s trainer hates that lmao 😂😂

↳ user you all are talking about them like y/n isn’t just a few years older than lance himself is 💀

↳ user leave fernando and his controversially young wife alone

↳ user guys?? he’s literally only 42?? y/n is almost in her 30s, it could definitely be worse. at least they’re both well into adulthood

user nobody talk to me for the rest of the day this is all i can think about now

user HE MAKES LANCE TAKE PICTURES TO SEND TO HIS WIFE PLS OH MY DAYS

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fernandoalo_oficial throwback thursday, as they say, except it isn’t thursday and i just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife. te amo 💛.

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yourusername i love you more mio carissimo 💛

↳ fernandoalo_oficial impossible, i love you the most

user adding “posts me just bc he can” to my list of standards for men

user SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING

user “just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife” oh my god fernando alonso the man that you are… 😩😩

user guys he’s the blueprint

↳ user she’s so lucky

user WHEN IS IT MY TURN???? CAN I NOT BE HAPPY TOO????

user she’s actually so beautiful omg 😳😳😳

↳ user they’re such a power couple

↳ user super excited for y/n to be back in the paddock this year (fingers crossed it happens more) cuz she’s actually so stunning and her outfits are always very classy and fun to look at

↳ user is there a reason she doesn’t go to many races?? they don’t have kids iirc, so idk why she wouldn’t be able to attend more 🤔

↳ user she owns and runs a small bakery in italy, which means she can’t just travel for 9 months out of the year. she shows up when she’s able to, don’t get me wrong, but it’s definitely less frequently than some of the other wags

user gen imagine being fernando alonso’s wife

↳ user i think i would cease to exist

user cuando es mi turno 😭

Valentine’s Day arrives and with it comes the added stress of knowing you’ll be stuck in the bakery all day helping last-minute patrons sort through pastries and treats for their partners. This in and of itself is not a problem, you’ve always liked helping people and baking is your passion after all, but the idea of rising before the sun and being on your feet until long after it sets is not the most appealing, and even worse, your usual happiness is still overshadowed by the cloud of gloom that’s been following you since last week.

Ever since his first late-night call, Fernando has been good about making sure to ring you in the morning before he heads into the factory, and at night when he leaves. It’s helped, certainly, but nothing ever compares to the real thing and that thought makes you feel guiltier every day that you think it.

He has a job to do, a job that he loves. Neither of you should be forced to give up your passions, and that just means needing to make a few sacrifices every once in a while.

He doesn’t call you that morning, however, and though you hide it behind as much of a cheery grin as you can manage, it stings and you’re disappointed.

But throwing yourself into your work is always something you’ve been good at, so you focus instead on kneading dough, mixing pastry filling, and icing cupcakes.

Beatrice finds you back in the kitchen an hour before the bakery is scheduled to open, and the look on her face tells you she knew it’s where you would be.

“You shouldn’t be working today,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

You shrug, sliding a pan of bread from the oven. “We are too short-staffed for me to not be working today. Plus, what would I do anyway? Sit at home alone pretending that I’m not? At least in the bakery, I can put myself to use and be distracted.”

All she does is sigh.

The morning goes well. There’s a bit of a rush when you first open, the most notable of customers is a disgruntled older gentleman who you consider to be a monthly regular. He explains a long-winded story about his daughter’s boyfriend breaking up with her over text last night, and needing something to help cheer her up. He leaves with a box of cannoli, and an extra loaf of bread you threw in for him on the house.

Near the afternoon is when it starts to pick up, but in a lull between customers just after lunchtime, Beatrice corners you in the back. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her eyebrows are furrowed, and her mouth is set in a line.

“Go home,” she orders.

You huff. “Beatrice, I am the boss. Not you.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“I am not going home! The rush will get busier later this evening and we are short-staffed—”

“Rodrigo’s coming in to work register in—” she checks the watch on her wrist, “—fifteen minutes. I ran Andrea through kitchen duty the other day and I’ll be supervising her the entire time, and Marco and Silvia both said they could pick up a shift. I also have a text from Samuel’s wife saying if we need even more help she would gladly get her husband out of the house if it means he’ll stop hovering over her, and I’m prepared to take her up on that offer should the need arise.”

You blink at her. There’s a reason she’s the one you leave in charge when you travel, but whenever you’re reminded of just how good she is at managing the bakery you’re always left a little shocked. She orchestrated everything in the span of a morning and you didn’t even notice.

“Why do you want me to go home so badly?” You ask her, shoving your hands down into your apron’s pockets. “Nothing is waiting for me there anyway. Even if we weren’t short-handed, I would’ve still been here.”

“You sure about that?” Is all she says before turning on her heel and exiting back into the front of the bakery.

You don’t pretend to understand what she’s talking about as you hang your apron up and head for home. Beatrice shoots you a wink as you wave goodbye, and it feels like some sort of foreshadowing for whatever awaits you.

Nothing, however, looks any different than it had when you left. You park your car in the empty driveway, collect the newspaper from the stoep, and unlock the door.

Your keys and the newspaper are both tossed onto the counter just inside the kitchen as you toe off your shoes. You hang up your jacket on the dining room chair as you make your way into the living room, and then you pause.

There, resting on the couch is a stuffed toy bear and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. In the bear’s arms is a little sign, and the handwriting is already enough to have your eyes filling with tears.

“Fernando?” You call out to the silent house.

You check the ground floor and find no other sign of him, so you take to the stairs and begin the ascent up to the next, continuing to call out the many different pet names you have given to him throughout the years.

You peek into the bedroom, “Mia vita?”

Stood in the center of the room, a big grin on his face, is your husband. Fernando looks mighty proud of himself, a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s had this planned for a while and he’s smug that he’s managed to keep a secret from you. He opens his arms wide when you just continue to stand in the doorway, and like a flip has been switched, you rush into him when a sob of happiness.

He wraps himself around you, and the feeling of his arms holding you so firmly in his embrace is warm and comforting, and everything you had missed in the weeks he was gone. Your face is pressed into the crook of his neck, and the smell of his cologne has you sagging even further against him, sinking as far as you can into his hold.

He presses a kiss to your head and sways the both of you back and forth.

“Mi vida,” he murmurs. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.”

“I didn’t know you were coming home,” you cry against him, voice muffled from where your face is still pressed against him.

He runs a hand through your hair, scratching his nails against your scalp in the way that always calms you down, and hums. You feel it in the vibration of his chest more than you hear it. “I wanted to surprise you after you told me how stressed you were. I told you, no? I would move mountains and seas to be with you whenever you need me.”

“Ti amo,” you whisper against his skin.

“Te amo,” he whispers into your hair.

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yourusername to the luce dei miei occhi, i love you more than life itself 💛

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fernandoalo_oficial mi vida i'll love you in this life and the next, until the very end of time itself 💛

↳ yourusername ti amo mia vita

user LUCE DEI MIEI OCCHI = LIGHT OF MY EYES

↳ user oh my days 🫢

↳ user i’m actually ill that is too cute

user they ARE that couple and they have every right to be

user WAR IS OVER

user i need them to adopt me right tf now it’s not a want it’s a need

user GUYS HE WAS JUST IN SILVERSTONE LIKE A DAY AGO??? FOR THE CAR LAUNCH??? THAT MEANS HE FLEW ALL THE WAY TO ITALY LAST MINUTE JUST TO SEE HIS WIFE FOR VALENTINES DAY

↳ user fernando alonso once again proving why he’s the best husband on the grid

↳ user i’m obsessed with them a totally normal amount

lance_stroll every time i saw him he was talking to someone about how he had plans to surprise his wife, i’m so surprised he didn’t end up ruining the secret somehow

↳ fernandoalo_oficial have more faith in your padre

↳ lance_stroll well i’ve seen my “padre” make the most cartoon heart eyes at a picture of baked goods so i don’t think faith is really gonna cut it. you’re whipped man 🤷‍♂️

↳ yourusername lancino you must put up with so much from this old man

↳ lance_stroll you know what? i really do

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @casperlikej @pear-1206

━━ a/n: this is the longest fic i've ever written, coming in at a whopping 5.4k words! and it's also the first request i've written for! so, cheers to that. this is my little valentine's day story, because i'm actually a big sap and i really do love good fluffy romances, so writing this distracted me from the fact that i'm actually very alone at the present haha! anyways, hope you all enjoyed! i also wrote this in under 24 hours, and it's a lot, so if there's any editing mistakes please ignore them, i genuinely could not bring myself to re-read all of this looking for every single mistake.

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #fernando alonso #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso imagine #fa14 #lance stroll

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paiges-1vur · 3 months ago

Text

pt. 1. | from across the crowd.. as always, enjoy loves <3 *prologue posted* 🏀⚡️🪩

“what.. you guys, why are you all looking at me like that!” my words led to only more strange looks. my friends all sat around me, mouths open. “tiff. oh my gosh. are you joking!” my friends all start bombarding me with insults and “i can’t believe you’s”

i seriously had no clue this girl even existed until my friends had shown me her.. ten minutes before the game started. while i didn’t even know of her existence, my friends seemed to know her whole life story.

“okay guys but should i put it on?” i ask the group around me. i mean, i was genuinely cold. i had goosebumps forming on my arms and legs from how cold it was in the stadium. i should have noticed something was off when i left my apartment and nobody else was in going out clothes.

my closest friend madisen, who also seemed to know the most about paige encouraged me to put it on. “she wouldn’t have given it to you if she didn’t want you to wear it.. right?” she says shrugging. i slowly pull the hoodie over my head, immediately feeling warmed up.

the hoodie says uconn basketball on it, and has paiges number and last name on it. im immediately flooded by her scent. she smells… really good. like a mix of musk, wood, and smoke. as the rest of the game plays out all i can think about is the fact that i’m wearing her hoodie. i didn’t want the moment to ever end. but it unfortunately did when the buzzer sounded and Uconn was announced the winner.

me and my friends decided to stick around after the game for a little while. they got up to throw out our trash, and empty drink cans while i tried to find paige. i wanted to thank her for lending me her hoodie. its the least i could have done.

as i get up to search for paige, i see her walk out of the locker room.. and walking up to me. she was smiling, standing in front of me, practically towering over me. to be fair, i am 4’11 but that is only due to terrible genetics, and a very short mother. “hey” is all she says, but its enough to make my heart beat faster.

“hey, your name is… paige right?” i say to her smiling innocently, pausing before saying her name, not sure if i had remembered it totally correctly. honestly i could forget my own name right now if she asked me for it. she laughs slightly before responding, “yea thats my name, you remember me?”

I try to play it cool. “well my friends wouldnt shut up about you the whole game” i say laughing. “i didnt even know who you were before i got here.. well they dragged me here, and then almost killed me when i didnt know who you were. long story” i say, trying to explain the crazy night i’ve had. she laughed harder than me, surprised at my confession. “oh.. so you’re telling me you just showed up here, not even knowing who i was?”

im slightly embarrassed, and i hope its not showing on my cheeks. “well.. I’ve never been a fan of basketball, so my friends knew i wouldnt come to the game. they told me we were going out to the bars tonight, and dragged me here. that’s why i was wearing such a… revealing outfit before you gave me your hoodie. bad outfit planning on my part. and yea to be honest i had never heard of you in my life” I try to explain clearly, but I’m not even sure if i believe this all happened in one night.

“oh, wow so you really had no idea who i was?” she sounds almost surprised at this fact. “no.. not really, why?” I say, a slight bit confused. i wonder if i should have known her.

“oh, here’s your hoodie, by the way” i say, pulling it off and folding it into my hands. im now left in ny old outfit. my jean mini skirt and Uconn tank top leave quite frankly, little to the imagination. im not very proud of how i look in this moment, but the least i can do is give paige her hoodie back. “nah, don’t worry about it you can keep it. you look..” her eyes roam my body quickly, “cold anyway. and it looks better on you than me.” i smile at her and slip it back on. the hoodie reaches my mid thigh, its so oversized. “thank you so much- again im so sorry i didn’t know the stadiums were so.. cold oh my gosh.” i say laughing.

she laughs too, looking down at me and smiling. she bites her lip, like shes thinking hard about something before she speaks again. “can i, ask you a question?” im suddenly intrigued why paige bueckers would want to ask me a question but i bite. “yea sure, go ahead.” i say smiling at her, awaiting her next words.

“you probably have a boyfriend.. right?”

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hypnoneghoul · 4 months ago

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Hyp! You said, so you shall receive! Ofcourse only if you want to do something with it but this lil shit has been rattling around my racoon brain for a bit. So, for you 🤲

Rain has the most delicate wrist’s. They’re not even the smallest in the pack, Aurora for example has teeny tiny, fingers overlap, kinda wrist’s.

No Rain’s are a contradiction of themselves, delicate and soft looking like precious porcelain but there’s strength in there too, there has to be because the bass is heavy.

His Ulna is very prominent and after he’s been playing for a few hours there’s a vein that curves around it, cradling the bone.

It’s also a terribly erogenous spot for him, Dew would know. He’s spent a hours staring, stroking his fingers over the delicate joints, imagining how he’d make Rain into a weepy little mess begging Dew to just do something, stop teasing.

Rains wrists drive Dew absolutely feral and Rain knows it.

Or something like that, idk. 🤷🏻‍♂️

this made my brain go empty for weeks but here i am and i bring food. loosely inspired by @miasmaghoul's fic on dewther watching the ghovie, hope u don't mind

does not contain any rhrn spoilers!!!

“Should’ve made you take the jacket off sooner,” Dewdrop whispers right into his ear with another slow stroke over delicate skin.

It’s stretched so thin over the bones of Rain’s wrist, keeping all the tendons and veins not hidden, but veiled nonetheless.

The water ghoul grits his teeth and digs his claws further into his own thigh. Well, not claws, considering he’s got them glamored—they’re surrounded by tens of unsuspecting humans, after all—but his blunt, perfectly trimmed nails. The same ones that are still flashing on the big screen right before them from time to time.

“I’d get to see those pretty wrists even more.”

Rain can do nothing but keep his head straight and his eyes glued to the screen. He should’ve known. He should’ve known his little mate would go absolutely feral seeing not just him in general in the cinema, but the close-ups of his hands. His wrists.

Why the delicate bones wrapped in fair skin were Dewdrop’s undoing, nobody’s ever learned, even though nobody could deny that every single part of Rain’s body is absolutely perfect. He carries the precisely carved out and yet so natural beauty of renaissance statues. For some reason, the fire ghoul’s favorite part of him is one of the unassuming ones and because of this his mate’s own body was conditioned to betray him every single time a reverent fingertip would be placed over that spot.

“Dew, you can’t–” Rain mutters when the music is loud enough to cover up his cracking voice. There’s nothing more he wants right now than for Dewdrop to go on and work him up and up until he tips over the edge, but they can't, they're in public. And the water ghoul knows he won’t be able to control himself if his mate carries on his teasing.

“Sure I can,” Dewdrop turns to smile at him and if Rain didn’t know better he’d call it genuine, sweet, innocent. The fire ghoul is all but that.

Dewdrop lets his glamor slip the tiniest bit, just enough for one of his nails to return to its natural state. He scrapes it over the middle one of Rain’s flexors, pressing it down just enough to leave a straight red line following the tendon. His skin is so delicate, it takes barely anything to leave a mark.

The thought makes the fire ghoul let out a growl.

Rain whines pathetically like a kicked puppy and throws his head back against the top of the cushioned cinema seat. Another clip focused solely on his own fretting hand flashes on the screen and the water ghoul wants to scream.

Instead he throws his free hand over his crotch, pressing down onto the steadily growing bulge to take some of the edge off. It doesn’t escape Dewdrop’s attention—just as the smell of the fire ghoul’s cunt in arousal doesn’t escape Rain’s.

He leans into his ear once again.

“It’s actually a wonder you’ve never tried putting your whole hand into me,” Dewdrop whispers, moving his claw up Rain’s forearm as he shakes in his seat. “We should try that later. Wanna see your wrist buried inside me while my slick is dripping down this pretty veiny forearm all the way to your elbow.”

The next noise the water ghoul lets out makes the entire auditorium turn their heads.

#divider by @ghuleh-recs #hypnone writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul

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honeyydrunk · 6 months ago

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the nct fuckboy/fratboy agenda has me weakkkk omg give us more whenever u have the time ur so good!!!

ofc thank u !! they have me going delusional feral crazy barking and meowing !! let me do it for you let me write it out ANY MORE REQUESTS LEMME KNOW !!

part 1 link NCT COLLEGE FUCKBOYS PART 2 ten jeno jungwoo hendery yangyang renjun xiaojun winwin

ten lee chittaphon leechaiyapornkul is a whore. absolute whore. he's raising those neos into SLUTS. his reputation precedes him bc he is so pretty, so flexible, so ughhhhhhhhhhh !!!! like you see him for the first time and you know why people say he's got a body count bigger than his age. everyone wants to fuck himmm. he's so pretty, and even even prettier fucked out. messy hair and everything.

he's always flirting with someone new in the hallway when you see him. and like taeyong, his sex tapes get sent AROUND. people come up to him at school randomly and beg for 1 night w him. he's slept w all the neos at one point im sure about that.

you knew about how much of a SLUT bro was. but once you saw one of his sex tapes w johnny, you found yourself showed up outside of his class and begged for him. he responded that you should dm him w your application and he might get back to you about it. lee jeno 💪 bro is ur average athlete player fuckboy. THE cliche. smokes behind the benches, rich family, somehow top of the class. the one that everyone swears they won't fall for but they all want. you see a new girl on his arm each week and it hurts. but you've already fallen, it's just a matter of time. he'll start wearing you down and he didn't even know he did it. but you did. pulling the triangle technique when you lock eyes, catching you when you fall. and eventually he'll be right behind you when you shamefully admit to your friend that you want him. when he fucks you gone in his car? you know you need to get him to stay with you. you couldn't live without this. like you need his dick to even function. you've given up your life for him, just so that when he asks you're available to suck his dick.

JUNGWOO,,,, oh my god. he's so crazy. y'all remember the 2 baddies fuckboy jungwoo era. imagine that, but that's his default setting. man's still sugaring candy, but it's ur candy this time. he's sucking ur pussy if u didn't understand what doja said. he's the quiet slut. the whole school doesn't talk about him like they do mark, ten, taeyong and jeno. but when you see him? you're done for. batshit crazy delusional. his whole demeanour and personality is straight flirting, pulling his shirt up at every opportunity. the way he walks around the school with his sweet perfume trailing, he gets people going feral over him. people will just walk up and beg for him to fuck him, and ofc jungwoo obliges if they're hot enough.

he's so sweet when you taste him, like his cum is sweeter than sugar. his perfume too. everything about him is like a candy drug. a pretty moan when you suck him dry. he's so pretty and sweet that makes you cum too. genuinely, you start following him around school just so you can smell him. you don't even care it's creepy.

H E N D E R Y is the epitome of "so weird you forget he's hot." he's actually extremely popular. genuinely friends with everyone. people are a little hesitant because they know he's part of the neo slut gang, and they see him acting a little unusual special crazy. but they actually have a conversation with him and suddenly they realise, bro this guy is amazing. and jus like that he's friends with everyone.

but then, uh well here comes a strange phenomenon. you've only seen him being silly, a little whimsical even. but when you see him zoned out, or concentrating for once? ..... "oh". because you finally realise how beautiful he is. an actual prince. it's not exaggerated to say he's taken your breath away. you're in love. imagine how much it hurts to go to a party and realise that you're not the only one in the room that is. so many people had that exact experience as you. learning how beautiful he truly is, falling in love, and begging for him. you see him in the corner, zoned out from the loud music and watch one of the guys you're mutually friends with have that phenomenon right there and then, pulling him away to a cupboard.

the same thing happened 3 times that night. liu yangyang international exchange fuckboy. he doesn't realise he's a fuckboy though. with the whole funny and cute personality going on, he thinks he's just got an amazing ability to pull people. sleeping with a different person or multiple people at a party, to seeing someone new every day and asking for their instagram. bro doesn't even know about the horrendous reputation he's got. "dude people say i'm a slut? nahhh that's crazy."

yangyang is of the opinion he's just a funny chill guy. down for anything, including a little fun fuck times whenever someone asks. and while that's his reasoning, he doesn't quite understand how it looks to everyone else. a rich guy coming back from germany, taiwan, and wherever else for weekend getaway bender and driving to school in a luxury car with a new girl in it almost every day.

when he fucks? it's just like his personality. fun and hyper. bros fucking for a good time and with him it's definitely a good time. spilling cum on the luxury leather seats, tinted windows and a surround sound system. yeah,,,,, you see why he does this so often. it's genuinely so much fun. better make sure you give him a really good time though, so he invites you to his apartment next time.

renjunnie the most smug class president for some, and nct's little plaything to others. it really depends on who you ask. for people in his class, he is the most obnoxious, smug, annoying ahh know it all, with the biggest dick. (a stick up his ass which is obviously jenos). genuinely, every person he's tutored has ended up unfortunately eyeing him instead of the book. how did that end? with him being just as rude and bitchy as he fucks you. measuring how much he pleases you by how much you can answer while fucked out.

but for the ones that know of the dreamies having their way with him can't possibly see him as anything other than a little toy. the way the other six just devour that man is actually quite shocking. lowkey surprised bro can even walk.

xiaojun oh my lord. this man's moans are heavenly. you actually cum when you hear them. (lowkey think some czennie do when he hits those notes). he's part of the nct moaner gets passed around line with renjun, haechan, taeyong, and ten. horrid sex tapes.

he looks so beautiful. standing in front of the school performance during an assembly, halting everyone with his voice. if you could look around, you'd see everyone frozen. haunted by his siren song and face that launched a thousands wars. everyone in that room was looking at him, and only him. in that room, no one was in a relationship. how could they love anyone else except him.

countless marriage proposals, dowrys of billions. everyone in that room would give xiaojun the world in exchange for a sliver of his love. no joke someone has given him a car in exchange for his private instagram account. winwin bros got the cha eunwoo effect. the campus crush. he hangs out with the china line horrid fuckboys , yangyang hendery chenle. but who cares? that actually elevates his status. literally a rose in a garden of slutty ahh thorns. that's not to say he's not a giant fuckboy. he's just quieter about it.

with his quiet excuses, sneak dates an hour away, his subtle ways of affection. he says he doesn't want attention, so you can't publicly date. but that's just so the other girls won't find out. he doesn't even think he's dating you, just seeing where it goes. eventually you'll call it off, "making it easier on your friendship" you say. that's how he goes through so many girls.

taking you to a beautiful garden several hours out of the city, you think it's romantic. he uses a different phone to text with you, 'so the guys don't go through my regular one and tease you'.

enjoying the sunlight he's slowly fingering you so you're focused on his love, and not seeing what's right in front of you

tags: @stanskzorillkickyou you asked for yangyang bbg !!

prev: haechan, mark, johnny, yuta, jaemin, kun, chenle, jisung next: jaehyun doyoung, perhaps lucas sungchan shotaro

#nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #wayv smut #nct smut #ten smut #ten lee smut #lee jeno smut #jeno smut #jungwoo smut #hendery smut #yangyang smut #xiaojun smut #winwin smut

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pearlessance · 4 months ago

Text

Fishnet's & Old Fashioned's [part two]

[part one]

Summary - Tommy Miller reallizes Joel's right; he's got it real bad for that scary chick.

Pairing - Tommy Miller/goth!bartender!Reader

Warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, begging, dom/sub undertones, switch!Tommy and switch!Reader, tongue piercings, nipple play, dirty talk, semi-public, hair pulling, vaginal fingering, kneeling, body worship, boot worship, oral sex, face fucking, face slapping, overstim

[crossposted on AO3]

SWITCHING HYSTERISIS

It’s an effort to keep himself from the bar until the day of your date. He reminds himself countless times, that it’s only three days. It’s only two days. It’s only one day. But you've bewitched him, burrowed into his brain and made a home there. And so Tommy hopes you’ll text him before Tuesday. He checks his phone ten times more than usual, wishing you were thinking of him even half as much as he’s thinking of you. But no text message ever pops up, and he gets no missed calls.

Until Tuesday at nine in the morning, when you send a text message with your address, and Tommy starts rushing around to get ready. He puts on his best pair of Levi’s, and a cotton t-shirt that fits a little too tight on his biceps (black, of course, to match you). He combs and gels his hair, and wears a nice silver chain that Sarah got him for Christmas two years ago in an attempt at fashion advice. He brushes his teeth—twice, and still chews a stick of gum afterwards. He sprays his most expensive cologne and hangs a new black ice, tree-shaped air freshener in his truck.

He gets to your apartment ten minutes early and sees you waiting outside. Tommy can’t get out of the truck fast enough. He meets you on the sidewalk, holds out his hand, and immediately lifts your arm and indicates for you to spin in a circle so he can truly appreciate the dark mystery you exude. “Goddamn, girl,” he says, eyes raking over your long, fishnet-covered legs. You’re wearing a pleated black skirt that’s just a little too short, with a velvety crop top and platform boots with a bunch of silver buckles. The very same ones, Tommy remembers, that you wore that night he got on his knees for you.

You smell like cherries again, sweet and earthy and delicious. You’re giggling softly when you face him once more, laughing at the awestruck expression on his face. “You don’t look so bad yourself, casanova,” you say, and it’s the closest thing to a compliment he’s ever received from those pretty crimson lips. It makes him feel dizzy.

Tommy opens the door to his truck for you and waits while you climb inside. “Hope you cleared your schedule, baby,” he tells you. “Got the whole day planned out for us.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I turned my location on then, so they know where to find my body when you’re done with it.”

You say it so flatly that he can’t help but laugh. “Oh, darlin,' you think I’d leave that sweet little body behind?” He lets his gaze dip from your face to your cleavage, on full display all for him, and allows his attention to linger there for a moment longer than necessary. “Never.”

“How romantic and necrophiliac of you.” You say it with disdain, but the sun is high in the sky and he knows the warmth on your cheeks isn’t because of the weather.

He does have the whole day planned out. You stop at a local coffee shop on the way to San Antonio, and it surprises him when he orders a black coffee and you order something vanilla flavored with more milk in it than actual coffee. It makes him laugh and reminds him of Saturday night when he discovered that you wore pink panties beneath all your black leather and lace. It makes Tommy wonder what other parts of your life are filled with color, making up for the lack of it in your wardrobe.

He takes you to one of those fancy museums, just like he wanted, and it’s even better than he imagined. Tommy genuinely enjoys himself, even though he’s so out of his element it isn’t even funny. He’s the only person in the whole place in a pair of jeans, but you don’t seem to mind at all. You laugh at the jokes he makes about some of the weirder paintings, and when you see one inspired by those witch trials he learned about in high school Tommy listens to you talk about it for fifteen minutes.

And the strangest part is that he’s enraptured by it. He loves hearing you talk, especially when you get excited and your hands start moving as you speak.

The weather is nicer when you’re finished—the sun has warmed the morning chill away and you decide to walk to the next attraction. Tommy takes you to that fancy cathedral and watches you gush over that, too. You look so pretty like this, he thinks—with wonder in your eyes and sunlight in your hair.

It’s weird to be this attached so quickly, he knows. You’re just some bartender he met a couple of weeks ago, and you know next to nothing about each other, but Tommy Miller wants to learn everything there is to know about you. He wants to learn more about those witch trials and about the gothic architecture in Europe you’re super knowledgeable about. He wants to listen to The Misfits and learn the lyrics, wants to find fishnet stockings and pink panties in his laundry.

But he doesn’t want to weird you out, and so instead he gives you a toothy grin and laces his fingers through yours.

It startles you a little, at first, and you scowl at him. But then your scowl turns into a glare with a little smile, and you wrap your free hand around his elbow and step a little closer.

Tommy Miller’s heart flutters, as if he’s some youthful boy falling in love for the first time and not the goth girl obsessed old man he really is.

He takes you to the fancy restaurant he made reservations at, and asks more questions than you can keep up with. You tell him about your parents and your best friend, and when he asks you about how you spend your time outside of work he laughs when you say, “I’ve been doing a lot of indoor gardening lately.” And then your easy energy fades, and Tommy’s laughter stops. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he says. “You’re just…”

“Just what?”

He parrots your words from that night on the hood of your car. “Surprising.”

You flush deeply, and you share a look that lets Tommy know you’re thinking of the exact moment he is.

Pressure builds low in his belly at the thought. You’re in such a fancy place, eating some beef dish that he can’t pronounce, and you’re both thinking very inappropriate, filthy thoughts.

The rest of the night goes so smoothly that Tommy doesn’t even realize the sun has set by the time you’re finished talking. And even on the drive home, he discovers that he just can’t shut up. He wants to know everything there is to know about you. And when he pulls up to your apartment, he can’t shake the feeling that this date wasn’t long enough. Twelve fucking hours later, a million questions and a million answers later, and he still selfishly wants more time with you. And so when he gets out of his truck and opens the door for you, Tommy asks, “Can I walk you to the door?”

You narrow your eyes only slightly, suspicion evident on your face. But for the first time in his entire life, Tommy doesn’t ask with the intent to get inside. He just wants to soak up these last few moments with you. “Yeah,” you finally answer. “That would be nice.”

He slips his arm around your shoulders, holding you close, and presses an innocent kiss to your forehead. “I had a real nice time with you, vampire girl,” he admits. Tommy thinks real nice is putting it lightly, but he only just convinced you to go on a single date with him and he doesn’t want to scare you off.

It’s comforting when you linger outside your apartment door and say, “Me too. You know, I actually…I’ve never been on a real date before.”

Tommy nearly doubles over. It’s criminal, he thinks. You should’ve always been treated like goddamn royalty, and any other person you’ve ever allowed close never deserved it. He didn’t ask about your past relationships, but Tommy knows that much for certain without an ounce of insight. “Aw, baby,” he groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “I hate that so much. You’ve got no clue how much I fucking hate that.” He lifts his head, only to fall to his knees before you. Tommy anchors himself by putting his warm, calloused hands on the back of your thighs, letting himself feel the soft skin and the rough fabric of your fishnets.

His face is level with your navel, and he presses a kiss to the exposed skin between your skirt and cropped top. It almost makes him moan when you thread your hands through his hair, black-painted fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp. “That’s what I’ve got you for,” you say. You pull his hair at the roots, forcing his head back, forcing him to look up at you through hooded eyes.

If any of his friends were to see him right now, Tommy knows he’d never hear the fucking end of it. But he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care because his cock hardens every time he’s on his knees for you. Never thought he’d be the kind of man to want a woman to take charge—but here you are, and Tommy Miller has never experienced something so fucking erotic in all his life. Your words make him smile. “Yeah, you do,” he beams. “I’ll take you on a hundred dates, each better than the last.”

You turn those siren eyes on him and he feels a little like he’s been inducted into some sort of ritual. He doesn’t mind, though. Is ready and willing to do and be whatever you want. Your voice is low, hardly a whisper, as you ask, “Do you usually fuck on the first date, casanova?”

He inhales a ragged breath but it doesn’t do a single thing to ease the ache in his chest. Tommy licks his lips, hopes you’ll invite him inside both your apartment and your heart because you have catastrophically devoured him. He wants it, wants you, so badly that it hurts.

But he doesn’t want it for one night. He wants it for far longer than that.

And so he tells the truth. “Sometimes,” he says. “But I can’t do that with you, vampire girl. Ya mean too much to me.”

His confession makes you smile. A sweet, pretty little smirk that’s not quite devoid of corruption. “You want to, though. Hm?”

Tommy groans, squeezes his eyes closed, and presses his forehead against your hipbone. “More than fuckin’ anything, sweetheart.” He kisses that sliver of skin again, this time an open-mouthed kiss that leaves moisture in the wake of his lips. “Have no idea what I wanna do to you.”

He slides his hands on the back of your thighs up further, sighing in contentment. He grabs two fistfuls of your ass and discovers you wear nothing but fishnets beneath your skirt and the realization makes him ache. He squeezes the supple flesh between his fingers, wishing so badly that he could worship you the way you deserve. “I could guess,” you say, taking on a teasing tone. “Come here.”

What is he to do but obey your every command? Tommy rises to his feet and shudders when your hand finds the bulge in his jeans. You’re touching him— touching him, and he thinks he might fucking die. It’s strenuous to fight the urge to rut his hips into your hand, to beg you to give him something.

Christ, you make him so fucking weak.

He towers over you, easily by a foot, and you have to crane your head back just to look up at him. “You can give me a kiss goodnight, though, can’t you? Strong enough to do that?”

Tommy takes you by the throat and forces you against the door to your apartment. His lips crash against yours, hunger and greed in his every movement. His cock throbs almost painfully in his jeans, and he presses it into you so you know just how badly you torment him.

A keening, desperate whine leaves the back of your throat. He uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, to savor the taste of you. That metal barbell tastes just as good as he remembers. Your skirt lifts the smallest bit, and Tommy wedges his knee between your legs and grins when you begin to grind down against the rough denim of his jeans. “Don’t go breakin’ the rules now, vampire girl,” he whispers against your cheek. “I know you want it, too. Just as fuckin’ bad. Ain’t that right?”

“Oh my god,” is all you say in answer. Your cheeks are flushed and that pretty wine color on your lips has smeared. Tommy knows it’s likely on his face too, yet he goes back for more. He kisses you again, harder this time, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and dragging it out. You moan into his mouth, hips canting over his thigh.

The denim begins to darken, wet heat soaking through his jeans. “Oh, sweetheart. Look at that. Pretty pussy’s just fuckin’ cryin’ for me, ain't it?”

You nod frantically, and Tommy presses his thigh between your legs harder, chuckling as need overtakes you. You look so goddamn pretty just like this, chasing that high, so fucking close —

Down the hall, a door is ripped open. Tommy takes a step away from you, heart racing behind his ribcage. He watches your flushed cheeks become impossibly redder, holds back his laughter when you cover your mouth with your hand and your eyes widen.

Your chest rises and falls in quick succession while you try to catch your breath, to fight off the shock.

An older woman dressed in pajama pants and a hoodie has a little pomeranian on a leash. She gives Tommy a tight-lipped smile as she walks past the two of you.

When he hears the apartment’s lobby door slam closed, Tommy glances down at the tent in his jeans and laughs so hard it hurts.

You mirror the sound, and soon it’s not your pretty moans echoing in the hall but instead, it’s your giggles. A sound somehow sweeter to his ears.

He’s thankful for the intrusion though. Truly. Because if you would’ve asked, he would have gone inside with you. And for the first time in all his life, Tommy thinks he might have a decent shot at this. Thinks he might actually want you to be the first girl he ever brings home to meet the family. His living family, that is.

“I’ll come by the bar this weekend,” he promises, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “I had a real nice time with you, baby.”

You nod and drag your teeth across your bottom lip. “I did, too.”

You don’t invite him inside. Tommy walks down the stairs, wondering if there existed a situation where sleeping together on the first date wouldn’t be a curse. Based on past experiences, it would be, though. The only other serious girlfriend he’s ever had was right after high school. He’d slept with her on the first date, and a few short months later Tommy Miller had sworn off relationships altogether.

But the problem is that it’s never been like this for him. Never felt like this. Not even once in all his life has he wanted someone so badly, has he been this intrigued by what someone else has to say. It’s like you feed his soul, somehow.

Comparing this to any of his past experiences feels foolish, inadequate.

He makes it through the lobby, past the woman and her pomeranian over in the grass. Makes it all the way back to his truck…and then he hears you call his name.

He’s never moved so fucking fast. And he’s not embarrassed by it, either. Not even when the woman and her pomeranian give him the dirtiest look as he sprints back across the walkway and into the lobby. He grabs you by the waist, lifting you into his arms, and revels in your easy laughter as he takes the stairs back up to your apartment two at a time.

The door has been left half open in your haste to get back to him, and he wastes no time inviting himself in and kicking it closed behind him. Your limbs are wrapped around his torso, but Tommy doesn’t make it two feet into your apartment before you’re lowering yourself to your knees before him.

And, Christ, it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. “God damn, baby. Fuck, fuck, I—”

“We’ll go on another date,” you say, fumbling with his belt buckle. “And technically…technically this is our second one, right? We didn’t fuck on the first date, you just made me cum on the hood of my car. This is the second date.”

He thinks you look real cute when you try to reason with yourself. But Tommy’s starting to believe that reasoning has become irrelevant when it concerns the two of you. But he still needs to hear it, still needs to know you want this. So he says, “Tell me what you want, vampire girl. You gotta use your words.”

“You, Tommy. I want you.”

It makes his heart stop dead in his chest. Everything, everything has been sacrificed, given in offering to his most precious goddess. And he knows in this very moment that there will never be any going back from this. He knows he will never, ever be rid of you. Knows he’ll see you forever in his dreams, his nightmares. With just those few short words he relinquishes all control.

But he can still take some back.

He grabs a handful of your hair and pulls your head back. There’s a frenzied look on your face that heightens everything for him, knowing you want this just as bad. Tommy understands your insatiable desire all too well. And so he decides that for tonight, for you, he’s not holding anything back. He’s giving you everything, bearing the best and worst parts of himself to you here and now. “Nah, baby. No hands. Use your fuckin’ teeth.”

A wicked, sinful smirk tugs at your lips. You do as he says, sticking your hands between your soft thighs. You look like Persephone embodied as he watches you drag the zipper of his jeans down with your teeth, obeying his command.

Controlling? Sure. But Tommy isn’t cruel, and so he decides to help you. He shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free, and he admires the look on your face.

He knows he’s been blessed. Given a gift most men can only dream of. But he’s never been more thankful for it than the moment you lick your lips and then lick him.

Tommy’s never been with a girl who has any piercings, let alone one in her mouth. And he now knows that in this, too, there will be no return for him.

Because how could it ever feel better than this?

There’s a bead of precum dripping from the tip, and you lick it up greedily. You familiarize your tongue with every inch of him, running it down the vein on the underside of his cock. It’s a teasing caress, but Tommy never wants it to fucking end.

When you finally take him into your mouth, wrapping your pretty, wine-stained lips around him, he lets out a groan and nearly falls back into the wall. You feel so fucking good as you swallow him down. Your mouth is so warm, so wet, that the barbell is a solid contrast to the softness of your tongue.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Yeah, there you go. Just like that—fuck.”

Your hands remain tucked firmly between your thighs. Pretty, obedient girl. You use only your lips and tongue and it’s like euphoria, like heaven. It feels so good that he just can't help himself.

Tommy cradles your face between his hands and guides your mouth around him, shoves himself even further down your throat. You choke and your eyes begin to water, smearing all that black eyeliner down your cheeks, but never once do you give him any indication you want to stop.

He fucks your face unabashedly and it’s even better than any of his fantasies ever were. He feels you swallow him down impossibly deeper, feels the vibration in your throat as you moan around his cock. Spit trickles down your chin, and the image is filthy and obscene and it will be forever scarred into his fucking brain. “You take me so good, baby. So fuckin’ good. Sweet little mouth was made to have a cock in it, huh?”

Two seconds more and he’ll cum down your throat. Tommy forces himself to pull away, forces himself to take a goddamn breath. His cock is aching, hanging heavy between you, covered in your saliva that still connects him to your mouth. It looks like something right out of a porno, he thinks.

And when you smile at him, pride shining on your tear-stained face, he nearly loses his balance.

He’s in an absolute fucking freefall. And he wants to worship at your demonic altar.

You stand to your feet, and Tommy’s mouth is back on yours because he can never tire of kissing you, of swallowing up that cherry poison. He drinks you in deep, uncaring of the spit that smears across his chin, humming in contentment because, beneath your ambrosia taste, there’s a little bit of him that lingers.

There’s a black couch in the center of your living room. You push him down onto it, leaning over to kiss him a little deeper. He tries to pull you into his lap, but you smack his greedy fingers away from your hips. “No hands, casanova. Remember?”

He fucking loves this shit.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, mirroring your idea and shoving his hands beneath his thighs. The leather is cold against the heated flesh of his knuckles, and within seconds he’s fighting the urge to pull them out and touch you again.

You bite your bottom lip contemplatively, but he can see the heat behind those siren eyes of yours and knows without a second of doubt that he would do anything you ask of him. Doesn’t matter how filthy, doesn’t matter how vulgar—because it’s you.

He doesn’t even flinch when you lift your shiny black boot and press the platform into his chest. Instead, he keeps his eyes trained on yours as he tastes the iron of the buckles, metallic on his tastebuds. He’s slow in his pursuit, the leather smooth beneath the flat of his tongue as he weaves it between the straps.

Your eyes darken, pupils blown wide. He’s in absolute awe as your hand slides lightly down your chest, over the swell of your breasts, down your abdomen. Tommy watches it disappear beneath the black fabric of your skirt and has never been so envious of a hand in all his life.

His voice comes out docile and meek as he says, “Lift your skirt. I want to see it. Please.”

“You think you’ve earned it?” Everything about you draws him in; even your wicked, evil words. “Because I don’t think you have. Start over, casanova.”

It’s the most degrading, salacious thing he’s ever done, but he does it. He starts at the base of your boot again, right over your ankle, following the wet path his tongue has already created. His cock is so hard it hurts. When he finally makes it past your boot, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh just above your knee. You let out a gasp of surprise but it quickly turns into a whimper, so Tommy does it again.

He bites harder, sucks a bruise into the softness of your thigh, shudders at the feeling of your fishnets in his mouth once again, harsh and coarse but so unbelievably satisfying.

“Tell me something,” you say breathlessly. “Are you as good with that mouth of yours as you are with your hands?”

He smirks, the promise of tasting you from the source enough to make goosebumps rise over his skin.

“And don’t lie, casanova. I’ll know if you do.”

“Only one way to find out, vampire girl,” he says. “C’mere.”

You move your boot to rest beside him on the couch instead, placing both hands on his shoulders for balance. He surges forward, dips his head beneath the edge of your tiny little skirt, and fucking moans at the heady taste of you. Better than Ambrosia, better than an Old Fashioned, better than fucking anything he’s ever had in all his life.

He knows he’s not supposed to use his hands. But Tommy Miller’s never been much of a rule follower, and so he grabs your ass and pulls your closer, pulls you in until you fall on top of him.

He licks up that sweet wetness, tongue sliding through your pussy and circling your clit. You shiver and shake when he sucks it into his mouth, rolling it between his lips. All he wants, all he’s ever fucking wanted was to make you feel good. But somehow he feels like this is almost for him, a gift, a stolen moment in time he’ll never understand what he’s done to deserve.

Your hands are in his hair and you’re moaning his name and as much as he loves them, Tommy reaches a hand between your legs and rips apart your fishnets. He doesn’t want anything separating him from this, doesn’t want anything getting in the way of this miracle given to him by God himself.

No part of you remains untouched because Tommy Miller is ravenous for you. He licks through your folds with a flat tongue, circles your clit with the point of it. He can feel it pulse in his mouth, and he can't hold back the groan that leaves him. He laps at you like a man starved because he believes he has been. All these years without you, all these years missing out on this.

You gather your skirt in your hands, holding it above his head. You look so pretty from this angle, a dark goddess in eternal bloom. He cannot get over it, your demonic sorcery. It brings him to his knees where he could spend the rest of his life happily.

A part of him wishes you would take charge in this, too. Wishes you would take your pleasure with his mouth however you want it, wishes you would take what you deserve. Because Tommy wants to feel it, wants to fucking taste it, wants to know what it’s like to make you cum on his face so he’ll never forget it.

He pulls away only long enough to shift his body off the couch and onto the floor. “Ride my face, baby.”

You tilt your head, and Tommy recognizes that wicked gleam in your eye. Knows you’re about to make him work for it like you always do, hopes you’ll always make him work for it because he enjoys the chase perhaps a little too much. Somehow, that makes it all the more exciting. “Where are your manners, casanova? Ever learn how to say—?”

“Please,” he interrupts. Because never in his fucking life has he needed something so badly. He doesn’t care that he’s begging, doesn’t care that he looks a fool. “Please, baby. Please, I need it. I fuckin’ need you so bad.”

You don’t leave him waiting long. And it feels like a breath of fresh air to have you in his mouth again, to taste you. Your slick covers chin but he loves it. Loves it. Loves it even more when you thread those sharp claws through his hair and begin to grind your pussy against his face.

Tommy sticks out his tongue, keeps it wide and flat, and hooks the tip just a little so it catches on your opening every time you shift down. His nose nudges your clit with each tilt of your hips, and you reward him for it with pretty sounding moans

The sudden thought strikes him that he could cum just like this. Hands free. Tommy fucking Miller thinks he might cum with just the taste of you.

Devoured doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“Oh, god. Fuck, that feels so good,” you say, and he feels pride swell in his chest. Your hips move faster, grinding harder. Shameless in their pursuit, chasing that familiar high.

Tommy just pulls your closer, hums against your pussy to try and get you there.

It works. Within a few short minutes, your breathing goes ragged and your hands tighten in the roots of his hair. “I’m gonna cum, fuck, Tommy, I—oh, God .”

A rush of liquid invades his mouth and trickles down his neck. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. Tommy thinks you cum even prettier when it’s because of his mouth and not his fingers.

He wants to make you cum forever. Wants to make you cum in every room in your apartment, in every room in his house, in his truck, in the bathroom of the restaurant you ate at today. He wants to bend you over that bartop and fuck you until you know no words but his name, wants to fuck you senseless.

The suction of his lips around your clit doesn’t lessen until your breathing evens out and every stroke of his tongue pulls a pretty, overstimulated hiss from your mouth. You try to push yourself up on wobbly legs but fail, and Tommy is glad for it because you stumble right into his lap. Right where you belong.

His lips are still wet with your slick as you lean in and kiss him, tasting yourself in his mouth. He can feel you smile against him and he can’t help but mirror it. “You’re fuckin’ incredible, baby. You know that?”

You shift backward, sliding your ass down his legs. His cock lays against his abdomen, the tip flushed crimson, veins prominent and pulsing with need. You bite your lip as you admire his erection while he admires you. He tries to catch his breath to no avail because you reach between your bodies and take his cock in your hand, running your fingers over it slowly.

The touch is featherlight and affectionate. It’s not meant to be pleasurable for him. It’s for you and your own playful curiosity, and yet you’ve strung him so high, wound him so tight that every soft caress of your fingertips sends shockwaves of electricity down his spine.

You lean your head over his lap and he watches your spit drip onto his cock, landing just on the underside of the head. With your thumb, you spread it across the tip and Tommy’s hips buck up into your hand. You giggle and it’s somehow the cutest and most maniacal thing he’s ever heard in all his life. “You poor thing,” you murmur, counterfeit pity laced in your words.

“Jesus, fuck.” Tommy groans when you slide your thumb across the sensitive head again, thrusting into the palm of your hand. His skin feels too tight, his blood too hot. “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re gonna kill me if you keep doin’ that.”

You do it again and laugh when the muscles in his abdomen visibly tighten. “Mm. Feels real good though, doesn’t it?”

“Know what’ll feel even better?”

No answer comes in the form of words. Instead, You shift back up his lap, hike your skirt up your belly, and slide the head of his cock through your wetness. “This?”

He moans with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He can feel himself losing control, can feel his grip on restrain wavering with each pass through your heat, coating him in your slick. The sight of himself so close, so fucking close is almost too much to bear. Each time his cock glides over your entrance his hips lift, pressing himself into you, desperate to feel just how tight you are. But your timing is too perfect and his is too restless. “Careful, now,” he warns.

Still, your malicious intent persists. “What’s wrong, casanova? You want something else?” You sound so innocent, so pure. Tommy knows you’re not. “I suggest you take it, then.”

He does.

Tommy takes your hips in a bruising grip, lays you back against the hardwood floor, and in one smooth movement, he sinks into you deep. If he thought your mouth was heaven, this is some sort of nirvana, a garden of Eden meant for him and him alone. He lets out a sigh of relief and breathes it into the hollow of your throat. “Fuck, baby.”

He can feel you stretch around him, can feel your nails sink into his back. “It hurts,” you say around a whine.

Leaning back just enough to see your face, to assess just how you’re feeling, Tommy smiles upon the realization that you like how it hurts. Like the pain of it, like the bruising momentum of his desire for you. He rocks into you slowly at first, delighting in that pretty crease that forms between your brows, in the way your lips part and your legs wrap around him. “S’alright, sweetheart,” he coos. “You can take it, can’t you?”

You nod and he picks up the pace, burying himself as deep within you as your anatomy will allow. Tommy presses his mouth to your collarbone, bites the soft skin, sucks another mark there to cement his existence within you. The sting of his teeth only seems to heighten everything for you; moans growing louder, your thighs tightening around his waist. “Yes, yes—don’t stop, don’t stop.”

He hooks his hand around your left thigh and presses your leg up, opening you so he can get impossibly deeper. His hips crash against yours, and your staccato moans are music to his ears. The best symphony he’s ever heard, his very favorite melody.

One of your hands attempts to wriggle between your bodies but he just slaps it away.

“No hands, vampire girl. Remember?” His tone is mocking and mean but it only makes your pussy grip him harder. “When you cum it’s gonna be because of me. You understand?” You nod in answer but he wants more, will always want more of you. “Say yes.”

“God, yes, yes, fuck —right there. Yes, I understand,” you whimper in answer.

Tommy likes telling you what to do, likes having you at his mercy. But he also likes giving you exactly what you want, and so he takes his free hand and finds your clit just like you’d planned to. He circles it gently, feels it pulse beneath his fingertips. “You feel so good, baby,” he coos against the shell of your ear. “Pretty little pussy was fuckin’ made for me, huh? Ain’t that right?”

Again, no answer comes in the form of words. You’re too shrouded in bliss, too fucked out. Your pointed nails are almost painful against his back, even through his cotton t-shirt. Tommy sits back on his knees and his cock nudges that sweet spot inside of you with the new angle.

He admires the way his cock looks as he fucks you with it relentlessly, glossy and covered in your slick. He knows he won’t last long because the sight alone is almost enough to do him in. But he wants to hear you. Wants you to beg for it. And because he promised himself there would be no inhibitions when it comes to you, Tommy does the most unhinged thing he’s ever done to a woman.

The crack of his palm against the side of your cheek echoes in your apartment. You let out a sound that’s full of both surprise and lust and one of your hands abandons its assault on his spine to cradle the point of impact.

Tommy’s hips slow, and he’s waiting for you to shove him away.

But all you do is smile up at him. A pretty, girlish smile that holds no wickedness at all. It’s pleasant and warm and so submissive that it makes his chest pull tight.

“Asked you a question, darlin,” he says lowly. “You should answer when I’m talkin’ to you.”

“I’m sorry you’re right, you’re right —oh god, you’re gonna make me—!”

“You think you’ve earned it?” The words are spit venomously but hold no salt. He’s going to get you there first like a gentleman, of course he is. Still, he can feel his own release creeping up on him and he holds back as hard as he can.

“Please,” you whimper, and it’s the prettiest word he’s ever heard in that perfect mouth of yours. “Please, please please—!”

“You’re so cute when you beg. Say it, baby. Tell me who’s pussy this is. Tell me who she belongs to. Tell me who makes her feel this good.” He circles your clit faster, thrusts his hips a little harder.

It feels like a relief when you say, “It’s yours. Fuck —it’s yours. All yours, Tommy, I promise.”

That coil wound around his spine finally snaps. Because it feels so good to hear you admit it, to hear your resolve wilt and wither.

His.

“Cum with me, baby,” Tommy says, and you don’t hesitate. Your fishnet-covered thighs turn into a vice around his waist yet still he persists, obscene sounds filling the room. He feels your pussy tighten around him and immediately follows you there, spilling deep inside of you. “Yeah, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. Goddamn, baby— fuck.”

“I’m yours,” you whimper, deep in the throes of bliss. The words are a fucking gift. Your thighs tremble and your chest flushes and Tommy realizes just how bad he missed this. How bad he wants to make you cum for the rest of his life, how bad he wants to hear you moan his name, how bad he wants to moan yours.

You come down slowly and you do it together. It’s easily the most intimate thing he’s ever experienced as he runs his fingers lightly through your hair, pushing the messy strands behind your ear, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheekbone. You smile up at him as you catch your breath, and he can’t help the sentiment as it slips out. “You mean so much to me, vampire girl.”

Crimson stains your cheeks and you press your face into his palm to try and hide it. “Shut up,” you say—but Tommy feels like it’s a phrase of endearment coming from your lips.

Normally this is the part he hates. The awkward post-coital clarity that usually leaves his skin crawling, trying to find any half-believable truth that will allow him to leave. Only, he doesn’t want to leave you. And so he says, “You wanna shower together?”

“I hope you like cherry scented body wash,” you reply in answer.

Tommy Miller realizes he loves cherry scented body wash, in fact. And more than that, he likes taking care of you.

Your bathroom is floral themed. There are maroon hand towels over the sink and the shower curtain is black and decorated with plum colored dahlias. You start to strip off your clothes, but Tommy stops you.

“Let me,” he says. And then he’s on his knees for you in a whole new way. A way that feels a little more weighted, a little more real. But Tommy finds that he doesn’t mind it at all and is careful as he unbuckles your tall leather boots and takes them carefully off your feet. He slides your skirt down your soft thighs, and then your fishnets. He presses a kiss to your belly and stands to his feet. “Arms up,” he instructs and pulls your top off once you obey.

Once you’re completely bare, Tommy lets you strip his clothes off of him, piling everything into the laundry bin. And even though you don’t talk it feels heavy and intimate in a way he’s never experienced before.

He washes your hair for you while you cover him in cherry scented suds, your hands on his skin leaving goosebumps in their wake. But he’s not able to completely relax until after you rinse and dry off, after you change into a pair of black and white flannel pajama pants and an oversized tshirt that says Type O Negative.

Because before he has a chance to pull his jeans back on you say, “I work tomorrow, but in the afternoon. You can stay the night if you want.”

Tommy grins and says, “You gonna sacrifice me in my sleep or somethin’? Cause—hey,” he raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’m willing.”

You laugh and shake your head and call him an idiot, but shortly after Tommy’s wrapped up in black silk sheets, and you’re wrapped up in him. And he figures there’s no time like the present and so he makes a confession both to himself and to you. “Don’t want this to be a one time thing,” Tommy tells you, tightening his arm around your waist. “I want you, vampire girl. If you’ll have me…I’m yours.”

It’s dark in your bedroom but he feels your lips against his bare collarbone and it makes him shiver in delight. “Lucky for you, it seems like I’ve got a soft spot for cowboys.”

Tommy pulls your soft body on top of his and lets himself drown in the comforting warmth, lets himself sink into the intense affection he has for you. He begins to wonder how it’s possible he’s attached himself to you so quickly, making every other connection he’s had with a woman feel hollow and insignificant. He wonders if the reason he’s never taken a second glance at a goth girl is because this whole time he’s been waiting for you, waiting to find this divine, otherworldly bond.

His eyes begin to adjust in the dark. And on the ceiling right above your bed, he notices a poster. It’s a vampiric-looking man with a neon green guitar in his hand. Tommy points to it and asks, “Who’s that?”

“Peter Steele. Meet the only man you’ll ever be in competition with,” you answer.

He can hear the amusement in your tone and feels a deep appreciation for the subject change, afraid he may admit too much too soon. “I could take him.”

You snort. “He’s dead.”

“What?” Tommy drops his hand to his side. “Now, that’s an unfair advantage. You want me to compete with a dead guy? What can be more goth than dead?”

Your chest shakes as you hold in a laugh. But it escapes anyway, and soon you devolve into the cutest giggles he’s ever heard. Tommy mirrors the sound, and though you don’t get much sleep that night, the apples of his cheeks ache from smiling by the time the sun comes over the horizon.

#ao3 fanfic #pearlessance #ao3 writer #tlou #tommy miller #the last of us #tommy miller x you #tommy miller smut #tommy tlou #goth girl #smut #bd/sm switch #x reader #ao3fic #fanfic #fishnets and old fashioneds

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elliesbelle · 1 year ago

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ELLIE WITH A SWEET DUMB OBLIVIOUS GIRLFRIEND!!! ELLIE WITH A SWEET DUMB OBLIVIOUS GI- [GUNSHOTS]

ellie with an oblivious girlfriend

there’s nobody else in the world you feel safer with than ellie

she’s your protector and she always looks out for you

and thank god she does

one of the things ellie loves most about you is how genuinely sweet and thoughtful you are

you think of others first, you’re reassuring and kind, you’re a very giving person

however, you can also be ditzy and forgetful, which ellie finds endearing but it also puts her on extra alert constantly

you’ll wake up earlier than her to cook breakfast for both you of you, and by the time she walks in, you’ll be setting out the finished product on the dining table

she walks in with a sleepy “mornin’ babe” and a yawn, and as she sees the breakfast set-up you’ve made, she begins to smile

but before she can praise you, she smells something weird from the kitchen and immediately bounds in to find you’ve forgotten to turn the stove off

thankfully it was just an empty pan on top of it and the burner was on a lower setting

you rush in after her as she turns the dial to “off” and you immediately start to apologize tearfully

“oh fuck, el, i’m so sorry, i can’t believe i keep fucking doing that. i didn’t mean it, baby—”

ellie interrupts you by pulling you into an embrace and kissing your forehead

“hey, hey, it’s okay. no harm done. don’t freak out.”

you let her peck you on the lips before she continues

“we’ll work on it, okay? can’t have you burning the place down. but i’m not mad, alright?”

she places another kiss on your forehead as you whisper a soft “okay”

“now, i’m pretty hungry,” she continues. “whatever you made smells really fucking good. let’s go eat, alright?”

your forgetfulness applies to misplacing things too

whether it’s your keys or your favourite pair of shoes, it’s not uncommon for something to go missing

in the game’s universe, ellie will be knocking on your door ten minutes before you both have to go for a morning patrol

you were supposed to meet up with her for breakfast at the tipsy bison earlier but you never showed

she hears you go, "one second!!" followed by the sound of things being thrown around

ellie's concerned, so she lets herself in where she's greeted by you ransacking your house

"uhh, babe?" she says and you turn to her with an overwhelmed look on your face

"oh! i'm so sorry el, i know i'm running so late. i just can't find my favourite pistol anywhere, and you know i can't leave jackson without it, i—"

you keep rambling and only stop when ellie unzips her backpack and pulls out the exact pistol you've been searching for all morning

you squeal and say, "OH MY GOD, BABE, WHERE DID YOU—"

she chuckles and hands it to you, saying, "you left it in shimmer's saddle yesterday, remember?"

you place the gun down on the table and lunge to give her a hug

"thankyouthankyouthankyou, what would i do without you?" you say

she gives you a quick kiss before going, "go get ready, silly girl. jesse's gonna kill us if we're late."

while you're in the other room quickly getting dressed, she's straightening the room up and putting things back where they belong

in a modern au, you'll be just as forgetful

it'll be a saturday and you're asleep in her arms and you're woken up by her alarm going off way too early

she reaches over to turn it off and you expect her to turn back to snuggle you but instead, she gets up from bed and draws the blinds to let the morning sunlight in

you groan and lift the blanket over your face

"ellieeeee, whyyyyy"

she chuckles and makes her way over to your side of the bed and pulls the blanket down

"wakey wakey, eggs and bakey" she says, giving you a morning kiss

"no eggs and bakey, it is still night-night time" you whine. "close the blinds, baby"

ellie strokes your cheek and says, "gotta get up, pretty girl. you got therapy this morning."

you kiss the hand that she's stroking your cheek with and say, "no, therapy's tomorrow"

"nope, today, baby." ellie flashes her phone at you to show her calendar app which says your therapy appointment starts in an hour

you groan again and say, "can i skip it today and you come back to bed and cuddle me?"

ellie attacks your neck with kisses and says, "tempting, but still gotta go, baby. i'll cuddle you when we get back, okay?"

you pout, hoping it'll convince ellie

but she's pulling your sleepy ass out of bed two seconds later

you're someone who sees the good in others

which ellie admires you for, but unfortunately means that people will take advantage

the worst is when people start hitting on you

whether it’s a man or a woman, ellie gets territorial regardless

she does react differently though, depending on who’s trying to flirt with her girl

with men, there’s a cockiness to her, knowing that you could unintentionally get their hopes up with your sweet and pleasant demeanor, but in the end? they’d have no chance

but with women? ellie is 10x more possessive

she trusts you and knows that you’re not actually flirting; you’re naturally friendly and affectionate

but she doesn’t like when she sees the way other women look you up and down, drinking you in with a hungry expression on their faces

in the game’s universe, you’ll be at the tipsy bison one night with ellie, dina, and jesse

you all share a table together, and when the bottle of alcohol you’d all been sharing runs low, you volunteer to get another from the bar

you expect maria to be who serves you, but instead it’s a guy your age who you’d seen around town but don’t interact with often

as you walk up to the bar, he spots you and flashes a huge smile

“hey pretty, lady,” he says. “what can i get for you?”

you smile back, not catching the obvious flirting in his greeting

ellie’s eyes were on you since you left the table

usually, she just enjoys being able to look at you every second she has just so she can admire your presence

but this time, it was to suspiciously squint at you and the barman you were currently conversing with

you were giving him an innocent smile, one that she fell in love with so long ago

but the way he looked at you like something he’d like to devour? she muttered a quiet “be right back” to dina and jesse before appearing at your side

you’re laughing politely at something the guy is saying when ellie surprises you by wrapping her arms around your waist

“yeah, i’m—oh! el, you scared me!” you giggle as she pulls you close

she gives you a quick smile before staring at the barman straight on with an intimidating glare

he regards the way ellie’s holding you before he meets ellie's angry green eyes

"everything good here, babe?" she asks you pointedly

"yeah! just grabbing a bottle for us. is everything okay? did you guys need something else?" you ask her

"nah, just missed you." she replies, giving you a kiss on the cheek

the barman, who was taking his time getting you a fresh bottle, quickly assesses the situation and guesses correctly that ellie is not someone to be fucked with

he hands you the bottle but ellie grabs it instead

"thanks, man" she says cooly

she leads you back to dina and jesse, but not before she gives the barman one last smug look

in a modern au, you'll be waiting for ellie to pick you up from the train station to take you home after you'd visited some friends

as you wait in the kiss-and-ride area, some sleazeball approaches you and starts up a conversation

you're too nice to say no and you just assume it's just someone trying to make conversation

ellie eventually pulls up and finds you chatting with the stranger

you see her car and wave and immediately grab your bags

"oh, my girlfriend is here! have a nice day!" you say

"oh man," the sleazeball says. "leaving already? can i at least get a hug?"

"oh, uh—" you begin, but he's mostly there already and you concede to give him a half-hearted hug with one arm

you make your way to ellie's car and get into the passenger's seat, greeting her happily and hurling your bags into the backseat

"who was that?" ellie asks after she greets you back

"who?"

"that guy you just hugged."

"oh, i don't know. just some guy who came up to me a few minutes ago and started chatting. he asked for a goodbye hug." you respond, shrugging

"babe," ellie sighs. "you can't just—you can't just let random guys touch you like that."

"he was just being friendly, el!"

"trust me, baby," she says, glaring at the man who was still staring at you from where he was. "he wasn't."

before you can respond, ellie kisses you passionately and you melt instantly

she kisses you because she misses you, but she also wants this strange man to see that you were unavailable and unattainable

as she pulls away, you're flustered at your girlfriend's boldness

you giggle nervously, not noticing as she glowers at the sleazeball who's now scowling

she drives away as she places her hand on your thigh like usual, pleased with herself and making a mental note to make sure to be ten minutes early to pick you up from anywhere from now on

in the game's universe, you'll be coming home from patrol with a new girl that maria had asked you to train

you were assigned to a fairly easy and tame route that day and maria thought that you'd be a good teacher for this newcomer

this newcomer was very friendly and very bold, and when she'd been told she was assigned to patrol with you that day, she was excited and made plans to ask you out afterwards

she'd seen you during her first couple of weeks in jackson and she'd been itching for a chance to chat you up

you hadn't noticed her much prior to your patrol with her, but ellie did

she noticed her the day that she arrived because the second the new girl laid her eyes on you, ellie could tell she liked what she saw

when you'd told her you were training her, ellie said nothing about the very obvious crush this newcomer had on you

ellie trusted you, but that didn't stop her from worrying

she'd made dina come back from their patrol earlier than usual so she could be there when you'd come back from yours (which earned her an annoyed but playful eye-roll from dina)

ellie was brushing shimmer's mane when you came into the stables with your horse along with the new girl

she frowned when she looked up to see the new girl eagerly helping you down from your horse

you gave the girl a smile and a thank you before spotting ellie waiting for you

your smile widened when you saw her and you practically jumped on her to give her a hug

"hi, baby! you're back from patrol already?" you ask as you pull away slightly to look at her better

"yeah, not much action on mine and dina's route," ellie lied. "missed you, pretty girl."

"you saw me this morning, dummy." you chuckle

"and i missed you," ellie reiterated. "can't help it."

you give her a loving smooch, which ellie gladly reciprocates and takes a step further as she lifts you up and swings you around

she smiles at your giggles and your noncommital whines to put you down, smirking internally about putting on a show in front of the new girl

the new girl who looked at the scene, defeated and irritated, and who you also had completely forgotten about

in a modern au, you'll be visiting a lesbian bar with ellie

you both needed to unwind and you were both slowly getting tipsier by the second

she excuses herself to the bathroom for a few minutes, but not before giving you a quick kiss and a promise to return quickly

she's not gone for five minutes before she returns and finds that some other girl is leaning on her barstool and chatting you up

she could tell that you were being friendly and sweet as always, but the other girl's body language told a different story

the girl has left by the time she makes it back to where you were sitting

your face lights up like it always does when you see her

"scoring some dates?" ellie jokes, even if she's seething internally

"oh, just someone being nice, that's all" you reply

"uh huh," ellie says as she takes her seat, handing your purse back to you that you'd placed on top of her stool to avoid someone taking it

"el, not everyone is out here looking to sleep with me." you say to her, pushing a stray hair behind her ear

"really?" she says before lifting the napkin her drink was sitting on to reveal a piece of paper with a number scribbled over it

you look at it for a second and say, "that doesn't mean she was hitting on me!"

ellie rolls her eyes and says, "you are far too beautiful to not get hit on when we're in a lesbian bar"

"lesbians need friends too, el" you reply

ellie pulls out the piece of paper from underneath the napkin and lifts it up to your eye level, revealing the girl's phone number and a note that said "call me xx" right underneath it

you stare at it for a second before saying, "do you think i should call her?"

you laugh as ellie rolls her eyes at you and playfully gets up to leave

"i'm kidding, baby, i'm kidding!" you snicker, gripping ellie's tattooed arm and pulling her back down to her stool. "come back here, silly."

"you sure it's me and not your new girlfriend that you want to sit here with you?" ellie taunts

"is this new girlfriend gonna take care of me better than you do?" you ask, pulling ellie close to you by her collar

"probably not" she says, staring at your lips

"that's what i thought." you say before you lean in and kiss her so intensely that she completely forgets all about that other girl within seconds

author's notes:

sorry for taking a bit to respond to this! hope this is what you meant hehe

oops sorry for going off on this dslkfjsfds

enjoy the header pic of ellie here cause i took that myself in photo mode in my own playthrough of tlou2 a few days ago hehe

also the forgetfulness part is me being inspired by myself because i have adhd and i’m annoyingly forgetful oops

also that kiss-and-ride one was something that happened to me years ago when i was waiting for my gf to pick me up from the station one time lmao

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

#anon #ellie williams #ellie headcanons #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #belle speaks #belle answers #belle writes

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dxckgrxsonx · 2 years ago

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omg ella i am OBSESSED w the dick pic jason storyline,,, may i please ask for more 👉🏻👈🏻🥺 (and also for ur hand in marriage)

by the power vested in me, i pronounce us married.

His hair is soft between your fingers.

The strands slip like silk through your hands and you spin the ends into little curls before tugging them loose and starting again. Jason rests his head on your knee, broad frame tucked between your thighs as he sits on the floor.

“What shampoo do you use?” You ask, only half listening to the movie playing in the background. Jason prods at your ankle as you disturb the comfortable silence and in retaliation you kick him in the side. “Your hair is so soft.”

“Yours.” He manages to get out through a yawn. “You always buy the expensive stuff and it smells nice so…”

“So what? You steal it from me?” Leaning down, you contort your body into a shape unknown to science and shove your face into his hair. Breathing deeply you hum, satisfied, and ignore the little noise Jason makes in the back of his throat. “Yeah okay, you get a free pass on that one. It does smell good.”

Jason tugs his phone out of his pocket and you watch curiously over his shoulder as he starts flicking through his text messages. Some of them you can read, and it ranges from stupid photos from his brothers and sisters, to things more high profile. But there are some in languages you can’t understand and it’s strange how you immediately categorise his intelligence as attractive.

Across the top of his screen a new message flashes up and your eyes dart over it before the words can fully sink in.

‘Just tell her how you feel, Jaybird. You deserve to be happy, and I know that’s exactly what she makes you.”

Jason swipes the message off almost as soon as it appears and he tries to sit up, tries to assess your reaction and go straight into damage control. But you don’t let him. Won’t let him sink into his own head. Pulling just slightly at his hair with one hand you use the other smooth over his shoulder.

“Jay, it’s fine. It’s okay.” You say, and he’s tense all over. “M’just surprised that this is the first time I’m learning that you have a crush on someone.”

“Ew.” He chokes immediately. “A crush? What am I, twelve?”

“On a scale of one to ten? Hell yeah you are.”

Whistling appreciatively, Jason raises his hand and you go straight in for the high five.

“That was smooth. I’m impressed.”

Rolling your eyes you snigger, “Jay, you were impressed when I managed to boil an egg for the first time. The bar is pretty fucking low.”

Slapping your thigh Jason tips his head back until it’s resting against your tummy. There’s a light flush to his cheeks and you watch him dart his gaze over your face, nervous, subconsciously searching for any more concrete information on your genuine reaction to the text.

You don’t give him anything.

“That was huge for you.” He exclaims. “And who can forget that time where you fell over in front of literally ten people in the middle of the street. That was impressive too. There wasn’t even anything ther–”

Placing your hand over his mouth to shut him up you cry, “Stop bringing that up you bastard! Let me live my life without that memory. You’re supposed to love me! This isn’t love.” Something mischievous sparks in Jason’s eyes and you grit out, “Don’t you dare. I know that fucking look, Todd. Don’t you dare!”

Swiping his tongue straight across your palm you reel back and immediately wipe your hand on the outside of your thigh.

“You’re a goddamn child.” You grin, flicking his forehead. “I hope you’re happy.”

“You always make me happy.”

#driving myself slightly insane with these two #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader drabble #jason todd x you drabble #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fic #jason todd fanfiction #ella writes #asks #answered #birthofvcnus #friends 💕

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jiminiecrickets · 1 year ago

Text

jeon jungkook ♡ series masterlist

wc. 2.3k

tags. smut | dom top!m!reader, exhibitionism, handjobs, edging, begging, name-calling, high and dry

jungkook's eyes shine at the sight of the meals the waiter unloads from his arms. he leans forward eagerly, peering down into the clay pot dishes and bright, fresh greens. he wiggles beside you, so much excitement leaking out of him that you can practically taste it. you smile as he brings his hands together to clap quietly, thanking the waiter so genuinely that the man can't help but return his smile.

"wow, you really went all out," jungkook comments, rearranging the dishes for the best dish-to-plate distance for both of you. he nudges your shoulder with an endearing crinkle to his eyes. "is this an attempt to gain my favour? what'd you do?"

"i didn't do anything," you protest. "i can't spoil my man a little after a hard day's work?"

he giggles, lifting your plate to spoon a portion onto it. you sneak your arm under his elbow and steal his plate, giving him a generous mound of fried rice and a few rice paper rolls. "you never spoil me, you stingy rat. i know something's up. did you chip my favourite pyrex container? bend my steak knife? lose my charger?"

"you live with me," you snark, "so those are technically my things. and no, that didn't happen. i'm not a clutz, unlike somebody here."

"i bought them – therefore, they're mine. what's so hard to understand?"

"they're under my insurance, so therefore – they're mine. fuck you."

he smirks. "you'd like to, wouldn't you?" a corner of his lips quirks up as he places your plate in front of you. "by the way, you don't need to say 'so' and 'therefore' one after the other like that." he hums as you set his plate in front of him. he leans over and pecks your cheek. "what a dummy. ah, at least you're handsome... you need to get out of the house more often."

he's such a brat. he's also incredibly clingy, which makes it difficult to do any work from home when you do finally give in to his wishes. every fifteen minutes you get a surprise visit from your boyfriend with another bowl of sliced apples. even tonight, in this fancy restaurant with too-dim lights and black-and-gold décor, he chose to shuffle in shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-thigh in the u-shaped booth rather than sitting across from you like a normal person would.

he even sat there originally, raising your hopes that he would act like a prim and proper date. he then slid over the smooth leather seats while you ordered, laying his head on your shoulder and beaming up at the poor waiter, who was definitely not being paid enough to suffer through jungkook's lovey-dovey antics.

not ten minutes go by without incident. jungkook props his chin on your shoulder. his cologne smells light and fresh, like clean linen. he points at a slice of duck meat. "i want."

you put it on his plate. he pouts at it, hooking his shoe behind your calf. slowly, it slides up the back of your leg. "no, hyung-ah! want you to feed me. ahh..."

you glance around, warm in the cheeks and not from the heat of the busy restaurant or from the starchy suit. he blinks up at you expectantly, mouth open.

his eyes are just a little too lidded to not remind you of situations far dirtier than this. you clear your throat and shove the duck meat into his mouth until he almost chokes. he pulls away from your shoulder, and so does the creeping hand across your belt.

he grumbles as he swallows. "you coulda killed me, hyung. why'd i have to fall in love with such a mean guy?"

"because i'm handsome," you say nonchalantly, "like you said. apparently, it's my only good trait."

he hooks his arm through yours with a soft whine, food forgotten. you spoon another slice of duck into his mouth – you're paying for all of it, regardless if it goes into his stomach or the bin. he would definitely appreciate it a lot more. "hyung! that's not true. i love you for other reasons, too."

"mm, is that right, darling? name one." you slide a mouthful of glass noodles between his teeth. he winks when he notices how closely you're watching, making sure to be extra slow when he drags his lips over the spoon.

how he can make that attractive, you have no idea.

"well," he hums after swallowing, "you have a big dick!"

you nearly knock over the table in your haste to slap a hand over his mouth. your face burns. you hiss, "shut up! shut the fuck up. please, we are in public."

he waits until you lower your hand. he smiles innocently. "make me, hyung."

he goes right back to eating, unhooking his arms from yours and tucking his feet under himself. he wraps his lips around the chopsticks, glancing slyly in your direction to see if you're watching. you are. his lips shine slightly with oil from the fried dishes, plump and pink from the chilli powder. they curve up into a smirk as you place a firm hand on his knee.

popping a piece of chicken in his mouth, he lets out a soft moan, eyes closing gently as he savours the taste. "so good, baby. see? i knew you had some good qualities – you always manage to choose the best dishes on the menu, even if you've never tried it before. open your mouth for jungkookie, please. here comes the aeroplane."

he lifts the chopsticks, hovering a palm under it. you maintain eye contact as you accept it begrudgingly, doing your best to slam mental understanding through to him. you're in a restaurant that celebrities frequent – if you two are seen doing anything so much as a hair too risqué, you'll be kicked to the curb and your faces will be blacklisted forever behind reception. he's already pushing it, practically sitting on your lap.

his hand brushes over the front of your pants when he draws back. the glint in his eyes tells you that it's no accident.

fine. you'll play his game.

your hand slides up his knee to his thigh, squeezing in warning. you knuckle the edge of your hand into his soft bulge, concealing the movement with a shift on the booth seat. you feel his knee jerk, nearly hitting the table.

he clears his throat and continues eating, taking your nearly-empty plate and giving you another portion of every dish. how kind of him.

his trousers are beltless – ruins the lines of his jacket, he argued – and you glide your fingers over the front, finding the cold of his zipper easily. you palm his cock, hiding your smirk behind a quaint little appetiser as his hips shuffle discreetly.

he's always loved this game, touching when he shouldn't and where he shouldn't. you try to be mature about it, knocking his hands away or kicking his feet under the table when they get too close to their mark, but he's your baby, and you don't punish him nearly enough for any of your stern lectures to truly take root in that pretty little head of his.

you drag his zipper down.

your fingers slip into the gap under the button top, tracing gentle lines along his cock. it twitches with interest.

his pants are high-waisted, which makes it easier to hook your fingers into his boxer shorts – you have to personally thank whoever made loose-fits popular again – and fish out his cock. when he feels your fingers wrap firmly around him, his head snaps towards you and his eyes widen.

you smile sweetly back at him. what did he think would happen? you turn back to your meal, and after a still moment, he follows, his movements stiffer than before.

you stroke him lazily. you don't have to do much to get him riled up – the setting seems to pluck at his seams. he shuffles around so often that you barely have to move your hand; he does it for you.

you lean in, lips by his ear. "quit moving so much, baby. you'll get caught."

jungkook's throat bobs harshly as he nods, quiet and obedient as he stares down into his plate. as a reward, your fist quickens, and his breath hitches, eyes shutting briefly as your finger slides over his wet tip, smearing his precum down the length of his hard shaft.

"what's wrong, darling?" you ask with faux innocence. "you haven't touched your dinner in some time. want to order something else? a drink?"

he shakes his head, sucking on the ring through his lower lip. his cheeks are beginning to tint pink, and his wide eyes dart around the restaurant. eventually, they fall on you. "n-no, thank you, hyung," he replies in a small voice, lifting his hands and placing them palm-down on the dark table. he raises the spoon to his mouth.

he's so good for you! your heart melts a little. maybe it's the weight of being caught with his dick out – literally – but he's been quelled, his sneaky feet and sly glances left behind entirely.

it's bad for your ego. you have him in the palm of your hand – just a few fingers and you have infamous college bad-boy jeon jungkook melting into a hot, sticky puddle.

your hand pumps him steadily under the table. if he was in his right mind, he might recognise it as the classic pop 4/4 time signature, which you do for your own amusement. he lets out a shaky sigh, listing heavily against your side. you rest your cheek against the top of his head and tighten your fist, scraping along his veins rapidly to a bouncing beat, and his knuckles turn white around his chopsticks.

you glance over them in amusement. "going to stab me with those, jeon?"

he loosens his grip and holds them properly, rather than like a stake he'd enjoy driving into your heart. he shakes his head, uttering a weak "uh-uh" as he turns his face into your shoulder. his breaths are hot and heavy, unsteady and stuttered.

you bite back a satisfied smile. "not such a tease now, are you?" you murmur into his ear. "i wonder how long you can hold it..."

he chokes out a tiny whimper. "no – no, please, hyung, please don't make me—"

"well, what else are you going to do? come all over the bottom of this table, all over your trousers and your shoes, like a needy whore?"

he jerks into your fist with a swallowed gasp. he doesn't even bother to try and look as if he's eating dinner – he's just trying not to moan too loudly.

poor thing. you stroke his hair kindly.

his cock is soaked. you can hear your wet movements under the table. he whimpers into your shoulder, a death grip on your forearm as he humps your fist.

"h-hyung," he gasps softly, his voice cracked and hoarse. "hyung, ah, ah, i c-can't—"

"mm, darling? want me to stop?"

all he does is whine quietly.

"excuse me, sir?"

you look up into the concerned eyes of a waiter – the same one who served you earlier. he gestures to jungkook, whose hair covers just enough to hide the sex-addled haze of his blown irises. his red cheeks, however, are not. "is he alright?"

you chuckle, nodding. "yeah, he'll be okay after an ibuprofen and a big glass of water. not a big drinker – you understand." you gesture to your wine glass, which is half-finished. you probably won't drink the rest of it; you've got something far tastier to get yourself drunk on tonight.

the waiter nods with a sympathetic smile. he bows slightly. "right! sorry for interrupting your dinner, then. have a good evening."

you smile as he leaves. you turn back to jungkook, who finally parts his lips to let out a breathless, near-silent moan. your hand had never stopped. his fist tightens in your jacket.

"you're doing so well, darling," you whisper, his precum dripping down your knuckles. his cock pulses hotly with each quick, dragging stroke. "you're doing so well for me. doing so well for hyung. you want to be good for me, yeah?"

he nods quickly, panting softly. "y-yeah, yeah, hyung, wanna be good f'you. 'm good jus' f'you."

the way he's slurring his words could pass him for drunk if it really came down to it. he wraps his arms around you, and you can feel his tremble even deeper now – it's not just his thighs or his hands. he's trembling all over.

he's trying so hard for you.

you twist your voice into something sweet and gentle. "that's right. you've done so well tonight – look, we've finished all of the food we ordered! want to go home now, baby?"

he nearly whines aloud, gazing up at you with dark, desperate eyes. he gulps hard. "y-yes, yes please, let's go home, let's go let's go—"

"okay, okay," you laugh, gently tucking him away into his pants. he shifts in discomfort. you give him your jacket as you slide out of the booth, and he grabs it gratefully and folds it over his arm to hold over the visible tent in his pants. "i just need to pay and we're all set. want to wait in the car?"

he flushes and nods, taking your hand in his own. "yeah, if you wouldn't mind..."

"of course. anything for my darling."

#top male reader #x male reader #male reader #dom male reader #bts x male reader #dom reader #top reader #bottom bts #bottom jungkook #jungkook x male reader #kpop x male reader #bts x reader #kpop x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut

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foreverrandomwritings · 1 year ago

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🍨Bowl of ice cream: rooster and peach

Just Peachy

Summary: Bradley visits you at work and stumbles upon you in a peach sized predicament.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x afab!Reader

Warnings:Super fluffy, brief mention of frisky business, one curse word, that's all?

Word count: 1105

Masterlist Taste of Twenty-Five Masterlist

The sweet smell of peach was the first thing Bradley noticed when he walked into the little bakery. He stood by the door scanning the shop as he tucked his aviators into his old academy shirt that was a bit too small on him but made his biceps look devine so he refused to part with it. He took in a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes briefly the smell of all the different sweets overtaking his senses.

“She’s in the back you weirdo.” The brass voice of your younger sister flew his way. His eyes snapped open glancing in the eighteen year olds direction. He felt the smirk coming upon his lips as he sauntered around the customers that were milling about the store. He lifted the counter top and slipped through the opening before speaking to her.

“You’re mighty bold today I see.” He and your sister had a nice back and forth relationship. The closest thing to a sibling bond he’s ever had. She had been working in your bakery for a couple months now, needing some money and a part time job while in college.

“You were scaring off all the customers standing by the door with your creepy pornstache.” She kept her voice low and gestured towards the door of the shop with the hand that wasn’t writing on a small chalkboard sign. He glanced at the words briefly, noticing something about peaches but not really focusing on what it said.

“Hey, you said the stache looked just fine.” He held a hand over his heart and she rolled her eyes dramatically. The dramatic eye roll was one of the things you both had in common.

“Get out of here, I’m sick of looking at your face.” He scoffed but did as she said, turning around and finding his way into the kitchen. He spotted your form quickly, huddled over a cutting board, knife in hand. He was quiet as he snuck up behind you, his arms wrapping around your middle as he pressed himself into your back.

“How are you doing today, hot stuff?” His nose was buried in your neck before you could respond. You giggled lightly at the feeling of his mustache tickling your neck.

“I am just peachy.” You giggled at your own joke as you looked down at the peach in your hand. He peered over your shoulder and let out a small laugh as well.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you but I thought you were working late today.” You had set down the knife and the peach in your hand. You grabbed the towel tucked into your apron and wiped your hands off quickly. Bradley stepped back a foot letting you turn around. You leaned your back against the counter and gave him a sweet smile.

“I did work late, it's already seven.” His eyes flicked to the clock hanging on the wall across the room. Your eyes got wide in return quickly flipping your wrist over to check the time on your watch. The bakery didn’t close for another hour and a half but you were still surprised at the time.

“Oh my. I didn’t even realize it was getting so late. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with all these peaches for hours.” You gestured around the room and that’s when Bradley noticed the insane amount of peaches crowding the space.

“This is an awful lot of peaches babe.” He held his lips together tightly trying to hold in a laugh at the bewildered look on your face.

“I’ve already made like ten peach pies, a couple dozen muffins, two cakes and a dozen scones.” You threw your hands up in emphasis, eyes widening every so slightly.

“Is there a reason you have so many peaches?” He was genuinely curious, typically when you had a big order of anything you’d let him know. He however hadn’t heard of any big orders involving peaches from you recently.

“If someone hadn’t distracted me while I was ordering produce last week I wouldn’t have ordered this many.” Your eyes narrowed at him, cheeks heating at the memory of last week, shifting on your feet.

“You weren’t complaining last week.” He had a cheshire grin on his lips now. You had been in the office when he came in last week. Clad in his flight suit and a black t-shirt that hugged him in all the right ways. Things had gotten a little heated and had left you distracted while you were putting in your orders for the week. So instead of the twenty peaches you wanted to order for a few muffins and scones you had planned to bake you had received two hundred peaches.

“Since you’re the one that put me into this mess you are gonna help me out of it.” It was your turn to have a large smile on your face. His eyebrows shoot up at the mischievous look in your eye.

“Go wash your hands and grab an apron. You're gonna help me cut up some of these to freeze.” He groaned loudly as the words left your mouth. He didn’t actually mind helping however, it reminded him of all the times he would help his mom and grandmother in the kitchen growing up.

“Can I at least have a kiss first?” He puckered his lips at you and you looked as though you were contemplating whether or not you were gonna kiss him. He was about to complain before you stood on your tiptoes to land a quick kiss upon his lips.

“Now get to work.” He gave a mock salute and made his way to grab an apron hung up by the sink. He tied it quickly before washing his hands and coming to stand beside you again.

“How’d I get lucky enough to get such a take charge girlfriend?” The question was rhetorical and you both knew it but that didn’t stop you from answering him as you passed him his own cutting board, knife and bowl, the carton of peaches sat between you.

“You have a really nice ass is all.” You shrugged at him nonchalantly giggling at the way his nose scrunched up.

“Good to know that’s all you needed.” He looked at you however and instead of the smell of peaches taking over his senses it was the way you were looking at him. Your eyes held so much love and adoration it was all consuming. There would never be a day that he wouldn’t remind you just how lucky he was to call you his.

A/N:This has taken forever to write and I am so sorry. I am hoping to get to the rest very soon. Thank you all for reading, likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

Tags(open): @wkndwlff @sylviebell @kmc1989 @eternallyvenus @loving-and-dreaming

#m's taste of twenty-five event #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw oneshot #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw oneshot #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun maverick #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick oneshot #fluff

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jungshookz · 1 year ago

Text

jimin's kind of a dickhead & y/n is very close to losing it

➺ pairing; park jimin x reader // dickhead!jimin x TA!y/n

➺ genre; clearly i’m in my university!au era (can u blame me)!! honk honk humour!! do i smell enemies to lovers?? clichés clichés clichés but who around here isn’t a sucker for a good cliché!! let me indulge!!

➺ wordcount; 3.5k

➺ summary; y/n’s a teaching assistant for the summer semester’s english class and she thinks she’d have a much more pleasant time if one of the students wasn’t an obnoxiously-huge-sunglasses-wearing-comes-to-class-fashionably-late park jimin.

➺ what to expect; “you look way too young to be an actual TA. or at least a TA who knows what they’re doing.”

➺ currently spinning on the record player; popular (with playboy carti & madonna) — the weeknd

»»————- 📚 ————-««

you’re not sure if you’ve ever been this nervous for something before.

it’s not that you don’t know how to speak in front of a large crowd or you have stage fright or something like that, but after working your way up and finally landing the position as a TA for your english professor, the fact that you have to speak in front of a big group of students close to your age and have them actually respect you didn’t hit you up until now, ten minutes before class starts

and you feel like you’re about to simultaneously piss your pants and shit a brick at the same time.

you spent nearly forty minutes this morning picking out an outfit because you wanted to wear something that said “i’m professional, but i’m still cool and casual and you can talk to me about anything BUT there’s still a line that you can’t cross with me because i’m the TA and i’m not just one of you guys even though i kind of am one of you guys” and to be honest, there wasn’t a lot in your closet that screamed specifically that

you ended up going with a pair of bootcut jeans and a tank top with a light cardigan over top: professional, but still approachable… at least, you hope that’s the vibe you give off.

“okay, y/n…” you mutter, looking at your reflection in your little compact mirror to make sure your eyeliner isn’t smudging and there are no remnants of your breakfast croissant in your teeth, “‘hi everyone, i’m y/n, i graduated last year but i’m in my first year at our school’s grad program… really excited to get to know everyone this semester! promise i’ll take it easy on you when i’m grading your papers…’” you recite neatly, nodding to yourself in content

that’s a good way to introduce yourself, right?

it’s lighthearted but you’re still reminding all the students that they have to be on their best behaviour and they should be handing in their best work

“god.” you snap your compact shut and slip it back into your purse, leaning back against the wall and reaching up to adjust your glasses

…but what if they think you’re trying too hard to get them to like you?

this feels like you’re about to go out on a first date with eighty people all at the same time

and now that you think about it, you don’t feel like you’re going to shit a brick — you feel like you’re about to shit out an entire house.

“good morning, y/n!”

“professor kim! good morning!” you stand up from the bench when professor kim walks in through the doors, offering him warm smile and straightening your posture a little, “i got here earlier than i’d expected and i wasn’t sure where to go so i thought i’d just meet you at your office, sorry about that…”

professor kim seokjin had been your english professor from second year up to when you graduated, and after you told him that you were planning on continuing your studies and that you’d been accepted into your school’s graduate program, he made the generous offer to take you under his wing as his TA for the summer semester

you took the opportunity, of course, not just because becoming a TA would look really good on your resume, but also because you genuinely enjoy professor kim’s company and his classes are never boring (and it certainly doesn’t hurt that kim seokjin is very nice to look at)

and to be honest, you didn’t have much planned for the summer in the first place so it’d be good to make a little money and get some teaching experience

“what are you sorry for? the early bird catches the worm, you know what they say,” he beams, nodding towards the exit, “are you ready for your first official class as my TA?”

“i am!” you lie, forcing a bright smile on your face as you walk alongside him, “i mean- i’m- i’m a little nervous, but i… it should be fun! and summer classes usually aren’t as big of a size as the fall semester classes, so that’s easing my nerves a bit…”

“don’t worry, you’ll be great! and because this is our first class, you really won’t have to do much. i’m just going over the syllabus and then we’ll move onto a few writing exercises — and you’re right, summer class sizes are much smaller than the ones in the fall semester. there are only 80 students.” professor kim flicks his wrist casually and your eyes widen in surprise

eighty

eighty students

eighty sets of eyeballs staring right at you

you weren’t expecting eighty students — maybe, like twenty at the most

it’s summer!!! why the hell are people going to summer school?!

“eighty!” your voice cracks slightly and you clear your throat quickly before letting out a light chuckle, “right! i knew that. eighty.” you adjust your backpack over your shoulder as you trail alongside professor kim, chewing on the inside of your cheek anxiously

“and all you have to do today is introduce yourself and then walk around the auditorium and tend to any raised hands. honestly, you’re going to be fine. you were a fantastic student and i’m sure you’ll be a fantastic TA.”

“thank you, professor.” you smile shyly, feeling a little more confident knowing that professor kim thinks you’re going to be a fantastic TA

he’s right

you have nothing to worry about

you’re going to be great and this summer semester is going to be even better!

»»————- 📚 ————-««

you can feel your heart thrumming away in your chest as you stand in the corner by the front, keeping a polite smile on your face as the students begin to trickle in and the auditorium starts to fill up

a few of them smile at you and a few of them don’t, which is what you expected so you’re not taking anything personally

(of course, there was a group of students who looked at you and then muttered something to each other and looked back at you, but you’re trying not to hyper-fixate on whatever the hell that was)

((you will hyper-fixate on it in the privacy of your own apartment after class))

you have to admit that during your time as an undergraduate student, you usually never really noticed the TA and you were more focused on finding a spot in the auditorium or finding your friends

so maybe you really don’t need to be as nervous as you are right now!

you force yourself to stop clicking your pen anxiously before shoving it into the back pocket of your jeans, holding your hands in front of you as you continue to smile and say a few quite hi there’s and hello, hi’s as the students walk past you

a few more minutes of settling in goes by and you’re not sure what to do as you stand up at the front, occasionally looking over to see what professor kim’s up to

his back is turned to the students as he busies himself with connecting his laptop to the big screen up front and you would help out but you already offered at the beginning but he said he could handle it so…

“alright, everyone! welcome to english 405… settle down, please… thank you…” professor kim claps his hands together a few times to get everyone’s attention, the voices from the crowd dying out little by little, “thank you so much for being here! i know summer classes aren’t exactly ideal, but i promise our time together won’t feel like a giant drag in the mud.” he smiles, leaning back against the table as he folds his sleeves up to his elbows, “now, i see a few familiar faces in the crowd because i’ve had you in some of my classes last semester, but for those of you who don’t know me, my name is seokjin. you can call me professor kim or just professor if you’d like. you can’t call me seokjin or jin or man or my G or whatever the hell else you people are calling each other nowadays because i worked far too hard for my PhD for a 20-something year old to think it’s okay to come up to me and call me ‘dawg’.”

you can’t help but giggle with the class at professor kim’s introduction as you settle into your seat by the front, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back comfortably (you’re reminded that because you’re at the front and can be perceived by people that you should probably sit properly and not like a boiled shrimp)

“now, to be honest, i don’t have too much planned for our first class together just because it is the first class, so we’ll most likely cover the syllabus, do a few writing exercises to warm up those thinking caps, look over the reading list- that should’ve been emailed to you two weeks before classes started, so if you didn’t get that email, please let me or my lovely TA know-“ professor kim turns towards you with a smile before gesturing to you, “speaking of my lovely TA, would you like to introduce yourself?”

“i-“ before you get the chance to stand up from your seat, the auditorium doors swing open and smack against the walls, causing you to jolt in surprise and for everyone to turn back and look at who the hell is being so disruptive, “i…”

whoever he is has a pair of giant sunglasses on as he trots down the steps, clearly not in a rush, an iced americano in one hand and a laptop tucked underneath his armpit

an oversized black hoodie hangs on his figure along with a pair of ripped jeans, and you can’t help but frown because on one hand, it’s fine to be late if you come in and take a seat in the back quietly (you’ve been late to more than a few lectures because of a missed alarm, but you always try to be as courteous as you can as to not disrupt the class because you’re a decent human being), but practically kicking the door down and then making the auditorium steps your own runway is another thing

“jimin! so nice of you to join us this morning.” professor kim clears his throat, and you watch as this jimin guy takes a seat right in front of where your seat is off to the side, “i was wondering when you were going to show up.”

“what, i’m not late, am i?” jimin checks the time on his watch before taking his sunglasses off, leaning over and tossing it onto your seat, “it’s 9:06, prof.”

“surprised you even showed up at all.” professor kim mutters under his breath before reaching over to gently tap you on the shoulder, “sorry about that- please, go ahead and introduce yourself now that all of us, hopefully, are here.”

“i, uh- yes, thank you, professor-“ you clear your throat with a polite smile, turning back to face the front even though you find your eyes flickering over to glance at jimin, “i’m y/n and i’m super excited to get to know all of you this semester! i graduated last year but i’m in my first year of our school’s graduate program. and i’ll promise to be nice when i’m grading your papers if you promise that you won’t hand in any bad papers.” you try to bite back the shit-eating grin on your face when that gets a laugh from the audience and you press your lips together (jimin, you notice, hasn’t even cracked a smile), taking a small step back before turning to look at professor kim for your next move

“yes, y/n will be the one who’ll hand your papers back to you and she’ll be the one who deals with your ‘can you bump my 65 up to a 98’ requests, so please be nice to her…” the class laughs again and you’re reminded of why you loved being in professor kim’s classes so much, because he’s such a charmer! “does anyone have any questions for y/n?”

“not a question, just an observation-” jimin chimes in, leaning back against the seats as he runs a hand through his hair, “you look way too young to be an actual TA. or at least a TA who knows what they’re doing.”

“i- well, sorry to disappoint, but i am a TA.” you chuckle lightly, eyes narrowing slightly, “and i can assure you i know what i’m doing.”

“alright, we’ll see about that.” jimin raises both hands in defence and you can’t help but feel your eye twitch at how much of an asshole he’s being despite literally not knowing you at all

“by the way, class starts at 9, not 9:06.” you force a smile on your face, “not a question, just an observation.” you hear a couple of ‘oh, shit’s’ and low ‘oooooh’s’ from the crowd and you have to remind yourself to keep it professional because the last thing you want is to look like you’re bullying the students in front of professor kim

jimin’s jaw ticks as he shifts in his seat, “right, thanks. i’ll keep that in mind.”

“alright. we’ll see about that.” you shove his own words right back into his face again before turning to look back at the class, your smile softening significantly

“if there are no other questions or observations for y/n, let’s get started!” professor kim jumps in before anyone else gets the chance to say anything and you can’t help but feel a little bit of relief because one more second and you probably would’ve said something out of pocket like how massive jimin’s sunglasses are and how it makes him look as though one of santa’s elves escaped from the north pole and decided to go all wannabe emo, “now, i hate technology so i’ve printed the syllabuses out which will be handed out to you by y/n…”

you immediately snap into TA mode, turning around to pick the stack of syllabuses up from the table and cradling them to your chest, splitting them into sections so you can hand them out to the students at the end of the rows for them to hand them down the line

for the most part, everyone seems very nice and well-behaved, and you get a few compliments on your cardigan or your earrings or your glasses as you continue to hand the papers out (you’re pretty sure it’s because everyone’s trying to get on your good side so that when they beg you to change their grade on a paper you will, but you’re not that easy to bribe) but you find the smile fading on your face as you walk down the steps only to see jimin with an arm raised lazily in the air

the rings on his fingers twinkle slightly under the bright auditorium lights and you can’t help but notice how pretty his hands are

…they would be prettier if he wasn’t such a jackass

“jimin! how can i help you?” you press your lips together, resisting the urge to pretend like you never saw his arm and just keep walking

“could i get another one?” jimin asks, raising the copy of the syllabus he has to show you, “the staple on this one is weirdly wonky.”

“is that so? so sorry about that, i can get you another one if you can just give me a sec…” you decide to play nice considering the fact there’s always a TA evaluation at the end of each semester and you don’t know jimin but he seems like the type to completely rip someone apart in an anonymous evaluation

“i’m guessing you stapled them?”

“i did.” you nod, making your way over to your bag before bending over to dig through it for your spare copies

“hm.” jimin tilts his head slightly as his gaze drops to your ass, “makes sense.”

to be perfectly honest, he couldn’t give less of a shit about the wonky staple on his syllabus

he just didn’t like that dig you made at him about being six minutes late (six minutes isn’t even that big of a deal, you’re so obviously a teacher’s pet and he hates eager little teacher’s pets) so now he’s made it his mission to make this class a big ol’ nightmare for you for the rest of the semester

and sure, he can admit that you’re actually pretty attractive and he could see himself hitting on you if he met you at a bar or a club or something, but you’re his TA and you’re a stickler for rules so that kind of kills the vibe

…well, that’s not entirely true

there’s something about you being his TA that’s making his stomach swirl and he can’t really blame himself when his brain conjures up the image of him bending you over your desk as a way to bribe you to give him a higher grade on his papers because he’s certainly not planning on investing a lot of time or effort in this class since it’s just an elective

jimin shifts in his seat as he watches you crouch down so you can dig into your bag even more, your waist dipping and curving out into your hips quite nicely from this angle

…

he’s totally going to get you fold for him and convince you to give him a good grade by the end of the semester.

his tongue pokes out to swipe over his bottom lip at the thought of him coming to see you after hours (because of course you’re going to make an exception for him and allow him to see you at any time he wants, he’ll make sure of it) and again, he can’t blame anyone but himself when he can practically hear you moaning for his dick in his head (“what’s that, baby? you gonna bump me up to an eighty or am i gonna have to do a little more convincing?” “e-eighty, i’ll- ah- i’ll bump you up to an eighty, i-i will-“)

“here you go! a fresh copy for you.” jimin is rudely yanked from his fantasy when you suddenly shove a fresh copy of a syllabus in his face for him to take, “sorry that took me a minute, i have a lot of papers in my bag…”

“you’re good, y/n.” jimin smiles up at you as he takes the paper from you, “thank you for finding another copy for me. and i’m sorry about that comment i made earlier about you looking too young to be a TA, i was just being a shithead. i’m sure you could tell by the way the prof talked to me that this isn’t my first rodeo.”

you blink rapidly in surprise and almost immediately jimin can tell the wall you had up crumbles away as you give him a genuine smile in return, “oh! no problem at all, thank you for apologizing… i’m- i’m sorry i called you out on being late to class, i just- yeah, didn’t appreciate the comment you made about me-“

“oh, no, i totally get it. i would do the same thing if i were in your shoes. your comebacks were really clever. i would’ve laughed but i didn’t wanna give you the win.” jimin teases with a boyish grin and you find yourself blushing at his compliment

huh

maybe you were too quick to judge him so quickly

and even if he hadn’t come to class late and made a dig at you, you can’t deny the fact that the man is absolutely gorgeous

“alright, well- oh, coming!” you nod, raising your hand slightly to acknowledge one of the students in the back when you see them raise their hand before looking back down at jimin, “lemme know if you need anything.”

“oh, i will. thank you, y/n.” there’s almost a playful glint that flashes in jimin’s eyes and you nod again before heading up the stairs, your heart skipping a beat in your chest

interesting

very interesting

🎙️ compliment y/n’s regular-sized glasses or make fun of jimin’s giant sunglasses (talk to my characters!)

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (full fics!)

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits!)

#dickhead!jimin #dickhead!jimin drabbles #jimin drabbles #park jimin drabbles #jimin fics #jimin fic recs #jimin fluff #jimin fluff recs #jimin au #park jimin #bts fics #bts fic recs #jimin x reader #reader insert #bts reader insert #jimin one shot #jimin one shot recs #bts writers #bts writer recs

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kyber-crystal · 1 year ago

Note

For requests, maybe something with rooster where you like to play little tiktok pranks on him. like imagine telling him you paid $200 for premium air in your tires or supergluing a jar and he can't open it lol 😭😭 I just think he would have the best reactions to all of them

HAIJHSOJNSOJXN I JUST BUST OUT LAUGHING READING THIS (also despite being on tiktok i’m not super up to date on all the pranks bc they haven’t shown up a lot on my fyp. but i HAVE seen some stuff here and there so i will mostly be going off that haha). anyway i’m so sorry this was genuinely so cringe bc i haven’t done headcanons in a while but i hope it makes u laugh anyway :)) i have a better one shot coming your way i promise

rooster is the prankster of the group

but there’s only one person that can outdo him: you

this man practically falls to his feet when he sees you and worships the ground you walk on and somehow YOU CANT SEE IT

what this basically means is he will literally drop whatever he’s doing to listen to you

miraculously, cyclone is in a good mood, and thus decides to grant everyone three days off

this is the perfect time for you to mess with little rooster’s head :)

you know you go to the beach to play volleyball every friday. and this friday is supposed to be the hottest day of the month

this means that rooster will burn almost as quickly as he tans

while he’s busy chatting up some “game plan” with coyote, you swap out the sunscreen spray in his jacket pocket for baby oil

SO THEN he comes over to put it on, and not even ten seconds later he’s all shiny and sparkly and you try your hardest not to laugh (and gawk a little bc holy that man is TONED)

you’re able to get about 2 rounds in when he notices

“why do i smell like i just waltzed through a lavender field.”

“hmmmmmmmmm no idea” you smiled at him innocently

“it was you, wasn’t it” and he goes chasing after you as you shriek at the top of your lungs

(he managed to tackle you down and although you get a bit sand in your mouth and hair you count it as a win because you took him completely by surprise AND you got to see his bare chest but you wouldn’t fucking dare admit that to him, his ego is big enough as it is. rooster 0-you 1)

ok later that evening @ the hard deck, he’s on a phone call with one of his old college friends. for this one, you team up with hangman to hand him some of the most random things while he’s talking

you start off normal at first, like with a beer, then your hair tie (he always wears at least 3-4 of these on his wrist bc you always end up needing one at some point in the week.)

then hangman hands him a cube of ice. literally a cube of ice. but rooster barely reacts to this and just pops it into his mouth

then a lightbulb goes off in your head

knowing that rooster has an irrational fear of ladybugs, you quickly go out to the back to find one

then you come back and hold your hand out to him

and rooster, being rooster, LOVES physical contact (especially if it’s from you), and takes your hand in his as he continues talking

but then the bright red ladybug crawls onto his wrist and he almost immediately hangs up, drops the phone, and SCREAMS in the middle of the bar

you and hangman share a secret high five at this

but ALSOOO you kind of feel bad for scaring the shit out of the poor guy

that night you’re too lazy to walk back to your place so rooster offers to let you stay with him

and duh you say yes (it’s def bc you’re getting extra opportunities to pull pranks on him and not bc you have a fat crush on him and are hoping he’ll notice even though you’re the least obvious lil shit and prefer to show you care ab him by asking if he wants anything from costco or his fav restaurant down the street)

he ends up sleeping in the next morning, and you’re up pretty early, so you decide to make breakfast

you make a mental note to yourself to go on a grocery run together next week bc you were almost out of strawberry jam

he comes downstairs w/ messy hair and sits down at the counter

and he tries to open the jar of jam

but it won’t budge

he keeps trying for a minute straight but then gives up

so his eyes immediately go over to you and you play dumb

“i didn’t do anything i swear!”

“y/n.”

“i’m innocent!”

“y/n.”

he suddenly brushes your cheek with his thumb and you find this a bit strange since it’s so sudden. and still, your heart does that annoying thing where it skips a beat every time he touches you

“superglue…” he murmured. “i wonder how that got here?”

hahahahahahahaha you sure wonder. it’s not like you stole it while he was sleeping one night

anyway

later that night you ask him if he wants to go for a drive down by the coastline and he says yes.

“yknow, i paid $200 to get premium air for these bad boys!” you told him as you started the engine.

“you…what…”

“for my tires!”

he looks flabbergasted

“y/n, i think you got scammed”

“ok”

you keep driving anyway, the car did NOT feel any different like the mechanic promised it would

but you were no way in hell about to admit that to an already smug looking bradley bradshaw

rooster has finally, FINALLY started to catch onto your antics

so he starts scheming all week to figure out how to get back at you

during this week you’re extremely busy flying back and forth with payback, lessons with maverick, and staying up way too late with phoenix to talk about the latest season of your favorite show

so you don’t even notice that he hasn’t been around for a hot min

then one thursday afternoon right after you got out of the shower, you get a text from him that tells you he’s grabbing some fancy dinner with the guys in an hour and to dress fancy

this has you SCRAMBLING to change bc the place he’s referring to is absolutely legendary

so you show up to the restaurant all polished up and find him in a private booth in the back

“hey…”

rooster is suddenly speechless bc when he told you to dress nice, he didn’t expect you to look like an actual angel

“y/n…you look beautiful”

“thank you…but hey, where is everyone?”

“running a bit late, they should be here soon”

so you order first and wait. and wait. but nobody else shows up

and suddenly the space between you two felt like it had been chopped in half and now you were sitting a lot closer than you remembered

“okay i lied, i’m sorry” he says all of a sudden and you’re like huh tf u talkin ab “i never asked them to come. this is a date. we’re on a date.”

“we are?”

“yes”

so in the end…it’s ultimately you who gets pranked :)

:) :) :) :) :)

…

taglist (add yourself here!): @uwiuwi @queenbbarnes @cosm1cfae @ellabellabus07 @vitanileon @criminalyetminimal @whatlovegattado @and-claudia @bittergomez @julia-marshal @elenavampire21 @totomoshi @lyn-lc @lunamoonbby @paintballkid711 @yeehawnana @hazelgirl355 @spawn0fsatan @teacactusworld @icemansgirl1999 @cherry-waved @littlebadariell @tallrock35 @hoedameronsworld @aerangi

also quick PSA: my taglist spreadsheet hasn’t been updated in a while so this list may not be completely accurate, sorry for any inconveniences : ‘/

#top gun: maverick #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #top gun imagine

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artsninspo · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! Hope you’re doing well.

I have a request, what if reader is stuck in the house, says it’s finals or she has a lot of school work to do and she hasn’t had time to eat so in the middle of it she calls Jamie to bring her something. He’s in the middle of something but insists on dropping it all to bring her something to eat😊 just a cute little fic

“REVISIONS”

Author's Note: This is a fluffy one.

Pairing: Jamie (Topboy) X Reader

Word Count: 1.2K

Butterflies strike when you see his name flash across the screen. You’re in your bed doing last minute revisions, you have been all day. Jamie had been a pleasant surprise. You were walking the high streets a little after dark when a group of men decided to chat you up. They were aggressive and persistent until Jamie jumped out his car making them straighten up. He’d walked you the rest of the way to the station. He was a gentleman and clearly respected around these parts. He never asked for your number and it bruised your ego. He had this unmistakable aura that made you curious. He cared enough to intervene. He was polite enough to make conversation but there was no ulterior motive. He wasn’t your knight in shining armour for any ulterior motives he just was.

The interaction stayed in your mind on a loop, like a song. It replayed over and over again. Then you were out shopping when you saw Aaron, an intern at your job with Jamie. It felt like fate that you saw him again and got a more intimate introduction. Then Aaron’s birthday passed and you stopped by in the hopes of seeing his mysterious older brother. It was serendipitous that he showed up as you were about to hail a cab. Magically Jamie was headed in your direction. You watched his demeanour change. He melted into a more comfortable disposition. He did little things that stood out. He told you you could take control of the audio in the car. Then he asked if you were hungry. There seemed to be no rush at all. There were no expectations. He asked about your education and pursuit of your masters and further goals. His questions were well thought out and he had insightful additions. You watched him recoil when you asked what he did for a living and what he studied. He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. It was clear at that very moment what he was. It was like the jig was up and he hardened all over again.

“I’m around this part often so if you need a ride or anything let me know” he said handing you his phone. It wasn’t exactly what you wanted but it was something. It was a start.

“Hiya Jamie” you say pen in hand.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, just revising my final presentation” you tell him.

“Still?” He scoffs.

“Yeah” you smile a little self conscious. Hes probably used to exciting women who have full lives worthy of social media followings and not the bookish type.

“Fuck sake, you’re like Aaron. You forget to eat too?” He asks, causing your mouth to gape.

“Yeah” you admit.

“Get dressed, we'll go get something and you can go back to studying” he offers.

“Ok” you respond excited by the prospect. Since he’d given you his number Jamie maintained platonic friendship. There was no rush into your pants, just genuine interest into your prosperity and growth. Into your career endeavours and overall well being.

“I’ll be there in a bit”

You ponder, “How long is a bit?”

“Don’t rush, I’ll call when I’m ten minutes away” he says and you’re already in your closet. Jamie, the object of your desire. The man you want to know more about. Is he into you, is he not you have no idea. Looking in the mirror you do a quick beat hoping he likes it. You choose jeans and a top that showcase your figure. When he’s ten minutes away you’re doing your hair. Before he knocks you spray your perfume. You open the door and his eyes look you over quickly before coming in for a hug, Jamie smells good as always.

“Ready?” He asks.

“Yep” you nod, getting your keys. Jamie locks up and you head to his car. He gets the door like always before getting in. He connects your phone to the car. The conversation flows easily per usual only today Jamie’s eyes linger a little longer. He takes your hand guiding you into the restaurant. It feels natural being with him. You learn he was in the middle of something and dropped it all to spend time with you. You feel special.

“So do you feel ready for your finals?” He asks.

“I don’t know I’m not quite there yet, if I’m honest”

“Does getting a perfect score matter for your jobs in the long run?” He asks as you make your way through the shopping centre.

“Probably not”

“Then remember to eat” Jamie jests, reaching for your hand again as more people crowd the street.

“You headed back to the fields?” You ask.

“Yeah”

“It’s late, you could stay at mine and go in the morning” you offer. Jamie smiles looking straight ahead, keeping your hand in his as he brings it to his lips.

“Nah” he responds with a smile.

“Why not?” You ask amused at his amusement.

“You need to do your revisions and make something of yourself. Achieve your dreams. Date a lad like Aaron who’s headed in a similar road. He fucks up you call me - I set him straight. You’re too good for me, I don’t want to complicate your life and I don’t have enough self control to sleep ‘round yours and just sleep” he says, never letting you go.

Your eyes find his. You look over his features, his facial structure and his smooth complexion. You see it now, there plain as day in his eyes that he’s been holding back. The patience was restraint and his attentiveness was temperance.

“Jamie, you should give yourself more credit.” you counter.

“No, I know who and what I am. I know there’s attraction between us. You’re a good girl relationship type. Eventually I’d let you down and your goals would suffer. It’d mess me up too and I need to be sharp for work” he explains shrugging. You take a deep breath opting to take his word for it. He wraps an arm around you.

“You can stay at mine. Nothing will happen, I respect your position.” You respond a little regretful of his rejection. Bitter has never been your style. Your guest room is always ready for visitors. You get him towels and whatever he may need for the night. You take a shower and try to think of the last time you had feelings like this for someone. You get in bed and run through your presentation from memory seamlessly. You make notes on your phone until your door opens. You make out Jamie’s shadow in the dark and he gets in your bed.

“Go on, run through the presentation” he says, making you smile.

“Okay” you concede getting out of bed. Your pyjamas are an oversized black and white polka dot satin set. It’s not sexy, nor is your tied up hair but you start anyway. Jamie is attentive; he holds your phone taking notes as you go through everything. When you’re finished he claps.

“I reckon I make a reservation already, you’ve got it” he says as you get back in bed, you’re playing with fire and you both know it. You get comfortable and he doesn’t leave.

“Goodnight Jamie” you mutter.

“Nite Y/N” he responds.

—---------------------

Thanks for reading as always, let me know what you think in the comments 💕

#jamie tovell #topboy fanfic #masterlist #topboy imagine #jamie tovell x reader #jamie topboy #topboynetflix

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is-emily-real · 10 months ago

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resolutions

The den was warm, the smell of cinnamon and wine drifting from their mugs as they spoke. It was that liminal space between Christmas and New Year’s, that time when the days seemed to pass like hours and years simultaneously.

Their number was quite diminished, what with Robin and Argyle visiting family out of state and Eddie dutifully DMing a campaign for the kids while he had the time. Chrissy thought being fourth-wheel to two guys and the girl they used to date would have its oddities, but the atmosphere had stayed surprisingly pleasant.

“You all have any resolutions for 1987?” Nancy asked, cuddling her mug. The alcohol brought a pretty flush to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes. She got why the boys fell in love with her.

It was an innocuous question, but it made her lose herself in thought, half listening to Steve and Jonathan as they discussed the concept.

She’d never had any before. They were always prescribed to her, handed down like jail sentences by her mother and rigorously enforced. Study more, look pretty, lose ten pounds, twenty, thirty, more and more and more until she felt like a shell of herself, barely able to stave off a headache at the slightest stressor.

Then, all of a sudden, the night terrors started, and she thought it was just Jason being sweet when he asked her to talk to the counselor, wrapped her in his letterman jacket and prayed over her, but it helped a little.

After a few days, the comments started, backhand statements about how terrible it was she was so fatigued, how much it was stressing him out, how she should already be better and was she sure she was trying enough? But he was always doting in front of her friends, the picture of a perfect gentleman when others could see.

When Eddie offered her something that could make her sleep, she jumped at the chance, surprised to learn he genuinely wanted to soothe her worries. He was a point of hope, a soft heart in a hard world despite his spiky exterior.

She hadn’t expected hell in the place of help.

That thing took her, spun her like a top, snared her in those awful vines and made her watch as he tortured the others, as he destroyed her home, as children stepped up to keep him at bay. They were so brave, all of them, and they got cut to shreds for it.

But the girl, El, came, and the bonds burned Chrissy’s skin until the red sky overhead faded to black, and when they turned to ice, she swore the sleep deprivation wasn’t that bad.

Gentle hands lifted her, pulled her back into a reality she could understand, held her close until she was free of the shadows. She came to in her aunt’s bed with only swirling pink scars to confirm her story.

She idly traced one along her arm. Did she have any resolutions beyond preventing the coming year from being as bad as the last? Was there more to life after the worst of it was over?

“I’m just saying, the question’s a bit disingenuous,” Jonathan said. “It’s like asking what part of someone they hate most.”

Nancy scoffed. “It is not.”

“Is too! You either have a stupid answer or an honest one, and the honest answers just make you feel worse in two weeks when you give up.”

“Everyone’s got an idea of who they should be,” Steve commented. “I don’t think any answer’s stupid.”

“Be real, how would you feel if my resolution was to smoke more?”

“I’d be fine with it as long as you shared.”

Chrissy couldn’t help her chuckle. “Your boyfriend’s a drug dealer. You don’t have enough?”

“Hey, he’s a former drug dealer, thank you. Besides, no getting high on your own supply.”

Nancy slapped her knee. “Alright, Mr. Philosopher, since you don’t think they’re stupid, what’s yours?”

He thought for a second. “I want to get my own place.”

“That’s what you’re doing with your hush money?”

“If the government put me at risk of demo-rabies, they can buy me a house to make up for it.”

“Please never say that in front of Robin.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not that stupid, Nance.”

Chrissy caught the little twitch in Jonathan’s lips. She’d keep that to herself. No need to hurt Steve’s pride.

“I’m going to take an actual vacation this year.” Nancy snuggled deeper into her blanket. “Somewhere warm and sunny and not ready to kill me at any given moment.”

“You would love California,” Jonathan offered. “Come visit me and Argyle this summer.”

“Only if you give me an actual resolution,” she teased.

“Ah, well, Florida it is, then.”

She stuck her tongue out at him before turning her inquisitive gaze on Chrissy. “What’s yours?”

Chrissy took a breath, took in the shimmer of her eye, the soft smile on Jonathan’s lips, the weight of Steve’s arm slung across the back of the couch. She wanted this, as much of it as she could get. She’d never had it before, not when she was trying to be someone she wasn’t.

“I think I want to finally be Chrissy this year.” She let her lips curl around the words, felt the depth seep into her skin and settle in among her scars. She’d live how she wanted, not how Vecna or Jason or her mom or anyone said she should.

Her favorite cousin wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “That’d be a good look on you.”

@thefreakandthehair for the prompt resolutions from the Spicy Six Winter Fanworks Challenge

#spicysixwinterfanworkschallenge #i like to call this group the bi squad #chrissy cunningham #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #delayed due to illness #but i think more character studies of chrissy are in order #she's so compelling for only one episode of screen time and its a crime we didnt get more #stranger things s4

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hawnks · 2 years ago

Text

coincide pt. v

series rating: r18 (explicit)

hawks (takami keigo) x reader

word count: ~4,800

[soulmate au, slowburn, UST as a plot device, avian keigo, allusion to depression, hurts hurts hurts until it doesn't anymore right?]

warning: canon-typical violence

Summary: You’ve got a talent for melodrama, huh?

.........................................................................

His sabbatical is lengthy and non-broadcast. They’d wanted him to take a respite, recuperate, maybe go sit under a waterfall. You’re not yourself, his handler told him. We need Hawks. Not whatever ghost has taken his place. It’s dangerous to keep masquerading as someone who’s heart is in it one hundred percent. That kind of half-assed heroing will get someone killed, one of these days.

They book him a room at a historical hotspring, set up an itinerary with huge swaths of time dedicated to “Rest.” He leaves the hotspring, and the country, without telling anyone.

He goes to Taiwan, to help with some underground hero work. Then France, then Egypt. Most of the jobs are espionage, kept under wraps, need-to-know basis. The rest are off the books altogether. He flies most of the way himself, just so he can pass out each night, bone-tired, and wake up in the morning with nothing but open air behind him.

Everything hurts, the muscle strain and the altitude headaches and the canned coffee he mainlines just to keep from falling out of the sky on overnight journeys. There’s a pressure in his chest that won’t let up, a constant squeezing sensation that feels like shortness of breath, like drowning. Like all the air sucked out of the world, and Keigo, alone, fighting to stay afloat.

Maybe he should get that checked out.

But then, there’s no time to think about the future. He keeps his schedule tight, barely a second to blink between each mission, let alone book a session with his Commission appointed doctor. Besides, it’s pointless, anyway—

All of it.

He fights, draws blood, garners secret and dangerous intel. He sits down for dinner with ambassadors and heroes revered among their people. But there’s no glory to any of it, no reverence left in him.

He imagines himself, a glassy-eyed, shiny little kid. How deeply he would have felt these accomplishments, these feats. Now all he feels is a vague sort of wistfulness. Like he’s already an old man, been through, seen it all.

“What the fuck, Hawks,” his handler says over the phone. It’s been three weeks since he left, the first time he’s answered their calls. “You can’t just abscond without telling anyone.”

“Abscond?” he returns, with a genuine laugh. “Like I’m a thief?”

“You are an asset to the Commission,” the handler returns. “And you have responsibilities.”

“I’m on vacation,” Keigo tells him, and hangs up.

And he tries (really, he does), to handle things in a productive way. He reads several (more than three!) listicles about top ten ways to get over a breakup, until he realizes that the two of you were never actually together. He’s not sure what to google for that. Unearned heartbreak? Severed soulmates? Miss her so much it feels like dying? But not even just the idea of her, or our apparent future, or the pretty thoughts about destiny? Miss the way she smells and the weird way she holds her chopsticks? Miss the way she laughs, and the sound of my name on her tongue? Miss her and miss her and miss her and miss her—

He tries the listicles. Does the self care thing, bubble bath, kitschy facemasks and all.

And — he sees paramors in every country he visits. People from his past who fawn over him, praise him, adore him. They draw his jacket from his shoulders, and it smells like sweat and ozone. They find the tiny, secret clasps on the back of his uniform, unwrap him like a present.

“Pretty boy,” they call him. Coy and sweet. Hands so sure and eager as they caress his body.

And he winces. Takes a step back. “Can we just—” he says, running a hand through his unruly hair. It’s getting too long. He’ll have to cut it soon. “Can we just talk?”

They all agree, sure, whatever he’s comfortable with. But the tension never leaves the room, no matter how long the small talk carries on for. Because he can claim fatigue or headaches or just not feeling it all he wants. But he could never admit the truth. How dirty he feels closing the door with another body in the room. How he cringes at the touch of another. How it’s— you. Always. On the back of his mind, at the base of his throat. Behind every turn and inside every decision. You.

You, you, you.

And the constant, painful reminder —

The feeling isn’t mutual.

...

The wedding is beautiful.

Everything goes perfectly. The whole event looks like something off a trip-advisor page, beautiful but quaint, elegant yet intimate. The food is delicious, the cake so moist it melts in your mouth. Even the weather is sunny and mild, as if the powers that be wouldn’t even stand in the way of today.

You wish you could give everything the attention and admiration it deserves.

On the trip up, you imagined that maybe this would be just the thing to pull you out of your month long stupor. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but it’s hard to resist the rustic charms of this place, and the inherent joy of the other guests.

Soulmate weddings are commonplace nowadays, but no less special for their frequency. There’s an indescribable quality of felicity to them. A rightness, like everything is happening exactly as it should, like everyone is exactly where they need to be. It’s something of a comfort to guests and to the couple themselves; what’s meant to be will happen. And there’s nothing anyone can do, no force of nature that can stop it.

You try to enjoy yourself. Try to take in the ambiance, the good company. And it’s nice, for the most part. Really, it’s a lovely day, and if it weren’t for the strange tightness in your throat, constantly, you might even have been able to enjoy it.

You throw up in the bathroom, after appetizers, while the first plates are going around. You’ve been drinking, already too much, and on an empty stomach. You have half a mind to simply tap out for the night, but you can’t leave your friend tonight of all nights. Especially not when she keeps turning to you, elated, to make some silly joke, or to sigh and squeeze your hand with a dreamy smile.

You sneak out when the party begins to pick up pace, leaving the revelry and crawling out a backdoor, into the insipid chill of encroaching night. You find a nice little staircase alcove, planning to settle down for a few minutes, but the sudden sight of another person on the stoop takes you aback. Even more so when you realize it's the groom himself, taking a drag on a cigarette.

You’ve never officially met, until today, and even that was just pleasantries, no time to talk. You’re not sure how to approach this situation; a part of you instinctively wants to apologize, but that would just make things even more awkward..

He peers at you, waiting for you to say something. But you don’t, so he does.

“My last one,” he says, holding it up in salute. “I was thirteen, when I started. Thought I was a real rebel. It turns out I was just an idiot.” He looks at the cigarette, a strangely wry smile on his face. “Could never work up the nerve to stop, but… she hates it, so I’m quitting.”

“A nice wedding gift,” you say, gathering yourself. You come to lean against the metal railing next to him. It’s cool against your bare arms, and you relish the sensation, the shock of it enough to keep you grounded, for the moment.

“Ah,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Not a gift. Just… wanna make her happy.”

You look at his hand, the cigarette already halfway done. It smells different than any other you’ve encountered before, oddly mild, almost floral. And it makes something inside you well up, the thought that a life could be changed so wholly, so staunchly.

You think, how special, to have someone who breaks bad habits for you.

It’s enough to cause you to burst into tears. Before you can stop it, your whole face is wet, and your breath is coming out in hiccuping gasps.

The groom looks on, terrified. He stubs out his cigarette on his heel before handing you, of all things, a handkerchief.

He says, timidly, “Wanna talk about it?”

It takes a few long, awkward minutes before the initial wave of misery subsides, and you can speak.

“Fuck.” You wipe your nose, unattractively, with his handkerchief. You shake your head. “Nah. It’s your wedding. Go have fun.”

The groom shrugs. “I’m not one for spectacle. This is for her. Later, when we’re alone and eating pizza in bed, that’s for me.”

That’s nice, you think despite yourself. It just sounds — very nice.

“She told me,” the groom says after a minute. “About your… soulmate, thing.”

You shrug. What else could you do? There’s nothing to be said. You’ve moralized and offered platitudes your whole life. You’ve lied and said you were content. But here, at your one best friend's wedding, alone, there’s no more slack to give. You’re faced with the truth lying at your feet, like a dead bird.

You’re alone and it’s so hard.

“She loves you. That’s never going to change,” the groom tells you. “Even if a lot of other things do.”

You think about that for a moment. Nod. “Yeah,” you say. “I know. Thank you.”

It takes you a few more minutes to calm down, fully. You’d tell him to go back inside, but you get the odd sense that he doesn’t really care that you’re crying in front of him, that he’s not as uncomfortable as you might have expected him to be. So the two of you hover there, on the stoop in the dark, until finally, you feel centered enough to rejoin the festivities.

You brush off your dress. You offer him a hand up.

“I can see why she likes you,” you tell him as the two of you make your way back inside. The instant heat upon walking through the door almost makes you wince.

“Aw, nice,” he says, grinning. “Best friend stamp of approval.”

...

Keigo’s first stop, once he’s back in Japan, is a convenience store. The second is Enji Todoroki’s temporary, secret residence.

It’s a small house, on the outskirts of a small city. Barely any thru-traffic on the streets. Most of the population is in their later years. No one recognizes Keigo as he trawls the street, looking for the discreet entrance. It’s hidden by a wall of laced kudzu vines.

Enji is slow to answer the door. Keigo sent a text to say to expect him soon, but who knew if the other man saw it. He hasn’t been himself lately.

When he finally opens the door with a grunt of surprise, Keigo just holds up his plastic bag in greeting. The outline of six tall boys is prominent.

“I haven’t had alcohol in 20 years,” Enji says, his voice without inflection. Still, he takes the bag, leaving the door open in his wake for Keigo to shuffle in after him.

The living arrangements are spartan. Hardly any furniture, and what comforts they offer is slim. Hard, cold surfaces. No throw cushions, or blankets, or pictures on the wall, or magazines bookmarked with old receipts. No sign of life at all, save for the single pair of shoes, tossed in a careless pile at the door.

The pair sit on the floor in the middle of what is probably the living room. There’s no furniture at all, here. The tatami is worn to softness beneath them, ages old. The combination makes everything feel stark, exposed. There’s a vulnerability to an empty house, no places to hide, no way to obscure yourself.

They drink in relative silence. Keigo arrived in the late afternoon, and the day passes into night without obstruction. No one gets up to turn on the lights when the sunset fades into ashen stars, both of them content to sit there in the dark.

It’s easier like this, almost a waking dream. Neither of them have been sleeping well, taking care of themselves.

It’s been a long time since Keigo has drunk, too. Soberness was his default, an expectation of the job. Heroes don’t get days off, not really. There’s always the expectation that if some disaster should occur, they will be able to rise to the occasion. That doesn’t mesh well with substance use.

Occasionally, Keigo will have a glass, to keep up appearances. But he can’t remember the last time he felt like this, tipsy, a mellow warmth settling beneath his cheeks.

Moonrise turns everything to shadow. Like this, tall, dark, and faceless, Enji finally speaks.

“I wish I’d done things differently,” he admits. His voice is no longer booming, and proud. It’s quieter than Keigo has ever heard it. “I wish I could have seen that more than honor or strength, what they needed was… kindness.”

“It’s not too late,” Keigo says, but the words are empty. How would he know? He’s never had to consider these things before. Never had terrible, all-consuming regrets before.

“In some ways,” Enji says. “Society would have you believe that amends are as simple as an apology,” he says. “But I will be paying for my mistakes for the rest of my life. And it still won’t fix everything. Some things are broken forever.”

“That’s convenient for you, too,” Keigo says. He peers at Enji, eyes bright, intent. “In some ways.”

Enji peers back at him, expressionless.

“Now they’re tied to you forever, like you said,” Keigo explains. “You can’t fix things, but you can keep them.”

“That’s not my decision to make.”

Keigo’s response is quick, brusque. “Isn’t it?”

He realizes he’s leaning forward, too tense, too defensive. This isn’t about what it’s about anymore. It’s not about anything, really. He sinks back into a relaxed posture, reestablishing his practiced nonchalance. He takes another sip of beer. His hand is trembling.

“No,” Enji says, simply. “It’s not.”

The pair fall back into silence. Enough has been said, for one night.

...

Kirishima sends you home.

It’s the last thing you’d expect, after taking several days off for the wedding. You come in early, ready to elbow through a backlog of work, only to find the floor already bustling with a small crowd of unfamiliar faces.

It’s about eight people, total. Some of them are heroes. You can tell from the way they’re dressed, the way they hold themselves. Kirishima is in the middle of them, more dour than you’ve ever seen him.

He comes to you, when he spots you, skirting his way around the visitors to meet you at the door.

“Ah.” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing back at the group he left behind. “Why don’t you head home for today? This is all kind of, uh. Not safe for you.”

“Should I be…” you try to glance around him, get an appraisal of the situation, but he’s such a mountain of a man that he takes up nearly your entire field of vision. “Like, worried?”

“No,” Kirishima is quick to say. “No, everything is going to be fine. But this isn’t quite your area of expertise, and I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.”

He’s taken on his hero mien, shoulders back, a little more tense than usual. His tone is kind, but unmoveable. Leaves no room for arguments, or questions.

“Okay,” you say slowly, still a little unsure about all of this. “But you’ll let me know if you need help, right?”

Kirishima smiles at you, but not in a condescending, what would a small-fry like you be able to do, way, like any other hero might. His affection is so stalwart and genuine, his friendship so gentle. It only makes you worry all the more, for anytime that the goodness of Kirishima Eijiro might be at risk, that humanity might be deprived of him, for any moment, in any way.

He holds out a fist, and you knock knuckles, shakily. “Promise,” he says.

Then he pats you on the back, subtly steering you back to the elevator, away from whatever catastrophe he now has to face, alone.

You have a vague idea of what all this might be about, but who knows what might have changed in the three days you’ve been away. The hero world moves at a breakneck pace, and it seems like you’ve fallen out of the loop.

You think about the classified documents you’ve sorted through, the cases piled up on your harddrive. You’ve seen enough of past villainy to know that it’s not all stars and stripes and showing up at exactly the right moment. There’s a lot of accidents. A lot of almost made it, so close. Sometimes, the heroes just aren’t fast enough. Sometimes they make mistakes.

It’s a job that risks more than one life. A burden on all fronts. If a hero dies, odds are many other lives get taken down with them. It’s why Kirishima wants you kept away from whatever is going on. The big bold word of the hour — casualty. Someone adjacently related to the incident, an unnecessary death. You’re not strong enough to protect yourself, not the way you’d need to, to exist in the same space as the heroes. Not enough to protect someone else.

Everything feels strange and uneasy. Like you’re teetering on the knife point of something huge. But you can’t fit all the puzzle pieces together, no matter how long you mull it over. It’s been like this for so long, you can’t trace back the origin of this foreboding feeling. Maybe you’ve always felt this way. You try to recall a time you’ve felt completely at ease, comfortable in your own skin, but you come up short, unable to pinpoint a moment, unable to figure out why not.

You spend the rest of your day in PJs on the couch, eating icecream straight from the tub, fretting and fretting. Wondering when the anchorpoint of your life became fear.

...

His next stop is the Commission HQ.

No matter that he hasn’t slept in forty-nine hours. The Commission has already figured out that Keigo is in-country, and there’s work to be done.

Firstly, he’s reprimanded. Loudly, and for a solid fifteen minutes.

This is interrupted by a handler conspicuously walking right between him and the higher ups, and dragging him bodily out of the room. Keigo allows himself to be hauled away, waving as he goes.

He’s asked to report on a number of missions he underwent while he was away. Provide details, recall key facts. He took diligent notes, but a lot of things require his own explanation, or follow up information. This takes up almost the entire day. Suddenly he regrets keeping so busy, over the past few weeks.

It’s already late, late into the evening by the time he sets foot in his own agency. Things are quiet. There’s not much work to be done when Keigo himself is not around, so it’s unsurprising that most of the night workers have taken off.

It’s nice to have a little privacy, even with another handler tailing him as he takes stock of the building. Nothing much has changed. Even his office is spotless. For some reason, he’d expected dust to have gathered in his absence, but of course the cleaning people would never let that happen.

It’s almost like he hadn’t left, at all.

Exhausted, he intends to make one final stop at his locker before heading home. He just needs to grab another flight suit, dump his dirty ones in the hamper, to be cleaned.

He’s still carrying around the bag he traveled with. He hadn’t taken much; his mode of transport doesn’t allow for heavy packing. He took the essentials, a few toiletries, a few flight suits, one spare change of civilian clothes. He dumps all of it in the bottom of his locker, to be sorted through when his bones feel less likely to melt out of his body altogether.

He took one personal effect, and it stares at him from the top of the pile. The sweater he’d nabbed from your place. On nights he did sleep, he slept with it. Wrapped around him, or bunched up in his arms. It’s no longer soft, handled so much that the fibers had been worn to crimped bone. It had stopped smelling like you after the first week or so. Even with his heightened senses, eventually all traces of you were lost, the altitude and his own body overwhelming your scent.

It was pointless to hold onto. It didn’t stave off the cravings, only made him remember all the times he had actually touched you, your skin, your hair. Felt your breath, or heard your voice. Dead weight, unnecessary baggage for his long trips. Still, he couldn’t get rid of it, no matter how many times he told himself he would leave it at whatever hotel he ended up in that night. Some mornings he would slip it on, pull it tight around himself, until he felt the constriction, until he thought the threads might snap under his grip. But the craftsmanship of it was impeccable, and it survived his rough treatment, and he would spend those mornings with the not-quite comfortable fabric wrapped around him, watching the sun rise miserably.

He shuts the locker door. Maybe this will be the end of it, now.

He sends the handler home, assuring him that he’d be up and at ‘em at the crack of dawn tomorrow. The handler doesn’t look especially reassured, but there’s nothing to be done now, and he’s ready to call it quits himself.

Alone on the office floor, finally, Keigo takes a moment to just breathe. He closes his eyes for a moment. Tries to shut out all thoughts. They’d taught him to meditate as a child. He’d alway thought it a pointless endeavor, but now he kind of wishes he’d paid better attention, that he could simply will away his mind like turning off a light.

He barely has a minute to try. Someone clears their throat, asking for his attention.

He turns to them with a smile. “What’s up?”

He recognizes the young man. A PA, hired a few years back.

“Intel for you, Sir,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to wait until tomorrow to take a look.”

Keigo motions for the file in his hands, flipping through it as soon as he has it. No sense putting things off.

The PA explains, “The task force has discovered a list of addresses. Around half of them are the residence of record for established heroes. Another handful are homes that heroes have kept off the books. The one connection they all seem to have is that they are currently occupied by at least one civilian, as well.”

Keigo nods, peering at the list.

The PA says, “Right now we’re operating under the assumption that these are a list of targets.”

Keigo had assumed. With the momentum gained from Rei’s attack it would figure that the villain would keep going. Attention tends to spur on bigger and more intense feats.

“Who else knows about this?” Keigo asks.

“Only heroes assigned to the task-force, sir.”

“No one from the Commission?”

“The intel came to us from Deku’s agency,” he returns. “The Commission will receive the information as soon as Deku has convened with his people.”

Keigo nods again, then returns his attention to the page. The first step would be to mobilize the people at these residencies, but how to do that without alerting the culprit would take some creative problem solving. The page is nearly full, numbers reaching toward the margins.

Still, despite the massive amount of work to come, this is a step in the right direction.

He’s about to hand the file back to the handler and pay a visit to Deku’s agency himself when something catches his eye—

Your building address, and next to it your unit number. You.

He’s out the door and in the air in ten seconds, flat.

...

The last thing you expect is to see on your impromptu day off is your door literally being cracked at the hinges.

The second to last thing is the man you haven’t heard from in weeks, pushing past you, stalking straight inside like he owns the place.

He looks… not great. He’s definitely lost some weight. There are horrible, dark circles under his eyes. His hair is a little longer than he prefers. He smells like how he always smells after taking double patrols, like sweat, and the city, and the sky.

Has he been taking care of himself? Has anyone been looking after him?

“Get what you need,” he calls. “We’re leaving.”

He starts grabbing things himself. Your cardigan. The book you’re reading. Your sturdiest pair of shoes. His arms are full by the time you can work up the nerve to respond. Even then it sounds like more of a squeak.

“Keigo?”

He glances at you. He’s breathing hard. “Why aren’t you packing?”

“Because,” you sputter, “what the hell?”

You reach for him. Then pull away. You take a step back, but you’re too unsteady on your feet to do anymore than that. Your legs might just give out, anyway.

You’re reeling from his appearance, not able to make sense of any of it. Maybe you’re dreaming. But —

He’s standing right in front of you, the brightest thing in the room. If he were a little closer, you could feel his warmth.

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, it feels like you should have forgotten what he looks like. But it’s just the same as always, him in your space. Feels so right, even when everything is all turned around like this. Recognition, in its basest form.

He leans in toward you. Opens his mouth, about to say something. From this angle, oddly, he looks like he might be about to bite you, the subtlest hint of teeth, his breath still leaving him in heavy drags. Like a predator, all keyed up and ready.

Like if you run, he’ll chase.

You can hardly get the words out. “What’s happening?”

An expression crosses his features, a flash of emotion that’s gone in an instant. A tick of remorse, disconsolate. Then he’s back to his unshakeable, placid smoothness.

“You’re not safe here,” he says. It’s a tone he’s never taken with you before. Stern, cool.

You have a hundred more questions, but they’re like little dragon flies, flitting around your skull. You keep grasping for them, but missing. You can’t figure out what to say. You can’t figure out what’s happening.

Then —

You taste it, before anything. A metallic twinge to the air, like an ink blot of blood, coins on your tongue.

Suddenly, your center of balance is off. You’re falling, bracing, falling. But not falling, because Keigo has you in his arms, hauling you, painfully, in some direction.

A noise you can feel in your bones, that makes you think your teeth might fall out from the force of it.

You’re airborne. You think you might vomit. The night is whip-cold but also brutally, violently hot.

—Falling. Again. For real, this time.

You feel the soft brush of grass. He’s pressing you into it. He’s shifting you on top of it, rolling you.

“Are we on fire?” you gasp.

“Not anymore,” he returns.

His hands are all over you, bracing, touching, searching. Your skin is oddly numb. You can’t quite tell which way is up, anymore. You can barely hear anything, the whole world muffled, static.

Somewhere, in the dark you catch a glimpse of molten light, and the sluggish neurons of your brain struggle to the conclusion that your home used to be there. Everything that’s yours used to be there. Now lit up, glowing like a midnight sunrise. Blinding you. But you can’t look away.

Keigo’s on you again. All around you. He has a better grip on you, now. Not painful anymore.

Two flaps and you’re airborne again, clutching to him with all your meager strength. Being clutched in return.

The heat from the flames follows you up, licks into the sky, and you think you must still be burning, you have to be.

But Keigo has a hold of you, so tight and visceral it swallows all your thoughts, all your fear, and eventually you make it far enough that the ash is distant, and the night swaddles you like a cool blanket.

“You’re okay,” Keigo is whispering, lips against your crown, your temple. “I got you. I’m sorry. You’re okay.”

Distantly, you realize he’s been saying it this entire time.

#hawks x reader #keigo x reader #takami keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #ok ok ok everybody be cool everybody stay calm #don’t be mean to me or I will do it again #coincide

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