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4unnyr0se · 9 months ago

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❥ being satoru gojo's sugar baby

warnings: rich asf gojo, reader is a bitch in the first part, fem! reader, lingerie, riding, cunnilingus, doggystyle, breeding, mentions of pregnancy, gojo hates stupid people, not proofread, reader gets so spoiled, spanking, asphyxiation

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 1.6k

Being Satoru fucking Gojo wasn’t easy. Being handsome, rich, and popular with the ladies? Talk about a workout. He had so much money he didn’t know what to do with it all. It’s only the result of being fucking brilliant at business practices, always knowing when to strike a perfect deal. And that bore the fruit of luxury cars, Italian jackets, and beautiful women aplenty. Gojo liked fucking the pretty girls he met in the clubs, sure. They were good for a decent cock-sucking, their expensive lipstick always forming a nice little ring around his dick. Poor things, it was probably the only nice lipstick they owned. Gojo felt bad for them in a way, they would never know what it was like to be spoiled by a man such as himself. They were so fucking fake, expecting to be spoiled just for having a decent pussy to fuck. Don’t get him wrong, Gojo liked fucking the college girls he met in the clubs, but he wanted something that was real. He wanted a good girl to spend his infinite cashflow on, not a whore who didn’t know what a fucking tax bracket was.

He met you at his usual club, not recognizing your face from behind the bar. Hm, you must have been new there, Gojo would never ignore a pretty face like that, even though you were so grumpy looking. Did you hate your job like he hated bimbos? Gojo wasted no time in sitting himself down in your section of the bar counter, ordering a shot of the most expensive vodka the club offered. You called him an asshole and Gojo could have proposed right then and there.

Gojo attended the club every night, sitting at the exact same spot and ordering a different, expensive drink each time. He noticed how you softly smiled when he told the local club bimbos to piss off, no doubt enjoying him shooing away drunken, stupid girls. Eventually you finally caved and gave him your number, resulting in him giving you a kiss on the back of your hand like a prince would.

Every day he would call you, text you, ask about your day. Did anyone give you trouble at the club? If it was a shitty coworker of yours, Gojo would have them fired. It didn’t matter if he didn’t own the club, he was half of the club’s monthly revenue. Gojo could do whatever the hell he wanted, he was practically paying everyone's salaries. His texts brightened your day, along with his visits to the club when you worked long evening shifts. He had stopped ordering drinks altogether, just slipping you a healthy $300 every hour or two. You had refused at first, but Gojo had this really annoying habit of being able to convince anyone of anything. It got to a point where you just held out your hand for the money at the start of every hour, which made his cock throb with desire. You were growing accustom to being spoiled and he fucking loved that. You were spoiled without being stupid, that was so fucking sexy to him.

One night, after a very annoying shift, you invited him to visit your crappy apartment downtown. Gojo jumped at the opportunity and practically threw you into his Bently, no doubt breaking a couple of traffic laws to make it to your place in record time. It was so humbling, your apartment. There were cracks in the fall and the faucet had the most annoying drip, this would absolutely not do. You deserved to live in a fucking castle in the sky, not in this shithole.

Gojo bought you a townhouse a stone's throw away from his penthouse. You protested and groaned at him not to, claiming you weren’t worth it. Gojo quickly shut you up with a passionate and longing kiss, whispering against your plush lips that he would buy you the moon and the stars. After that, you really couldn’t complain. Everything was paid off for the fifty-year lease that Gojo had signed; he was so disgustingly rich. Why did you have to go back to working at that sleazy club? Oh, right, you had to afford to eat and shop. Don’t worry; Gojo gave you a ridiculously large sum of money every week to buy whatever the hell you wanted, sending you more money if you run out. You only spend a couple of hundred dollars a week on groceries, but then there was this stunning vintage Dior dress in a shop window, and you simply had to have it. You sent Gojo a picture that displayed the price tag, and he swore he came in his pants. Fuck, you looked amazing wearing designer dresses. And you were modeling for him; he wanted to marry you so badly.

You bought lingerie one time, lacy and black, and so fucking expensive. Garters and stockings and the works, a gorgeous French design. Gojo just about lost his mind when he saw that photo you sent, driving over to your townhouse as soon as he had an opening. He tackled you in a passionate and longing kiss, ripping off the lingerie with his hands. Whatever, he’d buy you another set. No, twenty more sets.

His lips trailed across your body, leaving searing, hot kisses in their wake. You were covered in Gojo’s bites and bruises, looking like an ancient Greek sculpture. Gojo fucked you right on the floor of your living room, not bothering to carry you up the flight of stairs to your bed. You just looked so good in the lingerie you purchased with his money. His money, his lingerie, his sugar baby. Your sobbing pussy was squeezing his massive fucking cock, sucking him into you like a vortex. Your manicured fingernails left angry crescent-shaped prints on his back, his Italian jacket, and other expensive clothes long forgotten about in a pile next to the door. His cock slammed into you over and over again, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix until you were screaming his name, swearing you were gonna cum all over his cock. Gojo fucking loved hearing your moans; they sounded so expensive when his ringed fingers were wrapped around your throat, squeezing it ever so gently. He moaned into your ear as your orgasm washed over you once more, the third one in the hour. He still wasn’t finished, oh no. He had you folded into a mating press, begging and whining to be cummed in by one of the wealthiest men in the world. And who was he to deny his princess? Gojo shot himself deep inside of you, painting your womb with his seed. It looked so pretty seeping out of who; he just had to take a picture. You wouldn’t mind, right? He’d just give you another five grand for a few more dresses.

Oh, even his aftercare was expensive. Running you a bath infused with freshly-pressed lavender and rose oil, soaking into your skin beautifully. Your fucked-out face was flush from the steam in the bathroom, making your already perfect skin so smooth. Gojo never wanted to stop touching you, not for a moment. He wrapped you in your Egyptian cotton sheets and held you tightly in his arms, thanking you for being his baby. As he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, his precious baby’s ear, you drifted off.

After that perfect night, Gojo basically lived in your luxury townhouse. He would be there when you opened your eyes and when you closed them. There to take you out on romantic restaurant dates and feed you the highest quality sushi there was. He was there to buy half the fucking boutique if you wanted him to. Those dresses were too pretty for anyone else to wear besides you. You no longer protested when he bought you stuff, only kissing his chest while humming a thank you in his ear. The expensive lipstick you wore stained his cheek, not that he minded one bit.

Apart from the expensive gifts, dates, and other such things, Gojo loved fucking you. You modeled every single set of lingerie he wanted you to, especially black and blue sets. He loved your little fashion shows, the way you would always sit on his lap and grind down on his thigh, your arousal soaking the delicate fabrics. His hand would slap your ass, commanding you cum on his thigh and ruin your panties. He’d fuck you face down ass up with an expensive vibrator on your puffy clit, smirking sadistically as you sobbed that it was too much, you couldn’t take it. He’d make you ride him in his home office, making sure his video camera was always off during meetings so no one except for him could see that pretty ass bouncing up and down on his cock, milking it for all it was worth. He’d demand you sit on his face, not letting you off until he had his fill, your cum covering his mouth and face. Gojo would command you to lick it off him, hands squeezing your waist, and was adorned with a leather garter belt.

God, he wanted to breed you. He never wanted to use protection, which you objected to at first. But he whined and pleaded, claiming it would only be once. Well, once turned into always. He always came inside of you multiple times a day. He wouldn’t stop until he was sure that he had fucked his cum inside of your pussy, sticking a finger inside just to make sure it was still there. He would babble on about how you two would have the most perfect wedding and have such cute babies, how he would take care of you. You would be so pretty, all swollen with his child.

Satoru Gojo took care of you from the moment the two of you met, your companionship being the most valuable asset he had. To him, you were the most precious thing, and he would take care of you until the day that he died.

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut

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lee-laurent · 2 months ago

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Just Friendly Things -- Quinn Hughes

Summary: Quinn brings his "friend" Hayden to meet the guys, only issue... they all wanna get on his nerves by flirting with her

content: arguing, teasing, flirting, some posssibly sexist jokes, suggestive jokes, making out, implied smut but no explicit smut

wc: 6.6k

notes: this took way longer than i expected because i hated the first few versions of hayden that i wrote. hope you guys enjoy! and pls pls let me know which fic from my most recent list you wanna see next!!!

Quinn had been convinced he had a type, until he met Hayden. The moment he laid eyes on the freckle-covered brunette behind the bar, all his ideas of the perfect woman went out the window.

He hadn't planned on approaching her that night--he rarely did that sort of thing--but something about her made it impossible to stay in his seat. Maybe it was the way her eyes sparkled as she teased the patrons, or the quick, confident way she moved, shaking cocktails and sliding beers across the counter without missing a beat. Or maybe it was her laugh, low and raspy, floating above the noise of the crowd and hitting him like a bucket of cold water.

When he reached the bar, he still hadn't figured out what to say. But she noticed him right away, tipping her head at him with an arched brow. "You gonna order something, or just stand there looking pretty?" she asked, smirking.

It had taken Quinn half a second too long to respond, his brain short-circuiting at the sound of her voice. Her smirk only deepened as she watched him scramble for words.

"Uh, yeah--just a beer. Whatever's on tap," he finally managed, shoving a hand through his hair.

"Sure thing, champ." She poured the drink in one smooth motion and set it in front of him, wiping her hands on a bar towel. "That'll be six bucks."

Quinn handed her a twenty. "Keep the change."

Her green eyes flicked up to meet his. "Big spender, huh?"

He shrugged, suddenly unsure of himself. "Just figured you deserve it. You're working hard."

That made her pause. The teasing look on her face softened for a split second, and she gave him a small smile before moving on to the next customer.

That had been six months ago. Now, Quinn had her memorized in ways he wasn't sure were healthy. He knew how her lips curved when she smiled, the exact spot on her shoulder that made her shiver when she kissed it, and the way her voice sounded when she moaned his name in the dark.

Not that they were anything serious--she'd made that clear from the start. "I'm not looking for a boyfriend, Hughes," she'd said one night, perched on the edge of his bed, wearing nothing but one of his hoodies. Her legs had been tucked under her, and her fingers toyed absently with the hem of the sweathshirt. "I don't have time for that right now. Gotta focus on work and school, and I don't need a distraction."

"Fair enough," he'd replied, leaning back against the headboard and trying to sound nonchalant, like her answer didn't sting just a little.

It wasn't like he could blame her. She worked crazy hours at the bar, saving every spare dollar for tuition. And yet, every few nights, she still found her way into his bed--or his car, or his couch--looking at him with those green eyes and making it very clear she wanted him.

And that was the problem, really. He knew exactly what she wanted from him, but the feelings that had started creeping up on him were a hell of a lot messier.

Like now, as they drove through the winding roads to the lake house. Hayden was sitting in the passenger seat, scrolling through her phone, completely oblivious to the way he kept sneaking glances at her. She'd insisted she could come as a friend--"We're just hanging out, right? Your brothers don't need to know anything."

Quinn had agreed, mostly because he didn't want to push his luck. But the idea of her spending an entire weekend around his brothers and friends--Jack, Luke, Cole, and Trevor--while pretending they didn't have history? He wasn't sure how he was supposed to keep it together.

Especially not when she looked like that.

Quinn tightened his grip on the steering wheel, forcing himself to look at the road instad of Hayden. She was lounging in the passenger seat like she owned the place, legs pulled up and bare feet resting on the dash--something that normally annoyed him, but didn't when it was her. Her hair was twisted up on top of her head with a claw-clip, dark sunglasses perched on her nose, and her shorts were so short they were more like denim underwear. And worse, she didn't seem to have a single clue what she was doing to him.

"Any bets on how long before Trevor starts acting like an idiot?" she asked, not looking up from her phone.

Quinn exhaled, shaking his head. "Two minutes after we pull in."

Hayden snorted. "I'm giving him 30 seconds. Kid doesn't have an off switch."

"Don't let him get to you," Quinn warned, though his jaw clenched at the thought. He already knew how this was going to go: Trevor was going to flirt, Jack and Luke were going to egg him on, and Cole was going to sit back and stir the pot like the chaos-loving menace he was. The last thing Quinn needed was his brothers and friends turning this weekend into some weird interrogation.

She finally looked at him, dropping her phone onto her lap. "Relax, Hughesy. I can handle myself."

That was the problem. He knew she could handle herself. Hayden could flirt and toss back jabs like it was nobody's business. She was cool under pressure, quick with comebacks, and completely unfazed by guys like his friends. If anything, they were going to love her. Which was great--except it also meant they were going to keep pushing, keep prodding, and Quinn was going to have to sit there and pretend it didn't bother him.

He wasn't entirely sure he could pull that off.

The house was already crazy when they arrived. Quinn barely had time to turn off the engine before the front door flew open, and Jack and Trevor came sprinting out like a couple of dogs that'd been cooped up too long.

"Quinny!" Jack hollered, dragging out the name like he was twelve. His eyes darted to Hayden before a shit-eating grin stretched across his face. "And you brought a friend!"

"Careful, Jack, you're drooling," Hayden teased, sliding out of the car like she hadn't just turned Quinn's brain to mush.

Trevor skidded to a stop next to Jack, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head as he gave Hayden an exaggerated once-over. "Who's this?" he asked, like Quinn wasn't standing right there.

"Hayden," she said, unfazed. "You must be Trevor."

His grin widened. "Guilty. Did Quinn tell you that I'm his favourite?"

Quinn groaned, dragging their bags out of the trunk. "Literally no one has ever said that ever."

Trevor ignored him, zeroing in on Hayden. "So, you a hockey fan? Or did Quinny trick you into coming up here?"

Hayden shot Quinn a quick, amused look over her shoulder before turning back to the blond. "No tricks. I just like the lake."

"I'm gonna like you."

"Trevor," Quinn said sharply, but it was too late. Hayden was already laughing, and Trevor looked delighted, like he'd just discovered a new game.

This was going to be a long weekend.

The kitchen was already loud by the time Quinn woke up the next morning. Jack was rummaging through the fridge, muttering complaints about the lack of skim milk, while Luke stood at the stove making ovens. Trevor was leaning against the counter, already drinking despite the early hour.

Then there was Hayden, perched on a stool like she'd been part of the group for years. She was wearing a tank top and athletic shorts, her legs crossed as she sipped a mug of coffee one of the guys had made for her. She looked completely at ease, laughing softly at something Trevor had just said.

"Morning, sunshine," Jack called out when he spotted Quinn. "You sleep okay on the couch?"

Trevor smirked. "Guess you're more of a gentleman than I thought, letting Hayden have the bed."

Quinn ignored him, heading straight for the coffee pot. "Someone had to make sure you idiots didn't scare her off already."

"We're harmless," Jack said, grabbing a yogurt and joining Hayden at the counter. "Right, Hayden?"

"Sure," she smiled. "Totally harmless."

Trevor licked his lips, setting down his beer. "So, Hayden, what's your deal? You work at a bar, right? Bet you've got some wild stories."

"Plenty," she said easily. "But I'm guessing you don't wanna hear about drunk bachleorette parties or old guys claiming they already tipped me when it's the first time I've ever seen them."

"Come on," Trevor said, flashing her his most charming grin. "What about the weirdest pickup line you've ever gotten?"

"I don't know... probably the guy who told me I had eyes like a mermaid and asked if I wanted to 'swim into his arms.'"

Jack snorted. "That's terrible."

"Right?" Hayden laughed again. "I told him I'd rather drown."

Trevor laughed so hard he nearly spilled his beer. "Okay, that's solid. But what about the best pickup line? You've gotta have one."

Quinn, pouring his coffee, clenched his jaw. He knew where this was going.

Hayden glanced at him briefly. "I don't really go for pickup lines," she shrugged. "If a guy's confident, he doesn't need one."

"Oh, I'm confident," Trevor leaned a little closer.

Hayden smirked. "Good for you, bud."

Quinn's knuckles tightened around his mug as he turned and leaned against the counter. "Shouldn't you save some of that energy for the lake, Trev? Or is embarrassing yourself in the water not enough anymore?"

Trevor shot him a look, but Hayden only smiled, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. "Careful, Hughesy," she said lightly. "You're starting to sound jealous."

Quinn froze, scrambling for a response. "I'm not--"

"She's got a point," Jack interrupted. "You're lookin' a little tense there, Quinny."

"I'm fine!"

Hayden raised her coffee mug to hide her smile, but the damage was already done.

Quinn's nerves were frayed by the end of breakfast. Hayden had slipped easily into the background, chatting with Luke about something or other, but Trevor and Jack were relentless in their interrogation.

"Hayden, what kind of guys do you usually go for?" Trevor asked carefully as they started clearing the plates.

Quinn stiffened, glancing at Hayden out of the corner of his eye. She didnt' miss a beat.

"Hmm. I guess I like guys who can make me laugh."

"That's me!" Trevor said excitedly.

"Right," she said, deadpan. "But I also like guys who know when to quit."

Jack laughed, clapping Trevor on the back. "Ouch! Guess you're out of luck, bud!"

Quinn didn't bother to hide his smirk, but his amusement didn't last long. Trevor wasn't giving up, and Hayden seemed determined to keep sparring with him.

The group wasted no time in dragging all their gear down to the water. Paddleboards, kayaks, and inner tubes littered the dock, and Jack was already trying to wrestle Luke into the water just for the sake of it.

Quinn had just finished setting up a folding chair near the edg of the dock when he caught sight of Hayden emerging from the house.

His brain short-circuited.

She was wearing a simple blue bikini, nothing overly flashy, but it might as well have been haute couture for the way it made his chest tighten. Her hair was loose now, claw clip abandoned, and her sungless perched on her pale nose as she carried a towel in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

She walked like she owned the place, completely oblivious to how every head on the dock turned her way.

"Jesus, Quinn," Jack grinned. "Where'd you find her?"

Quinn scowled. "Shut up, Jack."

"Hey, Hayden!" Trevor called, waving her over like they were old friends. "You ever paddleboard before?"

Hayden stopped at the edge of the dock, plating her hands on her hips. "Once or twice. Why?"

Trevor pulled a board toward himself. "Because you're about to get a free lesson from the best."

"You mean Luke?" she quipped, smirking proudly.

Trevor clutched his chest like she'd stabbed him. "That hurts. I'm actually really fucking great at this!"

"Uh-huh." Hayden tossed her towel onto a chair, kicking off her sandals. "Fine. Show me what you've got."

Quinn groaned internally as Trevor guided her toward the paddleboard. He tried to focus on adjusting one of the chairs, but his eyes kept returning to Hayden as Trevor "helped" her climb onto the board.

"Keep your knees bent," Trevor said, standing waist-deep in the water beside her. "It's all about balance."

"Got it," Hayden said, adjusting her stance.

"You're a natural," he grinned up at her. Then, with an exaggerated wave of his arm, he tipped her board slightly to the side, sending her wobbling.

Quinn tensed instinctively, stepping toward the edge of the dock, but Hayden quickly recovered, giving Trevor a look that could melt steel.

"Do that again, and you're swimming home with this thing shoved up your ass," she said flatly.

Luke burst out laughing from where he was lounging on an inner tube. "She's not wrong, Trev. You're annoying as fuck."

Trevor ignored him, hopping onto his own paddleboard. "Alright, then. Let's race."

"You're on," Hayden paddled toward the deeper water with ease.

Quinn really wanted to stay out of it, but watching Trevor and Hayden laughing and splashing each other in the middle of the lake was slowly driving him insane. He stood at the edge of the dock, hands on hips like a dad, until Jack strolled over and gave him a knowing look.

"You good, man? You've been standing there glaring at Trevor for five minutes."

"I'm not glaring," Quinn said, moving to cross his arms.

"Sure," Jack said, dragging out the word. "Hey, maybe we should all take turns teaching Hayden how to paddleboard. I mean, I've got skills."

"Don't."

Jack raised his hands in surrender, laughing as he walked away.

Quinn moved from standing to sitting, his feet in the water, when Hayden paddled back toward him. Trevor had abandoned his board by this point, leaving her to float leisurely near the dock.

"Not bad, huh?" she said, smirking as she climbed off the board and into the shallow water.

"You handled yourself," Quinn said, shrugging like it didn't matter.

Hayden raised an eyebrow, stepping closer until she was standing waist-deep in the water in front of him. "You sure you're okay? You've been looking kind of... tense."

"I'm fine," he said, though his shoulders gave him away.

"Right." She reached past him to grab her towel, her arm brushing his in the process. The touch was brief, accidental, but it was enough to send a jolt through him.

"Hayden," Trevor called from the shore, "you wanna head out again? I think I can beat you this time."

Quinn didn't miss how Trevor's eyes flicked down to Hayden's legs as she pushed herself up on the dock, or the stupid grin on his face when she finally looked at him.

"Pass," she waved him off. "I've already proven I'm better than you."

Quinn couldn't help it; he smirked.

As Hayden sat down beside him to dry off, he caught her looking at him through the corner of her eye. "You're glaring again," she mumbled, covering it with a fake cough.

"I'm not."

"Sure..."

Quinn didn't say anything, looking back out over the water. Trying his hardest, and failing, to think of anythingbut how much longer this weekend was going to last.

Dinner was even more chaotic... if that was possible.

The dining table was a mix of empty beer bottles, half-eaten burgers, and bowls of chips scattered across every inch of available surface. Luke and Jack had teamed up on the grill, burning half the patties while Trevor heckled them from his seat. Cole had claimed his spot across from Hayden, watching things unfold with a look on his face that Quinn was starting to resent.

And of course, Hayden--perfectly unbothered--sat at Quinn's right, sipping a beer and laughing at the guys' stupid antics. Quinn tried not to notice how her shoulder brushed his every time she shifted in her seat.

"So, Hayden," Trevor said suddenly, wiping ketchup off his fingers, "we've all been wondering--what's your deal?"

"My deal?" she bit back a smile.

"You know," he leaned foward on his elbows. "What's a girl like you doing hanging out with a guy like Quinn?"

Quinn choked on a sip of water, sputtering into his napkin. "Jesus, Trevor."

"What?" he innocently flashed a grin. "I'm just saying. You're cool, Hayden. You've got, like, a vibe. Quinn's... well. Quinn."

Hayden turned to Quinn, tilting her head dramatically as if evaluating him. "You're right. I could probably do better."

The table erupted into laughter, Jack banging his fist against the table as Trevor fell back in his chair. Quinn groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, though he couldn't stop the smile tugging at his lips.

"See?" Trevor said, pointing at Hayden like she'd just proven his point. "I like her. She's honest."

"Honest, huh?" Hayden smirked, lifting her beer to her lips. "Careful, Z. I don't think you can handle honest."

Trevor was undeterred. "Oh, I can handle honest. Hit me."

"Alright. Honestly? You talk a lot of shit for someone who fell off a paddleboard twice today."

"Hey! The second time didn't count!" Trevor argued, pointing a potato chip at her. "I was distracted."

"By what?"

"By you," he smirked, like he thought he was the smoothest guy ever.

Quinn's hand clenched under the table. He forced himself to take a sip of his drink, trying to mask his irritation.

"Well, don't let it happen again. I'd hate for you to embarrass yourself three times today," she giggled.

Luke snorted into his drink, while Cole howled from the other side of the table.

"I don't embarrass easily."

"Could've fooled me," Hayden said, giving Quinn's thigh a squeeze under the table.

"You're good at this," Jack laughed. "You should come to dinners more often."

"Don't encourage her," Quinn rolled his eyes.

"Oh, come on, Quinny," Jack nudged him with his elbow. "You're just mad she's better at coming up with comebacks than you are."

"Not mad."

"Uh-huh. I'll see it when I believe it, Quinnifer."

Once the plates were cleared and the guys had moved outside to do god-knows-what, Quinn hang back in the kitchen, rinsing dishes just to keep his hands busy. Hayden lingered, drying plates as they were handed to her.

"You sure you're okay, Q?"

"I'm fine," he said, though his jaw was still tight.

"You've been 'fine' all day," she teased. "You sure you don't want to try a different excuse?"

He sighed, setting down the plate he was holding. "They're onto us."

"So? Let them wonder. What's the worst that could happen?"

Quinn stared at her, incredulous. "Are you serious? We're not... dating. I... don't need them knowing about... us."

"You're worried because we're casual? Quinn, I'm sure they've all had flings before."

"But, you--"

"Hayden! Quit flirting with my brother and come play pong!" Jack called from the sliding door.

"Coming!" she pressed a quick kiss to Quinn's cheek before rounding the corner and disappearing out of his sight. Maybe Hayden was going to be the death of him and not this weekend.

The house was finally quiet.

Quinn lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling lit dimly from a lamp in the corner, the soft hum of fridge the only sound he could hear along with the occasional snore from upstairs (Trevor). His pillow was lumpy, the blanket was scratchy, and he'd long given up trying to get comfortable. He wasn't sure how long he'd been lying there, but it felt like hours.

Everyone had settled for the night, laughter and shouting just a ghost of the day now. Trevor had been the last holdout, talking loudly about his plans to crush everyone at volleyball the next day until Jack shoved him up the stairs to the guest room.

Quinn waited until he was sure--absolutely sure--the house was still. Then, as quiet as possible, he swung his legs off the couch, folding the blanket and tossing it over the armrest.

The door to his bedroom creaked slightly as he opened it, and he winced, glancing over his shoulder to make sure nobody had heard. The hallway remained silent, and he slipped inside, shutting the door softly behind him.

Hayden was lying on her side, her back to the door. She was scrolling through her phone, her hair splayed out across the pillow, one of his old t-shirts draped loosely over her frame.

"Took you long enough," she murmured, not bothering to turn around.

Quinn rolled his eyes, tugging his hoodie over his head and tossing it onto his desk chair. "I had to wait for them to fall asleep."

"They're not asleep," Hayden said, her voice low but teasing. "Trevor's probably lying awake right now, trying to figure out if you're sneaking up here or not."

Quinn froze, his hand on the edge of the bed. "He's not."

"Wanna bet?"

He sighed, pulling back the covers and sliding into bed beside her. "If he was, he'd already be at the door making some dumb comment."

"Fair point," she sighed, finally setting her phone on the nightstand and turning to face him. Her eyes gleamed faintly in the low light from the hallway. "Still, you're playing a dangerous game, Quinny."

Quinn propped himself up on one elbow, frowning at her. "I'm not the one who spent the entire day letting Trevor flirt with me."

She smirked. "What was I supposed to do? Tell him to stop? That'd make things way more suspicious."

"You didn't have to encourage him."

"I wasn't encouraging him," Hayden cocked an eyebrow. "I was shutting him down."

Quinn scoffed. "You call that shutting him down?"

"What would you call it?"

"Flirting," he muttered, unable to keep the bite out of his tone.

Her smirk only widened. "You sound jealous."

"I'm not--"

"Relax," her tone softened. "If I wanted Trevor, I'd be in his bed right now."

Quinn stared at her, unsure of how to respond. Her tone was casual, but held a quiet reassurance he hadn't been expecting.

"Besides," she added, shifting onto her back, "he's not my type."

"Yeah? What is your type?"

Hayden turned to look at him, biting her lip to hold back her smile. "You really wanna know?"

"Yeah," he said, his throat dry.

She didn't answer right away, letting the silence stretch between them. Then, finally, she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm. "Go to sleep, Huggy."

He exhaled a quiet laugh, lying back against the pillow. "Night, Hayden."

If I wanted Trevor, I'd be in his bed right now.

He wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse... so much worse.

Jack and Trevor had dragged the volleyball net out from the shed, while Luke attempted to detangle it and Cole sat nearby offering unhelpful commentary.

"Hayden, you any good at volleyball?" Trevor asked, tossing the ball lazily in the air and catching it.

Hayden shrugged, standing at the edge of the makeshift court in one of Quinn's t-shirts knotted at her waist. "I can hold my own."

"Perfect! You're on my team then," he said, his grin widening.

Quinn grimaced, adjusting the net. "We didn't even pick teams yet."

"We don't have to," Trevor said, tossing the ball at Hayden, who caught it easily. "I already called dibs."

"Dibs don't count," Jack argued, stepping into the sand. "Besides, I don't trust you not to ruin every single serve she makes."

"Guys," Hayden interrupted. "We can rotate teams."

Jack and Trevor exchanged a look then both shrugged, apparently satisfied.

"Fine," Trevor smirked. "But don't be mad when we crush you."

"Out!" Luke yelled, pointing as the ball bounced into the sand.

Trevor threw his hands in the air. "That was not out!"

"Dude, it was so out," Jack said, shaking his head as he jogged to retrieve the ball.

Meanwhile, Hayden stood at the net, adjusting her ponytail and smiling. Quinn couldn't help but stare, admiring everything from the curve of her neck to how her shorts fit her thighs.

"Q, stop staring and serve the ball!" Jack called.

"I'm not staring," Quinn mumbled, lining up to serve

The next rally was fast-paced, with Jack diving to save a ball and Luke lobbing it back over the net. Hayden held her own, quick on her feet and unflinching as instructions were barked at her.

"Nice hit!" Trevor exclaimed after she spiked the ball, raising his hand for a high-five.

She slapped his palm lightly, her smile easy, but Quinn caught the way Trevor's hand lingered for just a second too long.

"Focus, Trev," he snapped, tone sharper than intended.

Trevor turned to him, eyebrows furrowed. "I am focused. You okay, man?"

"I'm fine."

A few points later, Hayden stumbled as she went for the ball, her foot catching in the sand. Quinn moved without thinking, reaching out to steady her before she could fall.

"You good?" he asked, his hand warm on her arm.

"Yeah," she said, brushing the sand off her leg as she looked up at him. Her eyes get his and the rest of the group seemed to fade away.

"Thanks," she added softly.

"Anytime."

"Alright, lovebirds," Cole called, ruining their moment. "Can we play now?"

Hayden laughed, stepping back to her spot. Quinn shot Cole a glare but didn't respond, his ears burning.

The final play came down to Hayden, Trevor, and Cole on one side, with Quinn, Jack, and Luke on the other.

"Just hit it over," Quinn muttered to Jack, who was already bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Trevor set the ball perfectly, sending it sailing towards Hayden. She jumped, spiking it cleanly over the net and straight into the sand on the other side.

"Game!" Trevor yelled, throwing his arms in the air.

Hayden raised her hands in victory, giggling as Trevor ran over to give her a congratulatory hug. Quinn gaze looked like it could kill as Trevor lifted her slightly off the ground, spinning her once before setting her back down.

"Alright, alright," she said, patting him on the shoulder as she escaped his grasp. "Calm down, Z."

"Can't help it," Trevor said grinning as he turned to Quinn. "You guys put up a good fight, though. Better luck next time."

Quinn didn't respond, heading straight for the water with the ball tucked under his arm.

Hayden watched him go, her smile fading. She didn't follow right away, but when she did, she caught up to him at the water's edge, where he was skimming the ball across the surface.

"You okay?" she whispered, wanting to keep their conversation private.

"I'm fine."

"Still just fine? Because you seemed... tense back there."

"Not tense," he muttered, thought Hayden knew him well enough to know he was lying. She could tell from the tightness in his posture.

"You know you can quit the protective act, right? Trevor's harmless."

Quinn snorted. "Harmless isn't the word I'd use."

She knocked his shoulder with hers. "Chill, babe. You need to be more... zen."

"Zen?"

"Shut up, I'm trying. And... just for the record, you're way more fun to play with."

"Yeah?"

"Duh," she said, her smile teasing. "But don't let it get to your head."

"Noted."

The fire crackled softly, sending soft ambers into the air around it. The group lounged in mismatched deck chairs around the campfire, beers and marshmallows in hand. Luke was poking at the logs with a stick, while Jack balanced on the two back legs of his chair... strongly against Hayden's wishes.

She was curled up in one of the chairs, her legs tucked up to her chest, the glow of the fire casting shadows across her face. Quinn sat across from her, trying--and failing--not to stare at how majestic she looked.

"This is nice," she mumbled, sipping her drink.

"Best part of the trip," Jack agreed.

"Well, second best," Trevor added with a grin.

"Let me guess," Hayden said dryly. "The best part is beating everyone at volleyball."

"You fucking know it!"

Quinn rolled his eyes, taking a long sip of beer.

"Alright, I've got a question for you, Hayden," Trevor giggled to himself, already tipsy.

"Here we go," Cole cackled.

"No, no, it's a good one," he insisted. "If you had to date one of us, who would it be?"

The group erupted into groans and howls of laughter, with Luke flinging a marshmallow at Trevor's head. "Dude, what's wrong with you?"

"What?" Trevor asked, popping the sweet into his mouth. "It's a valid question!"

"Is it?"

"Yes! And you have to answer. It's the rules."

"What rules?" Jack asked with a snort.

Trevor ignored him, looking back at Hayden. "Come on. Hypothetically. Who's your pick?"

Hayden looked around the circle, her lips twitching like she was holding back a laugh. "Hmm," she said, drawing out the word just enough to make Trevor lean forward in anticipation. "I think... I'd pick... Cole."

Cole nearly choked on his s'more. "What?"

"You're the least annoying... I think," she shrugged.

"Fucking brutal," Jack shook his head.

"Good choice," Cole lifted his beer to her in toast.

Trevor pouted. "That's not fair. I'm not that annoying."

"Very debatable," Cole said, earning a hard shove.

Trevor, however, wasn't done.

"Okay, new question. What's the most romantic thing a guy's ever done for you?"

"You're fucking killing me," Luke groaned.

"Just answer the question!"

"Probably this guy who made me tea every morning for a week after my late-night shifts. And he didn't even drink tea himself."

"That's cute," Cole nodded.

Jack frowned. "Quinn doesn't drink tea."

Hayden bit her lip, trying to hide her amusement.

Quinn's cheeks burned as every eye in the group turned to him. "What?"

"Nothing... just making an observation."

"Interesting."

"I think it's time for bed," Quinn said abruptly, standing and brushing the sand from his shorts.

Hayden lingered for a moment, finishing her drink before standing and following him.

Quinn was already lying on "her" bed when Hayden slipped into the room, closing the door softly behind her.

"You okay?"

"You keep asking that."

"Let me guess you're fine?"

"Yup," he said, popping the 'p.'

Hayden shook her head, pulling off her tank top and replacing it with one of Quinn's t-shirts before climbing into bed beside him. "You didn't look fine."

"They're fucking relentless."

"It's their job. They're... feeling out my vibe."

"Trevor sucks dick," he rubbed his hands over his face.

Hayden reached out, running her hand through his hair. "You didn't like his questions?"

"No."

"You're cute when you're worked up, you know that?"

Quinn rolled his eyes, but smiled despite himself. "Go to sleep."

"Fine," she said, rolling onto her back and pulling the covers over her. "For the record, I wasn't lying about the tea."

"Goodnight Hayden," he chuckled.

"Night, Huggy."

Hayden couldn't help but wonder if this weekend was proving that maybe... they weren't meant to just be "friends."

Breakfast passed as normal, Trevor making comments about "volleyball rematch strats" and Jack pestering Hayden about if she'd ever stay for another "family" holiday again. Quinn kept his head down, gritting his teeth through most of it.

By the time they made it down for another round of games in the late afternoon, Quinn was wound so tightly he could feel it in the back of his neck.

And then... Trevor started again.

"Hayden, I think you should be the ref," he said tossing the ball between his hands. "You're way too good at this. It's like totally unfair to the rest of us."

"She's not that good," Quinn said, adjusting the net.

"Oh, come on, Qball. Don't be bitter just because she carried my team yesterday."

Hayden cocked an eyebrow. "I'm standing right here, ya know?"

Trevor smirked. "Trust me, I know."

Quinn felt a rush of heat flood his chest, a sharp pang of jealousy and irritation that he couldn't ignore.

"Alright," he snapped, letting go of the net and stepping back. "Can we just play already?"

"Jeez, man. Relax," Trevor blinked, his grin fading slightly.

"Quinn," Hayden mumbled, but he was already walking toward the house, his jaw set and his fists clenched at his sides

She found him a few minutes later, standing in the kitchen and staring out the window at the water.

"What are you doing?" he exhaled sharply.

Hayden frowned. "What'd you mean?"

"This," he gestured towards the lake. "With Trevor. With all of them. You're enjoying this way too much."

"So what if I am? It's harmless, Quinn."

"It's not harmless," his voice rose. "They're pushing, Hayden. They're asking all these questions, making comments--and you're feeding into it!"

"I'm not feeding into it," she said, her tone defensive. "I'm just... playing along."

"Well... maybe you should stop."

"What's your problem, Hughes?" she narrowed her eyes. "You're the one who agreed to keep this under wraps. I'm just doing what you asked."

"Yeah, well, it's not fucking working. They clearly know."

"So what?" she challenged, stepping closer. "What's the worst that could happen? They find out we're sleeping together? Who cares?"

"I care!" Quinn yelled, his voice echoing off the walls.

Hayden froze, her eyes as wide as saucers.

He sighed. "I care, Hayden. Because this isn't just some game for me. It never has been."

The tension in the room was thick, the weight of his words hanging between them.

"Quinn..."

"You have no idea how hard this has been," he said, his voice low and intense. "Watching them flirt with you, tease you--like you're just some... some random girl I brought along."

"Q..."

"I know we're not serious. Not official," he continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I know you don't want anything serious. But you're mine, Hayden. And it's fucking killing me to sit here and pretend that you're not."

Her breath hitched, her eyes locked on his.

"Say something," his voice was rough, almost pleading.

Hayden didn't say anything. Instead, in two quick steps, she grabbed his face and pulled him down into a kiss.

Quinn froze for a quarter of a second before his hands found her waist, pulling her closer. The kiss was hot and urgent, everything that Quinn had been bottling up for months spilling out at once.

They stumbled back toward the counter, Hayden's hands tangling in his hair as he lifted her onto the edge. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer as his lips trailed down her neck, leaving a burning path in their wake.

"Quinn," she whispered, breathless.

He pulled back just enough to look in her eyes. "Tell me this isn't just casual for you."

She stared at him, her lips swollen and her cheeks flushed. "It's not," she admitted. "Hasn't been for a while."

"Good," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her again.

The lay tangled together in his bed, the room quiet except for them both trying to catch their breath, Hayden drawing patterns on Quinn's bare chest with her finger.

He felt lighter than he had in days, the knot in his chest finally loosened... maybe even gone.

"You okay?" she whispered, pressing a kiss to the skin of his pec.

"Yeah, you?"

She tilted her head up, scruncing her nose as he kissed it. "I'm good."

Finally, they could both breathe easy.

Jack and Trevor were already bickering as Hayden headed downstairs in the morning. She paused in the doorway, taking a second to tug the hem of Quinn's hoodie further down her thighs. It was comically oversized on her, the sleeves swallowing her hands, but it was warm and soft, and she hadn't felt like getting dressed into her own clothes.

Her hair was a mess from both sleep and sex, and her skin was flushed in places Quinn's stubble had brushed against the night before. She wasn't even thinking about it was she padded into the kitchen, bare feet against the hardwood floor.

Trevor was the first to notice. Of course.

"Morning, Hayden," he said cheerfully, taking a bite of his eggs. Then his gaze dropped to the hoodie, and his smile widened. "Wait a second. Is that--"

Jack turned, taking in her appearance. "Oh, no way! Is that Quinn's hoodie?"

Hayden blinked, feigning innocence as she grabbed a mug from the counter and poured herself a cup of coffee. "Good morning to you too, Jack."

"Don't 'good morning' me," he pointed the spatula he was using at her. "What is going on here?"

Trevor's eyes flicked to her neck, and his jaw dropped. "Oh my God!"

"What?" she asked, sipping her coffee like nothing was amiss.

Trevor laughed, loud and incredulous, gesturing wildly. "You've got-- Jesus, Hayden."

"You're gonna have to be specific, Trevor."

Jack moved closer, squinting his eyes like he was solving a crime. This his eyes widened. "No fucking way!"

"What?" Luke asked. He followed Jack's gaze and nearly dropped his fork. "Oh, damn."

"What?" Cole said, peeking over Luke's shoulder. His eyes moved from Hayden to the hoodie to her neck, and then to Quinn, who had just walked in from the living room.

Quinn froze, his hair still damp from the shower and a fresh t-shirt clinging to his chest. "What's goin' on?"

Jack and Trevor turned to him in unison, both grinning like maniacs.

"Quinn," Jack started, his voice high-pitched with fake shock. "Care to explain why Hayden is wearing your hoodie and why her neck looks like she lost a fight with a fucking vampire?"

"Can we not do this right now?"

Trevor cackled, doubling over. "Oh, we're absolutely doing this right now."

"Dude," Luke shook his head. "I thought you said nothing was going on."

Cole smirked, "Guess the couch wasn't so comfortable after all."

"Not helping," Quinn shot him a glare.

"Y'all are making a big deal out of nothing," Hayden said, popping a piece of bacon into her mouth.

Trevor pointed at her, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. "Oh, no. This is not 'nothing', Hayden."

"Looks like something to me," Jack wiggled his eyebrows.

"Guys," Quinn's voice was strained. "Can you please just drop it?"

"Oh, come on, Quinny!" Jack nudged him in the ribs. "This is a big moment. You've got a girlfriend now!"

"She's not my--" Quinn started, but Hayden cut him off.

"Careful, Jack," she smirked. "You sound jealous."

Trevor howled with laughter, gripping the counter for support. "She's good. She's so good."

Quinn groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I hate all of you.”

“No, you don’t,” Hayden said lightly, taking another sip of her coffee.

Luke, who had been mostly quiet, finally spoke up. “So, uh... are we gonna talk about this, or are you just gonna keep pretending it’s ‘nothing’?”

“It’s nothing,” Quinn muttered, glaring at his brothers.

“Yeah, sure,” Cole said, smirking. “We believe you.”

Hayden laughed softly, setting her mug down. “Alright, boys. Enough interrogation. Let the man eat breakfast in peace.”

“Fine,” Jack said, holding up his hands. “But this isn’t over.”

Quinn sighed, grabbing a plate and filling it with eggs and toast. He sat down at the table, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

Hayden slid into the chair beside him, her smile softening as she leaned in close enough for only him to hear. “You okay, Hughes?” she asked for the millionth time that trip.

He exhaled a quiet laugh, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” she said, squeezing his hand three time under the table.

Quinn didn’t look up, but the faint smile tugging at his lips didn’t go unnoticed.

Maybe the chaos was all worth it in the end. Because Quinn Hughes finally had the girl of his dreams.

#nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine

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kooqitas · 11 months ago

Text

— playing in the park lot ★ with: jjk!

#pairings: bf!jungkook X reader #synopsis: after getting a little too angry at a random guy wanting his girlfriend, jungkook decides to give him a present. #tags: pwp, angry sex, public sex, no condom, spit kink, both drunk. #notes: JUST STREAM HOPE ON THE STREET! #wc: 1,4k blog em português X twitter

"no, don't even start, jungkook!" you muttered as soon as you saw your boyfriend staring at the guy on the other side, bringing the beer bottle to his mouth and swallowing the liquid in visible hatred.

"i'm not starting anything! the guy over there has no respect and is eating you with his eyes," muttered, still staring at the man.

"half the party is also staring at you and eating you up with their eyes, and that's not why i'm freaking."

"of course not, you like this shit!" he said loudly, pulling your waist against his.

don't take this the wrong way, jungkook was the perfect boyfriend, he cared for you too much, he'd face a bullet for you or whatever, he just fucking loved you and wanted to protect you from everything and everyone.

but sometimes he went overboard, and that was one of the times.

god, jungkook was completely irritated just because a guy looked at you from afar, and yes, you knew it wasn't an innocent look, but you just ignored it.

"do i like that shit?" you asked offended. "jungkook, if I wanted to fuck with another guy, i would have done it a long time ago." you rolled your eyes, continuing to roll around to the music that was playing. "relax, baby, hm? you know i'm just yours, don't you?"

you stood on your tiptoes, trying to give your annoyed boyfriend a kiss, but it didn't do much good, jungkook was actually angry about the situation, god, how could anyone be so stupid?

for the next few seconds, your boyfriend finally calmed down a bit, continuing to dance with you. that was one of the things you liked most about jungkook, he wasn't the kind of guy who held your waist and expected you to roll around on him all night, he just drove you crazy with him. pressing his hips against yours, rubbing his cock in your body, dancing with jungkook was begging to get wet in his arms, and you liked it that.

due to the large amount of alcohol you had consumed, the need to go to the bathroom became apparent, so you left, heading for the bathroom and leaving jungkook on the dance floor.

you waited a few minutes, the waiting line was infinitely long and peeing yourself silly was always an event.

a comical event, by the way.

but as soon as you'd finished, washed your hands and touched up your lipstick in the mirror, you left the bathroom, looking for your boyfriend on the dance floor.

or at least trying to, since a large hand grabbed your waist.

and you knew that hand wasn't your boyfriend.

"hey, kitten, decided to give your boyfriend a break, have you?"

"don't touch m-"

you didn't even get to finish, because the next second jungkook was punching the face of the guy who tried to kiss you.

and that's the story of how you and jungkook got kicked out of the club.

shit.

"there's no point in getting angry, jungkook! i didn't do anything."

silence.

"fuck, aren't you going to say anything?"

his boyfriend didn't answer, keeping silent all the way to the parking lot where the car was.

and that's where you got angry. fuck, it could have been anyone's fault but yours, you'd done absolutely nothing.

"jungkook, it's not my fault you're a lunatic who doesn't know how to socialize in public, stop acting like i did something." you pulled him by his arm, spitting the words in his face.

"you knew he was dying to fuck you."

"and what the hell do i have to do with it? literally the only person who fucks me in this world is you, shit! if i wanted to give it to another guy i would have given it to him ages ago, now, if you're going to get angry about something that didn't even happen, maybe i should go back inside and fuck with him!" you shouted.

you didn't even see how it happened, but the next minute jungkook's body was pressing you down on the hood of the car, his wet tongue making a mess of your mouth and his hard cock rubbing against you as he pulled your skirt up roughly.

"jung-jungkook, the cameras." you tried to say, the words being swallowed by the mouth on yours.

"now you care if anyone can see you?" he laughed. "you don't want to fuck, sweetheart? you're going to fuck me right here, right now!"

it would be a lie to say that it didn't turn you on, unfortunately that was a truth you were forced to deal with, jungkook's jealousy made you horny, very horny, and the insanities he committed after a crisis gave you the best orgasms ever seen in the history of the face of the earth.

in the process of lifting your skirt, he ended up breaking the zipper, and too irritated, he just ripped the strap of your thin blouse, exposing your breasts there as he leaned over the hood and started sucking on your nipples.

his nimble hand went to your wet hole, rubbing his middle finger over the lace panties you were wearing. yes, it was a fact that you intended to end the night with jungkook's cock inside you.

you just didn't count on the element of surprise that it would happen to him in the parking lot of the club.

"that dirty little cunt got wet seeing me jealous, didn't it? go ahead, whore, you love it when other guys get desperate to cum in you and i get angry."

without any warning he penetrated your middle and ring fingers, quickly establishing a punishing rhythm while biting and sucking on your nipples.

you moaned something disconnected, your boyfriend looked so handsome with rage and that made you even hornier.

a third finger was added and with your loud scream jungkook took the opportunity to spit in your mouth, slapping you across the face immediately afterwards.

it was pathetic how he put you over the edge in such a short time, and it was only a matter of seconds before you screamed that you were going to come on his fingers.

but he wouldn't let you.

jungkook flipped you onto your back in an aggressive way, the cold metal of the car in contact with the nipples of your breasts was enough to make you cum, but everything got even better when jungkook put his thick cock in your cunt, slamming it hard against you while bending your body even more on the hood of the car.

"my cockslut, you're such a beautiful little whore for me, baby. let me fuck your hot little hole right here where everyone can see you."

and you contracted hearing those words.

"you like it, don't you? desperate for your man to fill your pussy with my cum, you'll take anything i want, right?"

the heavy hand slapping against your ass, leaving red marks, while you drooled on the hood of the car because you couldn't even close your mouth.

"i'd like to take you back inside and spurt in your pussy in front of everyone. you'd love it, wouldn't you? everyone seeing that you're so desperate for cock that you'll accept me fucking you anywhere."

"j-jungkook!" you moaned, and your boyfriend understood what that moan was all about.

jungkook moved his middle finger to your clitoris, making relaxed movements while he thrust into you, calling you a whore, a slut, a bitch. you could only moan.

and when he pressed your face even harder against the side of the car, you came, so hard that Jungkook came right after, filling your hole with his warm liquid.

"good, baby, you were so good! so perfect for me…"

you smiled, feeling good about your recent orgasm.

"shhh, hold on, don't get up yet!" jungkook took his cell phone out of his pocket, squatting down to record a short video of you lying on the hood of the car and leaking his cum. "so beautiful, so fucking mine, i love you so much, princess."

jungkook kissed your back, and as you lifted your head you saw that he was staring at a specific point in the parking lot.

the guy who hit on you was watching everything from the other side.

your boyfriend laughed before helping you into your clothes, or at least what was left of them…

he blew a lazy kiss to the man who was staring at everything and opened the car door.

"you're bad, jungkook!" you laughed.

"me? fuck, princess, you're the one who agreed to give it to me this cunt in the middle of the parking lot."

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castiwls · 1 month ago

Text

tense .ᐟ

Paring; art x reader

Synopsis; literally based on babygirl 😭 i saw it yesterday and had brain worms

Requested; no

Notes; reqs and inbox are open !

Masterlist

If he hadn’t been fucked before he definitely was now. He loved his wife more than anything in this world - his family was his world but you? You’d flipped that all upside down.

When Tashi mentioned hiring a new assistant he hadn’t blinked twice. She’d claimed it would be a good idea to help give someone young experience in the world of sport who is better than his wife to learn from.

He’d half expected some meek teenager to be standing there when he’d opened the door - someone who would stutter over their words and be half terrified of his wife (like so many people had been) but that couldn’t have been far from the truth.

From the minute you’d first smiled at him and introduced yourself he knew he was in trouble. The way your eyes had lit up like a kid in a candy shop almost as he’d let you in, the way your gaze had almost pierced right through him as he’d left you both alone on Tashi’s request.

Art knew he should have pushed you away. He should have built a wall - his wife was your boss and technically so was he. Tashi thought you were nothing short of an angel, this bright-eyed girl who was ready to do whatever she asked and she’d quickly grown to enjoy your company.

You had a backbone and she liked that.

That was why you’d started spending more and more time and theirs. Staying for lunch became staying for dinner which led to the situation he found himself in currently.

His hands gripped the wheel tighter as you watched him from the corner of your eye. The nerves were practically rolling off him in waves as he drove. Sure you’d spent time alone together before but there’d always been distance. He’d made sure of that.

Now though, now you were less than an arms reach away and like always you seemed to be analysing him - like you knew something he didn’t. “You look tense?” Your voice broke through the silence as you turned to look at him. You watched him for a moment, your teeth digging into your lip.

“Is it me?”

Art’s breath caught at your words. He shook his head turning to face you as the car stopped at a red light. “The open’s a few days. You know how Tashi gets.” He lied through his teeth praying that you’d simply take the excuse and move on.

You hummed, your eyes drifting down to where his hands gripped the wheel.

“You're lying.”

Your words cut like a knife as you shifted in the seat, your hand braced on the console as you all but leaned into his space. Your lips pulled up into a slow smile as his own parted.

“Why are you lying.”

“I’m not. Tashi’s been at me all week.”

“She has but that's not the reason you’re tense.”

“It is. It’s not really any of your business.” He’d put his foot down - well at least he was trying to. You knew that tone, the one he used when you’d push your luck a little to far.

“Art,” You sighed your hand moving to brush against his leg as you lent ever closer, your lips a breath away from his. He’d half expected you to do it, to kiss him. He’d wanted you to do it.

He felt like a love-struck teen again as your hand shifted to rest over his thigh. You leaned slightly closer, your lips brushing his and suddenly he didn’t care. He moved trying to finally get the one thing he’d subconsciously been craving.

But suddenly your warmth was gone.

His vision seemed to clear as he registered that you’d moved back ever so slightly, a glint in your eye at the small needy noise that left his lips. A red blush covered his cheeks as he realised he’d made that sound. That he’d just tried to kiss a girl half his age and he’d actually been disappointed that you’d pulled back.

“The lights green.” You smiled sitting back in your chair like nothing had ever happened.

Art stared at you for a moment. He was fucked.

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asphaltsugar · 3 months ago

Text

somewhere south with fruits sweeter

logan howlett x fem!reader — 6.6k

(s). with your mother smitten during your visit, he was bound to taste her cooking soon. sharing food is an intimate act, and you weren’t expecting to offer something to him, too.

. . . extras: 18+ minors dni; written with origins!logan in mind; one (1) mention of drinking; reader is slightly shorter than logan; no use of y/n or she/her pronouns, only described as a daughter; pet name ‘sweetheart’; descriptive touching and kissing; very brief thigh riding; implied sexual content: oral (r receiving); a lot of fruit & food symbolism—do with that what you will; this is my first longer-length work so comments are much appreciated! x

────────────── gif from @ultrviolecnt

Maybe the fruits tasted all the more ripe, a real pleasure to eat, due to his hands now arranging their shapes in the weathered, woven baskets; you hadn’t seen him when you visited last year and such a change in the apples, peaches, pears would’ve surely made itself known.

He was one your mother brought into casual conversation sitting on the front porch or working simple chores, and she insisted others were doing just the same; who could place blame on them when such a man was sure to bring about hushed dialects and connotations, a secret of sorts kept in the confines of the town’s acres.

Because of your visiting for the season, it was you instead of your mother who drove the half an hour to the familiar wooden shop that rose with the respective fall of the leaves.

It was becoming something of a bore in the years past, but a little less so now with him around, his presence and rather effortless strength admittedly easy on the eyes. Your mother spoke of him with high regard; only a few minutes after stepping out of your car and onto the gravel of the market’s driveway was enough for her praise to turn tangible in the summer heat that first morning, it now being replaced with a push of a breeze.

You noticed that even with the broad stretch of his shoulders, the trecks his boots left behind from mud crawling in the back, he somehow still managed a sort of ease about his figure as he worked. Anything he started in the chill of the morning he got done right as the sun rested its bleary eyes, leaving with a nod and a cigar in between his lips—all without speaking much. When he would carry in fills of crates with jams or fruits and vegetables, he wouldn’t stop to make talk with the customers, instead searching for another task that whispered his name once as wood warmed from the sun, now as a twirl of leaves browned and reddened scuttling against the exterior. You figured he didn’t do so from irritation at the others he worked with—you had known them since you were little and they were nothing if not welcoming—but as a means of simply getting work done; talk not adjacent to his doing must’ve been fruitless.

You didn’t dwell on the fact, instead revelling—as much as you hated to admit—in meeting hazel with an unintelligible finish to the color in the teasing cold the times you had walked with a slow gait through the aisles, brushing past weathered gingham a dusted color from years past.

Tonight you were to be greeted with an infamous cherry pie, having been told to get as many cherries as you pleased, along with anything that seemed ‘good on the soul’. (She might as well have been hinting at him, written his name big and bold, with hearts curving over the letters.)

When you stepped through the doorway and atop the makeshift floor of scuffed wood underneath homemade rugs frayed at the edges, you only barely caught denim shifting out the back, presumably to bring in more boxes with whatever was to be displayed alongside a handwritten note detailing a new price for eager hands and acquired tastes. You stepped around tables with thin cloths acting like decor, embellishments to distinguish one from another, and stopped short when the usual spot for your mother’s preferred cherries was implied with folds in gently disheveled plaid.

At the furrow of your brows and your leaning over adjacent boxes and barrels to see if perhaps they were hidden someplace nearby, a lady to your side gestured to the spot with a jut of her chin.

“Logan just went to grab a new batch, hun. He’ll be back in a second.”

You nodded at her words, involuntarily crossing your arms over your chest to the best of your ability with a basket in your hand. Broken conversations slipped in one ear and out of the other as you waited, talk of food to be prepared or how distant children were growing taller by the day. Shuffling of feet with a deep groan brought your attention back to the space prior, Logan now standing with a crate in his hands, a stitched cloth draped over the top. His tongue prodded at his cheek—the skin there, the bridge of his nose, the knuckles of his hands, beginning to flush pink from a gentle biting of the air outside—as he set it down, taking the covering off and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans after hitting it once against his thigh, the dust trickling down the denim to the floor, the creases in his boots.

You muttered a ‘thank you’, not expecting much more out of him in return. He simply nodded, but a clearing of his throat dragged your eyes to his.

“Your mom the one making the pie?”

He continued talking at the quick flicker of slight confusion that washed over your features, that made your palm pause as it reached out to pick the nicest ones, reds shiny and seductive around inedible pits. “Someone came around last week, told me her daughter was coming to stay for a little while and she wanted to bake something nice.” A pause, a narrowing of his eyes, your own drifting upwards to brown strands undone from their styling, now brushing above his brows in light curves.

Knowing your mother spoke of your person to him brought a smile to your lips. “She loves to gossip,” you admitted with a nod to confirm his ask. “Especially over her cherry pie.”

He let out a hum, eyes following the hand that held a bunch of said fruits from their stems. He stayed that way for what felt like a while, though it was really only a few seconds; his gaze was soft, but bore into your basic movement, as if assessing which of the fruits he had brought you so kindly you were to pick.

A call of his name directed them someplace behind you with a lean of his upper half and a hand to his hip.

“Nice meeting you,” he said, catching your eyes as he brushed past your figure, smell of smoke and freshly picked fruits stuck to his skin, mimicking a wanting to bite innate to your psyche, to savor the source at your lips and teeth, though they were all laid out in front of you; perhaps that was the point.

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The next week, with a complaint of the chill that crawled into the crevices of her jacket and a harsh adjusting of the heater, your mother sat in the passenger seat eagerly awaiting an order she had placed with the owner days prior. Turning onto the gravel lot that rocked the interior, you found a vacant spot with a curse at how uneven the small plot had gotten. She let out a gasp and nudged an elbow to your arm as she unbuckled her seatbelt, hand already opening the door.

“Look who’s working today.” She knew he worked everyday they were open, but you rolled your eyes with a smile at her teasing nature—she could have her fun, you figured as you followed her out, slamming the door behind you.

Logan, much to your amusement, played into her harmless comments. He worked at the front, adjusting the panneling of the signs welcoming passerby, a carpenter’s belt wrapped around his waist and a nail inbetween his lips. At the shuffling of your mother’s feet coming closer to where he stood, he looked over with a charming smile.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he mumbled, nail a mimic of his cigars as he spoke, dipping his head as a hello to the both of you when you stepped to her side.

Your mother dismissed his words with a swat of her gloved hand in the air, flattery evident as a smile. “You’re talkin’. Just here to pick up a few things for dinner tonight.”

He furrowed his brows, shoving the nail into a pocket of his belt, adjusting its hold on his waist. “I might’ve packed them all earlier”—he began to make the way inside, gesturing his chin for you to follow—“but I’ll have you check.”

Not long after, he was carrying crates to the trunk of your car at the insistence she needn’t lift a finger—even with the slight cold becoming familiar with the skin of his own hands. You offered after her, but he repeated his words with a threading of his hand through his hair. There were quiet huffs and groans leaving his lips as he did so, his breath mocking smoke. Your mother instead headed inside, while you stood at the trunk, leaning against the chilled exterior; there wasn’t any harm in looking for a little longer, hearing more evidence of his voice a little closer.

He spoke first, an octave lower and with a lilt of amusement.

“Dinner must be good tonight.” He met your eyes for a split second before placing a hand ahold of the trunk above his head. “Seems like you’re having…” he pinched a cloth from the crate closest to the edge, lifting it with a dramatized slowness, leaning over with a raised brow—something of a defeated breath left his lips. “Why don’t you mind tellin’ me.”

You leaned over for yourself, hands pushing similar cloths for a peek at what it was your mother had bought. The two of you were so close, or so it felt, as if keeping the contents of your trunk hidden from all but the hazel of his and your own. There wasn’t a need for your peripheral; a simple knowing he was near was enough, a certain spark in your nerves for the scene felt intimate, this unveiling of what you were to eat—you knew, of course, what was to be served that night, and he most likely knew that, too.

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Surely they would be sick of seeing you when the sun had dipped with a lazy arch, pulling underneath the horizon. And yet, there was an ache in your mother’s stomach that she insisted could only be softened with one of their homemade pastries, something she shared with you when you were little, and as she focused on dinner—which you’d assume would only make such an itch worse, even given the contrast of savory to sugar—you flipped on the headlights into the last hours of the evening.

You gave something of a guilty nod to the woman at the counter as you made your way to the shelving in the back corner that held the familiar packaging, alongside others. All that was on display was shrouded in thin, gentle slits of white, the moon offering its own of what the sun had given prior. The fruits looked misty eyed, the jars as if filled by a dreamy hand.

Just as quickly as you had pulled into the lot, you were twisting the keys once more; yet this time, a weak sputtering from your engine sounded rather than its usual dull rumble.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mumbled, one hand gripping the wheel and the other getting ahold of the key once more, this time with a slower insertion and turn, it’s cold against your palm a mimicry of the early night air. The same cough, akin to a sickness in a body, invading the steel and screws of your car.

With a groan, you threw the door open, circling to the hood and, with a steady grip, lifting it above your head.

It was now far too dark to tell where one part ended and another began, it simply a blend of shadow you certainly did not feel like combing through with the chill as an accomplice.

You smelled the burning end of a cigar before the scraping of gravel along soles.

“You alright?” Logan asked, voice leaking smoke like a lure for both your eyes and ears. His skin was accented with a soft gold from the flickering bulbs of the market as he stopped a few feet away, holding the cigar lazily at his hip. The lighting was bewitching, a natural distraction, and you cursed the way your eyes dragged at the outline of his shoulders, the narrowing at his waist, silver of a buckle glinting for a moment as if catching you in the act.

At your not answering, he took another drag, peering into the hood for himself, though you were sure he could guess your response at the knitting of your brows, the irritated grip of your hands to the front bumper.

“C’mon.”

You simply stared as he gestured with his chin, cigar to his lips, front half already turning the other direction. “I’ll take you home”—smoke curled at his cheeks, the hair that was cut shorter to the skin, when he glanced over his shoulder at you having not moved a muscle—“unless you’d rather stay out here.”

Much like when you both had been eyeing the insides of your trunk, it was as though your body knew of his presence just as much as your mind; sitting in his passenger side stiff against the seating, some unconscious reminder that tugged at your joints to keep them still, as if there was an awareness that preceded him in the form of tensed muscles and intrigue, a nipping at your eyes to even just look at him when he was this close, wanting that satisfaction, whatever it was, that came as a consequence to curiosity, infatuation, more like.

“Never seen you this late at the market.”

You cleared your throat, explaining the pastry you bought for your mother. “I think this is just my car’s way of telling me not to.”

A laugh disguised itself as an exhale through his nose. “‘m not that bad.”

Your eyes caught his own when you furrowed your brows in amusement at his words, a barely registrable hint of a smile on his face.

“I didn’t said that,” you argued, though your tone was anything but. He angled the hand resting atop the steering wheel and the palm at his thigh upwards, feigning defense.

The drive wasn’t too long; neither was conversation. He asked about your mother, how long you were staying for, but more as a means to ease the space in between simple directions from you.

He slowed to a stop in front of your doorstep, shoving the stick into park as you began to get out, opening the door and stepping onto the ground, pastry in hand. You placed a hand against the cool exterior, offering a smile and about to utter a thanks—not entirely dismissing the way he was looking over at you, leaned over to grab a cigar from a case stowed in the glove box, a necklace of some sort having loosened from beneath autumn layers and swaying in tandem with the column of his throat—when your mother’s voice called instead.

“Logan, is that you?” she sang, voice sounding pleasantly surprised and a harsh cut through the relative quiet of the night.

His brow raised in amusement; you rolled your eyes in a silent apology.

He answered nonetheless.

“Yes, ma’am, it’s me.”

Immediately at his simple confirmation your mother was ushering him in for dinner. And who was he to decline such an offer.

It was far too casual: the way he let you in first, a ghost of a palm over the small of your back; taking off his boots at the front door; nodding at your mother and asking her how she was as he eyed two plates she had already filled with whatever she had made for dinner that night on the countertop. You placed the pastry in her hands, to which she gave a quick kiss to your cheek and insisted the both of you sit and eat before the food got cold.

Without a word he took the two plates in his hands and walked over to the dining table, setting them opposite each other as you stood at your mother’s side, her face implying an explanation as to why you were in his truck, as well as a teasing response to his manners. You merely muttered an ‘I’ll tell you later’ as you filled two cups of water and grabbed two forks and knives.

He nodded as a thanks as you put the glass in front of him. The overhead light was warm, dipping down the slope of his nose and the hair that curled upwards at the nape of his neck—it almost didn’t look like him seated in your home, taking the silverware from your hand, the tips of his fingers brushing again the skin of your hand. It was someone who needn’t falter at the door, who memorized which floorboards creaked their complaints, who muttered ‘good morning’s and ‘good night’s to a lover in time with the celestial company.

Watching him eat food from your mother’s hand felt like he was indulging in a part of you, this meal that you’ve eaten time and time before now being offered to him.

“It’s really good.” His voice was practically a whisper, the quietest you’d ever heard it, as if only you could be told such a thing—you hadn’t any part in the plate already nearly scraped clean in front of him, your mother feet away, unwrapping the pastry for dessert.

You nodded, a smile on your lips even with the fact. “Family recipe,” you simply said.

He hummed, eyeing you over the rim of his glass. It met the wood with a gentle clink after a generous sip, tongue darting briefly across his lips.

His eyes drifted to her at the counter, crossing his arms on the tabletop.

“You’re a wonderful cook.”

She turned her head with a smile. “Thank you, Logan.” You hadn’t missed the way she gestured towards yourself with a fork donned with crumbs and raspberry jam. “Though I might have competition soon, what with the pie that’s supposed to be made this week.”

You furrowed your brow in mock irritation, your voice spoken through a smile nonetheless. “Who’s to say it won’t be the worst thing you’ll ever taste in your life?”

She raised her own brow, questioning your words. “If I’ve taught you anything, it’s how to make a damn good pie, hun,” she retorted with conviction in her tone as she averted her attention to her pastry once more.

You rolled your eyes in a lighthearted manner, catching Logan’s as your knife’s teeth dragged along what little you had left on your plate; the barely-there smile on his lips told you he was amused by your shortlived banter.

“That a family recipe, too?” he asked.

“It will be, once I figure out how to make it.” You paused to finish your plate, the knife and fork resting nicely atop the porcelain. “Though I’m thinking of a blueberry pie rather than cherry.”

With a nod, he gathered his own plate, reaching over to take yours as he got up from his seat, his way of insisting you need not get up and clean after him nor yourself.

Hazel slightly hooded held the color of yours as he did so. “I’m sure it’ll be just as good.”

At this point, it almost seemed proximity was an arrangement made from whatever guided your limbs to his, and that same culprit threaded itself in his, for your mother handed you the dish towel when she hastily remembered she needed to call her sister. Whether it was true didn’t matter: here was an excuse to stay close, revel in contact that was teased by the lack of it. He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled to below his elbows, hair corded at his forearms wet from the tap water, the lather that coated his palms and knuckles. Lavender was a foreign scent to be attached to his skin, not one to prettily mingle with cigar smoke, but your nose got used to it regardless.

It was a quiet process, his washing and your drying. Your eyes would wander to his hands, stay for just a little while, the shine from the warm water accenting the skin something almost seductive with the performance of such a domestic task—if he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Over beer you had found in a back cabinet growing lukewarm under the dining lighting, you learned he had gotten the job at the farmer’s market just as the sun opted for a few more hours, offering as a trade deep oranges that shrouded the landscape and any roaming warmth that stuck to wood and grass and skin. He was in the area and needed work, there had been a sign posted near where he was staying of the address and basic requirements, and, in his words, ‘he could use the free food’. Though it made you wonder where exactly it was that he was staying, you didn’t pry. He instead recounted the morning your mother came in and they—though mostly her, he admitted with a smile at your small laugh—had engaged in friendly talk as he carried her groceries to her car.

“She hinted at saving a slice of that cherry pie f’me, for the help.” His lips tugged ever so slightly as he leaned back comfortably, stretching the denim at his thighs taut with a shift in his legs, arms crossed and all the while keeping his eyes on yours. “But I prefer blueberry.”

And how cliché it had been when you first saw him, a rugged yet quiet stature of a man with sweat at his brow and the dents of the muscles lining his arms, blue denim to the dirt of his boots, a worn baseball cap keeping the sun from his eyes, and how cliché it was now that he was in your home and you didn’t mind.

There was a mention from your mother, standing just at the end of the hallway to face the kitchen and the two of you, of a shelf and drawer that needed fixing in the old guest room as you walked him to the door, a calloused hand already wrapped around brass.

“I’ll take a look at it in a few days,” he reasssured her with a soft smile, to which she told him you could offer a few slices of pie in thanks, all with a grin on her face that she also adorned when quoting others’ words of amusing connotation.

He chuckled, a low sound that came from his chest. The old creak of the door was paired with a ‘have a nice night’ as she retreated around the corner into the hallway. You stepped out before him onto the front porch as he swung it closed, though just enough so it didn’t click into place with the frame; the porch light adjacent to it casted a similar color against his skin to the one when he ate.

You didn’t really know why you stood there in the chill that lay stagnant around your home, but he didn’t ask.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, nodding to the door. “That better be a promise.”

You crossed your arms across your chest. “Depends on how good of a job you do.”

A chuckle, same as before, this time his breath appearing in between the two of you. “Are you doubting me already?”

“There’s only one way to prove me wrong,” you said, raising a shoulder.

He hummed in , barely audible, tilting his head.

Your body wasn’t as stiff, your mind as clouded with nerve as it had been in his passenger seat, though you blame it on his figure having been surrounded by comfort, familiarity, food he had eaten with your cutlery at your dining table and with a good word.

Perhaps that was why it had leaned the small distance towards his own, lips meeting the skin of his cheek and the stubble adorning it. The small smile that he reciprocated was something almost satisfactory, albeit a little bashful, as you put a hand against the door, not missing the brief dart of his eyes from yours to your lips and back again.

“Good night, Logan.”

“G’night.”

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It served as a harsh reminder, the honk that met your ears rather than the usual gentle birdsong. You cursed, shoving the window open with one hand and yelling a ‘give me a minute!’ as you hurriedly dressed in the dwindling dim of your bedroom; the memory that he was picking you up to get your car from the market came far too late for your liking as you made your way to the front door, grabbing the keys and about to say a rushed ‘goodbye’ when the absence of your mother made itself known, as well—she had left to visit her sister, and you noticed the familiar yellowed sheet lined with grooves from cherry staining fingertips placed at the counter.

He gave you an apologetic smile as he stood leaned against the passenger side, eyes following your rushing down the stairs, uncrossing his feet and opening the door for you.

“Too early?” There was humor in his words and the way he eyed the buttons left undone at your sternum.

“You told me you don’t work today,” you reasoned after he circled the hood, closing the driver’s-side door and adjusting the heating, catching your eyes as he did so.

“Early bird get’s the worm, or whatever,” he shrugged. “The worm’s your car.”

You rolled your eyes, though a tired yet amused smile was already at your lips. “I already own it.”

“Regardless.” He rolled out of your driveway, the morning sun through the windshield catching the silver of a ring at his pinky finger. “Don’t want anyone stealing it, do we?”

“No, sir,” you said, eating into this side of him like teeth against a sweet.

A smile akin to the one he adorned at your doorstep hours previously came across his face, and you returned one of your own, despite his eyes on the small bit of gravel road.

He worked as you watched from the wooden fencing behind him. “A simple fix,” he had deemed it, eyeing into the hood of your car. “Shouldn’t take longer than half an hour.”

Beneath gray cotton the plane of his back shifted and stretched. Though it wasn’t as cold as days prior, you noted the pink coming to at the shells of his ears.

“‘s it alright if I come by this afternoon to take a look at that shelf your mother was talking about?” He turned his head just enough to see you nod.

You told him you were going to walk around the market, just to see if there were any new jams or pastries shelved; he watched you leave.

Given the sun had only made its tired arrival a few hours prior, some items were still being arranged nicely atop the patterned cloths, labelled with notes marking the price. The jams were put with ribbons at the lids with their respecting fruit.

There were a few wildberry, a number of blackberry. As you read the labels on some of the fresher desserts, someone carried a crate of needed vegatables behind you; not before they asked if you were the one that came with Logan. You confirmed, wondering for a second if maybe he had work and simply lied, but they spoke before you could with a singular, almost dumbfounded laugh.

“You must’ve put him in some sort of spell,” they said, dropping the crate at a table in front of them and shoving it to the edge. They turned to face you, clapping their hands to dust off chips stuck to thin gloves. “I don’t think we’ve even heard more than a ‘good morning’ from him.”

You couldn’t figure out how to respond to such a blunt way of reiterating something you already knew, but perhaps it was because others had noticed it was you he chose to speak to, and you who implicitly invited him in your home, and you who were to do so again.

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That afternoon, you indulged in the sun that was filtered through the lace curtaining as you gathered cutlery and tins and bowls and plates. The quiet of the house was something you liked every once in a while, as it allowed you to imagine you were cooking for yourself rather than for two; something about only your word and teeth influencing the taste when you were to set up the dining table for yourself, lighting a candle to present a dinner for one was nice to admire.

But you weren’t, for the hammering persisted rooms over once more, a reminder that something sweet was to be offered to him this time.

You might have felt more at ease if he was your lover; you’d have enough tries at that point, perfected a recipe already perfected by your mother. Instead he would be second to cut the lattice for his own pleasure with a fork you would hand over to him—a part of you did not want to disappoint.

Blueberry had since settled into the skin of your fingertips, the backs of your hands, and it made you sigh. Logan, alongside yourself, was to be given this performance of sorts, an edible delicacy that you hadn’t even tasted yet. He might as well gauge sweat in the crust, nerved blood in the filling.

It was not that serious, you told yourself. Yet the fact that it was him made it so.

Something your mother had said to get a rise out of your tired state the night he had taken you home made you roll your eyes at the mere cantation in your head: ‘I saw the way he looked at you when he led you through the door, sat at the dining table; I’m sure he didn’t mind your car breaking down’.

The tin was placed into the oven, out of sight, out of mind. It was a little while later when he had stepped around the corner, familiar carpenter’s belt around his waist.

“Shouldn’t cause her any more trouble.” His voice was quiet as he ran a hand through his hair.

You turned to face him, gathering utensils and jars dirtied with ingredients and tossing them into the sink. “Thanks—let me get you a drink, hold on.”

Opening the upper cabinet, you hoped he didn’t catch the sigh that left your lips seeing the only glasses left lining the back of the wood.

But he did, and ever the gentleman, he was at your side with a clear of his throat.

“I’ll get it.” It came out in a near whisper, only for you to hear; not the already setting sun, not as a cue for the moon to bleed the kitchen a gentle white.

You let him. You felt the warmth of his figure as it stood close, akin to all the times prior, a hand just above the small of your back, not making contact but close enough, and the other reaching overhead. The glass chased the last streams of sunlight from the kitchen window, and rather than handing it to you, he set it on the countertop, the soft clink deafening in your ears.

He repositioned himself so he leaned against the counter, hands splayed behind him atop the surface, gesturing to the oven with a tilt of his head. “How’s the pie?”

You caught his eyes, hooded hazel, brushed your hands along your apron as a means to ease the wanting to guide his own back to where it was. “It looks good. Don’t know if you want to wait a little longer to eat it here—if anything you could always take it with you.”

He gave you a smile that was so sincere, so unashamedly forgiving, though for what, you thought, if not to insist you could stay for however long. “I can wait, if it’s alright with you.”

If you did as you wanted—keep your eyes on his—your knees were bound to give underneath you with the way he looked at you, a gentle accepting to waiting alongside you in your kitchen, such a sacred place. “Of course.”

He stayed in place, eyes following as you walked around him to put any last dishes into the sink and leaving them be, not feeling like touching anything else with a smooth finish.

“You can leave those in there,” you told him when you noticed him shift. “Rest for a while.”—directed at him and the dirty dishes. You reached behind yourself to grab the knot at your back, desperate to take the thing off with reasoning much like the pie in the oven—you hadn’t realized just how tightly you had wound the string.

And there he was, ever so reliable, behind you once more as he uttered an ‘I got it’ under his breath, putting his hands over yours and already beginning to unravel the knot himself.

Your previous thought still rang true, like a delicate synth prettily reverberating in your mind: this would be so much easier, bearable, if he were a lover, simply something more than a frequent acquaintance.

And perhaps he heard you, for his hands went to the strap around your neck, fingertips gently grazing against the junctures of your neck and shoulders.

“You should rest, too,” he mumbled as he lifted the fabric above your head, held it out for you. You took it in your hands, staring down at the fabric, what was left of the sun for the evening slithering through window and lace, joining flour and rich violet.

You muttered a ‘thanks’, a sigh. “I know.”

The kitchen fell quiet, not silent, for it contained the two of you; your passing breaths and pulsing heart comparable to the clatter of porcelain beneath familiar conversation.

Water from the tap directed your attention to the sink, where he suddenly stood pouring himself the glass, taking a sip; water hitting the sides of the house came like an afterthought.

It might as well have been his doing, such perfect timing, with the way he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “D’you know it was s’posed to rain?”

You shook your head. You took it as an attempt to cover the tension that how hung heavy in the air, a rhythmic tune to combat the beat of your pulse and the itch that resided in your hands.

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Blueberry bubbling warmed in pastry spilled into the wood of the kitchen and his nose; he let out a hum at the smell from where the two of you sat on the floor against the cabinets across from each other, his body next to the oven. He pushed his sleeves up, similar to when he stood at the sink with hands of lavender, from the heat that crept as company to the finished taste.

“You ok with me being the first to taste it?” he asked with a nod in your direction, something adjacent to surprise, or disbelief in his voice.

You furrowed a brow—“I never saw what you did to that shelf.”—in reference to the hint your mother had made.

“Feel free to take a look for yourself,” he crossed his arms as if to imply he wouldn’t be here with you if he hadn’t done a perfect job.

You hummed. “I better not have to call you back here in a week, then.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

A flush betrayed your skin; you hated its response. “So you made it worse, is what I’m hearing.”

He tongued at his cheek, fighting a smile yet narrowing his eyes and shrugging a shoulder. “Define ‘worse’.”

“It’s definitely what you’ll be feeling after you leave without that pie you want so bad,” you said, standing up to check on the oven, adjusting the dish towel that hung from the handle. You let out a small hum at the golden color that blossomed along the crust.

You took it out with delicate hands, the metal of the tin clattering with the stovetop.

“We’ll let it cool.” A declaration implying more wait—though he didn’t seem to mind, if his following your actions and standing behind you with hooded eyes was any indication.

“Looks good.”

You gave him a small, satisfasfied smile, though not necessarily from his words but at the dessert in front of that did, much to your relief, look good. You stayed admiring the work made from your hands to be eaten by them, alongside another whose familiar cigar smoke slowly paired with blueberry; it made a nicer blend than lavender.

It was similar to when he had spoken to you first, the smell of other fruits stuck to his clothing enticing you to reach out and distinguish which ones were where—you were close to acting upon intrigue. You figured he was too, for he did not move—except for one part you could see out of your peripheral.

His voice was soft as he asked: “Is this okay?” He was referring to the hand smoothing over the countertop to rest next to yours, the skin just barely meeting.

You nodded—“Yeah.”—hated the breathy delivery of your response; he hadn’t even done anything, but you wanted to put the same hands that made a necessity sweet upon him, a blunt want and nothing more than to satiate an ache not riddled in your stomach.

His voice was much closer, a little deeper, almost timid in its hushed delivery.

“Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

His kisses were slow, trailing up, up to just below your ear. The hair cut at his cheek left a delicate burn along the skin, yet you leaned your head back to his chest without a second thought.

“Here?” His question was asked along the skin of your cheek, your head tilting as if lured, enchanted by his words. One hand set itself on your hip.

You mumbled an ‘mhm’, resting a hand atop his own; he draped the one on the counter over yours, lacing the fingers. His fingertips were calloused, a welcomed touch akin to natural skin encasing an apple, rough yet promising.

He placed a kiss to your cheek, the corner of your lips; you could feel a small smile stretch across his.

You spoke before he could ask, eyes shut and a gentle nod: “Don’t be such a tease.”

He let out an exhale, amused at your words. “My bad, sweetheart.”

At his lips on yours, you turned around, putting the hand alongside his at your hip to his cheek; he threaded the other in a similar fashion atop the counter. He kissed with a gentle fervor, a low hum coming from his throat when you combed a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. Denim slotted between your legs, an offering to the lust leaking into your blood.

His nose pushed at yours as he tilted his head, quickening to placing pecks to your lips so you could catch the breath he had taken from your lungs. The moon peeking as if with curiosity from behind roaming clouds and lace shrouded his figure in alluring white, accenting the beginnings of a flush to his skin.

He bowed his head to your neck once more, biting the skin and leaving a kiss in its place.

With fog from his touch contaminating your brain, the blueberry baked into pastry snuck into your nose.

Logan put his hands underneath your thighs and lifted your body without hesitation, pressing a kiss to your sternum and mumbling into the skin a claim that he hoped you wouldn’t mind him indulging in something sweeter.

And you didn’t, laying back as he bit and kissed at skin like a man starved, holding you down against your sheets with gentle drags of his palms. The insides of your thighs burned, sweat dotting the fabric underneath you; he insisted a second with praise for the first.

#my works #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fic #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfic #logan howlett x reader smut #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fic #wolverine x y/n #wolverine x you #wolverine fanfic #wolverine x reader smut #wolverine smut #; l. howlett

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rookiesbookies · 1 year ago

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“so what if I sucked his dick. his knuckles were split and bloody from defending my safety and my honor what else was I supposed to do”

With my boys (141+Konig+Keegan)

Price

Price is not a man to bring violence into his domestic life. He just refuses to. He has the gun under the couch and the hand gun in his bedside table, and that’s all the violence at home he needs.

HOWEVER.

The night you both had gone on a nice date and decided to end the night at a pub he was just having a good time. He didn’t want to be bothered. He was having a nice time.

When he watched the guy come up behind the two of you slurring, he was already set on edge. When the man grabbed your ass? There was zero hesitation.

Punch landed square between the poor guys eyes, John took a long sip of his drink and left a $100 on the table to cover any problems and the two drinks you both had, before taking you by the hand and leaving.

The man had a thick skull and Price honestly just ignored the fact that he had clearly probably broken a bone in his hand because the head you were giving him made it all so worth it.

Soap

Surprisingly, it was not a random person he punched.

He and Gaz had gotten into a petty argument. It shouldn’t have started, really.

Apparently Gaz made some snarky comment about Soap’s girl. It was before Gaz and his girlfriend had started dating so he didn’t have a woman to put him in his place over the shitty comment.

Johnny, however, was happy to oblige.

It took both Ghost and Price to pull him off Gaz, who was luck Soap only got a few good hits in. Soap was sent home like a kid from school and John stapled a note to his shirt explaining what had happened.

What Captain John Price didn’t expect, however, was for you to reward this behavior.

Little kitten licks and fluttering kisses up and down his length, tell him how proud you were he defended you before giving him the sloppiest of his life.

He brain melted, Soap had half the mind to punch Gaz for it again next time he saw him just to see if she would reward him again.

Ghost

Oh, he had considered strangling your ex more than once. But he caught him at your doorstep when he had just gotten back from a mission.

He wasn’t Simon yet. He was still Ghost.

So when the fucker was banging on your door, he was happy he had insisted on getting you a better front door lock. He could see you running to your bedroom, probably to get the handgun he kept under the dresser.

He almost wanted to call you and tell you not to bother.

He tore the man away from the door and just went ham. It wasn’t until you returned and looked out the window to see what had happened that Simon held up the man bloody and bruised and passed out.

Simon shoved the dude in whatever car he came in before driving to the middle of nowhere and leaving an only mildly threatening note, before having you pick him up.

When you went from kissing the splits and blood from his knuckles ot undoing his belt, he was so grateful his old square body had a bench seat.

The death grip on the steering wheel was the only thing keeping him sane. Almost pulling over to cum in your mouth but he had pulled into yalls shared driveway before he even realized. He had probably been doing felony speeds.

He took off his mask for the first time since he got home and planted soft kisses on your face. He mumbled something about not needing to reward Ghost for his usual behaviors between pecks.

Konig

Being the big bad colonel’s sweet little wife had its perks. Walking around the base with no problems, getting to spend all day chilling in his lap, never having to be far from him.

The worst time of year was when Konig had to deal with new recruits, who were already older gentlemen but clearly weren’t raised right and who didn’t understand how things worked in his base.

So when one of the recruits was pushing you around, getting too close and touchy, Konig didn’t hesitate.

One big swing, but that wasn’t enough. Konig was going to make an example of him.

Drug him out to the front of the base and gathered all of the recruits and made a scene. He made an example.

Dude got pummeled by Konig.

You honestly didn’t need to give him head, the satisfaction of putting that man in the med bay was enough. But when the idea left your sweet lips he would never refuse.

His bloody knuckles lovingly rubbing your face and massaging your hair as you struggle to fit it in your mouth, giving him big doe eyes? Its his favorite.

Keegan

Also punched a teammate. You had been brought on base for a celebration, everyone was in all their formal uniforms and outfits.

He had stayed sober, unlike most of his teammates.

Most of them didn’t have any women of their own.

Keegan just found out why.

It was a random Sargent from a different group, clearly hadn’t let you get a word out and just kept talking. Too drunk to realize that if you were here you were probably a spouse.

Keegan just gave him a nice smack to the gut, which ended up making the guy projectile vomit in the middle of the festivity room.

Someone definitely over-served by this dude.

But the way you kissed away the littlest bits of blood from Keegan’s had since his dry knuckle had caught on one of the guys pins and tore open. Made his heart melt.

I guess it melted into his dick because he knew EXACTLY what was happening when you pulled him away and down an empty and dark hall.

Oh he loved the way your lips kissed around him, living lipstick in their wake, before leaving a nice colored ring of it around his shaft.

Oh he’d wear it too proudly. Makes jokes about never washing his dick again.

Gaz

You and Gaz were in a booth on a double date with Soap and his girl. Simple date, just chilling. Soap was making jokes about how Kyle totally had a glow up now that he’s met his girl and about how Kyle probably understands why Johnny punched him for the comment a couple months back. (See Soap’s for an explanation)

However, that story just reminded Gaz, and gave him a good idea.

He mumbled something about still needing to get back at Soap for it. Also mumbling about how his nose still isn't right and his jaw still pops

One swift punch, Kyle was back how he was sitting before like it never even happened.

However the head he got in the family bathroom for that punch being hot while Soap and his girl thought Kyle had an emergency bathroom trip while his girl was changing her pad was crazy.

He almost broke the changing table off the wall with how he was gripping it.

Truly life changing.

Almost hit Soap again when they got back to the table.

Masterlist is pinned on my account as always and requests are open.

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fresitasmoribund · 2 months ago

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smoke

-`♡´- pairing: Sirius Black x GN!Reader

-`♡´- summary: You and Sirius are lounging on a balcony while he smokes. He’s talking, but you’ve barely been listening—you’re too busy silently admiring him.

-`♡´- contains: smoking with Sirius, fluff, face kisses

-`♡´- masterlist

-`♡´- word count: 549

-`♡´- a.n: ugh im such a sucker for soft little kisses

You wrap your arms a little tighter around yourself, waiting for your body to work its magic and warm you up. The cool, late evening air seems to have a personal vendetta against you – but you’re not moving. Not after he’s invited you to join him for a smoke; just you and him. You don’t know how he does it – how the cold doesn’t seem to faze him. He’s leaning against the stone balustrade, his shirt half-open, and not even a shiver to acknowledge the temperature. The glow of the cigarette dances between you, smoke curling and spiraling lazily toward the sky.

You’re half-facing him, left thigh pressed firm against the cool stone while he talks. The distant sound of sirens and cars were long forgotten when he started speaking. His velvety voice drones on as it blends into the chorus of noise beneath the balcony. You’re not paying much attention, and, knowing Sirius, it was about nothing in particular. He taps ash off the cigarette on the stone near your hand, and your eyes follow the movement. You hum in acknowledgment to whatever he had just said, but you’re past pretending to listen.

You’ve let your gaze trail along the line of his jaw about a million times now—the hollow of his throat, the little notch where his collarbones meet. And he knows. Of course he knows.

He cocks his head, catching your eyes just as you’re admiring the curve of his mouth. There’s a faint twitch at the edges, something wicked lighting up in his gaze. Slowly – and deliberately – he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip. He’s daring you to do something he knows you won’t. An annoying, traitorous thump in your chest is as subtle as a bludger to the head.

He lets smoke swirl in his mouth then tilts his head to exhale into the air. From his lips, you watch it unfurl, and before you can even register the shift, he’s got two fingers hooked through your belt loops. The gentlest of tugs, and suddenly you’re standing between his legs. The warmth you craved earlier now where his fingers curl into the fabric, your breath catches as you feel his thighs press against you.

“Fancy a drag?” he asks, voice a little rough now as he holds the cigarette up to your lips.

The pad of his thumb grazes the corner of your mouth. You’re not entirely sure which is more intoxicating – the taste of tobacco or his touch. You lean in, lips parting just enough to take it, eyes never leaving his.

He’s watching you so intently – memorizing every second – every hitch in your breath. When you exhale, he’s already moving to press a kiss on your cheek. His lips are warm and just as soft as you expected them to be, and the thought sends a warmth trickling down your spine. Another follows, this time to your jaw. He’s methodical about it, dragging his lips down the line of your jaw to just beneath your ear. He pauses there, breath hot on your skin. You feel him smile before pressing another kiss – firmer, more intent. His nose brushes against your temple as he moves to continue his affections, and you shiver.

The cigarette’s still between your fingers – forgotten – burning slow.

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fluff #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #hp marauders #marauders #marauders fandom #the marauders #marauders era #x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader

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cakesunflower · 3 months ago

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lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 13

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

“We can’t stay here like this.”

Isla groans, face pressed to Rafe’s chest, which rumbles with his answering chuckle. She can feel his fingers lightly brushing up and down her bare back as they lay in her bed, tangled up in her bedsheets. “Why not?” she practically whines, face scrunched and arm thrown over his torso.

Amusement colors his voice when he says, “Because your sister might be home soon.”

With her leg thrown over Rafe’s, she buries herself deeper into his side, loving his warmth, and mumbles, “She’ll be back late. We have time.” With a crack of a smile, she adds in a light tone, “Unless you’re eager to leave—”

Her words cut off with a half shriek, half giggle when Rafe playfully pinches her butt, Isla slightly smacking his chest in retaliation when she looks up at him. He throws her a heated look that she feels low in her belly as he says, “Don’t be ridiculous.” Rafe presses a kiss to her forehead, one that has Isla instantly relaxing next to him once more. “Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.”

Isla smiles, softer, as she lays with her head resting on his chest, feeling the comforting and steady thumping of his heartbeat. Her own finger traces nonsensical patterns on his chest, the two of them laying together in companionable silence, her gaze on the stars she can see twinkling in the night sky beyond the window. The curtains dance ever so slightly in the gentle breeze, rippling with every thought that crosses Isla’s mind.

If she’s being honest with herself, a small part of her had expected her to feel guilty in the aftermath of sleeping with Rafe; like an amalgamation of all the guilt she should feel from the moment she started being interested in him to now. If her friends saw her right now, they might just crucify her, and while Isla wouldn’t be able to blame them, she also wouldn’t be able to look them in the eye and tell them she regrets it.

If anything, Isla is relieved that she doesn’t feel any guilt. All that is present is a soul-deep contentment she didn’t see coming; more than satisfaction and satiation. Rafe holds her so tenderly and Isla is liable to bury herself in him, to fall asleep right here if she’s not careful. Whatever line was left to cross, she has crossed it, and Isla doesn’t want to look back. Telling her friends about her and Rafe is inevitable, but how can she go about it? How can she tell them in a way that will make them understand her feelings?

This warmth inside of her right now—it’s a pretty and pure manifestation of happiness. Rafe made her see stars, left her completely breathless and had her forgetting everything and everyone except for him. A dizzying, wonderful experience that she wants to cling onto and never let go of, which she is totally on board to do—until a low rumbling sound escapes her stomach and makes her cheeks heat up.

Rafe chuckles quietly. “Hungry?”

“Just a little bit,” she says with a light laugh as she pushes herself up. “Come on.”

They spend the next few seconds getting dressed—or half dressed, really, with Isla putting on her underwear and one of her larger hoodies, and Rafe simply slipping his boxer briefs back on so she can keep admiring those solid, lean muscles. Her gaze lingers on his six—no, eight—pack as she slowly untucks her hair from her hoodie, stomach clenching until she hears his amused voice.

“You’re staring, baby.”

Isla’s gaze snaps up to meet his, catching that smug smirk that curls at his lips as he strolls over to her. Coupled with his messy hair, the guy is sex on legs—and Isla kind of wants to forget getting something to eat and pull him back onto the bed.

But she scoffs and turns, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Food,” she says determinedly, walking out of her room and hearing him chuckle as he follows after her.

In the kitchen, Isla finds herself pulling out the loaf of bread, a butterknife, and the half full jar of Nutella. She waves at Rafe, eyebrows raised and a smile growing. “You like Nutella?” Isla gives him a half serious look. “Careful—your answer is gonna determine whether we’re gonna keep this relationship going or not.”

While amusement dances in his eyes, Rafe scoffs as he snatches the jar from her hand. “Of course I like Nutella, the hell?” he says, unscrewing the lid while Isla laughs and takes out some slices of bread.

Rafe takes it upon himself to make them the Nutella sandwiches, and Isla hops up on the counter next to him with a grin, taking the first sandwich he makes and taking a hearty bite as the cool marble of the counter chills her thighs. The hazelnut chocolate flavor explodes in her mouth and she hums approvingly, legs swinging back and forth as Rafe takes a bite of his own sandwich. “Delicious,” she mutters, swallowing the bite.

Rafe smiles around his own bite, leaning back against the counter right next to where she sits. “Did my sister recruit you in her beach clean up?”

Despite her surprise at his question, Isla snorts out a laugh. “You do know both our sisters are spearheading that, right?” she asks with a shake of her head as Rafe chuckles lowly. “Sarah and Kie recruited all of us into it.” As part of an environmental non-profit they both volunteer for, Kie and Sarah organized a beach clean up to pick up any trash that’s been left behind. No one wanted to end up on their shit list by refusing to give up a day to help out. “Sarah asked you to do it, too?”

Rafe throws her a dry look. “Yes,” he answers before taking another bite. “She and Wheezie have the doe-eyed look down to a science. Hard to say no.”

His words make Isla laugh, eyebrows raising as Rafe shakes his head, almost looking embarrassed. Which makes Isla find him even more endearing. “Aw, who would’ve thought your sisters would have you wrapped around their fingers?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rafe says with a roll of his eyes and a subtle flush on his cheeks, though he doesn’t deny Isla’s teasing. When he looks at her, his gaze dips for a second, his lips twitching as he gestures with his hand towards her face and says, “You’ve got a little. . .”

Her eyebrows flick up, wiping the skin by her mouth. “Did I get it?”

Rafe chuckles. “Not even close,” he says and before Isla can blink, he has closed the gap between them, kissing her soundly. She makes a small sound of surprise, eyes fluttering shut as she feels Rafe smirk into the kiss. His tongue swipes against the corner of her mouth as she feels his free hand grip the back of her head, keeping her right where he wants her as he kisses her.

Isla could stay like this forever, as the butterflies in her stomach go amok, but somehow, over the sound of her racing heart, she picks up on the crunch of gravel, and when her eyes open slightly, sees the beam of headlights cut through the window to the right. “Oh, shit,” she says, pulling away as her widened gaze goes to the window. She most definitely hears a car engine. “Oh, my God, Kie’s home.”

Rafe’s own eyes widen as he follows Isla’s gaze before looking at her again, mildly alarmed. “What do you wanna do?” he asks, helping her off the counter.

“Um,” Isla starts, trying to think through the panic. “Okay, you go upstairs. Close my bedroom door but, uh, hide in my bathroom, okay? She won’t find you there. When she’s not paying attention, we’ll get you out of here.” Isla places her hands on his biceps and turns him, pushing him towards the stairs. “Go, go.”

Her heart thunders in time with Rafe’s feet pounding up the stairs, and Isla lets out a quiet breath as she hears the door shut upstairs. Putting her sandwich down, Isla brushes away the crumbs from her hand before fixing her unruly hair as much as she can, her gaze on the windows looking out onto the porch to keep an eye out for Kie walking up.

Glancing down at herself, Isla figures her current attire isn’t too out of the ordinary, so she doesn’t stress about that as she leans forward casually on the counter, weight resting on her arms as she eats her Nutella sandwich despite the small lump lodged in her throat from the mild panic of Kie’s arrival. She swallows the bite when she finally sees Kie on the porch, using the keys to unlock the door and enter the house.

“Hey,” Isla greets from where she is, before Kie can spot her. “I thought you’d be home later.”

Kie startles, nearly dropping the keys as she spins to look at her. “Jesus,” she breathes, walking over. “Scared the shit out of me. Nah, we dipped out of the second movie early ’cause Cleo got a headache.”

Isla’s eyebrows furrow together in concern. “She okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” Kie reassures as she braces her hands on the countertop opposite of where Isla stands. “What’re you doing? Late night snack?”

Isla hums in confirmation. “You want?”

“Nah, I’m beat. I’m gonna head to bed,” Kie answers, fighting a yawn.

“Yeah, me too,” Isla nods, trying not to show too much relief as she finishes off her sandwich and dusts her hands above the sink to get rid of any crumbs. She goes upstairs, glancing down the hall to see Kie’s bedroom door closed but can see the light on inside, and Isla hurries inside her own room. “Rafe,” she hisses, shutting the door behind her. “Come out.”

The bathroom door opens a second later, Rafe endearingly peeking his head out, now fully dressed. He raises his eyebrows, stepping outside. “Coast is clear?”

“Yeah, Kie’s in her room. We need to get you out of here,” Isla says with a gentle, still slightly alarmed, chuckle as she reaches her hand out for him.

Rafe takes her hand in his, moving closer to her and giving her a soft smile. “Relax,” he says quietly, calmly, because he can definitely notice her mildly panicked state. “It’ll be fine, alright? Breathe.”

Isla nods quickly, exhaling slowly through her nose as Rafe maintains her gaze. It helps calm her racing pulse down a bite, reveling in the way he squeezes her fingers reassuringly. “Okay, yeah, I’m good.”

He flashes her a smile before Isla turns and slowly opens the door, other hand still holding Rafe’s. Isla looks to the right, down the hall, and sees Kie’s door is still closed and gives Rafe’s hand a tug. They leave the room, shutting the door quietly, before quickly and quietly making their way down the carpeted hallway and towards the stairs.

“Don’t trip,” Rafe quietly teases from behind her as they hurry downstairs.

“Don’t make me laugh,” Isla mutters through a burgeoning grin, making their way through the darkened house and towards the front door. Her pulse has quickened again because of the nature of their sneaking, Rafe being extra careful since he’s got shoes on and he’s trying not to let them thud too loudly on the floor.

Isla unlocks and opens the door, the summer night chill greeting her bare legs as Isla presses her back to the open door to make room for Rafe to pass. “Go, go,” she says with a breathless laugh, looking up at him as he comes to a stop in front of her.

“I’ll see you later?” he asks with an arch of his eyebrow, the porch light giving him a pretty glow.

Isla nods, biting back a grin. “Definitely,” she whispers, her giggle getting muffled by Rafe dipping his head and pressing his lips to hers.

She desperately wants to prolong the length of the kiss, to keep him here forever as the butterflies in her stomach come to life once more. Her hand presses to his chest, warring against pulling him close and pushing him away. “Okay. Okay. Goodnight,” she says against his lips, pulse fast—both because of him and the fear of Kie walking downstairs and catching them.

“Goodnight, baby,” Rafe mutters lowly, pressing one last kiss to her lips before pulling away completely. He looks down at her with that teasing smirk, those glinting eyes, as he walks backwards out of the house. Rafe jerks his chin. “Go back inside.”

Isla laughs airily, nodding as she watches him walk down the stairs and driveway. He turns to wave at her in the dark, and Isla’s smile widens, waving back with flushed cheeks and only closing the door when Rafe disappears around the corner once he reaches the sidewalk.

She blows out a breath, locking the door and turning to head back up the stairs, relieved that Kie is still in her room as Isla walks back into hers. The tingle in her skin has yet to dissipate as she collapses back onto her bed, sighing happily, contently, with a foolish smile she can’t get rid of. She is fairly certain she falls asleep that way, too.

*****

Waves gently crash along the shore as the sun glitters against the water, and several people are spread out around the beach with pick up claws and bags to throw their trash in. Sunglasses shield Isla’s eyes from the sun, with the help of a hat from The Wreck. It’s not an aggressively hot day, fortunately, and though Isla’s skin flushes under the sun, she hums to herself as she picks up a crumpled bag of chips and drops it in the trash bag she carries.

“What’s up with you, girl?” Cleo asks, nearly startling Isla as she looks up to see her friend approaching. Cleo has her bag thrown over her shoulder, hip jutted as she arches an eyebrow.

Isla blinks. “What do you mean?” she asks, confused.

The corner of her mouth curls up in a smile. “You’ve been acting different lately. Hummin’ all the time. Happy.”

Scoffing out a laugh, Isla picks up a soda can. “As opposed to how I’m miserable rest of the time?” she asks sarcastically, smiling in amusement despite the momentary skipping of her heart beat.

“’Course not,” Cleo laughs, tracing a fish in the sand with her trash picker. “But something’s different about you,” she adds, narrowing her eyes and waving the stick at her. “You get laid or somethin’?”

Her heart stops. “What?” Isla asks, eyes widening behind her sunglasses as she gapes at Cleo and hopes her friend doesn’t notice her shocked expression. She also hopes the sudden flush in her cheeks can be attributed to the sun, and not to the images of what she and Rafe did the other night flashing through her mind. Flashes of his head between her legs, blue eyes darkened with lust as she rode him to oblivion, his fingers digging into her flesh—Isla can feel her blood rushing as she desperately tries to push those memories away. “Please,” she scoffs out another laugh, hoping she doesn’t sound as flustered as she feels. “If I got laid, you and the girls would be the first to know.” Liar.

“Uh-huh,” Cleo says, unconvinced, as she eyes Isla skeptically. Isla, in turn, merely smiles before turning her attention back to picking up more garbage and attempting to appear nonchalant. “You’re just this happy to pick up trash, huh?”

Isla shoots her a wide grin, hoping to keep Cleo’s focus away from where Isla definitely doesn’t need it to be. “Just doing my part in cleaning our planet. We only have one, y’know.”

Cleo laughs. “True that. Except we’ve only been here fifteen minutes and John B already almost got into it with Topper.”

“Topper?” Isla repeats, surprised as she swings her gaze back to Cleo. “Topper’s here?”

Isla highly doubts that Sarah reached out to her ex-boyfriend to help out with the beach clean up. Even if she were short on volunteers, Topper wouldn’t have been anywhere on Sarah’s list of people to reach out to help. Case in point: John B almost getting into a fight with him, according to Cleo. Isla doesn’t have to witness it to believe it.

“Yeah, I think he showed up with Rafe,” Cleo answers, shoving a soda can into her bag and missing the way Isla’s back straightens at the mention of Rafe.

Thank God for Isla’s sunglasses, because her gaze immediately begins to wander, dancing over the several people gathered for the clean up as she tries to catch sight of Rafe. She knew that he was coming, since Sarah had recruited him, but it’s also not like Isla can actively seek him out, unfortunately. Which sucks—especially when she finally catches sight of him talking to Sarah.

Or, well. . . Isla chews the inside of her cheek. They look like they’re arguing, as Isla can easily note how tense Sarah is—and the way John B is putting a calming hand on her shoulder. Isla squints slightly behind her sunglasses, noting the way Rafe holds his own hand up, like he’s trying to defuse the situation too, and Isla has to stop herself from walking over and butting in.

Twisting her lips to the side, she grabs another piece of garbage to put away, watching as Rafe nods at something Sarah, who seems to have calmed down, says, before waving her off and walking away after snatching a garbage bag and pick up stick. Isla’s eyebrows furrow together when she notices the stiffness of his shoulders even from where she stands, and her gaze flicks towards the nature made wall of rocks, tall enough to block out the other side from anyone on the beach.

Cleo has wandered off to find Pope, so Isla nonchalantly makes her way towards the wall, pulling out her phone and sending a quick text to Rafe.

Meet me behind the wall?

She phrases it as a question, unsure if he’s going to be in the mood to talk if he just got into a spat with Sarah. Isla wonders if it’s about Topper tagging along with Rafe because as far as she knows, things between Rafe and Sarah are good. Or they should be, if she asked him to come today and he showed up. As tough as Rafe presents himself to be, he values his family, even if he used to scowl at Sarah and John B’s relationship. But he’s changing. Isla can see that. She wouldn’t have involved herself with him otherwise.

Behind the wall, there’s the safety of some shade from the sun, as the wall rises a good two feet above Isla’s head. There’s some trash back here, too, only a few things, so she quickly picks them up and dumps them in the bag as she waits for Rafe—if he’ll come. It’s risky, given all of the people around, including her friends, but she can’t help it. There’s an ever-present desire to be near Rafe, consequences be damned.

Still, her pulse quickens at the mere thought of someone catching her and Rafe—and he’s not even here.

Until a figure turns the corner, and Isla straightens against the wall she’s leaning back into at the sight of Rafe appearing. Sunglasses shielding his eyes, shorts, and a white striped shirt shouldn’t look so good on a person, yet there he stands.

There’s a skipping in her chest, especially when his expression smoothes out into a smile as he approaches her. “Hey,” he greets softly, walking over to her.

His smile brings out one of her own as Isla drops the bag and leans the pick up stick against the wall. “Hi,” Isla returns, tilting her head to the side as she smiles. Her gaze rakes over him from behind the sunglasses. “You okay?”

She sees his smile turn a little confused as he moves to lean against the wall next to her, dropping his own bag and stick. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked with a quiet chuckle.

Isla moves her sunglasses to rest them on the top of her head, hands at her back. She hesitates for a moment before saying, “Saw you and Sarah. Looked a little tense.”

“Oh, yeah,” Rafe huffs, leaning his head back against the stone wall. “She’s just upset that Top came along.”

Isla purses her lips. She figured. “And why did he?” she slowly asks, arching an eyebrow as she turns to lean on her arm, facing Rafe. “Obviously, he knew John B was gonna be here. Why is Topper always picking a fight he’s not gonna win?”

“Hell if I know,” Rafe mutters, running his fingers through his hair. “He’s still holding out hope, I guess.”

A scoff escapes Isla, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s never gonna happen,” Isla says bluntly, unable to keep the distaste from scrunching her nose up. She can’t help it—she can’t really stand Topper.

“I know that. You know that. The whole of Kildare county knows that,” Rafe says, sighing as he tilts his head back to look up at the sky. “I told him he shouldn’t come here, but he doesn’t wanna listen, so of course, my sister thinks I’m the bad guy.”

Isla’s eyebrows furrow together at the frustration that sharpens Rafe’s voice, taking note of the way his jaw clenches with his head still tilted back. It’s obvious that he’s more upset than angry, like the idea of Sarah being pissed at him because of Topper truly bothers him. It softens something inside of Isla, her hand reaching up and resting at the back of Rafe’s neck, giving him a gentle, comforting squeeze as he turns his head to look at her.

She smiles at him, sweet and sincere. “You’re not the bad guy,” she tells him—and she means it. When he scoffs like he doesn’t entirely believe her, she gives his neck another gentle squeeze. “I mean it. I also think it’d go a long way if you, as Sarah’s brother, told Topper to back off.” With a playful smile to lighten the mood, she asks, “Isn’t there a bro code or something about not dating your friend’s sister?”

It gets a short scoff of a chuckle out of Rafe, dipping his chin to look at her from over his sunglasses. Raising an eyebrow, he asks, “Isn’t there a Pogue rule not to date a Kook?”

Isla rolls her eyes. “If there was, John B’s the first one to break it,” she points out, pulling her hand away—only for Rafe to catch it and interlock their fingers. The touch makes her smile as Rafe’s head dips like he’s observing their hands, her own gaze following to watch the way his hand envelopes hers, the gold family ring glinting on his finger as his thumb rubs her hand.

“True,” Rafe agrees, a smirk curling at his mouth. “But you breaking that rule is a lot more scandalous.”

Pushing himself off the wall, Rafe uses his free hand to take off his own sunglasses and hand them at the neckline of his shirt as he turns to Isla, effectively making her turn as well to lean her back against the wall as Rafe comes in front of her. His smirk remains, smug, as Isla has to tilt her head back slightly to maintain eye contact. She’s between the wall and Rafe, the rest of the world falling to the background as the heat of his body seeps into hers.

“You’re not wrong about that,” Isla murmurs, her gaze dipping to his lips. She takes in a sharp, quiet breath, her stare lingering on his mouth. The tension between them is begging for Isla to close the gap, to kiss him. The thundering of her heart overpowers the sound of people on the other side of the wall. “We should get back.”

Rafe only leans closer. “We should,” he mumbles, his own eyes dropping to her lips as she tilts her chin up dazedly. It’s like he appears in front of her and everything else empties out of her head. “But first. . .”

He closes the gap and slants his lips over hers, Isla’s body nearly sinking into his as her lips part under his, returning the kiss that sends shocks of electricity across her body. Rafe moves his lips against hers slowly, deliberately, heat curling low in Isla’s belly, which is highly inconvenient.

The sound of someone’s laugh cuts through, pulling Isla back into reality. “Okay, okay,” she breathes, free hand pressing to his chest and reluctantly breaking the kiss. Rafe’s own breathing is slightly labored, their foreheads pressed together, noses sliding along as Isla presses her back to the wall. Opening her eyes, she looks up at Rafe with a breathy laugh. “Let’s quit while we’re ahead.”

“Right,” Rafe groans, making Isla laugh at how dismayed he looks. The feeling is totally mutual. “The beach isn’t gonna clean itself.”

Isla snorts out a laugh, hand covering her mouth at the sound that escaped her as her cheeks flush in embarrassed heat. Her gaze flicks up to Rafe, who is watching her with a wide grin that only intensifies her embarrassment. “Stop,” she whines, pushing him back and crouching to pick up her garbage pick up claw and bag.

“What? That was adorable,” he says through a chuckle, his finger hooking through the belt loop of her denim shorts. She shakes her head, but his grin is wide, and it makes her smile, too. “You’re fuckin’ adorable,” Rafe repeats, ducking his head to press another quick kiss to her lips.

Chest fluttering, she shakes her head and steps away from him. “You’re gonna get me in trouble,” she mutters, blushing as she walks away—despite not wanting to.

She can just hear the smirk in Rafe’s voice as he replies, “Isn’t that the fun of it?”

Isla shakes her head, throwing him a grin over her shoulder which he returns as he puts his sunglasses back on. She does the same, sighing as she returns to the main part of the beach, picking up any trash piece she sees and hoping no one notices anything. She’s alone with her thoughts for all of fifteen seconds when an arm drops around her shoulders, nearly making her stumble.

“Jesus—JJ, you’re gonna take me out,” Isla huffs when she recognizes the blonde hanging off of her.

“I’d break your fall,” he says dismissively, spinning around the pick up claw like a damn lightsaber. Sunglasses cover his eyes, along with a red Kildare baseball cap. “You know what we haven’t had in a while?”

“Hmm?” Isla hums, picking up a crushed water bottle and JJ opens his bag, letting her drop it in.

When she glances at her best friend, he’s got a shit eating grin on his face, dimples deep, that can only meet trouble. Isla’s expression instantly turns wary as JJ says simply, “Kegger.”

Isla lets out a laugh. “Are you kidding? The party Sarah threw wasn’t even that long ago, JJ.”

“It’s been weeks. Summer’s almost over. We need to live it up,” JJ argues, throwing her a feigned affronted look.

“It’s only the end of June! We have the whole summer still left,” Isla argues, shaking her head in exasperated amusement. Trust JJ to look for any way, any rhyme or reason, to have a party.

“Come on. Boneyard kegger?”

Isla arches her eyebrows, tilting her head to the side to look up at him with a knowing expression. Putting the garbage bag on the ground, Isla plucks off JJ’s cap and fits it over her own head, JJ’s free hand running through his blonde hair as she asks, “Have you run this by the others, or am I the first stop on your convincing tour?”

“Kie and Cleo are down,” JJ says. “I’m sure John B and Sarah will be on board, too.”

Isla snickers, her gaze flickering past JJ and spotting Rafe some way down, who seems to be chatting with some other volunteers. She swears when his head turns this way, he’s looking directly at her and JJ, watching them. Pushing down the fluttering in her stomach that arises under his attention, she looks back at JJ. “So you’re saving Pope for last, huh?” she asks knowingly.

“He takes the most convincing,” JJ says with a grin, his arm still hooked around Isla’s shoulders. “But if I’ve got everyone on board, you know he’ll say yes.”

“Yeah, because he gives into peer pressure too easily. Especially from us,” Isla points out with a smirk.

JJ’s grin is wide, dimpled, and shit-eating. “What else are friends for, huh?” he laughs, giving her a shake that pulls a giggle out of Isla. “So, you in? Tomorrow night? You’re not working, are you?”

“No, I’m free to party,” she tells JJ with a wide grin. She hesitates for a moment before asking, “Pogues only?” And probably the tourists, too.

JJ throws his head back in an exaggerated groan. “In a perfect world, yes. But you already know the Kooks are gonna crash, so whatever.”

Isla raises her eyebrows and points at JJ warningly. “No fighting, alright?”

“You know me. I’m a saint.”

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 months ago

Text

Silence Between Us ~ YJI/SCB

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅WORD COUNT:2.9K

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅PAIRING: Jeongin? X reader / Changbin x reader

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ GENRE: Established relationships, jeongin in a relationship with reader, changbin ‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅hates you, thinks youre using jeongin,

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅MASTERLIST

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅a/n: i did this as an imagine? I hope thats okay!

Jeongin’s fingers gently intertwined with yours as you both lounged on the couch, the steady flicker of the TV screen barely registering in your mind. His head rested comfortably against your shoulder, eyes half-closed in contentment. You smiled softly at the sight of him, your thumb tracing absent patterns along his knuckles. You adored the moments that you had with him like this, wrapped in the warmth of his arms and enjoying the closeness of one another as you cuddled closer together but there was a tension in the air that was hard to ignore.

The tension was so thick you were almost sure you could cut it with a knife.No matter how much time you spent with Jeongin, there was always that nagging feeling in the back of your mind...or rather someone was always in the back of your mind and that was Changbin.

He never spoke to you unless absolutely necessary, his responses were always clipped, his presence cold. And whenever you were around, he was suddenly busy, leaving the room, or worse, not even coming home. It was weird, you never did anything to upset him. Hell, the day you met him you'd been so nervous you'd made a fool of yourself but that was no reason for him to dislike you.

The rest of the guys loved you, and you always found yourself hanging out with them when Jeongin was busy it felt like you were a part of their little family, all apart from Changbin who made you feel unwanted.

You could feel the tension with Changbin but Jeongin never addressed it, almost as though he had no idea that his friend didn't like you but it made things weird between you.

Jeongin shifted beside you and checked his phone, jumping up a little as he went to look for his car keys.

"Hey, I’m gonna grab some takeout for us, okay?" His voice was soft, and gentle, like always, and it made your heart skip a beat. Ever since the two of you first go together he made your heart sing. He pressed a quick kiss to your temple, and the warmth from his lips sent fireworks throughout your body.

“Alright,” you replied with a smile, though a part of you wished he wouldn’t leave. The dorms always felt colder when you were alone, especially when Changbin was around but you prayed he was going to stay in his room while Jeongin was away.

“I won’t be long,” Jeongin promised, giving you one last smile before heading out the door.

The moment he left, the air felt thicker and you could feel your chest tightening at the thought of Changbin coming out. The silence settled heavily in the space, making you acutely aware of the absence of Jeongin’s calming presence, you hadn't realised just how much you relied on him to feel relaxed. You glanced around the living room, your eyes landing on Changbin’s closed bedroom door. Tension stirred in your chest.

As if on cue, the door creaked open and you tore your eyes away, forcing yourself to stare at the TV and trying to focus on whatever it was that was playing. Changbin appeared in the hallway, his eyes barely acknowledging your presence as he made his way toward the kitchen. He had that same expression on his face as he always did when he was around you—guarded, distant like he couldn’t be bothered with you. It was as if you were invisible, a stranger in the house he shared with Jeongin. It hurt more than you cared to admit.

You didn't expect you to be the best of friends but it still would have been nice for you to at least get along for the sake of your boyfriend. The tightness in your chest grew unbearable, you could feel your heart starting to race with anxiety and you couldn’t take it anymore.

Without fully thinking, you stood and blocked his path back to his door. Changbin stopped abruptly, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, confusion, and mild irritation flashing in them.

“What are you doing?” His voice was cold, as if speaking to you was an inconvenience to him and you did your best not to let it show that it was bothering you. He sidestepped you, but you moved with him, determination replacing your nerves.

“Changbin, please. I need to know… What did I do? why don’t you like me?” Your voice cracked slightly, but you held his gaze, refusing to back down. For a moment, he just stared at you, his lips pressed into a tight line. His silence cut deeper than any words he could have spoken. You waited, breath caught in your throat, for him to say something, anything.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he finally muttered, brushing past you again, but you stepped in front of him once more, desperation creeping into your tone.

“No, you do!” you said, voice stronger now. You weren't just going to back down now that you'd gotten the courage to ask him. There had to be something about you that had driven him to be like this. You just needed to know what it was.

“You’ve been avoiding me for months. I’ve never done anything to you...In fact, I've done just about everything to make you like me so I don’t understand—if you just tell me what I did wrong, I’ll fix it. I just… I want to know what’s going on.” Changbin’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenched so tightly that you could see the muscles flex beneath his skin. His frustration was palpable now, the tension between you threatening to break. He finally sighed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.

"You really wanna know?” he asked, his tone bitter, almost as if the truth was something you didn’t deserve to hear. You nodded your head at him,

“Yes,” you whispered, heart pounding in your chest, the weight of his words pressing down on you. You didn't care what it was, you intended to fix it. Changbin’s gaze hardened, and when he spoke, his words cut through you like ice.

“I don’t trust you. I think you’re using Jeongin.” His accusation hit you like a physical blow, your breath catching in your throat. How could he even think something like that? You and Jeongin had known each other before he became an idol, you'd have to be a fortune teller to predict this would have happened,

“W-what?” you stammered, disbelief surging through you. There was no way he really believed the words that had just come out of his mouth.

“How could I be using him?”

“God, don't play dumb and don’t act so surprised,” Changbin scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. The moment he'd met you he could tell something was off,

“You’re only with him because of who he is—an idol. Because he’s got money and y, fame, and you get to be a part of that. I’ve seen it before. Girls like you are all the same.” The words felt like daggers, sharp and cutting through the fragile bond you thought you were building with Jeongin. You blinked, the sting of unshed tears burning behind your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.

“That’s not true,” you managed to whisper, but your voice felt so small compared to the anger radiating from Changbin. “I care about Jeongin… I love him...I knew him before-”

“You love him?” Changbin repeated, his tone mocking, laughing a little as he shook his head at you.

“Then prove it. Because from where I’m standing, all I see is someone trying to cash in on his success.” Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision, but you didn’t move, didn’t look away. You wanted to scream, to defend yourself, to tell him how wrong he was. But the weight of his accusation, the disbelief in his eyes, was suffocating.

Just as you opened your mouth to respond, to tell him just how wrong he was about everything, the sound of keys jingling outside the door echoed through the apartment. Panic surged through you, and before you could say anything else, the door swung open, and Jeongin walked in, a bag of takeout in hand.

“Hey! I got your favourite—” His cheerful voice trailed off the moment he sensed the tension in the room. His eyes darted between you and Changbin, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“What’s going on?” You quickly wiped your eyes, turning your back to him so he wouldn’t see the tears threatening to spill. You weren't going to be the one to get between two friends,

“Nothing,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I… I have a headache, I should go.” You lied, grabbing your jacket,

"Baby, stay. I can make you some tea and we can go and relax-" You shook your head, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay you weren't going to stay somewhere you weren't wanted.

“I’ll… I’ll call you later,” you said, hurriedly gathering your things. Your heart ached as you avoided his eyes, but you couldn’t face him—not like this. Not with Changbin’s harsh words still ringing in your ears.

Before Jeongin could even try to stop you, you slipped past him and out the door, the sound of it closing behind you echoing in the stillness of the apartment.

It had been a week since you walked out of Jeongin’s apartment, leaving behind a whirlwind of emotions. Every day since, your phone had buzzed with messages from him—each one pleading for you to talk, for you to come over. And every time, you felt your heart break a little more, but you couldn’t bring yourself to face him. Not with Changbin’s accusation still echoing in your mind.

Jeongin didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be caught between you and one of his best friends. Every time you thought about going back, that tight knot of anxiety would pull you down again, you just needed to do the right thing and walk away from it all.

Today was no different. You stared at your phone, Jeongin’s latest message flashing across the screen.

Innie: "Please. Can we talk? I miss you."

You sighed, pressing the phone to your chest, trying to find the courage you hadn’t had for the past week. It wasn’t fair to him to string him along like this—he had no idea what had happened between you and Changbin, and leaving him in the dark wasn’t right. Stil every time you tried to take a step to make it right you just remembered Changbins words in your mind, hitting you harder each time.

A few minutes later, your phone rang, and when you saw Jeongin’s name again, something inside you caved. You answered. Maybe you were a glutton for punishment or soething...or maybe you were just desperate to hear his voice after a week,

“I’ll come over,” you said quietly, not giving him a chance to speak first. There was a pause on the other end, followed by a hopeful,

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, your heart heavy with a mix of relief and dread. “I’ll be there soon.” You whispered as you stared at the wall. You needed to get this over and done with.

When you arrived at the apartment, the familiar hallway felt like it was closing in on you. Your chest tightened and you were finding it harder and harder to breathe the longer you waited for the door to open. The memories of last week flooded back to you all at once. Changbin’s cold gaze, his hurtful words, and Jeongin’s confused expression. You hesitated before knocking again, but the door swung open before you even had the chance.

Jeongin stood there, eyes wide with relief as if he hadn’t believed you would actually come. Without a word, he reached out, pulling you into a tight hug, and burying his face in your shoulder.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured against your skin, his voice shaky with emotion. You hugged him back, the tension in your body slowly unravelling once you felt him holding you. This was everythign you'd been seeking out all week but you hadn't been able to get to it. The weight of the past week still hung over you and you slowly began pulling away slightly, you met his gaze.

“Jeongin, we need to talk,” you whispered. His heart raced as he nodded, stepping aside to let you in.

"If this is about the take-out, I promise I got you something you liked." he joked trying to lighten the mood but once he saw how serious you were he stopped and took you over to the couch. The two of you sat there, the silence in the air completely heavy as you stared at one another,

“I didn’t leave because of you,” you began, your voice soft but steady. Was this the right thing to do? Changbin was his band member and you didn't want to risk making things bad between them simply because he didn't like you but he needed to know. Right?

“I left because of Changbin.” Jeongin’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Changbin? What does he have to do with this?” You sighed, wringing your hands together as you tried to find the right words. You'd been trying to think of them on the way over but nothing ever sounded right.

“That night, after you left to get takeout, I asked him why he didn’t like me. He told me… he told me he thinks I’m using you for your money.” The hurt flashed across Jeongin’s face, his eyes widening in shock.

"What?”

“I tried to explain, but before I could say anything, you came back, and I couldn’t… I didn’t want to make things worse.” Jeongin ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his features. He stood up abruptly, pacing the floor.

“I can’t believe he would say that,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tight with anger. You watched him, your chest tight with worry as you stared at him.

“I didn’t want to come between you two,” you said quietly. “I didn’t want to make things awkward for you.” Jeongin stopped pacing, turning to look at you, his expression softening. This was why you'd been avoiding him? He thought he'd upset you somehow.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Changbin… he was way out of line.”

Before you could respond, the door to the apartment opened, and in walked Changbin. He froze when he saw you sitting there, tension instantly filling the room. Jeongin wasted no time though, he stared at his friend and shook his head.

“Changbin,” he said firmly, stepping toward him. “We need to talk. Now.” Changbin’s eyes flickered between you and Jeongin, his expression unreadable but you knew he was brewing with anger for you.

“What’s going on?” Jeongin crossed his arms, his gaze hard. It was the first time you'd ever seen Jeongin so pissed off about something,

“I know what you said to her.” Changbin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. He hadn't expected you to say anything after running out last week, he figured he'd seen the last of you.

“I can’t believe you’d accuse her of something like that,” Jeongin continued, his voice rising slightly. “Do you even know how long we’ve known each other?” At this, Changbin’s brow furrowed in confusion.

"You met each other a few months ago," Changbin grumbled but you both shook your head. The two of you had known each other a lot longer than people thought.

“We grew up together, Changbin,” Jeongin said, his voice softening as he glanced at you. “We’ve been best friends since we were kids. She’s not using me. She never has, and she never will. I thought you knew us better than that.” Changbin’s eyes widened in surprise, and for the first time, you saw uncertainty flicker across his face, his eyes glanced over to you and he shook his head.

“I… I didn’t know.” Jeongin stepped closer, his tone stern but not unkind. The last thing he wanted was to upset Changbin but he also wanted the two of you to get along,

“You should’ve talked to me first before making assumptions.” There was a heavy silence as Changbin processed Jeongin’s words. Finally, he turned to you, guilt shadowing his features.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice rough with regret. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I just… I was trying to protect Jeongin, but I went about it the wrong way.” You nodded, still feeling the sting of his previous accusation, but you could see the sincerity in his apology in his eyes and even hearing it in his voice.

“I understand,” you said softly. “I just wish you’d talked to me instead of assuming the worst.” Changbin lowered his head as he nodded, he realised now how much of a dickhead he'd been toward you when he could have just talked to you.

“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” Jeongin stepped forward and took your hand, his thumb gently brushing against your knuckles.

“I’m sorry too. You didn’t deserve any of this.” You squeezed his hand, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. The weight of the past week seemed to lift slightly, the air between you lighter, though the hurt still lingered.

"Movie night?" you suggested to them both, Changbins eyes lingering on you for a second before nodding his head. It was his chance to actually get to know you without making any harsh decisions before he had the chance to know the real you.

@chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @stayconnecteed @saymyspringrain @toplinehyunjin @katnisspeetaprim @acciocriativity @just-aelia @choisoorin @straykids5star @midnightfrog625 @beccaskz @scarletemeterio @halesandy @junhannies @gothic4under4lord @lixie-phoria @soulphoenix1618 @aerastus @jin-from-the-block @lensfilm @elizaschuyler18 @piratequeen-impact @kpopsstuffs @chaeyoungs @delulu18 @xyahrinx @katsukis1wife @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @blairscott @4-chan-inpadella @niktwazny303 @moonlight-the-writer @armystay89 @hadassahchan @yxngbxkkie @s3ungm1nxxl0ve

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bookyeom · 1 year ago

Text

pairing: vernon x reader word count: 3.7k warnings: angst (she did it y’all!!!!), swearing, kissing, wet!vernon

Author’s Note: this fic is part of the Thirteen Valentines event, but can be read as a standalone! also, i would suggest listening to the song listed below to get a feel for the vibe of the fic, but it’s not necessary. Happy Birthday, Bononie!

kissing in swimming pools by holly humberstone

do you think we were made to last in the coldest of weather? maybe i don’t have to leave so soon you look heavenly in this shade of blue

Vernonie [8:48pm]: finally back from dinner

Vernonie [8:49pm]: everyone’s gone btw, so i’ll come get u now?

Y/N [8:51pm]: yeye! Just text when ur outside

You hear his car before you see it.

His parents must have kept his old, beat-up car from high school for when he came back for the summer, you muse, and it makes you smile. You’d spent a lot of time in that car, listening to whatever new indie band Vernon had “discovered” that week, or eating take-out in the department store parking lot after hours, or your personal favourite: with the engine shut off at the lookout Vernon had discovered on his way home from work one day, tucked away from most of the world as the two of you reclined in his car seats and looked at the night sky.

You used to wonder if it was there that you fell in love with him, but the truth is that you loved him long before he showed up at your door at 1am, eyes wide with excitement over his new discovery, and brought you there in your pajamas.

You still have the hoodie he’d leant you that night in the closet of your childhood bedroom.

Tonight, you shut the door quietly behind you out of habit, twisting the knob so it doesn’t make a sound. You’re long past the days of sneaking out, but your muscle memory won’t quit.

It’s been eight months since you last saw Vernon. You only came home for two days at Christmas, claiming you couldn’t take that much time off from your part time job, and had managed to avoid him. You had still needed the space from him, then. December had only marked four months since he’d broken your heart, and you weren’t sure at the time if you’d ever be able to look him in the eye again.

The months after Christmas break had finally begun to heal you. Your new semester had started, and you had decided to dive headfirst into both academic and social endeavors instead of wallowing away in your dorm room. You’d finally made new friends, your grades had improved, and while it still hurt to see his name when it popped up across your social media platforms, it wasn’t all you thought about anymore.

Right now, you kind of can’t wait to see him.

“Hi,” you say, breathless, and when Vernon meets your eyes, you know you’re not breathless because of the jog from your front door to his car.

He looks good. His hair is a bit longer, curling at the ends and falling softly across his forehead, and you think his shoulders have filled out. His jaw is just as sharp, eyelashes just as long, and you immediately wonder how you’d gone so long without him.

“Hi, stranger,” he says, and you’re terrified that the sound of his voice might tear you apart — but it doesn’t. You hold firm, despite the sound of your heartbeat roaring loud in your ears. It hurts, but it’s a dull ache instead of the sharp pain you’re used to. Seeing him sends a wave of relief through you instead of the dread you’d been half expecting, and you can feel the tension in your chest ease just the slightest bit. You can do this. Because it’s Vernon, and because life sucks without him.

You stare at each other for a few moments, and then he raises an eyebrow as if in a challenge, and you can’t help it. You break into a smile, and then you’re surging across the middle console and pulling him in for a hug. He laughs against your neck, and you know he’s just as happy to see you as you are him. The hand that was on the steering wheel finds your back, and your eyes fall shut.

“I missed you,” you say honestly, and you swear you can feel him exhale.

“Yeah,” he says before squeezing you tight, once. Brief, but enough for you to feel it, to understand, as he adds, “Me too.”

You pull back. Vernon puts the car into drive as you click on your seatbelt, and you fall into an easy, comfortable silence as he begins to make the familiar way back to his place.

When you texted him a few weeks ago, your hands trembling but determined, you hadn’t been sure what he would say. You hadn’t spoken in months.

For a while, you didn’t think you’d ever get over the rejection of last August, but a year away at university had done you good. It was full of distractions; you’d even had a couple of flings here and there. Vernon had texted you a bit at first, because you’d insisted that you were fine, but it had hurt to see his name show up on your phone. You had responded slowly, using any and all excuses to explain away the days that passed without you answering. You’d texted sparingly throughout the year on birthdays and holidays, and you knew he watched your stories the same as you watched his. You knew he knew the real reason why you were distant, but he never pushed. After all, he’d broken your heart, not the other way around.

Eventually, you had recognized that the distance was helping, and conversations between the two of you had become even more sparse after that. It had been hard — one of the hardest things you’d ever had to do — but you’d needed the space. So when his response to your text a few weeks ago had come quickly and enthusiastically, a Vernon-esque “bet :)” in response to your ask to hang out when you got home for the summer, you had been so relieved that you’d cried. Though you’d known he would never hate you, deep down a small part of you had still been afraid that you’d pushed him away for good.

The silence in the car tonight is comfortable, and you’re grateful. Vernon is tapping in tune to the beat on his steering wheel while you hum along in quiet contentment. After a couple of songs that you recognize play in a row, you turn to him in surprise.

“Is this the playlist I made you for your birthday two years ago?”

Vernon simply nods, eyes on the road as he makes a turn. “Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Vernon laughs. “Am I not supposed to listen to it?”

“Just surprised me, that’s all.”

”Okay, weirdo.”

The conversation moves on, but you don’t forget about it, even as you pull up to Vernon’s childhood home.

It looks almost exactly the same. You follow Vernon up the steps and to the front door, through the foyer and to the kitchen where you used to help his mom prep for their summer barbecues. He tosses you a bottle of water wordlessly before he’s slipping out the back door without warning, and you trail behind without question. His peculiar mannerisms don’t faze you, even after all this time apart, and that realization brings you a warm sort of comfort.

As soon as you step through the back door and into the warmth of the summer evening air again, you can’t help but smile. This, too, remains unchanged. The heated pool with its blue and white tiled sides; the metal table with its umbrella, a single tip bent out of shape so that it sags just in one small part; the overgrown trees whose leaves spill over the sides of the wooden fence. You’d spent many days and nights here, too.

You join Vernon, who’s already sitting on the edge of the pool with his legs hung over the sides.

“Damn, you didn’t waste any time, Sol.” The nickname falls out before you can stop it. It’s been so long since you’ve been around him, since you’ve even let yourself think of him as anything other than Vernon. If he notices your slip up, he doesn’t say.

”It’s hot out,” he points out, simple. “Why wait?” He takes a swig of his own water bottle, and you’re smiling again.

You join him without further comment.

Quiet settles between the two of you again, which would be fine if you weren't suddenly itching to ask him a million questions. How was his first year of university? How are his parents, his sister? Is his favourite food still carne asada tacos? Does he still only own t-shirts and jeans? Is he… seeing anyone?

Is he happy?

Had he really missed you?

“I’ll be right back.”

You’re surprised when Vernon gets up, barely missing you with the water he sends splashing as he does. But you don’t question him, your legs swinging back and forth in the water. You watch the underwater lights distort in the ripples you make, distracted by the simple movements and your racing thoughts. When you hear him re-emerge, you turn to find him with two towels in hand. Your eyes widen and you frantically shake your head.

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit, Vernon.” And I am not getting into that pool with you in just my underwear.

He pulls something out from under one of the towels, and you recognize it as one of his favourite band tees that he’s had for years. He raises his eyebrows at you, eyes twinkling in a teasing challenge, and you narrow your eyes at him. The smile on his face briefly sends you reeling back — back to before that night last summer when everything changed. Back to when he was just your best friend who liked to tease you for fun, who brought you your favourite ice cream every movie night, who took you to your high school graduation dance even though you knew he would have rathered gouge his eyes out with a spoon.

Back to when you were in love with him, but he didn’t know yet.

“Fine,” you say. “I’ll get in.”

He grins, and your chest does a little flip-flop. You forcefully ignore it as you take the shirt from his outstretched hand. He turns around to give you privacy, and you keep your eyes on his turned back as you remove everything except your underwear and his shirt. Though he’s grown up now and wears things that fit him better — you had noticed the bomber jacket in his backseat, and the t-shirt he’s wearing that fits him just right — he used to love things that were three sizes too big. The old, worn shirt just brushes your thighs, but you don’t have time to think anymore about it when he moves to pull his own shirt up and over his head.

You watch the muscles in his back contract, and you swallow. Don’t go down this road again, you tell yourself. It’s just going to hurt like hell.

If you’re honest with yourself, you’re starting to wonder if you’d ever really strayed from that path in the first place.

Because when he turns back to you with raised eyebrows and a smile, when he pulls you with him by the hand, it hits you with as much force as the cool water you jump into. And when you resurface and your eyes find him already looking back at you, his hair sticking up every which way and water dripping from his lashes down onto his cheeks, it hits you again.

That you don’t know if there will ever be anyone else for you but him.

You turn away from him, running your hands through your hair, trying desperately to keep your cool. You feel like you’re being punched in the stomach, like that sharp pain you’d felt since last August had never left. You thought you were ready to see him again, and you had been so, so wrong.

You can feel all those months of mending, of trying desperately to get over your feelings for him so you could have him back in your life — you can feel them as they slip away.

“I’m sorry,” was all he’d said that night, and your heart had shattered into a thousand pieces. You could tell through blurry eyes that he was hurting, too, because he loved you, you knew he did. Just not like that. He hadn’t said anything else, even though it looked like he wanted to, and you just didn’t understand. You thought for sure that he felt the same, because he’d kissed you back, because you knew him just as well as he knew you.

And it really felt like you’d healed. Just an hour ago, you’d even been excited to see him again.

You will yourself to breathe.

“Hey. I’m sorry I pulled you in with me.”

You don’t respond.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t answer as his voice breaks through your racing thoughts, your back still turned to him.

“…Y/N?”

He sounds concerned, like he cares. You know he does — know that he always has. And it hurts.

You can feel the water moving behind you when you still don’t respond. You can feel it as he takes a step or two closer, and you can almost imagine the look on his face as he tries to figure out what he did wrong. You feel like you’ve been burned when he reaches for you, when his hand tries to find your arm to turn you back to him. You can hear his inhale when you flinch away, your skin on fire where his fingertips just barely brushed your shoulder.

He tries again, because he loves you. Because he loves you — but not like that. “Talk to me?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you take a deep breath. You know you have to face him in order to get through this, to leave here in one piece even if it’s by pretending. You have to. You don’t want him to know, don’t want him to know that you’re still the reason you can’t be close to him, that you still love him, that you probably never stopped.

But when you turn to find him right there, find him so close, when you see that his eyes are full of worry, you can’t find a single word. He looks beautiful in the dim blue light of the pool, and it makes your heart ache.

“Y/N.” Your name is nothing but a whispered breath as he says it, his eyes locked so intently on your face that you suddenly feel warm all over despite the slight chill of the water. His gaze pierces through you, and you watch as it travels across your face, down to your lips, where it lingers.

You’re not sure you’re breathing, not sure what to do, not sure how to possibly move on from what feels impossible. Why isn’t he moving away? Why is he so close?

“I…” He tries again, eyes still on your mouth. Then he snaps his gaze up again. “I’m… I’m really happy that you’re here.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “You…”

“I missed you.” He looks hesitant before he says it, but he says it anyway, and your breath catches when you hear the tender, soft tone of his voice. It makes your head spin. “I really missed you. So much.”

You take a steadying breath at the same time as he does. The air between you feels charged — charged with something you won’t let yourself name.

Then he’s stepping even closer, a hand lifting to your face, and you freeze. You can’t move — you don’t even know if you want to. You’re confused, but you don’t move, and all you can manage to say is a single word.

“Sol,” you caution.

He takes a deep breath in, and then he says, “You haven’t thought about it?”

His hand is gentle on your jaw, thumb tracing lines back and forth across your skin. You feel goosebumps everywhere he touches. Your eyes search his, trying desperately to understand. You hate that you’re finding him extra hard to read right now — now, when you need to know what he’s thinking more than ever.

“Thought about what?” Your voice is small, and you hate it.

Vernon’s other hand lifts to your face, tilting your chin up towards him. His eyes search yours as he speaks, his voice low. “Last summer.” He pauses. “Us.”

The words hit you like a truck.

“What the fuck, Vernon?” You finally manage. You can feel the tears begin to well up, and you pull his hands away from your face. “Don’t you dare.”

He takes a step back, eyebrows knit together. “I’m sorry.”

You stare at him incredulously, frustration bubbling to the surface the longer you look at him. “Don’t be an asshole.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and all you can hear is the water gently hitting against the side of the pool. You frustratedly tuck a lock of wet hair behind your ear before crossing your arms.

“Why would you say that to me?” You’re hurt, and he knows it.

“I just…” He searches your face for a moment before he breathes out, “I think about you all the time. I miss you all the time.”

You can feel angry tears pricking at the back of your eyelids. You blink them away rapidly as you spit out, “You were the one who kissed me back and then pretended like nothing happened. You—“

“Would you have gone?”

You blink when he interrupts you, and it takes you a second to try and understand what he means. You wrack your brain, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about. “What?”

“Would you have gone to school there if I had told you I loved you last summer? Or would you have chosen somewhere closer?”

You’re absolutely dumbfounded as you process what he’s saying. You’re blinking away furious tears, mouth agape as you try and settle on something to say. “Was that your fucking choice to make?”

“I was trying to make it easier for you. It’s your dream school.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “What the fuck? I was in love with you, Vernon!”

“I was in love with you, too!”

The silence is deafening. You stare at him with wide eyes, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. You wonder if he can hear it. Then you squeeze your eyes shut, your hands lifting to cover your face as you try and regain your composure.

“I thought I was doing what was best for the both of us.”

His voice is quiet. You know he’s telling the truth. It hurts, but you know he’s being honest. That he thought he was doing the right thing.

“I thought that maybe the distance would make it a little easier,” he continues, voice carrying softly across the water in the space between you. “But it didn’t. Not for me.”

Moments pass, and you realize you’re shaking. Your hands stay covering your face as you take deep breaths, waiting until you’ve recovered enough to say, voice low, “I have never been more upset with you than I am right now.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he responds. “I know, and I deserve it. I’m sorry that I made that decision for you. I really am. I shouldn’t have done it.”

You nod after a minute, after you force yourself to breathe, letting your hands fall from your face. You can’t look at him, though, eyes instead focusing on your fingers that begin tracing patterns in the water at your sides. “Okay.”

“And I'm…” He trails off, and you wait. He takes so long that you look up to find him looking at you, waiting, and something in his eyes has you stuck there. He searches your face, and then he says, “I’m sorry that I made you think that I don’t love you back. Because of course I do.”

Your heartbeat has begun to roar in your ears again. “You do, present tense?”

Vernon freezes, eyes wide. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally settles on something. “Shit. Sorry, fuck, I—”

“Is that a yes?”

He inhales sharply. “Yeah — yes. I don’t expect anything from you, though. I promise I’m not —“

“You are such a fucking idiot.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I know. I know. I’m—”

“I spent so long figuring out how to put myself back together,” you say softly, and he cuts himself off. You can feel tears pricking at the back of your eyelids again. “Without you.”

Vernon’s shoulders sag, and he nods, looking down at the water. “Yeah.”

Your breath catches before you steady yourself and you say, “It’s literally always been you, Sol. Even though you’re a fucking idiot.”

His eyes are wide when they shoot back up to meet yours. You inhale a shaky breath, watching as he waits, unsure.

“It’s still you,” you add quietly, and you’re certain that you hear his breath catch.

“I’m in love with you,” he breathes out before you can say anything else. “I love you back. I did then, and I do now, and I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. I wanted to, I swear. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m…” He trails off, a hand running through his hair as he finishes, “I’m just really fucking sorry.”

“I believe you,” you say softly, because you do. You believe him, and you’re not sure your heart has ever beat this fast. Because he loves you — the same way that you love him. Vernon looks down at the water again, and you think you can see the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks as he thinks. “Sol?”

Your soft voice makes him look up. He still looks uncertain, like he doesn’t know what he’s allowed to do.

“Come here?”

You’re in his arms so fast you can barely process. He’s hugging you so tight against his chest that you can feel the warmth of him through your wet t-shirt, and it sends shivers down your spine. He doesn’t say anything else as he holds you, and neither do you. Your arms are wound around his neck, and you can feel the way his nose nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder.

You pull back, your hands finding either side of his face. He blinks, slowly, taking in every part of you in the same way that you’re taking in every part of him. You brush away a stray drop of water that falls from his hair down onto his forehead, and you’re certain you’re dreaming. He’s so beautiful, a perfect juxtaposition of sharp edges and soft lines, so… Vernon.

And he’s gazing at you like you hung all the stars in the sky — because he loves you, in the same way that you love him.

For the second time in a year, you kiss him first.

A/N: thank you so much to everyone for all the love on the other fics so far :) Here’s the sixth of our Thirteen Valentines in honour of Bononie’s birthday. Please please please reblog if you can to spread the word, and check out the Thirteen Valentines masterlist! If you want to be added to the taglist, send me a message :) Your kind comments and reblogs don’t go unnoticed, I promise.

Taglist: @waldau @wqnwoos @tae-bebe @gyuminusone@savventeen @eoieopda @minisugakoobies @wheeboo @lvlystars@darkypooo @christinewithluv @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @bella-l (Strikethrough means it wouldn’t let me tag you, sorry!)

#Vernon x reader #vernon angst #vernon fluff #vernon x you #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #vernon imagine #seventeen imagine #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #thirteenvalentines #my writing #chsfic

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satorusugurugurl · 10 months ago

Note

Never got a request for them you say…

I know i request way to fucking much but I can’t help myself I love ur writing🫶

Butttt hear me out adult trio gojo geto shoko with fem reader. I’m thinking professional reader, who has an exhausting but rewarding job comes home exhausted, but her 3 lovers cheer her right up <333

Could be fluff or smut, I just need them in my life Fr

-🍭

Welcome Home!

Character: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Shoko Ieiri, FAB!Reader

Word Count; 2,853

Warning: overworked reader, nipple play, oral sex, praising, making out, achohol consumption, Geto in a fucking apron has me FERAL

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I had lots of fun with this one 🥵🌶 Spicy loved it 1000000/10 would recommend.

Everything hurt, from your feet to your back, as you exited your car, the garage shutting behind you. You had been gone for twelve hours, leaving at six and getting home when you'd left this morning. But you couldn't complain. Your business had taken off, and as CEO, you had responsibilities to take care of, which tended to keep you away from home longer than you'd like, but the paycheck was worth it.

You had started your own candle company in college. Book tropes, characters, and television series inspired the candles you made. Your shop had been small, and you were content with that. Until your partners suggested advertising on social media, reaching out to authors, broadening your horizons. You hadn't expected much, maybe a couple of dozen more orders, a few rejection letters from said authors. What you hadn't been expecting was for your products to go viral, and several authors jumped at the opportunity to commission you for custom character candles.

Your tiny little shop became a big-time shop so fast it had your head spinning. You shipped orders worldwide, made custom customer orders, and were featured on several podcasts. Your company was close to being a multimillion-dollar company with several locations. While exciting, and you didn't need to worry about money, it was exhausting. Long hours, dozens of meetings, and business trips were your new norm; it came with the title CEO. You loved your job! There was, however, one downside.

You missed the fuck out of your partners.

With your position, you could take care of the house payment and utilities. Allowing your partners to do whatever they want without worry. Shoko was studying to become a surgeon, Geto was working on a novel, and Satoru was your biggest investor; seeing as he was from a wealthy family, he could do what he wanted. And what he wanted was to help your company grow. Things were perfect; it justified you working so hard all the time. Some days were more exhausting than others, but it was also gratifying. Your partners could pursue their dreams, and as long as they were happy, so were you.

”I’m home.” You announced mid-yawn, removing your heels and setting them to the side. You ventured into the living room. The condo was clean and tidy, as per usual, thanks to your amazing partners. They took such good care of the house when you were gone.

“Welcome home.” Suguru greeted you from the kitchen. Both the mouth-watering aroma of prepared food and the sexy man stopped you in your tracks. “Thank you for all of your hard work today, Princess.” He wore gray sweatpants, his hair pulled into his signature half up half down style.

The best part of his whole outfit was the apron. Good god, it was illegal! The black apron went around his neck and tied firmly around his waist. It read, ‘My meat is 100% Going In Your Mouth’. It was a gag gift, one you’d need to thank Satoru for purchasing. Suguru was wiping his damp hands on it as he made his way around the island, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.

You melted in his embrace, your arms snaking around him as he kissed the top of your head. “Thank you. It’s good to be back.” You sniffed at the air, happily groaning at the scent of food. “That smells absolutely amazing, Sugu!”

“You had a long day, so I made one of your favorites.” You followed him into the kitchen, staring at the four neatly prepared plates of perfectly prepared katsudon and fluffy white rice. ”I was finishing up the salad. It should be done in a few minutes.”

A warm body pressed against your back; the smell of clean linen and musk followed the body's movements behind you as Satoru rested his chin on your shoulder. “I hope so, I’m starving.” The whiny tone that resonated from Satoru had Suguru rolling his eyes at his antics as he chopped up lettuce. “But not as hungry as you probably are. You busted your ass today, as usual.” Soft lips peppered your cheek with kisses.

“It was a very long day.” You reached forward, grabbing a slice of cucumber off the cutting board and popping it in your mouth. “But it’s well worth it.”

“Long day; I guess this calls for some sake,” Shoko added, handing you a glass of chilled peach sake.

You took a long sip, humming at the sweet taste that danced over your tastebuds. “Shoko, what would I do without you?” Your exhausted-looking girlfriend took a long sip of her drink before pressing a kiss against your lips.

”You would be stuck with these two idiots.”

“Hey!”

Satoru pouted, while Suguru just shook his head with an unbothered chuckle. The carefree atmosphere and warm aura had you relaxing, the tension leaving your shoulders as the four of you sat down for dinner. While you ate and conversed with them, your partners looked you over while you weren’t paying them attention. Suguru took note of the dark circles under your eyes before looking at Satoru from his peripheral vision. He had noticed the circles along with how your skin appeared paler tonight. Dark and blue-hued eyes focused on Shoko. Her dark brown eyes examined you as she would a patient.

The three of them reached the same conclusion: you were exhausted, burning the candle at both ends. They knew very well how seriously you took your job; your work ethic was nothing to be sneezed at. No matter how sick or tired you were, you constantly pushed yourself to do more, to provide for them. Your motivation was fueled by positive forces, and there was nothing wrong with being driven by a goal.

However, the moment your goal began to run you down, that’s when you had a problem. You needed a break—some time to rest properly and recuperate. The three of them set their plan into action just with mirror eye contact.

“All right,” Suguru stood, collecting the dishes off the table, “Satoru and I will clean the kitchen. Shoko, why don't you take our sweet girl and get her relaxed?”

“Oh, don't be silly, I can help.” You followed them, collecting dishes that were snatched away from you by Satoru. “Hey, I can help!”

Shoko gently grabbed your hand, her slender, delicate fingers interlacing with yours, pulling you towards the bedroom. “It’s not a matter of you being able to help or not; we all know you’re perfectly capable of that.” Shoko gently squeezed your hand before pushing you back against the bed. “It’s more of a matter that we want to take care of you.” Those same soft fingers that had gently held your hand began working at the buttons of your blouse. “So please don’t fight us on this. You’re exhausted.” Your chest moved up and down, your steady breathing quickening as she exposed your torso. “Just lay back and relax.”

A breathless sigh escaped you as her soft hands groped your breasts in both hands, squeezing the soft mounds. “A-alright, then, let me touch you too.” You reached for her breasts, her nipples erect, peeking through the thin fabric of her white t-shirt. Your fingers just grazed over the fabric, straining against her hardening buds, when she pulled back, out of your reach. “Shoko, why are—” Her lips met yours in a soft, delicate kiss, one that emanated her true intent and desires.

”Have you been hanging out with those two morons too much?” Soft fingers, unclasp the hook in the front of your bra. “What part of ‘lay back and relax’ did you not understand?” Warm caresses of your girlfriend's skin felt like a burning fire over your tingling nipples.

“But I hate not making you feel good.”

“Baby,” Shoko chastised, leaning down, gently flicking her tongue over one of your nipples. “You make our lives comfortable; you do so much for us.” She kitten-licked one of the buds, nearly sending you off the bed. “There will be plenty of other times for you to join in. For tonight, relax and enjoy being a pillow princess.”

You were hesitant to listen to her, but as you relaxed against the bed, you realized just how tired you were. Laying back, your head cradled by the pillow alleviated some of the throbbing pain in your upper back. Plus, you weren’t often told to be a pillow princess, to lose yourself in the pleasure. This might be precisely what you needed tonight.

Without any further protest, you melted against the bed, your hand gently running through Shoko’s long, silky hair as she suckled and nibbled at your nipples while her hands massaged your breasts. I felt so good to be touched so gently. It was a drastic contrast to the boys, who roughly groped and nipped at your sensitive breasts. No matter how many times they saw your breasts, they were still the teenage boys you met nearly a decade ago. Breasts were, and always would be, some of their favorite things. Shoko, on the other hand, knew what felt good, how to get those little moans and whimpers to escape your mouth. If the woman was given the chance, she very well could make you orgasm from your nipples alone one day.

”Oooh my god, S-Sho—” That day was today, “Shoko, f-feels so good, really good.” Your nails gently grazed her scalp before you tugged on the strands of her hair. “H-Holy shit.”

Your girlfriend giggled, sending vibrations to stimulate your already sensitive nipples. “Yeah? Feel good—“ her pink tongue swirling tantalizingly slow around them, “so good you’re going to cum like this?” A tiny whimper was the only response she received. “Such a good girl for me. Go ahead, baby.” She groped both your breasts, pushing them together, allowing her to suck and nibble at both your nipples at once. “Cum for me.”

Shoko pressed her knee against your clothed center, and that was all you needed to cum. “N-Nggh! C-cumming~ S-Sho! Fuck!” you withered and squirmed, your hips rocking g against her knee, extending the sweet pleasurable waves that rocked you to your core.

She was watching you get off from just the brush of her knee, and her mouth on your tits had Shoko giggling softly. Your face was twisted with pleasure, slowly shifting into a more lax face as you finished riding the waves. Once your heavy breathing turned into soft, content sighs, she pulled back with a grin. She’d like to see the boys try and get you off solely from your tits. Because she knew neither had the patience or skills for that.

“Good job, Shoko.” Your eyes fluttered open as the bed shifted. “Got her nice and relaxed for us.” Shoko sat back, watching as Suguru and Satoru crawled up the bed. “How are you feeling, sweetheart, better?” Satoru hummed as he unzipped your skirt, tugging it down.

“Mhmm, a lot better.” You lifted your ass off the bed. Allowing Suguru to tug your thigh-high stockings down. “Sho always takes good care of us.”

“Mmm,” larger hands forced your legs apart, “I can see that.” Suguru hummed, trailing a finger up and down over the wet spot on your panties. “She made you cum, and you did such a good job.” His fingers hooked under the lace hem and tugged them down, throwing them somewhere across the room.

Suguru’s fingers pulled your wet folds apart, admiring the slick coating of your lips and how your arousal seeped out of your tight entrance. His thumb pulled the hood over your clit back just enough, allowing him to rub sweet, gentle circles around the bundle of nerves. While he teased your clit Satoru nestled himself between your legs, kissing and nipping at your inner thighs up to your dripping sex.

“Mmm, I was wanting dessert.” His hot breath teased your twitching cunt. “Thanks for the meal, sweetheart.” His tongue dipped out, tracing teasing circles of your entrance. His wet tongue and Suguru’s thumb had you gasping, arching off the sheets. Your hips jolted forward, silently begging for more. “So fuckin’ needy~” Satoru growled into your pussy. “Normally, I’d make you beg, but you’ve been working so hard you deserve a reward.” His tongue dipped past your tight entrance, gently swirling it as he licked at your inner walls.

With Satoru’s tongue spearing you, working the muscle inside your pussy, Suguru takes the chance to lean down, kissing and sucking at your swollen nipples. “Fuck, you sound so pretty; make more sounds.” His teeth gently graze over the bud. The sudden sensation made your body jerk forward, here widening as his skilled mouth wrapped around your nipple, sucking on it hard.

“Suguru,” Shoko sits on your other side, “try swirling it gently~ like this.” A raspy sigh shakes through your entire body as Shoko demonstrates her technique on your other nipple. “This gets her going.”

“Oooh~ I see now.” The dark-haired man watched Shoko closely, nodding as he observed her momentum. “So I need to do—“ his eyes meet yours as he flattens his tongue, “—this?” His tongue matches Shoko’s face as pressure, sending tingles coursing straight to your pussy, where you clench around Satoru’s skillful tongue.

Blue eyes widen as feeling the gentle spasms of your cunt on his tongue. Your wetness seeped out, coating his tongue, mouth, and chin. “Mmmphmm~ yeah.” His voice is hoarse with unfiltered, pure need. “She fucking likes it~ her cunts hugging my tongue, keep it going.”

Hearing the filthy words, Satoru spoke motivated his best friend. Suguru kept his ministrations up, his eyes darting between Shoko and back to you, doing his best to keep up with her pace, mirroring her movements to the exact inch. In turn, Shoko’s hand dipped down, pressing gently on your lower abdomen.

“S-Shiiit!” You hissed, lifting your head an inch, watching as your three beautiful partners worshiped you. “Ooooh haaah!” You arched, squirmed, and twitched on Satoru’s tongue. Your partner's fingers, tongues, and lips moved faster as you screamed, one hand gripping the sheet as your other hand thrust into Satoru’s hair, tugging and pulling at the strands as you rocked against his face.

“Good girl~” Suguru growled against your nipple. “Goood fuckin’ girl~ cum all over Satoru’s face.”

Shoko nodded her head in agreement, her hand pressing harder against you. In doing so, she put pressure on the coil that was twisting and twisting inside you. Satoru groaned loudly inside of your pussy, feeling your walls twitch slightly around him; the tiny movements had his tongue lapping faster and harder, rubbing against your g-spot with every flick.

The combination of all three of their efforts made you scream and squirt. Coating Satoru’s tongue and face. Watching the stream of clear liquid coat, Satoru’s face had Suguru rubbing your clit faster. Extending your orgasm, making you squirt again again.

“Oooh, that’s it! Good fucking girl!” Suguru praised while Satoru glowered at you. Not in anger or disgust, but in feral fucking need. His mouth and tongue didn’t stop moving as he drank all of you in, working you over the dips and rises of the orgasm that nearly took your life. He only pulled away when you grimaced, shaking at the overstimulation of his mouth, and that only happened because you yanked him out of your pussy.

“Mmm~ such a good girl~” your slack mouth was suddenly being kissed by Shoko before Satoru crawled up, slotting his mouth against yours, allowing you to taste the sticky, tangy essence of your cum. “She was the best, wasn’t she, Satoru.”

The white-haired man pulled back, collecting the remaining traces of your cum with his pointer finger. “She’s the fucking best. No questions asked.” You lazily watched as he offered his finger to Suguru.

“Oooh, thank you.” Dark eyes trailed over you before he smirked, gently wrapping his hand around Satoru’s wrist and leading his finger into his open mouth. You choked on a breath as you watched Suguru bob his head up and down Satoru’s finger, ensuring all of your juices were clean. “Mhmm, so sweet. Shoko, have a taste.” Your girlfriend grinned slowly, leaning over your spent body, kissing Suguru with full tongue to get a taste of you. Their tongues swirled and massaged the other for what seemed like an eternity before they broke the kiss with a string of saliva and your cum connecting their tongues. “Isn’t she delicious?”

“She’s sweeter than the peach sake from dinner.”

With a gargled moan, your head fell back against the pillows as your lovers all leaned over to examine your face. Your pale skin from earlier was flushed a darker shade, your eyes were hazy and distant, and if this were an anime, they were sure you’d be spurting a nosebleed right about now. The trio exchanged knowing glances and gentle smiles. You did so much for them. The least they could do was give you a proper welcome home.

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s4wdvator · 7 months ago

Text

first time — LUCAS SCOTT

PAIRING: Lucas Scott x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You go to a party thanks to your friends, and end up having your first time with Lucas.

WORDS COUNT: 2.0k

WARNINGS: "y/n" used once, smutt, first time, drink commented, fluff, lucas being extremely cute, reader being best friends with Brooke and Peyton.

a/n: Okay, I'll admit that this was a bit bad, but this was my first time writing smutt in English and I don't know if it was good, I hope it pleased you ♡

English is not my first language, I'm sorry if I make mistakes in my writing!!

This fic will have sensitive and sexual content. MNDI!

It had been a while since you had become friends with Brooke and Peyton, which resulted in you being one of the most famous friendship trios at Tree Hill High School. Brooke being the most outgoing, of course, Brooke always got the guys, she was friends with almost everyone. Peyton was more reserved when it came to talking to people, she's introverted, likes rock music, you're Brooke, they're always at her house, whether it's to learn more about the music she buys, to paint her nails and gossip or to listen to Peyton vent about her how Nathan is being an asshole to her. Brooke always knows the whole school's gossip, so it turns out there's always something between you.

Almost a week ago, Lucas Scott — Nathan's half-brother from different mothers — managed to join the basketball team, literally that boy is being flirted with by girls.

Lucas was a boy who, before the basketball team, played with some friends at River Court Park. However, in your first game he wasn't as bad as you and the two girls expected. He started out VERY bad, that was obvious but he really exceeded your expectations.

You were definitely interested in Lucas, but as it turned out, so was Brooke so much so that she made her move to get naked in the backseat of Lucas' car, which made you slightly lose your hopes for him, if you had any. Brooke is beautiful and has a great body, what would be the chances of him choosing you?

Well, that's how something really interesting begins.

There was a party today, you were in Peyton's room changing in her bathroom, while Brooke and Peyton were talking about something. Brooke chose from the three clothing options you showed her a tight, dark blue dress that reached the end of her thighs. It definitely valued your body and then you carefully left the bathroom and claps and screams came from your friends.

"Definitely gorgeous" Brooke said smiling.

"If you don't give some kisses today, the boys are blind" Peyton said laughing while Brooke nodded, agreeing with her friend.

It didn't take long for the girls to get ready, Peyton was wearing a basic black dress and Brooke was wearing a pretty pink dress.

When I arrived at the party, it was full. Some people you knew, but some you hadn't even seen in your life. It was always like that at parties, unknown people would come. The party started out pretty boring for you, Peyton was with Nathan and Brooke with any boy who showed interest and she thought it was cute. You were just drinking whatever you found in the kitchen. Until the moment you heard a voice behind you.

“Hey” Lucas said to you.

"Hi, new boy" You smiled kindly at him and he genuinely smiled at you.

“Y/n, right?” He asked, sitting next to you on the bench outside the house.

"Yes" She replied simply while looking at him in surprise and with a slight curiosity because until then, Lucas Scott had never looked at you properly.

You and Lucas talked for about thirty minutes, you got to know a lot about him, what his life was like in relation to Nathan's family, his hatred for Dan, he talked about how much he admired his mother and in return, you talked about your problems at home which resulted in both of them saying "I'm sorry" at the same time and then bursting out laughing.

"How did you become...you know...popular?" He asked out of nowhere, making the girl next to him frown and he noticed and clarified "You know, when we were in eighth grade, I remember you, braces, quiet and not known to almost anyone."

"Ah, get it. I mean, I don't know, the next thing I know I was talking to Peyton at the beginning of the year and then Peyton introduced me to Brooke and Brooke kind of introduced me to the whole school" You replied with a shrug, and he nodded.

"Get it" Lucas smiled, the kind of smile that would make any girl melt, including you.

"But how about you? How are you doing? Y'know, now being the famous guy of tree hill" She asked back as she went back to drinking the drink from the glass.

"I can't say normal, but it's not going bad" He chuckled and looked at her "You look beautiful" he added, smiling smugly at her.

Quickly, she blushed nervously and laughed embarrassedly "Thank you" she smiled embarrassedly at him.

So, you started to stare at the night full of stars, as a way to escape from facing him, but he continued staring at you blatantly. It was silent for a few minutes until you decided to look at him and say something but he cuts you off with a kiss. His lips were glued to the sky, at first you didn't know how to react, but soon you began to return his kiss. You can feel Lucas's hand slowly go to your waist and caress gently making your entire body shivered with the sensation.

Little by little, his hands went to the hem of your dark blue dress, while he started kissing your neck, you stopped saying "Lucas...we are in public" She said in a embarrassed way.

"I'm sorry" he asked, stopping quickly and then he walked away and you straightened up and sighed at what had just happened.

"It's okay, I...kind of was liking but we're in public and it doesn't feel right" she smiled at him.

"Do you want to go somewhere else that isn't so public?" he asked after a while, making your eyes widen in surprise at the courage of the question and without you wanting to, you answered him — "Yeah, totally" — Now you were in a room in the party house and locked, of course.

Lucas began to kiss you slowly, while you reciprocated, his attention went to your legs, in which his hands slowly entered your dress and he started kissing your neck and collarbone while you enjoyed and caressed his blonde hair. For a few minutes, the room was silent until he gave her butt a light squeeze and she let out a moan and he chuckled. He carefully grabbed your thighs firmly and picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, his hands on your thighs and your arms around his neck. Lucas walked to the bed in the room and laid you down carefully while kissing your lips quickly and full of desire.

His hands held the hem of your dress and slowly went up and soon, with his help, you were just in your lingerie set and he gave you a smile "Pretty" he whispered to you.

Your hands went inside his shirt, caressing and lightly scratching his back while he kissed your neck and caressed your hips, playing with the hem of your panties, making you whimper slightly and he pulled away and took off his shirt, exposing his muscular chest — But nothing exaggerated — Little by little he started unbuttoning his jeans and soon changing into boxers, and then you stopped him before he got any closer.

"Lucas, I... never did that" You said and he looked at you for a few seconds and approached you, carefully placing himself between your legs and whispering in your ear — "It's okay" — You frowned and became calmer, “Really?”

"Yeah. Totally, but do you still want to do it?" he asked caressing your cheeks with his left hand.

"Yeah...I want it" She smiled while the silver chain around his neck hit her collarbone, causing you to feel butterflies in your stomach and he carefully went back to kissing her neck and gently caressing her stomach while her hands still caressed his blonde hair, while she enjoyed the feeling of his touches. Then, his hands slid to her back and carefully unhooked her bra and his hands carefully took off her bra, throwing it on some corner of the bed while his hands gently caressed her breasts.

She let out a light moan and he smiled, and carefully he sucked her nipples and on the other breast, he caressed her nipples. She writhed beneath him. After a few minutes, he stopped paying attention to her breasts and gently kissed her stomach until he reached the hem of her panties and he looked at her, as a way of asking permission and she just nodded, eagerly.

Lucas's hands carefully reached the strap of her panties, but before he took them off, he brought her face closer and placed a light kiss on the fabric, causing her to let out a moan. Then, he finally pulled down her panties and threw them anywhere, just like he did with her bra. He carefully placed kisses on her thighs, while he just heard her moans filling the room. Finally, Lucas carefully planted a few kisses on her clitoris, making her catch her breath at the new sensation.

"Lucas" she moaned his name as she began to feel his hot tongue licking her pussy, causing more and more moans, her hands held his blonde hair and sometimes gave it a few tugs, until the time Lucas felt her completely wet and carefully added a finger to her entrance, causing another moan from her.

The next time his finger entered her, he felt her entire walls tighten around his finger, while he continued to stimulate her clitoris with his tongue, sometimes giving it a few sucks. With a few more moves like that, she was almost there.

"Lucas...I-" she couldn't finish, as another moan came and she ended up pushing his face further, wanting more contact.

"I know" he replied, as he accelerated the movements with his fingers and tongue, and it didn't take long for her to cum on his finger. In which, he had no shame in putting it in his mouth just to feel your tasted.

She let out a relieved sigh and smiled at him, already slightly touched, he gave her a kiss, causing her to feel a slight taste of herself.

"I'm going to go carefully" He whispered in her ear with a smile, whilw she saw the large bulge in his boxers. He carefully kissed her lips and took off his boxers, he moved his hands to his own dick, relieving it slightly and he carefully adjusted himself on her legs, he carefully positioned the head of his dick at her entrance and faced her. and said "Ready?"

"Yes," She whispered, as she clutched at nothing, anxiously.

He carefully and slowly pushed his dick inside her, she just let out a few moans of pain as she was fully lubricated for him. He stayed inside her for a while, quietly, waiting for her to get used to his size and him being there inside her.

"Okay...you can move" She smiled decidedly, carefully, he started to move his hips slowly, while his hands were on her hips, picking up momentum. When her moans slowly turned into pleasure, he increased the speed of his movements. His hips slamming against yours, his balls hitting your ass, while the room was full of moans, sighs coming from Lucas and you, however, they could also hear the loud music from the party.

Lucas continued the movement, until the moment Abby let out something similar to a low scream but in a moan and he knew what was happening "Try to hold it" he asked, wanting them to reach climax together, so she started to squeeze his dick of him inside her, causing shivers and grunts from him.

"Continue" he groaned in a hoarse voice. You obeyed and continued squeezing him "Okay...you can let go" he whispered in your ear and then, you both came at the same time.

Lucas, when he felt the sensation of pleasure invade his body, he laid his face in the crook of your neck and stayed there for a few minutes, until he carefully took his dick out of you and lay down on the bed next to you, pulling you into his arms.

"You did well...for a first time" he whispered and you let out a laugh. After a few minutes of rest, the two of you had to get dressed again and go back to the party, however, the end of the night ended with Lucas at your house.

#one tree hill #lucas scott #lucas scott x reader #lucas scott smut #⋆˚࿔ abby new fic 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

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