#i have not slept properly in almost two weeks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itneverendshere · 2 months ago

Text

wake up in the mornin' and to your smell - r.c (+18)

pairing: kelce's!sister x hockey!rafe warnings: SMUT. request: Can we pls get more parts for brothers bsf!rafe where it’s the morning after ans they did it GOOD and she’s all shy n stuff bcz duh she might act all tough but w him it’s different and he’s enjoying it sm

It was the first time you woke up with him.

The first thing you noticed wasn’t the soreness between your thighs or the warmth of the sheets twisted around your torso.

Not even the ache between your hips, which was almost overshadowed by the memory of how it got there. Just the quiet movement of his chest beside you, the peaceful rhythm of Rafe Cameron sleeping soundly in your bed.

You should’ve slipped out, wrapped yourself in the hoodie you left draped over your desk chair, and padded to the bathroom before he stirred. Maybe taken a second to fix your hair—because, of course, you’d passed out without twisting your hair up, without so much as reaching for your bonnet.

But instead, you stayed in place, blinking up at the ceiling, hoping it would offer some kind of answer as to what you’re supposed to do next.

Because, technically, this wasn’t new.

The sneaking around, it had been happening for weeks, months, maybe. You’d had sex everywhere except a bed. His car, your car, the locker room after practice, the laundry room at a party, once against a tree at some bonfire neither of them even remembers the reason for.

But never, never in a bed, never in your dorms, never somewhere where you had to face the aftermath. Usually, once you were done, you went back to class, or to a party, or Rafe went back to practice.

No lingering.

The first time you “slept” with him, the bench had been hard against your back, his hands bruising against your skin, the faint sound of his teammates approaching outside the door making the whole thing feel forbidden.You’d been half-dressed, your skirt rucked up, and he’d dropped his towel on the floor.

But this—waking up next to him, in sheets that still smell like him, watching the curve of his mouth as he breathed deeply in his sleep—this was new. And you didn’t know what to do with it.

You shifted slightly, meaning to turn away, and get some distance between yourself and his overheating body, but the movement made him stir.

You winced as his arm tightened around your waist instinctively, tugging you back against his chest. “Mmm, don’t do that,” his lips brushed against your shoulder.

“Do what?” you whispered back.

His palm pressed against your hip, thumb stroking over your skin in a slow ticklish pattern. “Move away from me like you’re tryna escape.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes even as your heart pounded like you were twelve all over again. “I’m not trying to escape.”

“Good,” he murmured, lips pressing softly against your shoulder again before he nuzzled into the crook of your neck like it was his second nature.

Rafe was acting like you two woke up like this all the time as if this wasn’t something you were going to overthink the second you got out of bed.

That was the thing about him, he’d always been good at making you feel like you didn’t have to think so much.

Always knew how to tease you out of your head, and used it against you every chance he got.

Like when his hand skimmed lower, fingers grazing beneath the curve of your waist. “How are you so pretty in the morning?”

You blinked at him. Then blinked again.

“Shut the hell up.”

Rafe laughed, unbothered, he knew how much you hated that kind of shit. Which, of course, he did. This was Rafe, and he loved saying things he knew would make you flustered.

“I’m serious. Look at you.”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “My hair looks crazy.”

“So?” He didn’t agree or pretend to entertain the idea.

“So?” you scoffed, shifting to finally turn and face him properly. “I look like I got…”

“Fucked?” Rafe grinned wider. “Yeah, ‘cause I did that.”

Your jaw dropped.

“You sore?” he asked teasing, his voice dipping in that lazy amusement that always made you want to smack him and kiss him at the same time.

Sore was an understatement; it was all his fault.

“I can’t stand you,” you muttered childishly, nudging your elbow back against his ribs, but he just laughed.

All you wanted was to groan at how much you loved the sound.

As if he wasn’t already too much—too pretty, too talented, he just had to be the best you’d ever had. He knew what he was doing and dared to be hung like that too. God had favorites, and clearly, you were one of them.

“That’s a yes,” he drawled, sounding too pleased with himself.

You let out an exasperated sigh, fighting against the warmth creeping up your back. “You’re so fuckin’ annoying.”

“And yet, here I am,” he pointed out, smug as ever, and when you don’t have a comeback fast enough for the first time in your life, he chuckled again.

“Unfortunately,” you sighed, burying your face in your pillow to hide the involuntary grin taking over your expression.

“Yeah?” His hand moved again, fingers slipping beneath the covers to pinch at your thigh, making you jolt slightly. “That why you were moanin’ my name last night?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh right, that was screamin’.”

You groaned, reaching back to swat at him blindly, but he just laughed again, catching your wrist before you could do any real damage.

Rafe always made it impossible. You huffed against the pillow, stubbornly avoiding his gaze even as he tugged at your wrist, pulling you back into him with that ridiculous grin you hated to love.

“Shut up,” you muttered, voice muffled against the fabric.

He pressed a third kiss to your shoulder, a little less teasing, and you hated how much you wanted to turn and kiss him back.��

“A little higher pitched, but you’re almost there.”

“Get out.”

His hand brushed up your thigh, his palm rough against your skin. “But I’m so comfortable here.”

“That makes one of us.”

Rafe just scoffed, his mouth trailing lazily up your neck until his nose nudged behind your ear. “Yeah? You debatin’ it right now?”

You hated the way he sounded, all amused like he already knew the answer. Mostly because he did. You sucked in a breath, willing your body to behave, but it was useless when his fingers kept moving, grazing over your hip in a way that made you want to melt.

You exhaled sharply, finally turning your head to glare at him. It didn’t have the effect you wanted. He was looking at you like that, all sleepy-eyed, hair sticking up at odd angles, as if he belonged in your bed.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Your fingers twitched against the sheets, tempted to reach up, run through his hair. But that wasn’t part of the deal. There were rules to this. No overthinking.

Rafe’s thumb skimmed up your ribs, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. His eyes flickered over your face. Then, his lips curled into that shit-eating grin that made you want to strangle him.

“Didn’t know you could bend like that.”

Nevermind, you were going to knock him out with a hockey stick.

“Rafe.”

He just grinned wider, “How come you never told me you had that in you?"

You shoved at his chest. “Go back to sleep.”

“What? Just sayin'. Damn. You been hidin' that from me?” His fingers slid lazily up your arm.“If I had known you were that flexible, I woulda put you in a headlock weeks ago.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You like it enough,” he shot back, smirking “You just mad ‘cause now I know you can do all that, and I’m gonna be expectin’ it every time.”

You smacked his arm, but that only made him chuckle, burying his face in your neck as his teeth scraped playfully over your skin.

“You’re so annoying,” you repeated the insult, trying to scoot away, but he pulled you back in, his arm locking around your waist.

“Yeah?” He kissed the corner of your jaw. “That why you were beggin’yesterday?”

You scoffed, horrified, but he was already laughing, ducking out of the way before you could slap him again, “If anyone was begging, it was you.”

His eyes lit up as he looked down at you. “Shit, you got me there. Matter of fact... might beg now too.”

“I have class in thirty,” you reminded him.

He pouted, brows furrowing like a kicked puppy. “I just need ten minutes.”

“No.”

His lips brushed against yours, voice dropping into that dangerous, coaxing drawl. “Five?”

“Rafe.”

He was already nudging your thighs apart with his, hard as rock, sliding in between—not putting in, just coating himself in your arousal and rocking a little back and forth, luring you in. Both of you moaned, loud and shameless, like sluts, and you would’ve been embarrassed if he didn’t sound just as needy as you felt.

Your brain turned to mush the second you felt him.

“Rafe,” you warned again, but it was weak.

He groaned against your neck. “Two?”

He didn't wait for an answer—he never did. Just kept teasing, gliding his cock through your slick folds, the weight of him pressing and sliding just enough to make you squirm.

"C’mon, lemme make you feel good before class. Promise I’ll be quick."

Liar.

Rafe’s fingers dug into your hip, holding you in place while he moved, then, he hiked your leg up, throwing it over his hip like he had all the time in the world, spreading you wider so he could slide even messier, wetter, the thick head of him catching at your clit in a way that made your stomach drop to the bottom of the ocean.

You shuddered, nails digging into his bulky forearm. "You're such a fucking—"

"Yeah?" He cut you off with a lazy grin, pressing harder this time, drawing out the friction just to watch your face twist. "Finish that sentence."

You couldn't.

“Not fair,” you murmured against his mouth, as he rolled his hips. His other hand was already trailing up, palm greedy as he squeezed a handful of your tit, thumb brushing over your nipple just to watch it pebble up. You arched into his touch, biting back a moan as he saw right through it.

He always did.

"That's what I thought," Rafe hummed, smug, dipping his head to bite at your jaw. His grip tightened, keeping you right where he wanted you, even if he knew you wouldn’t try to move away now. He nudged forward again, getting himself soaked. "So fuckin’ wet for me and I haven’t even put it in yet."

It was humiliating how easily he could wreck you, turn you into a desperate, panting mess with nothing but his cock sliding over you and that voice dripping in amusement.

He knew it, too. The smirk was still plastered on his face when he reached up, cradling your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Look at you," he murmured, lips hovering over yours, close enough to steal your breath but refusing to kiss you.

You swallowed hard, but before you could bite back, he crashed his mouth against yours, all tongue, swallowing your moan as he rutted against you, grinding dirty, making sure you felt every inch of him.

Then he pulled back, enough to pant against your lips, his forehead pressing against yours as he grinned. "Still got that class in thirty?"

You shifted, meaning to push him away, to sit up—anything that wasn’t this. But the way you arched, the way your hips tilted just right—

“Oh, shit—”

He slipped inside, easy, smooth, like your body was made for him, exactly where he was meant to be. You both froze, inhaling sharply at the sudden stretch, the obscene wetness letting him sink all the way in, with no resistance.

Rafe swore under his breath, hands gripping your hips, physically restraining himself, if he so much as twitched, it’d be over.

“The way you just—fuck.”

Your nails dug into his biceps, body pulsing around him, stomach twisting at the way he sounded, completely blindsided. He let out a shuddering breath, swallowing hard.

“You’re fuckin’ unreal.”

Your lips curled. “Might be.”

Rafe exhaled sharply, then laughed, hoarsely. “Dream girl.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

He didn’t say things like that. He flirted a shit ton, he teased, he riled you up until you were too frustrated to do anything but fall into him, but he didn’t say things that stuck. You’d overthink about it later, the words already buried deep into your brain like a splinter.

You whimpered into his mouth, fingers flying to his hair, twisting, nails scraping against his scalp, and he groaned.

You felt everything.

Lazy, filthy, perfect.

His lips found your jaw, then your throat, hands slipping up to cup your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples as he rocked into you again. He had you right where he wanted you, and he fucking knew it. Rafe moved his hips a little faster, testing, and you both gasped at the way you clenched down around him.

He groaned, rough against your throat. "You gotta stop doin' that."

You fluttered around him on purpose.

He cursed, pulling back just enough to thrust shallowly, teasing himself through your hole. Your nails raked down his back, and he fucking shuddered, breath hot against your jaw.

His hand trailed up your side, skimming over your ribs before wrapping around your throat—not squeezing, only reminding you that he had you, that you let him have you.

"You keep clenchin' up like that, I'm gonna think you don’t really wanna go to class." His thumb brushed your pulse, feeling how it skipped beneath his touch.

You swallowed hard, heat curling in your stomach. "I don’t."

"Fuckin' knew it."

His other hand slipped under your thigh, gripping hard as he tilted your hips up, changing the angle until you chocked on your own breath, making sure you felt the thick, heady sweep of him, filling you up in a way that made your toes curl, your head falling back against the pillow.

"Right there?" Rafe teased, breathless.

You nodded, barely able to do anything but take it. "Rafe—"

"Fuck," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "You feel so good. So warm."

He hummed, a soft, knowing sound, skimming his lips along your jawline, open-mouthed kisses, drawn-out, until his teeth scraped over your pulse.

“More," you pleaded, voice soft, almost shy. "Kiss me."

His lips parted, but instead, he exhaled sharply.

"You ask so sweet," his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth. "How’m I supposed to say no to that?"

He rocked into you again, lazy and deep, kissing you like he had nowhere else to be, every inch of him pressed against you, surrounding you, smothering you in the best way. His fingers slipped between yours, tangling your hands together over your head.

You shivered. It was too much—the way he sounded, the way he touched you, the way he was looking at you. He your shoulder, biting down gently, sucking another mark into your skin.

"You’re gonna be late," he murmured, amused.

You let out a breathless laugh, tilting your head back, giving him more room. "Don’t care."

"Yeah?" He nudged his nose against your cheek, "That why you’re fuckin' dripping all over my cock?"

Rafe fucking ruined you.

There was no other way to put it.

You weren’t thinking, weren’t even capable of forming a single coherent thought, just a mess beneath him—babbling, body pliant as he rocked into you. You were taking every inch, stretched around him perfectly, your cunt gripping him like you never wanted to let go. And at this point, you didn’t.

“Ohhh, fuck,” you gasped, nails scraping over his broad shoulders. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

Rafe watched you with blown, lazy eyes. “That all you got for me?”

He dragged himself out unhurriedly, just to push back in deeper, and your back arched, head spinning at the obscene wet sounds between your bodies, at the way you could feel every ridge, every thick vein.

“Rafe,” you whined, voice breaking. Your brain was gone, absolutely fucking fried, your mouth running on autopilot. “S’too much—feels so—”

“Yeah?”

You nodded weakly, breath hitching as he tilted his hips, hitting that devastating spot inside you that made your thighs shake. Rafe swore under his breath, his grip bruising as he pushed your knee up to your chest, forcing himself even deeper.

“That why you’re all quiet, huh?”

You let out a broken moan, fingers digging into his biceps. “Can’t think—fuck, can’t think when you fuck me like this.”

And fuck—fuck—you’d be embarrassed if every time he sank in, his pelvis wasn’t pressed flush against your clit, pushing against the swollen little bud right, sending shocks of pleasure straight through your body. He pushed his hips deeper, grinding against you just to watch your mouth drop open.

“That right?” he cooed, “More?”

“Yes,” you huffed, so brainless, completely under his spell. “Yes, yes, just—just wanna, please—”

“Jesus Christ,” Rafe choked out, his rhythm stuttering. “You tryin’ to make me come?”

You’d never begged before, never once—not with anyone else. Sex had always been good, sure. You liked it, and enjoyed it, but you’d never been desperate for it.

Until him.

You let out the filthiest whimper, hands fisting the sheets, breath stuttering as your hips jerked up, chasing that friction, that perfect, devastating pressure. He moaned at the way you writhed against him, at the way your cunt clenched around him, pulsing, sucking him in like you never wanted him to leave.

His head dropped into your shoulder, gripping your hips tight to keep you still as he slammed into you again, making sure to press down, his pubic bone tickling against your clit in slow, filthy circles. You cried out, nails biting into his back, desperate, mindless, your hips lifting to meet every taunting thrust.

This wasn’t fucking, it was something else entirely.

“Say it again.”

Your brows furrowed. “Say what?”

He licked your lips, smirking against your skin. “Say please.”

Heat flushed through you, an embarrassing, all-consuming need curling in your stomach. You panted, licking your swollen lips, barely able to keep your eyes open as his hands never stopped moving. Sliding up your body, tracing the dip of your waist, rolling your nipple between his fingers just to hear you whimper.

You swallowed hard, your pride already flushed down the toilet, which never mattered when he was looking at you like that.

“C’mon,” he coaxed, his tone all sweet. “You can do better than that.”

“Please,” you choked out, every ounce of shame dissolving into nothing, “Please, Rafe, don’t stop.”

He groaned, long and guttural, pulling his cock out leisurely before slamming back in, punching a moan from your throat.

“Can’t stop,” he murmured against your throat, lips worshiping your skin, tongue flicking out to taste. “Fuckin’ impossible.”

His thrusts never picked up, it was excruciating. His forehead was pressed against yours now, breath hot and heavy between you, both of you panting into the same space.

You whimpered, fingers twisting into his hair, pulling hard enough to make his eyes flutter shut for a second, jaw going slack, but then they snapped open again—blue and blown out, locked onto yours, because you knew he needed to watch you fall apart beneath him.

He tilted his head then, licking his lips as he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a painfully wet kiss. His tongue swept along yours, lazily. You whined into his mouth, and he swallowed it, groaning in his throat.

He wasn’t fucking you—he was pressing into you, as deep as humanly possible.

His tongue curled around yours, sucking, licking, all spit and heat, but neither of you cared. His lips lingered against yours, before he pulled back just an inch—just enough to let a thin string of saliva stretch between your mouths.

Your head fell back, a broken moan spilling from your lips, but Rafe didn’t let you escape. His hand was on your jaw instantly, forcing you to look at him.

"Nuh-uh," he murmured, his nose brushing yours, "Stay with me. Keep lookin’ at me."

His tongue flicked out, running over your swollen bottom lip, tasting the wet heat of your breath before he skimmed his teeth along it, teasing. His lips wrapped around your tongue, pulling it into his mouth, sucking. He groaned deep in his throat at the taste of you, at the way you let him, at how fucking eager you were, melting into him with a desperate little cry. Your lips were slick, your chins wet, when he finally pulled back, panting, but you were already chasing his again.

“More."

Rafe groaned, tipping your chin up with his thumb, eyes heavy-lidded as he dragged his tongue up the side of yours, before sucking it back into his mouth. He fucked into you deep, making sure you felt everything as he swallowed your whole fucking soul.

"Mmmm,” rasped against your lips, voice shaking. "You’re so fuckin’ sweet. Could do this forever."

His thumb brushed against your cheek, his breathing ragged as he rocked into you, as if his only purpose in life was to keep you filled.

“God,” he murmured, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe “You feel that?”

You could only garble in response, your fingers digging into his back, pretty nails leaving crescent moons in his skin. Of course, you felt it—how could you not? Every thick inch of him dragged against that devastating spot inside you, over and over, stretching you enough to make you tremble but never giving you enough to push you over the edge. He was torturing you with how good it felt.

He hummed, his lips curling as he brushed his nose against yours. “Can’t even talk, huh?”

You tried—you really did. But all that came out was a soft, breathless squeak, your head tilting back against the pillow. Rafe caught your cheeks before you could look away again.

“Uh-uh,” he scolded, his voice deep, “Wanna hear you.” He punctuated his words with another sluggish thrust, and your entire body shuddered. A high, needy sound slipped from your lips, and his pupils blew wide. “Shit, there it is.”

His hand slipped down your body, before his palm settled low on your stomach, pressing down—light at first, then firmer, right where he was inside you. Your breath hitched, the pressure making your walls flutter around him. His cock twitched in response, and he swore under his breath, hips stuttering for the first time since he started.

“Fuck,” he groaned, shaking his head. “You feel me?”

You nodded weakly, breath catching in your throat.

“That’s me,” he rasped. “Deep as I can go.”

Your entire body clenched around him, and Rafe let out a ragged moan, dropping his forehead on your chest.

“You’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind,” he panted.

You barely had the strength to smirk, but you managed. “M-Maybe that’s the plan.”

His mouth was right there, so close, and then—his breath fanned over the swell of your breast before he latched on, tongue flicking over your nipple before sucking hard, deep. A shaky sound escaped you, fingers flying to his neck, pulling, making him groan against your skin.

"Rafe—"

He hummed, satisfied, sucking again, harder this time, his hips rolling forward in tandem with the wet pull of his mouth. You pressed yourself further into his mouth, and he could only sigh at the way you offered yourself up so easily, so desperate for more, his tongue laving over your sensitive skin before moving to the other, giving it the same attention. He licked and sucked, as he murmured against you.

“Could stay right here all fucking day,” he whispered, kissing over your breast between words, his hand slipping up to squeeze the other. "Right here—fuck—just like this."

Your thighs tightened around him, your whole body buzzing, over-sensitive, overstimulated, yet still somehow desperate for more. His tongue flicked over your nipple again before he pulled away to watch the way it pebbled under his breath.

Rafe’s hands never stopped moving or touching—tracing yearning circles over your arms, cupping your breasts, his thumbs swiping over your pebbled nipples, just because he knew how much it made you shudder. He smeared open-mouthed kisses over your chest, up your throat, tasting the sweat on your skin. His lips ghosted over yours, teasing, never fully kissing you, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

Your hands slid up his arms, over his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex beneath your fingers until they found their way into his hair.

You tugged for the millionth time that morning, making him grunt.

His lips feathered against your jaw, “Keep pulling like that and I won’t last.”

You couldn’t get enough, couldn’t feel enough, no matter how close he was, it still wasn’t enough. You needed more.

“Let me,” you panted against his lips, licking into his mouth between words. “Wanna be on top.”

Rafe’s eyes fluttered open, lips slick and pink from sucking at your skin. His fingers flexed against your waist, jaw clenching at the need in your voice, you were already trying to move, to take control.

“Yeah?” His voice was hoarse, a little desperate. His hands slid down, gripping your ass as he rolled onto his back, bringing you with him.

The second you were straddling him, you let out a shaky breath, feeling how deep he was like this, how he stretched you just right, the angle hitting something devastating.

Rafe smirked, hands already running up your thighs, gripping, kneading the flesh, watching the way you trembled above him. He let his head drop back against the headboard as you ground down experimentally, testing.

You pressed both hands against his broad chest, feeling his heartbeat hammering against your palm. His body was burning beneath yours, and god, the way he looked—his hair disheveled from your fingers, his lips swollen, it was making you delirious.

You needed more.

You started moving, deep rolls of your hips, letting him stroke against every aching, sensitive spot inside you, making you both shudder. Rafe swore under his breath, his grip tightening as his head tipped back, jaw clenched.

“Fuck—just like that,” he groaned, his hands sliding up, thumbs brushing just beneath your chest. “Look so fuckin’ pretty riding me like this.”

You leaned down, grazing your lips over his throat, tasting his skin, feeling the way he shook as you pressed kisses down to his collarbone, licking, biting, marking him up the way he did you.

Rafe’s hands flew to your ass, gripping, rolling you deeper onto his cock, making you gasp against his skin. "You tryin' to fuckin’ ruin me?" He couldn't decide what he wanted more—your hips, your tits, your face. "’Cause it's working."

You whimpered, lifting your hips before sinking down again, making you both gasp. His eyes locked on your face, watching every twitch, shudder, every whimper.

"You feel so good," you whispered, rubbing your hands down his chest, over his abs, feeling them tense beneath your palms. "So deep, Rafe."

His breath stuttered, his hands sliding back to your waist, guiding you into a slow, lewd grind, helping you glide him against that spot that made you tremble.

"You wanna feel me in your fuckin’ stomach, huh?" His voice was a rasp, a tease, but his eyes were half-lidded, his mouth parted in awe, watching the way you moved. "Gotta have me so deep you feel me for days?"

You gasped, nails digging into his skin. "Shit—yes, yes, please—”

Rafe growled, sitting up so fast you squealed, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you in, your chests flush as his mouth crashed against yours. He kissed you matching the lazy intoxicating drag of his cock inside you, his hands everywhere—your back, your thighs, your face. He traced over your cheek, his thumb swiping just beneath your lip, pressing, feeling the way your mouth parted even more for him, giving him everything, his fingers slid into your hair, gripping at the roots, angling your head just right so he could dive in deeper.

He pulled back, painting against your lips, forehead pressed to yours, eyes hazy. Your thighs trembled where they were wrapped around his hips, his fingers slipping between you, pressing against your clit, rubbing tight circles that sent white-hot pleasure curling up your spine.

“That’s it,” he murmured, “Know you’re close—feel you squeezin’ me.” His forehead pressed harder against yours, his breath uneven, restraint hanging by a thread. “Come on, pretty girl, wanna feel it.”

You whimpered, gasping as the tension inside you coiled impossibly tight. Every drag of his cock, every flick of his fingers, every breathy moan against your lips—it was too much. Your nails scraped down his chest, dragging red lines, but Rafe barely felt it, wholeheartedly focused on the way you were shaking, how your walls clenched around him like you were made to take him.

Your head dropped back, mouth falling open as you moaned, "Y-Yeah—oh my God—Rafe—"

Rafe groaned as he slammed up into you, chasing his own high, his movements frantic now. “Fuck—fuck—”

Your thighs shook, your back arching as your orgasm slammed into you, your cunt tightening around his cock like you never wanted to let go.

"Shit—oh shit, fuckkk—" You gasped, babbling, the words barely forming as your body convulsed around him, muscles tensing and releasing with every wave of pleasure.

He felt it—the way you gushed around him, drenching him, the obscene, slick sounds making his jaw clench.

"Baby," he rasped, voice tight, "You're fuckin’ coming all over me—makin’ such a goddamn mess—”

You whined, helpless, your hips still rolling, chasing every last drop of pleasure. Your thighs were sticky, coating him all over, dripping down, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Rafe’s hands were shaking as he held you, watching the way you quivered, breathless, ruined. He thrust up once, twice—grinding deep into your overstimulated cunt, making you wail. His jaw clenched, a ragged groan ripping from his throat.

Your mouth was open, little gasps spilling out as he kept fucking up into you, chasing his own high. His thrusts were hungry, his fingers digging into your ass, keeping you exactly where he wanted you

Your body was completely overstimulated, but you didn’t stop, or couldn’t stop. You were too dizzy off the way Rafe was ruining you, how he was holding you down, forcing you to take every inch that had your mind blanking.

Your lips brushed against his ear, as you pouted, "Rafe—baby, you’re so deep—’s so much, so fucking big—" Your words slurred, just a string of filthy, broken sounds, no shame left. "You f-feel that? How I’m dripping down your cock? So messy, all over you—your fuckin’ cum, all yours—"

Rafe let out a wrecked groan, his whole body tensing, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. His head fell back, eyes squeezed shut, jaw slack, completely lost in it.

"Fuck," he choked, his abs flexing under your touch, "Shit, you’re—" He cut himself off with a whimper, actually fucking whimpering, because you were still talking, still feeding him filth, still pulling him deeper into that haze.

"Need you to cum—need to feel it, wanna feel you inside me—" Your voice was high, needy, almost delirious. You pressed sloppy kisses along his jaw, panting against his skin, shoving your hand into his hair, tugging. "You’re so good, fuck me so good—please, please give it to me—wanna feel you break inside me—"

Rafe cursed, the sound strangled, his hips stuttering as his whole body locked up. His eyes rolled back, his lips parting in a silent moan, almost crying from how hard he came. His cock twitched violently, pulse after pulse of hot cum spilling inside you, so much, too much, his whole body shaking, his chest heaving as he tried—and failed—to catch his breath.

His hands were still trying to hold you still, but he was weak, twitching, shaking.

You were both past the point of reason or past the point of stopping.

You kept milking him through it, dragging out every shudder, every pulse of pleasure, every last wrecked noise from his throat.

Rafe’s hands flew to your waist, trying to still you, to slow you down—but he was already spent, his face twisted in agony, pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. You were just as fucked out, but you couldn’t stop, not when it felt this good

You shuddered when your body finally stopped, his hands smoothing up your back, grounding you. He pressed his forehead against your cheek, breathing hard, chest still rising and falling against yours. His lips found your skin, his thumb brushing along your cheek, soothing, even though neither of you could form words yet.

His cock twitched inside you one last time, overstimulated, and a broken sigh slipped past his lips as he moved, rolling onto his side with you still wrapped around him, his cock slipping free, and you both hissed at the loss.

You felt the remnants of him between your thighs, the sticky evidence of everything you'd just done, but you didn’t care when Rafe was already tilting your head up, capturing your lips in another kiss.

"Gimme a minute," he hummed against your mouth, smirking as he kissed you again, slower this time, fingers skimming lazily down your back. "Then we're doing that again."

You exhaled a breathless laugh, already melting against him. "Yeah?"

He nipped at your bottom lip, voice thick with promise. "Yeah."

You’d worry about the pet names later.

1K notes · View notes

skeltnwrites · 1 month ago

Text

A Family Affair ✶ part one!

In a fit of jealousy over Nancy’s perfect new boyfriend, Steve falsely claims to be dating someone too. Robin recruits you to help Steve out, despite the fact that you’re practically strangers. | MASTERLIST

⤷ Fucking Brad ›› Hawkins Elementary puts on Peter Pan, Steve has FOMO, and you have all sorts of crazy plans 8k

Fucking Brad. Brad, with his slim waist and his broad shoulders and his chiseled jaw. Brad, who doesn’t slouch and can grow a full beard and always smells nice. Brad, who is the better version of Steve in every way. He’s the Ken of Barbies. He’s what every man wishes he looked like at thirty-two. He’s like Steve, if Steve had Botox injections and a gym membership.

And God he has stupidly good hair. All layered and cropped like it’s trimmed every other week. But effortless in the way it sits perfectly on either side of his face. He probably hasn’t had a bad hair day in his life. And even worse, Steve’s yet to find a single gray hair on the man’s entire head.

It’s too good to be true, obviously. You can’t be that attractive and a good person. Steve doesn’t make the rules.

But Nancy seems happy. And as a good ex-husband and father of her children, Steve’s trying to be happy for her and her new boyfriend. There’s just this sharp little shard of his heart that never quite slots back into its old place. And every time he thinks he’s patched it up, Brad comes along and knocks it loose again.

The divorce took a heavy toll on Steve. He’ll admit that now, almost a year down the line. He lost weight, then gained twice as much back. He pushed Robin so far away that they didn’t speak for two months. It really changed him. It made him question things he used to be so sure of.

Nancy was never cruel, not even on their worst nights. But the arguing became constant. Steve slept in the kids’ rooms more than his own. He became obsessed with finding solutions that Nancy didn’t care to try.

She was never cruel, but she did break his heart for a second time. So maybe that’s part of the reason he tells her a little white lie.

It happened last week. Steve had been out of town for the weekend and subsequently didn’t have the kids for a whole week straight since Nancy couldn’t swap days with him. And this is the longest he’s not seen them in… probably ever, so he’s extra excited to pick them up. He even offers to drive to Nancy’s house on the other side of town rather than meet her somewhere halfway. But guess who pulls into the driveway at the same exact time as him? Brad.

And Caroline, bless her sweet little second-grade heart, beams across the yard, right past Steve’s car up to Brad’s. Steve remembers watching in a daze, the scene unfolding in slow motion. His heart wrings itself in his chest just thinking about it. Caroline, his firstborn, his baby girl, his own flesh and blood, betrayed him, for fucking Brad.

It’s not fair. Nancy breaking his heart is one thing, but his daughter? At this rate, he’s not sure he’ll live long enough to walk her down the aisle. And like hell he’ll let Brad be the one to do it.

Steve steps onto the driveway and quickly receives the same armfuls of enthusiasm Caroline treated Brad with. He kneels to hug her back properly, both arms around her waist as he sprinkles kisses along the side of her head.

“You’re back!” Steve feels the shape of a big smile through his shirt.

“I missed you,” he says, pulling back to see her lovely face, “so, so much.”

Caroline is proof that Steve’s done something right in his life. He finds more and more evidence every day. It’s in her kindness to strangers and her bottomless well of curiosity and her sunbeam of a smile that weirdly looks like a smaller version of his own. He used to hate the way his teeth looked in his mouth but now he wonders why.

He’s received comments about their alikeness since the day she was born. She obtained his hooded eyes, his square jaw, and his strong nose. She has lighter eyes, like Nancy’s, and lighter hair, like Steve’s when he was her age. But still, Caroline’s his carbon copy, his mini-me.

“Missed you too, like, more than the whole universe.”

“Woah! More than the whole universe? That’s a lot of missing to do.” His fingers crawl across her chest until she arches away in a fit of giggles. “Is your poor little heart okay?”

Brad waves incessantly from the top of the driveway until Steve glances up. He’s not an asshole, he waves back, but he can’t help his smile curdling into something sour.

Caroline, of his two children, is by far the least likely to lie to him. She burst into tears the last time Steve caught her red-handed and over something so insignificant he couldn’t even tell you what it was. But her words feels hollow when the memory of her picking Brad over him still stings fresh. Logically, Steve knows it wasn’t a malicious decision. Caroline’s a daddy’s girl to her core. But just knowing doesn’t make the hurt ache any less.

Steve pulls Caroline up as he stands. “Where’s your brother?”

“Mom said he can’t play outside ‘cause he got in trouble at school.”

“What happened?”

“He threw rocks at someone.”

Steve presses his lips together with a hum. “Not good.”

Caroline beats him to the front door, swinging it hard enough to shake the house. “Dad’s here!” she announces.

Steve’s still in this weird limbo about entering the house without Nancy’s permission. To his knowledge, she’s never cared when one of the kids has invited him in, but it feels sort of wrong because he hasn’t lived there in quite some time.

It’s a quaint little home at the top of a hill, purchased in their early twenties when Nancy was pregnant with Caroline. So many years of his life, etched into floorboards and door frames and garden stones that he rarely ever sees anymore.

In the foyer, a riot of blonde fur slams hard into Steve’s knees. He’s expecting it, delighted more than anything to greet his honorary third child, Daisy. Eighty pounds, a golden retriever with more energy than Steve knew a dog could have. She was a Christmas gift from Steve to the family, a surprise Nancy has slowly grown to love over the years. Still, she would’ve been happy to let Steve take her, Daisy’s always been more his than hers, but signing the lease on a place that doesn’t allow pets complicates things.

Steve’s crouched on the floor, receiving a face full of wet kisses when someone smaller barrels into his side.

“Daddy!”

Steve’s hand catches the carpet before he falls, his free arm slinging around his youngest, Andrew. “Hi, buddy.” He pulls him in for a forehead kiss but pushes him back for a better look at his face.

He’s got big brown eyes, round like Nancy’s, and feathered with a long set of lashes. He’s a fair mix of their genes, Nancy’s button nose and pointed ears but Steve’s thick hair and plush lips. He’s like Daisy, with endless reserves of energy and no off switch, but he’s half the dog’s size, tiny, even for six.

“Hi.”

“Hi. How was school?”

“Good,” Andy smiles, words whistling in the gap his front teeth left behind. “I got something from the treasure box and I had music specials today.”

Steve gives his shoulder a loving squeeze. “That’s fun. I heard you got in trouble though, hmm?”

“Barely. It wasn’t really bad. I had a timeout but mom says I still can’t play.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll talk to Mom.”

“Talk to mom about what?” Nancy frowns from the doorway, crossing her arms over her chest.

One thing from their marriage that Steve doesn’t miss is Nancy materializing out of thin air. She’s quiet and quick on her feet, always appearing at the most incriminating moments. He can think of a dozen times he’d gotten in trouble for letting the kids do something she already forbade.

Steve shifts his focus to her begrudgingly. He presses his lips into a cordial, tight-lipped smile. “Why can’t he play? He said he had a time-out already.”

“Because he didn’t do what I asked, Steve. I know you like to let the kids get away with everything, but in my house there are consequences.”

“Okay,” he raises his eyebrows and his smile slips away, “unnecessary.”

She breathes a quiet sigh, hooking her fingernail under the fresh tear in her tights. “It’s been a long week.”

“Sorry.” Steve means it because he’s been there, but he doesn’t waste much sympathy on Nancy these days.

Brad fills the leftover silence as he zips down the stairs, his fingers drumming along the handrail in time with his hums. “Steve!” he grins. “How was Florida? Catch some sun?” He cruises over to Nancy with a much gentler excitement, pecking her head with a soft, “Hi, honey.”

Steve wants to gag. No, he wants to projectile vomit all over their nice floors. He stands and chooses to look at Nancy as he replies the simplest, “Yeah.”

Nancy stares blankly back at him. He used to have some kind of superpower when they were in love. Could read her mind by looking at her eyes alone. But these days he can’t tell her frown from her smile, let alone her thoughts.

“Is your dad doing better?” she says.

“Yeah, he’s– yeah, fine. He’s home now.”

“Good.”

Andy pulls Brad down to his knees, eager to funnel a “very important” secret into his ear. Steve tries, but he can’t decipher any words over Nancy’s voice.

“So, can you take him?” she asks.

“Where?”

“The dentist. Are you listening to me? I said his appointment is after school.”

A vein pulses on Nancy’s forehead, though Steve isn’t privy. His attention swings across the living room behind her like a compass needle, always pointing to Andy and Brad. They’re both giggling, falling onto the couch like ragdolls. Steve’s never had worse FOMO in his life.

“Yeah, sorry, yeah. I’ll take him,” he answers finally.

“He’s been complaining about his mouth since last Tuesday. Think he has a cavity.”

Steve nods. Nancy nods. The silence is awful.

She turns her nose to the stairs and he knows she can’t bear the awkwardness either. “Andrew go get your stuff. Caroline!”

“What!”

“Come on! Dad’s waiting!”

Andy shrieks and Steve turns instinctually. It’s a happy shriek, he finds, paired with pleads of, “Again! Again!”

Brad nods knowingly, slotting his hands under the boy's armpits and swinging him up and up and up until he launches him right back into the couch.

Andy’s thrilled, of course. But Steve doesn't know how to feel. There isn’t a sound he loves more in the world than his kids laughs’, but his body tells him what is happening right now is all sorts of wrong.

“Oh and don’t forget about the play on Friday,” Nancy adds.

Steve can’t answer. He can’t fucking think over the sound of his molars grinding against each other. A switch flips in his brain.

“It’s at six I’m pretty sure. Care’s pretty nervous so just, I dunno, don’t bring it up maybe.”

“I’m bringing someone,” he blurts.

Nancy shifts her weight from foot to foot, her stare sharp as a thumbtack, pinning him right to the floor. Why the fuck did he just say that?

“Who?” she asks strangely. Her mouth is smaller like she’s mad. But her eyes are curious, a sudden softness to them.

Steve clears his dry throat but finds no relief. He hasn’t fucking thought this through. He shrugs, his chin tipping toward the floor. “Just this girl I’ve been talking to. She’s…” He chances a glimpse up but steers his eyes away from Nancy’s the second they land. “It’s kinda gettin’ serious, so, you know.”

“Really?”

He squirms at the way she says it. He feels like he’s in trouble and about to get an earful. “Yeah,” he swallows, “Yeah. She’s great. You’ll like her.”

“How long?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have you been seeing her?”

His eyes rove across the ceiling as he pretends to count the imaginary days he’s spent with his imaginary girlfriend. “Ya know, a few months.” He frowns for show, “Give or take.”

Nancy chuckles wryly. She very clearly doesn’t buy it. And of course, she doesn’t buy it, they were married for a third of his life, she knows Steve inside and out. Steve is officially, utterly, and irreversibly doomed.

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” he slips in nervously.

“Right.”

“Yeah, so…”

“Okay, well, I look forward to meeting her.”

“Okay. Me too. Well– to you meeting her. I’ve met her, obviously.”

Her mouth twists in a struggle to hide her amusement. “Okay, Steve.”

This is pathetic. Steve’s never been more embarrassed in his life. Ten-plus years he’s had to make a fool of himself in front of Nancy and nothing will ever top this.

Tiny arms curl around his legs and he knows they’re Carolines before he’s seen them. She’s a foot taller than Andy and ten times as gentle. Her ear presses into Steve’s side, her hair newly pinned with a set of plastic butterflies. Steve’s positive she gets prettier by the day and he’s just grateful to have anyone besides Nancy to look at.

Andy hustles down the stairs not long later, sneakers swinging from his wrist by the laces, wearing a backpack twice the size of his chest. And with both kids in sight, Steve cuts straight for the front door, encouraging a round of goodbye hugs and kisses for Mom from the safety of the porch.

On the ride home, Caroline has a deck of questions about his trip. If Grandma and Grandpa still live in that big house on the water. If the airplane ride was bumpy or not. His favorite– if he ordered the fish tails (popcorn shrimp) from that restaurant they all went to last time.

Eight years he’s been a dad and to this day the infinite questions never fail to fascinate him. And even more remarkable, how Caroline remembers things from years ago like they happened this morning.

He hadn’t told her why he went to Florida or the real reason she couldn’t come. Steve’s dad had a minor health scare, and if it weren’t for his mom calling in hysterics, he probably would have saved the PTO. He spent most of the trip in the hospital, listening to his dad fuss about every possible thing he could find to complain about.

Nancy preached honesty when it came to explaining things like this to the kids. But Caroline’s a worrywart. Steve couldn’t let her spiral, certainly not over his dad of all people.

He’s very happy to be back home. And even happier to be distracted from his poor decision-making by the bottomless pit that is his daughter's brain. But time flies when you’re having fun as Steve apparently says now. Dinner goes fast, and bedtime even faster.

The kids are asleep and he’s left to simmer alone in his stupidity. He replays the conversation with Nancy on a loop, each turn twisting the words until he can’t tell what’s real apart from what he wishes to have said. He fucked up, that much is clear. And for what? A fleeting satisfaction if Nancy had believed him? He truly can’t think of a time in the last ten years he’s said something so dumb.

Steve dials Robin’s number and slips the phone against his ear as he opens the fridge. He stares at his groceries, or lack thereof, and listens to the phone ring and ring and ring until he’s turned over to Robin’s answering machine.

“Hi, you’ve reached Robin! Or, well, it's not, obviously, because you're talking to a machine. Anyway, I’m probably busy doing something incredibly important, so, leave a message, and I’ll call back– unless I forget— which, statistically speaking, is very probable. Sorry.” –Beep!

“Hi, um, this is Steve.” He shuts the fridge door and swipes the takeout menu from the magnets on the side. “I’m having an… emergency type of situation and if you really, truly love me you’ll call me back, like, as soon as you get this. Yeah, okay, bye.”

Robin’s at work he’s pretty sure. That or sucking face with her new girlfriend, Lin. She’s busy a lot nowadays, Steve just as much. It’s put a weight on their friendship but Steve can’t imagine his life without her. She’ll surely call him a dumbass or an idiot or the classic dingus for what he’s done. But being snarky with each other is their love language; he looks forward to it.

Steve’s three or four Cheers’ reruns deep when the phone rings. He rocks himself out of his recliner and takes the half-empty pizza box in his lap back to the kitchen. He’ll be the first to admit, his evenings aren’t all that glamorous. But things could be worse and he’s happy with the majority of his life’s choices– minus the most recent one, obviously.

The phone slides against the pizza grease on his fingers. He pins it between his ear and shoulder to swipe his hands down the front of his shirt as he speaks, “You know, you’re lucky this isn’t a life-or-death emergency. I’d have been dead hours ago.”

“Uh-huh. Tragic,” Robin rasps. “I’ll write your eulogy for you. ‘Steve Harrington: untimely death by dumbassery.’”

“That’s not a real word, genius.”

“It is now. I’ve made it one.”

“You can’t just make it a word. That’s not how it works.”

“No, it is. Check your dictionary.” He hears the clinking of pans, water running in a sink. “But wait, what did you do? Lock your keys in your car again?”

“Ha, no. I wish.”

“Forget to pick up the hellspawns?”

“No, Rob.”

“What? It’s happened before,” she laughs in that scratchy way she does. He can picture her whole face like she’s stood there beside him. “I dunno, I’m tired. I give up. What’s the crisis?”

“Um, so, I told Nance that I’ve been seeing someone and that it’s serious and I’m bringing her to the kid’s thing on Friday.”

Robin’s silent long enough for Steve to pull the phone back and check if the call’s still connected. But her laughter builds slowly, rattling through the speaker in beats. “Oh no, Steven.”

“Yeah, so…” He shears the last bite off of the pizza he was working on before and tosses the crust back into the box. “I’m fucked.”

“You could say that.”

“Thanks for the encouragement.”

“Sorry, sorry. I mean, fuck dude. Why’d you say that?”

“I don’t know, okay? It was stupid. I fucked up.”

“Big time.”

“I have to figure something out.”

“Can’t you just say it fizzled out? You had a good run, but you weren’t right for each other, cue dramatic sigh, problem solved.”

“No! She knows, Robin. She fucking knows I was lying. She was giving me that look she gives Andy when he’s done something he’s not supposed to.”

“Heh, I know the one. God, that’s hilarious. I love her mad face. Was she doing that weird lip thing, like she’s trying to suck them back into her skull?”

Steve cuts off his own laughter, “Probably– I don’t know! I was panicking, bad, you should’ve seen me.”

“Oh, I would pay so much money to see a video of this. Were there cameras? Where was this at?”

“No, no, I have to do something. I need to bring someone to the show.”

A beat. Two. “What? You want me to revive straight Robin? I can’t walk in heels to save my life, you know that.”

“Jesus, no. She knows you're gay, dude.”

“Then who?”

“I dunno.” Steve throws his hand in the air. “You know people.”

“I know people?”

“Yes?”

“You’re right, hold on, let me get out my address book and just call every single woman I know. ‘Hey, how do you feel about pretending to be my friend’s boyfriend so his ex-wife doesn’t make fun of him?’ Sound good?”

“Yes! Exactly!”

“Maybe while we’re at it we just start calling random women in the phone book. I saw a billboard with this sexy lawyer lady today.”

“Robin.”

“Steve,” she chuckles. “Come on. This is crazy. You have to see that.”

“I don’t care, Rob. You don’t get it. Nancy is dating America’s next top model and I’m,” his words feel sticky as bubblegum, “I’m watching shitty TV and eating shittier pizza by myself.”

Robin sighs. “Don’t act like I haven’t been a good wing-woman. I’ve tried to set you up with people.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m not ready to date anyone for real, I just– I just want to pretend for a night, that’s all. I don’t want Nancy to think any less of me than she already does.”

Robin sighs again, worse. He feels bad about bugging her but she’s his best friend and she bugs him to the same extent with her own relationship problems. He listened to her cry for an hour about a fight she had with Lin last week.

“If I help you… will you promise me that you will move on and go on a real, actual date with a woman who is not Nancy Wheeler?”

Steve’s about to say ‘I’ll do anything’, but the sentence catches in his throat.

Robin complains about Steve’s dating life (or lack of) about once a week, if not more. It’s been a year since the divorce, yeah, but he’s short on time with two kids and a second full-time job that affords him the first. He’s not in any rush to do awkward first dates or even worse breakups again.

But fuck, he’d rather die than face the consequences of his own actions. “Fine, yes. I’ll do it.”

“Hallelujah.”

“Please, just call a couple of your friends for me. One night, that’s all I’m asking.”

“Honestly, I definitely know a couple of people who’d do it for a hundred bucks.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “If that’s what it costs to keep my dignity then so be it.”

He hears Robin’s breathy smile. “You’re so dramatic. Shelly might do it for free. She doesn’t exactly look your type though.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I dunno, Steve. We both know Nancy has a better gaydar than you.”

“I hit on one lesbian at the height of my divorce-depression. I was desperate, okay?”

“You hit on two, actually. I do count, still. And she was like the most butch woman I've ever met. You guys basically had the same outfit on.”

“It was a good outfit!”

Her laughter is loud through the speaker. And before he realizes it, he's laughing too. In retrospect, that woman very obviously was a lesbian and not at all his type.

“Wait,” Robin gasps, “what about Y/N!”

“Who?”

She repeats your name with even more emphasis. “She was at my birthday thing. You definitely met her.”

Steve describes a vague version of the person he thinks is you. His memory is hazy.

“Yes! Yes! You wouldn’t stop showing her fucking pictures of the kids.”

“Excuse me, she wanted to see them.”

“No, I think you need to ask her that again, pal.”

Steve reconsiders that moment he met you. He recalls a polite smile and how you had several nice things to say about his kids. He remembers you being pretty but it was too soon post-divorce for him to process that information then.

“Oh my God,” Robin roars, “How did I not think of this sooner? You guys are perfect for each other, I’m telling you!”

“Wait, wait, Robin. This is just pretend. I’m not actually dating her.”

She scoffs. “Will you give her a chance? Please? This can count as your real date.”

“No, absolutely not. No. I can’t– I already know her. That’s weird.”

“Oh my God. You’re making dumb fucking excuses already. You better hold up your end of the deal, Harrington.”

“I will, I will. Just not her. We’ll figure it out after, okay?”

The line is silent but he can almost hear the gears in Robin’s head cranking out a new negotiation.

“I’m serious. Don’t tell her it’s a date.”

“Ugh. Have you no faith in me anymore?”

“Will you ask her? Seriously, Robin, please?”

“Yes, whatever, I’ll ask her. But don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face.”

“Don’t tell her it’s a date, Rob. I mean it.”

“I knowww.”

“Thank you,” he sighs. He feels like a load of bricks just dropped from his back straight to his stomach.

“But I really think you and Y/N should come to that romance retreat with me and Lin. She knows the owner so I’m sure she could snag us another couple of tickets.”

“Mmm. Sorry, no. I’m actually busy that weekend, ‘member?”

“Oh, I know you did not just lie to me right now. What is this, a compulsion?”

“Oh my God. I was kidding,” he laughs. “But also hard no. I’m hanging up.”

“You can’t avoid all your problems forever.”

“Whatever. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. Love you, dingus.”

“Love you.”

Steve slots the phone back in its cradle and presses his hand into the countertop. He thinks of you again, your face, your clothes, your voice– what had you said to him? He turns you in his mind like an unravelled spool but there are way too many loose ends.

He agrees with Robin, this is a bad idea. He can’t imagine you’ll drop everything to help a guy you met one time. And if for whatever reason you do agree? You might be really awkward or rude to the kids or a kidnapper! He really, really hopes Robin doesn't befriend kidnappers.

She assures him you are not a kidnapper when she calls him the next night. She also tells him he’s won the lottery and somehow you’ve agreed to this ridiculous plan. You’ll pretend to be his girlfriend in front of his kids and ex-wife and her boyfriend, just to save him from some embarrassment. Steve thinks you might be crazy but Robin promises you’re a match made in heaven.

Steve jots down your phone number and thanks Robin until she hangs up on him. But he doesn’t call you yet. He chews on the plan all week and decides it still tastes bad. Very, very bad. But what choice does he have now? He’s groveled with Robin until she gave in and asked you and you’ve actually agreed. He’s in too deep now.

It takes him three tries to dial your number all the way through. He only works himself up to the final digit with the mental image of Brad and his stupid, sparkly teeth. Steve's stomach starts cartwheeling as the line trills.

“Hello?”

He freezes. He doesn’t know what he expected you to sound like but your voice throws him for a loop. Every sentence from his practiced speech erases itself from his memory.

“Helloooo?”

Steve forces all the air from his lungs until he makes a strangled sort of noise. “Hey– sorry, um�� hi, it’s Steve. Uhh, Robin’s friend.”

“Oh! She said you’d call.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Here I am.”

You chuckle back but are otherwise quiet, waiting for him.

“So like–”

“How did–”

“Sorry,” you say overtop each other.

“You go,” he begs.

“Well, I mean– so Robin gave me the run down already, but like, how exactly do you want this to go?”

“So,” Steve takes a deep breath, “my kids are both in the school play over at Hawkins Elementary. It’s this Friday from six to seven-ish. All I need you to do is just show up and pretend that you’re my girlfriend.” He cringes through the last part. The more times he explains this plan, the more outrageous it sounds. This might as well be a form of torture.

“Just show up and watch the play and agree that we’re a couple if somebody asks? That type of thing?”

“Yes, exactly. Yes. My ex-wife and her boyfriend will be there, so probably just them and the kids.”

“Right, Robin said. But how much should I– how do I say– should I hold your hand, I guess, kiss you, things like that?”

“No, no,” he swallows so hard you probably hear it too. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

"Would you..." you pause for a while. He fears you’re backing out. “Would you want to meet up, maybe? Like, sometime before the play?” you ask. “We could talk more about boundaries and, I dunno, how we met, our first date, all of that junk. In case it comes up.”

Steve doesn’t think that’s really necessary. He only needs you for one hour, the majority of which you won’t be talking. You’re really just there to sit beside him and smile. But you are doing him a massive favor, if it makes you feel better, it wouldn’t hurt to discuss it in person.

He lets you pick the time and place and thanks you endlessly before he hangs up, very much ready to crawl into bed and never come back out.

His second impression of you doesn’t stray far from the first. You’re sweet, maybe a little too sweet for someone who barely knows him. And you must be smart. You have enough wits about you to question him and this plan. Maybe, with you there, it won’t completely fall apart.

But as luck would have it, Steve is forced to cancel on you last minute– thanks to Brad, of course. Well, it’s not really his fault his sister goes into labor but Steve likes to pretend it is when Nancy asks if he can take the kids that night. He reschedules with you once, then again when you can’t make it. But shit happens and things don’t work out how he hoped. Neither of you can make it work before the play.

So Steve pulls up to Hawkins Elementary with his heart lodged in his throat like a stone. He’s about to make the biggest fucking fool of himself if you don’t show and he’s only about forty-five percent sure that you will. As of yesterday, you were still game, sounded excited, even, to come. But maybe you forgot about the whole thing or maybe you’re chickening out because you never solidified where you had your first date. Steve wouldn’t blame you either way.

Brad’s already seated in the front row of the auditorium, Nancy likely dropping the kids off at their classrooms. Steve slinks around the back to a denser part of the audience hoping not to be seen. But it’s Brad. He’s got twenty-twenty vision, no doubt. He flags Steve down as soon as he turns around, standing and waving emphatically, leaving Steve no other choice but to sit with them.

Brad talks his ear off, to no one's surprise, but Steve’s mind is stuck somewhere else. His eyes skip between the lavish rose bouquets in Brad’s lap to the measly assortment of pink and blue daisies in his own. It’s silly to worry the kids would love him less over something like flowers, but he can’t help himself.

Nancy joins with a knowing smirk and immediately asks about Steve’s plus one. He feeds her some generic, bullshit line about you and how you’re trying so very hard to make it, and he decides Nancy must fucking hate him. She knows it was a lie. She just wants to watch him burst into flames and char into a corpse of embarrassment and regret.

There are less than two minutes to showtime. The audience is buzzing, the auditorium doors are closing, and the bench space beside Steve remains unoccupied. He turns around for one last pathetic look behind him before his dignity is tarnished forever.

But there you are! Stood up against the back wall, searching and searching until your eyes lock onto Steve’s and your whole face brightens like a sunrise.

Steve waves, a little shy suddenly, but largely overwhelmed by the complete one-eighty his heart’s just spun. And it only worsens as you make your way up to the row.

You look fucking unreal Steve realizes. You pat a pretty dress down your thighs, two big bouquets wedged in the crook of your arm, and shimmy past the family seated beside him with a dashing smile.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say to him, so genuinely apologetic Steve can’t remember the reason you’re there in the first place. You bend to wrap your arms around him, his nose tapping the sugared sweetness of your perfume.

His brain reboots itself, a blank slate. He’s completely forgotten about Nancy and Brad until you lean across his lap to address them.

“Nancy,” Steve coughs, “um, this is Y/N. My girlfriend.” The words trip off his tongue slow and he thinks it can’t be more obvious that he doesn’t mean them.

But while his head is busy imploding on itself, you’re acing introductions. You’re smiling and waving, your voice stays so calm— exactly the reassurance Steve needed. He peels his eyes off your face for a glimpse at Nancy’s and nearly laughs.

Her brows are up, obscured by her bangs, and she blinks like she’s got something caught in her mascara. Priceless.

“Y/N, this is Nancy and her boyfriend, Brad,” Steve finishes.

“Nice to meet you,” Brad smiles, squeezing Nancy’s knee until she does the same.

The pretending is clumsy at first. Steve’s arm hesitates on its course behind your shoulders. And you go stiff as a board the first time his fingertips brush your bare arm. You overcompensate, laughing at something that’s not all that funny while Steve rambles on about how you met when no one even asked. But eventually, you find a balance somewhere between too much and too little.

And Steve can’t stop fucking smiling. You’re polite, funny, really pretty, you’re perfect. You’re more than what he hoped to have tonight.

The lights dim and the curtains part, Steve’s excitement shifts toward the stage. His hand remains on your shoulder but his attention is reserved solely for his kids. You cheer for them just as loud as he does, for two children you’ve never met in your life. You remember their names and are eager for Steve to point them out when they appear. You’re a convincing girlfriend. You actually seem to care a whole lot.

Caroline is a fabulous mermaid. She has a tail made of sequins and glitter gel down her arms. All those hours of practice were worth it, Steve nearly cries watching his little girl recite her two lines to a T.

And Andrew plays a scruffy dog called Nana. He has no lines but he makes several appearances throughout the show, barking with flawless comedic timing for a kindergartener. Steve’s biased when he thinks his kids are the best actors here, of course, but he couldn’t be more proud.

Touching you doesn’t become any less strange as the evening rolls on. Your thigh is smushed to his. Your back warms the inside of his elbow. He hasn’t touched anyone like this since Nancy, maybe besides Robin who doesn’t really count. And perhaps that’s pitiful, he’s not touching you all that much. But he likes it, which, is probably even more pitiful, you being his pretend girlfriend and all.

The main cast of fifth graders bow, the crowd erupts with applause, and the lights flicker back on as the big curtains close.

Nancy is staring at you when Steve checks her way. It’s not the first time he’s caught her tonight but he still isn’t certain that she fully believes this whole thing. At least you’re here and you seem normal and you’re a much better actor than Robin gave you credit for. That’s a mission fucking accomplished in Steve’s book.

“They did really good, Steve,” you say in his ear. “They’re both adorable.”

His smile is immediate. He won’t miss an opportunity to rave about his kids, not even to a stranger. “Did you see Andy’s run? He does this little skippy-thing, I dunno where he learned it.”

“Mhmm! And Caroline, she’s only eight? She seems so much older the way she talked.”

“I know! She was so worried before, I can’t believe how good she did.”

Nancy is one of the first parents to her feet. Brad collects her purse and the flowers as she scans each exit for the quickest route. Her face is rigid as she explains, “I’m going to get Caroline if you’ll…”

“Yeah,” Steve nods when she looks.

Nancy’s eyes veer from his to yours for the briefest second before she turns around. Her chin juts up to Brad. “Ready?”

He works a hand across the cardigan on her back and starts for the end of the row where parents squeeze and squish by each other toward the hall doors.

Steve waits until their bodies bleed into the rest of the crowd before he faces you again. His lips tilt into a funny line, his eyes alive under the auditorium lights. “I kinda think that worked?”

“Are you kidding?” you laugh and knock your shoulder into his. “She kept staring at me! She totally bought it.”

Steve’s smile pinches up into his cheeks. He thinks you're really quite beautiful. It’s not new information to him, he noticed the first time he met you, bumbling up behind Robin in her kitchen. And he remembered just last week when she brought you up out of the blue.

But today that knowledge feels different. Today you’re all smiles and sweet touches and sneaky glances. It’s doing something scary to his heart.

Steve stands quickly. He’s hot all over, uncomfortably aware of the sweat accumulating under his clothes. Being sardined against every other parent in the school will do that. Plus, there’s you and your nice face. Still, somehow, he misses the heat of your thigh pressed to his.

“She’s smart, Nancy, I mean… I dunno,” he worries.

You stand too and your hand finds a home on the back of his arm. “No, no. It worked. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” He can’t help but grin at your nonchalance. He wishes he could be like that, but having kids makes you worry more.

You grin back and shrug. “Yeah, trust me.”

Well, he can’t not trust you. Not when you’re looking at him with all the confidence in the world and squeezing his arm in gentle reassurance.

His cheeks ache from smiling by the time you make it to the hall. He gestures one way and you follow him past doors and bulletin boards and as many children as there are adults. And finally, he turns through an open classroom door and it’s just absolute chaos.

A ball pops against a ceiling tile, Steve’s heel slides under a stack of notebook paper, and a string of kids fly between his hip and yours, all in one blink.

You recognize Andrew faster than Steve expects, pointing him out where he’s barking at a child sprawled on the rug. The other boy stops giggling as you approach, prompting Andrew to spin around with the crazed expression of a real puppy looking for trouble.

His costume is even cuter up close, a painted snout and a fur-onesie with a floppy-eared hood to match. Andrew barks at Steve, crawling across the carpet on all fours until he’s panting at his father’s jeans.

Steve squats down to his level, a gentle hand on either side of the boy's neck. “Oh, nooo. They didn’t turn you into a real dog, did they? Are we going to have to feed you from Daisy’s bowl now?”

Andy slurps a rope of spit back in his mouth and rolls his eyes. “I’m just pretending, Dad.”

“Ohh,” Steve laughs, pressing him impossibly closer. “You did so good, bud. Proud of you.”

“Did you see me? When I barked at the pirates?”

“I did! I actually thought it was a real dog.”

Andrew cackles once, throwing his head down on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve pats his fuzzy back. “Tired?”

He blinks up at you curiously and shakes his head.

“Andy,” Steve cranes toward you, “this is my friend, Y/N. Can you say hi?”

He lifts his head and barks, high-pitched and snappy as a chihuahua.

Steve tilts his ear away and pinches Andy’s side until the barking turns to giggles. “In English, please.”

“Hi, Y/N,” Andy squeals out between the remainder of his laughter.

“Hi, buddy.” You kneel beside Steve and fawn, “You did such a good job!”

Andy pokes his tongue through the gap in his smile. He looks you over entirely and bats his long lashes like a paper fan.

“I got these for you,” you say, tipping the colorful blooms toward his face. “This one’s for your sister. Here.”

He chokes the plastic-wrapped stems in his tiny fist, half his face hidden behind a rainbow of petals.

“Here, bud,” Steve takes one of his bouquets from the floor and tucks it in with yours, “this one’s from me.”

Andy can’t see much of anything with his nose pressed to a daffodil but he loves them all the same. You pick yourself off the floor, your laughter spilling like the sun.

“Let’s go find your sister,” Steve says, a hand braced on Andy’s shoulder as he stands too.

Andy looks between you and Steve in amazement. “She was a mermaid. Did you see?”

“We did,” Steve answers. “She was a great mermaid, don’t you think?”

“Yes. She was all sparkly.” Andy slips his small hand into Steve’s, then automatically offers you his other.

You find Nancy, Brad, and Caroline outside the school near the parent pickup circle. Brad’s got Caroline’s hand in his, her feet tracing the edge of the sidewalk like a balance beam.

She jumps off the curb when she spots Steve, tripping over her toes before breaking into a sprint for his arms.

Steve kneels right there on the asphalt. “Hi, baby,” he laughs. She sets her elbows on his shoulders as he kisses her on each cheek. “Did such a good job up there!”

“Did you see me!” she yells. “I wasn’t even scared! I didn’t forget my words like I thought I would.”

Steve thumbs the corner of her crinkled eye where eyeshadow glares silver under the moon. “I know! My big girl. I’m so proud. Know that?”

She giggles, her fingers scrunching around the cellophane wrapping in his hand. “Are these for me?”

“They are. For my best little lady.”

She sticks her smile in the bouquet and sniffs.

Steve is oblivious to the heart-warmed grin on your face. But you watch the scene unfold, feeling an unexpected fondness for a family that isn’t yours. You’re only a guest in their little world, an outsider looking in— but even from here, it’s undeniable. He’s a great dad.

“Hey, I have someone I want you to meet,” Steve says.

You’re so enraptured by the moment, you completely forget that’s your cue. Steve beckons you over with features that echo Carolines, not just in emotion but in shape too. They’re cheek-to-cheek looking at you like a pair of very happy identical twins.

“Hi, Caroline,” you wave and offer the same hand to shake.

She smiles big and wraps her smaller fingers around yours. “You came to see our show?”

“I did! You were a really amazing mermaid, you know? I especially liked the dance with the sea stars.”

She shrinks away, suddenly sheepish as she thanks you.

“Oh, here,” you shift the bouquet in your arms toward her, “before I forget, these are for you.”

“Another! Oh my gosh!” Her beaded hair-tie clinks as she pivots. “Mom! Look! I have three flowers now!” She takes the bouquet at the base and books it toward Nancy who’s engrossed in a conversation with Brad. “Can I keep them in my room, please? And can we get some more vases tonight? I’ll water them, I promise, Mommy.”

You have a fondness for his kids Steve doesn’t often see in the eyes of strangers. They're quite rambunctious a lot of the time and while the elderly compliment him and his genes occasionally, this is different. Affection softens every line of your expression and there’s joy stitched in each sweep of your lashes. It’s endearing as it is strange because ultimately you are still very much a stranger.

Steve trusts Robin’s judgment more than his own sometimes. If love for his kids were a race, she’d take a very close second against him. She takes her duties as an aunt very seriously and so he’s confident you’re as great as she says. But still, he doesn’t know you personally. He can’t know your intentions for certain. And he might feel guiltier about that in the context of introducing you to his kids— if you weren’t so undeniably wonderful.

You idle beside Steve, a short distance from the rest of the crew. He places his hand on the small of your back and you exchange quiet smiles.

It’s mostly for show. He feels the weight of Nancy’s gaze in his peripherals. But an ounce or two of Steve is motivated purely by his own self-interest.

He misses these simple acts of affection. Tracing the veins in someone else’s palm, kissing their eyelids, counting their lashes. It’s human nature, a need, he supposes. A need he’s been trying to convince himself is much more of a want.

And you’re so very gentle with him. It’s really driving him mad.

Nancy must tell the kids it’s time to go because they’re scrambling over in a cacophony of goodbyes. Steve gives them each a big squeeze and a little shake for the road. Caroline hugs you like you’re no different than the rest of them, while Andy, ever the little charmer, asks your name for the third time. They disappear behind the first row of cars, their voices carry far but fade into all the rest.

When Steve turns, he finds you already looking at him.

“They’re really great,” your smile worsens and Steve’s stomach capsizes, “your kids. You should be proud.”

The joy is contagious, infecting Steve with the same toothy smile, spreading through every cell in his body straight down to his jumping heart. “I am,” he manages.

“God,” you shake your head at the stars, “I can’t believe that actually worked.”

Steve closes his eyes and exhales a rough laugh. “You’re telling me.”

“Did I make you uncomfortable at all? I didn’t want to do too much.”

“No,” Steve promises. “No, no, it was perfect. You did great. Thank you.”

You throw your hand up in dismissal. “Don’t. That was… weirdly fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, “is that fucked up?”

“Not any more than me asking you to do this,” he snorts.

“How long exactly do you plan to do this for? I could probably do most evenings but mornings are trickier with work.”

Steve blinks unceremoniously. “Oh, I– well, I was just gonna tell her it didn’t work out, actually.”

“Really?”

He struggles to understand your squinting. He didn’t expect you to question this part. “Yeah?”

“You want it to be believable, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah–”

“Then you have to sell it, Steve. Give it a little buildup, some emotion. It would be so obvious if you ended it now.”

He searches your face, not sure what he’s hoping to find. But there’s at least some level of authenticity there. “You’d want to? To keep going?”

“Like I said,” you frown, “weirdly fun.”

He hums. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Okay.”

“I say we make a few more appearances, you know, as a happy couple. Then, we stage the breakup.”

“What, in front of her?”

“No, not necessarily. But we plant the seeds. We aren’t as affectionate, we get a little worked up over something stupid. I don’t know. Just enough to make her catch on that things aren’t all that good. That’s believable.”

Steve stares at you for a long minute before his smile turns a sinister shade. “You’re crazy, aren’t you?”

You huff but there’s no heat behind it. You’re grinning too. “I thought you had more manners than that, Steve.”

“Yeah, well, if it's any consolation, I also think you’re a fuckin’ genius.”

“You’ve been a nice boyfriend, so, I’ll let it slide.”

He rolls his eyes like a kid. He likes talking to you but he isn’t sure what else to say.

“So, see you next time then?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “yeah, I’ll call you. Thank you.”

“‘Kay. See ya.”

There’s a beat before you go, a split-second where Steve could hug you, kiss your cheek, touch your arm. He’s not exactly sure what the protocol is for this type of situation, though. He makes the executive decision not to subject you to any more PDA lest you get the wrong idea about him. But the way you’ve got this all planned out, he’s not so worried anymore.

“Bye,” he waves.

You walk the same path Nancy and his kids had, the back of your head slipping behind the bed of a truck. There’s something about you. Something fun, something that makes him feel alive again. And a fake relationship isn’t really harming anyone if you’re both enjoying yourselves. So why the hell not?

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #dad steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things x reader #a family affair #afa #divorced stancy #skeltnwrites

663 notes · View notes

manmuncher777 · 12 days ago

Note

Hiiii <3 Could you write a gojo x reader where we've been mad at gojo and it's been weeks and we haven't slept together. But gojo cant take it anymore and we have make up sex.

Dog House

✧༺ Satoru Gojo x reader SMUT

✧༺. Gojo forgot an important date night you have planned, so you you hoped a sex ban would be a good punishment, but it ends up being harder on You…

You had been looking forward to tonight for weeks.

A real date — not something squeezed in between missions, not a quick lunch in a grimy diner while he texted furiously under the table.

An actual night for just the two of you.

You sat on the couch in your prettiest dress, makeup done, hair styled, heels tapping impatiently against the hardwood.

You spent the whole evening getting ready, wearing all his favourite things, his favourite perfume, favourite lipstick, even his favourite set,, matching bra and panties.

The clock on the wall ticked louder and louder.

Your heart started sinking.

When the front door finally creaked open nearly three hours late, you didn’t even bother to stand up.

You just stared at the TV blankly, pretending you hadn’t already gone through every stage of disappointment and rage.

“Babyyyy,” Gojo called out as he kicked his shoes off lazily. His voice was casual, bright — like he didn’t even realize the magnitude of the sin he’d just committed. “I’m hoooome—holy shit, you look fucking. gre—”

He froze mid-step, mid-sentence, when you slowly turned your head to glare at him.

“…Oh,” he said weakly. Smile being replaced with the look of a child who was about to get scolded.

You crossed your arms. “Yeah. Oh.”

He winced, shuffling closer with his hands out like he was approaching a dangerous animal. “Look, baby, before you get mad—”

“I am mad,” you snapped, standing up. Your heels clicked furiously on the floor as you closed the distance between you. “You forgot about our date. You didn’t call. You didn’t text. You just—” you gestured wildly, “—abandoned me like I was nothing.”

“Hey, that’s not fair—” he started, eyebrows knitting together.

“Fair?” you echoed, letting out a humorless laugh. “You can teleport across half the country in five minutes but can’t pick up your goddamn phone?”

Gojo opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then shut it.

You could see the moment he realized he had absolutely no defense.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said quickly, giving you those wide, desperate puppy eyes. “Work just got—really crazy—and I lost track of time—”

“You always lose track of time, Satoru,” you said, voice rising slightly. “You act like you’re the only one who’s busy. You think I’m sitting here doing nothing all day, just waiting for you to maybe remember me?”

Gojo’s mouth twisted in guilt. “I don’t think that, I swear—”

“Then act like it!”

He shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. His blindfold was pushed up onto his messy hair, his face wide open and full of regret — but god, you were too pissed to fall for the pitiful look.

“You look so beautiful,” he said softly, almost a whisper, eyes raking over you again like it physically hurt him to have missed this. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You are,” you agreed flatly.

“But I’ll make it up to you, baby, I swear,” he said, voice dripping with false bravado now as he leaned down to brush his mouth against yours — cocky grin tugging at his lips. “C’mon, let me make it up to you properly—”

You jabbed a finger into his chest, making him stumble back a step.

“Sex. Ban.”

You savored the way the words wiped the smirk clean off his face.

His jaw dropped. “Wait, no—no, baby, don’t do this—”

“Effective immediately,” you said crisply, turning on your heel. “Indefinitely.”

Gojo scrambled after you, grabbing your wrist lightly. “You’re kidding, right? Right? Right?”

You yanked your hand free, arching a brow. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

His hands dropped helplessly to his sides, as if the news had physically drained all the strength from his body.

“Baby, you can’t,” he whined shamelessly. “You can’t do that, that’s—that’s abuse, actually—”

You snorted. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you forgot about your girlfriend for three straight hours.”

Gojo groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “I didn’t forget you! I forgot the time!” He gestured wildly toward the clock, like it was the traitorous enemy here. “I always think about you! Constantly! You’re all I fucking think about!”

You just shrugged, perfectly, infuriatingly indifferent. “Should’ve acted like it.”

And then you left him standing there — devastated, blue balls already kicking in, face full of desperate disbelief — as you grabbed a blanket and flopped onto the couch dramatically, putting a full fortress of pillows between you and him.

Gojo stared at you for a long moment, like he was considering just dropping to his knees and begging.

(He would. Give him a few minutes.)

It started the very next morning.

You were standing at the kitchen counter, minding your own business, trying to pour coffee — when a pair of strong arms slid around your waist.

“Baby,” Gojo whined into your neck, voice muffled and pitiful. “I need you.”

You carefully leaned away from his nuzzling mouth.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you left me alone all night,” you said sweetly.

He groaned dramatically, letting his head fall onto your shoulder like he was a man on the brink of death.

“I said I was sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll never do it again, I swear. I’ll set alarms. I’ll tattoo the date on my forehead.”

You snorted. “Sucks to suck, Satoru.”

He pouted the whole rest of the morning, trailing after you like a lost puppy, hands constantly wandering — groping, squeezing, touching — hoping you’d just snap and shove him down.

You didn’t.

⸻

Day two:

You woke up to a suspiciously clean apartment.

Gojo was perched proudly on the couch, arms crossed like he was waiting for a gold star.

“I did all the chores,” he announced brightly. “Vacuumed, laundry, folded the towels the way you like. I even alphabetized the spice rack.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“And why would you do all that?”

He beamed. “Because I love you!”

“And…?”

His smile faltered slightly.

“And maybe because I’m hoping you’ll let me… you know…” He made an absolutely obscene gesture with his hips.

“What you do some chores and think im going to forgive you like that?”

A sheepish “maybe” leaves the white haired man

You turned around without a word and left him standing there, whining like a kicked dog.

⸻

Day three:

He tried seduction.

You came home from work, exhausted and grumpy — only to find Gojo sprawled across the bed, shirtless, wearing only a tiny towel dangerously slung across his hips.

One hand behind his head.

One hand lazily trailing down his chest.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he purred, voice low and shameless. “Long day? Want me to make it alllll better?”

You stood there staring, arms crossed.

“I’m still mad at you,” you said flatly, fighting the very real urge to drool.

“Mad enough to resist this?” he teased, tugging the towel down a little further to reveal a very blatant problem.

You bit your lip so hard it almost hurt. He looked good, you couldn’t lie. He always looked good, but the urge to plant yourself in his lap was chewing away at you, the way his skin was glinting under the lamp light, Chiseled body on display. You craved his touch

You almost caved right there.

Almost.

Instead, you stepped closer — leaned down — kissed the corner of his stupid smug mouth — and whispered sweetly:

“Have fun jerking off.”

The whine he let out as you walked away could have powered a small city.

⸻

Day four:

He had snapped.

“You’re TORTURING me,” he moaned dramatically as he draped himself across your lap like a Victorian woman about to faint. “I’m a shell of a man. You’re gonna kill me. They’re gonna find me withered and shriveled up, and it’ll be all your fault.”

“Good,” you said sweetly, pushing his head off your thighs.

“Please,” he begged, crawling after you on his hands and knees, clinging to your leg like a child.

“Just a little kiss? A little touch? A little—anything? I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”

You looked down at him — pathetic, needy, desperate Gojo clinging to you like his life depended on it — and god, the smug power rush was almost addictive.

Everything in you was screaming to give in, to make him earn his forgiveness. you mind wandering to just how hard he would work. All needy and desperate like this. Would he eat you like a man starved? Or maybe he couldn’t handle waiting and would pull you down right there, fucking you as an apology

You almost gave in.

Almost.

Fifth night.

You came home bone-tired, mind heavy with stress, muscles aching from a brutal day at work. You felt both mentally and physically drained. this whole week was tough on you, you wanted so badly to crawl into your boyfriend’s lap and let him take away all the stress. you missed his touch, his scent, his everything. To the point where you just wanted to cry

There was something about him, he seemed to dispel every bad mood you had, making everything better. You couldn’t even recall why you were keeping him at. Arms length. And god, you wanted nothing more than for him to fuck you, touch you, kiss you. trail his hands over your body like you were a goddess on earth

And there he was — waiting for you.

Gojo was lounging on the couch, long legs spread, arms thrown casually over the backrest like he owned the place.

Dressed down in just grey sweats — and no shirt.

Golden skin, toned abs, messy white hair, and that stupidly unfair face that somehow looked even more handsome when he was pouting.

And fuck, the look he gave you when you walked in —

like you were the only thing in the universe worth staring at.

“Welcome home, baby,” he murmured, voice a low purr that slid right under your skin.

You dropped your bag by the door, jaw tight. You tried — you really tried — to hold it together. To keep your cool.

You still hadn’t forgiven him yet. You were still mad. You weren’t going to break.

Not yet.

“You look tired,” he said softly, his tone dripping with too much tenderness. “C’mere. Lemme take care of you.”

You hesitated, heart pounding.

And that’s when he stood — lazy, slow, so fucking confident — walking toward you like a predator scenting blood in the water. Like he could sense it, the way you were so close to breaking.

“You’ve been working so hard lately,” he whispered, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered against your cheek.

“You deserve a break. You deserve… me.”

His thumb stroked over your jaw, slow and teasing, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“I miss you,” he whispered, mouth brushing the shell of your ear.

“I’m sorry, angel. I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll never forget a date again. I’ll never put work first again. You’re the only thing that matters to me.”

You shivered.

God, you missed him too. You missed his touch, his voice, his everything.

Your chest ached with the weight of it.

He kissed the side of your neck, light as a feather. “Please. Let me make it up to you. Let me worship you. Let me love you.”

His hands gripped your hips — strong, possessive — pulling you closer until you could feel how hard he already was against you.

And that’s it.

You snapped.

With a sharp gasp, you grabbed his stupid pretty face and dragged him down into a searing, punishing kiss — teeth and tongue and months of longing poured into it.

When you snapped and dragged him into that kiss, Satoru didn’t waste a fucking second.

He was already clawing at your clothes like a man possessed, like if he didn’t have you skin-to-skin right now he was gonna lose his goddamn mind.

Somehow you stumbled to the bedroom—barely—he was kissing you so hungrily, hands slipping under your clothes, squeezing your thighs, your ass, your waist, like he was trying to memorize every curve all over again.

Delicate moans leaving your mouth at the feeling, god you had missed this, that feeling of being so wanted by the one you love

And when he finally—finally—got your clothes off?

Satoru groaned—a deep, broken sound that vibrated through his whole chest.

“Fuck—baby, fuck, look at you—” he gasped, hands spreading over your waist, thumbs brushing the underside of your tits like he was worshipping.

“You’re so beautiful, so fucking perfect—”

He kissed down your body, wet open-mouthed kisses, nipping at sensitive skin, breathing filthy little praises against you.

“Missed you, missed you so much—fuck—I’m sorry, baby, lemme make it better, lemme make it right—”

And then he was between your thighs, hands gripping them wide open, moaning like you were a fucking feast laid out just for him.

The first swipe of his tongue over your pussy had your knees buckling.

You sobbed his name—loud, desperate—and Satoru groaned right into you like he was getting drunk off your taste.

“Missed this pussy,” he slurred, voice wrecked. “Missed how fuckin’ sweet you are—missed how you cry for me, baby.”

He didn’t stop—didn’t fucking stop—circling your clit with his tongue, then sucking hard, then fucking you with two fingers deep and fast, hitting that spot that made your legs tremble.

It was obscene—filthy—the slick sounds of his fingers pumping into you, the wet noises of his mouth working your cunt, his desperate little groans when you tugged his hair and ground yourself against his face.

And when you came, hard and messy all over his tongue—

he fucking moaned, grinding his cock into the mattress because he needed you so bad it hurt.

But he wasn’t done.

Not even close.

He practically threw you back on the bed, climbed over you, and pressed the fat, weeping head of his cock against your soaked entrance.

He held your hips down with his big hands, forcing you to take every slow, stretching inch.

Like he knew it was exactly what you needed, what you craved.

“You feel s’good, baby,” he slurred, forehead resting against yours, voice shaking with how hard he was holding back. “God, you’re so fuckin’ tight, so perfect for me— cant believe you kept yourself from me”

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders, and Satoru shuddered—hips jerking against you as he bottomed out with a desperate, choked moan.

And then he fucked you—

not hard, not fast—

deep, slow, filthy, dragging his cock against every sensitive spot inside you, making you feel every goddamn inch.

“Say you forgive me,” he begged, voice wrecked, pleading as he rocked into you. “Say you love me, baby—say you missed me—”

You tried—tried—to answer, but he just kept fucking you so good and slow and deep that all you could do was cry his name. Every drag of his thick cock through your wall rendering you unable of speaking. The feeling of his pretty pink tip hitting your cervix so perfectly sending waves of pleasure throughout your body

“That’s it,” he whispered, pressing open-mouthed kisses all over your face. “That’s my good girl, takin’ me so good—”

You came again—shattering around him, clenching down so hard he cursed—loud and filthy.

But he didn’t stop.

He grabbed your thighs and folded you in half, fucking into you harder now, desperate and messy, chasing his own release with little breathless groans in your ear.

“So pretty, baby—so good for me—wanna cum inside you so bad—wanna fuckin’ fill you up—”

And when he finally came—thrusting deep and grinding against you, cock twitching as he spilled inside you—

he gasped your name like a prayer, clinging to you like he never wanted to let you go.

425 notes · View notes

osarina · 13 days ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 I THINK I'VE SEEN THIS LOVE BEFORE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai finds himself back at your apartment in the weeks after the conflict with alexander pushkin while you're away in rome, hoping to push away the emptiness consuming him by dragging himself to the one place he's ever felt okay. it's not enough—not when you're not there—but he can't, and won't, ask you to drop everything you're doing to come deal with him and his fucked up head. luckily, he doesn't have to.

(wordcount: 5.8k; fem!reader, sfw, hurt/comfort, dazai depressive episode, implications of him having an eating disorder, mentions of past suicide attempts/self-harm, talks of suicide, dazai struggling with his place in the ada & struggling to find a reason to live, unedited.)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: YAYYYYYYYY ANOTHER AGE 22 FIC!!! this one was rlly ifhasudfhasd idk i liked writing this one. i like getting in deep with dazai's mental health it's therapeutic for me LOL. but i thought this one was a long time coming honestly, dazai's first bad depressive episode since they reunite at 22. wahhhhhh they both love each other so deeply it makes me sick. anyway there's a waterloo reference in here u guys better catch it or ill perish.

Dazai doesn’t know how he got to your apartment. Doesn’t know when he got to your apartment. Doesn’t even know what he’s doing at your apartment. By the time he finally starts to drag himself out of whatever dissociated state he’d been in, the sun has long set and the stars are shining brilliantly outside the windows lining the far side of your room, and he finds himself curled up in a ball in the center of your bed.

The last thing he remembers is that he was at work. He hadn’t slept the night before, or the night before that, or even the night before that, but he’d managed to drag himself into the office two hours late with a stubble he didn’t trust himself to shave, dressed in the same crumpled clothes he wore the day before. And the day before that. And the day before that.

They’re in a disheveled heap on your floor now. Dazai absently takes note of their location near your door and then looks down at himself, realizing that he must’ve changed into a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt when he got here. They’re not one of the ones you keep around for him, that’s for sure—the pants are riding up his calves because they’re too short for him, and the sweatshirt is a bit tight around his shoulders.

It’s a little uncomfortable, but the fact that they smell like you trounces the fact that they don’t fit him properly. He still feels a bit hazy even now that he’s drawn out of his trance, but he manages to drag himself to the top of your bed and shuffle himself beneath your dark sheets, letting his head drop against your pillow, eyes sliding shut as he desperately inhales the familiar lavender and vanilla of your shampoo.

Surrounded by the scent of you, he can almost pretend that the weight of the blankets on him is your arm draped around him as you pull him to your chest. He can almost drive away that cold, empty feeling that’s been consuming him the past few days. He isn’t sure what triggered this—he thinks maybe it’s been looming since you came back to deal with Alexander Pushkin two weeks ago, since he had to come to terms with the fact that you are the enemy now. That things aren’t the same as they used to be, that they’d never be the same as they used to be.

It’s not you and him (and Chuuya) against the world anymore—ninety percent of the time from now on, it’s going to be him against you (and Chuuya) against the world, and Dazai has never felt so entirely alone. And he shouldn’t because he’s not alone: he has the Agency, but…

But it’s just not the same.

His eyes flutter back open, and he stares ahead blankly at the windows. His reflection stares back at him, inhuman and incomprehensible; his eyes are dull and hollow and far too black, looking more like they belong on a monster than a man, and his skin looks gaunt and pale, his poor eating habits catching up to him. No wonder Yosano has been so on his ass about nutrition, and Kunikida has been stopping by more often with meals that end up getting thrown out. He looks like a ghoul. A wraith. Ugly and uncanny—his rotted mind and heart finally reflect onto his physical appearance so people can see him for what he really is. A demon. A monster. Something that cannot consider itself human.

He can only draw his eyes away from his reflection when he feels his phone buzz—he would ignore it usually, but it’s a welcome distraction from the haunting image of himself right now. He scrambles, trying to figure out where he’d dropped it, and it’s only when his fingers close around the device that he can finally breathe again.

The screen is too bright when he clicks it on. He grimaces at the light burning his eyes, fumbling to turn down the brightness so he can actually see what’s on the screen. His eyes scan quickly over the notifications—a dozen from Kunikida, a handful from Yosano and Atsushi, and—

And three missed video calls from you.

You must’ve gotten the notification that he was in your apartment—either from the security system or your doorman, but he’s pretty sure that he was careful to avoid the man’s notice and the cameras around the building. He chews on the inside of his cheek as his finger hovers over the call-back button, unsure if he wants to even call you back. You’re busy, surely—you’re back in Italy dealing with Port Mafia business, and it should be almost the evening there. You have more important things to be doing than dealing with his fucked up brain.

Still, his finger betrays him, pressing down on the screen before he can stop himself. The dial tone rings in his ears, each second stretching endlessly, anticipation curling in his chest. He braces himself for your voicemail, for the impersonal automated message to remind him that you’re too far away, too unreachable. But then—

“Dazai?”

Your voice is soft, slightly breathless, like you hadn’t expected him to call back so soon. He swallows, throat painfully tightening at the sound of you, unable to look down at his phone. For a moment, he can’t bring himself to say anything. The lump in his throat is just too big for him to force his voice past it.

“Hi,” he finally whispers. His eyes rake over your face greedily, and he’s grateful that he video-called you back. You look beautiful—always do, he thinks wistfully—but even more so today. You’re dressed pretty, lips painted red, and eyes all done up; you must be at an event because he can tell that you’re not wearing the suit you usually wear. He can see the straps of your dress, just barely visible in the camera. “You look pretty.”

“Hi,” you reply, matching his tone. “Are you okay?”

He exhales shakily, forcing himself to play his part. “Of course, bella,” he says, injecting as much of his usual teasing lilt into his voice as he can manage. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You don’t buy it. He knows you don’t. You never have.

There’s a pause on your end, filled only by the faint sound of movement, a rustle of fabric, and a muffled voice calling your name. A male voice. Dazai’s fingers tighten around the fabric of your sheets. He hates the ugly feeling that curls in his gut.

Your voice softens as you finally say, “You’re in my apartment.”

“... No,” Dazai lies after a few seconds, turning on his side to curl into himself. “Are you at an event?”

“Yeah,” you agree, eyes flitting to the side to give someone off-screen a small, dismissive smile. “I’m with Tolstoy and Goldoni at a dinner. We’re meeting with a representative of the Church later—we’re trying to figure out who exactly Fyodor Dostoevsky is. Goldoni invited Tolstoy and me to Vatican City because he thought the Church might have information that could be of use to us.”

“Sounds important,” he says quietly, and he hates how small his voice comes out.

The corners of your lips soften as you look at him, and Dazai is suddenly very acutely aware of how ghoulish he must look. He almost wants to turn the camera away from his face, but he knows that’ll only bring more attention to it.

“Not more important than you,” you tell him, and for a second, Dazai thinks he might cry, all of the tension in his chest loosening at your words. “I would rather be there with you.”

“Me too,” Dazai breathes out, lashes wet and fluttering as he turns his face out of view of the camera, wiping his eyes furiously. “I don’t know what came over me. I don’t usually let it get to me like this. I just—”

“Don’t you think that's probably why?” you ask him softly. Dazai’s throat tightens painfully—if his eyes slide shut, he can almost imagine your fingers threading through his hair as you speak. “It’s Thursday there, right? Are you going to work in the morning?”

Dazai peeks up from the pillow curiously, wondering why you changed the subject so quickly. He bites his bottom lip, wondering if this is your way of asking him to leave. “I—I don’t know. Probably not. I can, I guess—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt immediately, and he looks at you again, waiting for you to continue. “I’ll be back Saturday night, wait for me?”

“If you insist,” he rasps, still a bit drowsy, barely able to hold his eyes open as he looks at the screen. He sees you smile lightly, and that’s worth the burn in his eyes that the light of the screen causes. “Are you leaving?”

You pause, and he sees you look back at where he assumes the rest of the people attending the dinner are sitting, and Dazai’s heart sinks. His chapped lips part to tell you that he’s fine, to crack a joke or flirt with you just enough to convince you that he’ll be okay if you go, but all he’s able to do is take in a ragged breath.

“I can stay on the phone,” you offer. “I won’t be able to talk, but I’ll be here, at least.”

“Okay,” he whispers.

He doesn’t hear you immediately standing up, so he cracks an eye open to see what you’re doing, and his mouth dries when he sees you staring at the screen with an indecipherable expression. You look like you want to say something, but Dazai can’t fathom what it might be. After what feels like an eternity, your head finally drops a little.

“Try to sleep,” you murmur before he hears you rise to your feet.

You don’t say anything else to him, but you don’t hang up either. Dazai listens as you walk back into the dining hall and laugh when Leo Tolstoy accuses you of trying to ditch them. He hears you apologize and tell them that you had to take an important call. He listens as Goldoni chuckles and teases you about a ‘mysterious lover,’ and he listens as you brush it off with a laugh, but you don’t deny it.

Dazai closes his eyes again, listening to the distant hum of your voice, the way you navigate the conversation so effortlessly, the way you sound so at home in a world that no longer includes him. He hates it. Dazai has regretted his decision to leave the Port Mafia before, but never more than now. He feels so separate from you, the two of you are living in entirely different worlds now, and he just hates it. He’s not good at saving people, he’s not good at being good at all, and it’s so exhausting pretending to be—he’ll never fully fit in with the rest of the Agency, and now he doesn’t fully fit in with the one person who has always accepted him for him, and it’s because of his own doing.

Eventually, his eyelids grow heavy as exhaustion finally catches up to him. He barely registers the moment his grip on his phone loosens, nor does he notice when the tension starts to seep from his muscles. The last thing he thinks he hears before sleep claims him is the sound of you excusing yourself from the table and the soft whisper of his name as if checking to see if he’s still there.

And then, silence. For the first time in what feels like forever, Dazai sleeps.

---

You’re not entirely sure if Dazai will still be there when you get back to your apartment. You don’t even bother going to talk to Mori, even though you know you should be heading to his office immediately to debrief everything you learned from Goldoni about Dostoevsky. You won’t be able to focus until you know Dazai is okay—you know that look in his eyes more intimately than anyone else. The first time you saw it, you found him on the roof of your building, swaying precariously on the edge, and the last time, you found him slumped over in your bathroom with a razor blade.

You drop your suitcase haphazardly on the ground, glancing down the hall to his bedroom, but your gut screams to go up to your room, so you place the food you grabbed on the way back down on the table and take off up the steps to your bedroom. The door is open, and you slow to a stop when you see a small lump curled up beneath your dark sheets.

You exhale softly, a fond smile curling onto the corners of your lips as you slip your shoes off and make your way over to him.

You climb on top of the bed, careful not to disturb him, and you pull the sheets back just enough so that you can see his head. He looks at peace—fast asleep, his phone resting next to his head as he lets out even puffs of air. You let the call finally drop when you got up to your apartment, so you take his phone to rest it on the nightstand before turning your attention back onto him.

You lift your hand to run your fingers through his hair, watching as he lets out a soft noise in the back of his throat before leaning into your touch. He’s been sleeping since you got on the call with him over twenty-four hours ago, and there are still dark bags beneath his eyes. You don’t want to wake him up, but you know him and you know he probably hasn’t eaten in days.

Maybe more than that, you grimace, fingers tracing over his face. He’s lost weight, you know that just by looking at him—his cheeks are a bit sunken, and even though he’s wrapped in your blankets, you can see how thin his frame is. Dazai has never been bulky, but he’s always been lean and toned—now, he seems almost frail beneath the blankets. You swallow thickly as you lean down to brush your lips against his temple, watching as he slowly stirs awake.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper, still brushing your fingers through his hair as his hazy gaze slowly focuses on you. The pet name rolls off your tongue easily in spite of the fact that you haven’t used it in years—it’s reserved for Dazai, and it’s specifically reserved for moments like these. “You awake?”

Dazai doesn’t respond. You don’t really expect him to. Your hand slides from his hair to cup his face, running your thumb over his cheekbone. He leans into your touch instinctively, and you can see his lashes start to flutter shut again.

“I brought food,” you tell him quietly as you shift to lay down next to him, slipping an arm around his thin waist to spoon him. You kiss his shoulder blade before nuzzling your face in the nape of his neck. “You should come eat.”

He needs to shower too, you think absently, but you have a feeling that’s going to be more difficult to convince him to do than eat. You can see the bandages on his neck yellowed and frayed at the edges—he probably hasn’t changed them in a concerning amount of time—and his hair is oily and greasy, all of the usual fluff gone.

“I’m not hungry,” he murmurs.

His voice is hoarse, a little over a rasp. You make sure to keep your arm around him as you prop yourself up on your other elbow, looking over him to catch him staring blankly into his reflection in the window. His eyes are dark—too dark and too empty, which means his mind has retreated back into a bad place.

You press your lips together before coming to a decision. You take your arm from around his waist to lift it to his head, wriggling your hand under his cheek to forcibly turn his head up to the ceiling. His whole body falls onto his back when you succeed, and you catch a hint of displeasure in his eyes as he stares up at the ceiling—better than the emptiness. You don’t think he was doing himself any favors staring at himself like that. He’s never liked his own reflection.

“I brought your favorite,” you tempt, sitting up so that you’re kneeling next to him. You pull one of his hands into your lap, using your index finger to trace the lines on his palm and each of his fingers. “Come have a little.”

His expression softens as he looks down at where you’re tracing his hands. He asks quietly, “You brought crab?”

“Good crab,” you confirm. “From the rooftop restaurant in Naka that you like.”

He blinks. “They’re not open this late.”

You give him a smug grin and tell him, “They’re always open for me.”

He doesn’t roll his eyes, but he almost does from the way he side-eyes you. “You sound like Chuuya,” he mutters.

You ignore the insult and say, “Come eat.”

What little energy he mustered fades as his gaze shifts back to the ceiling. “I don’t want to move,” he whispers, voice little over a breath.

I can’t move, he’s really saying. His throat bobs as his eyes slide shut, and you let out a soft breath, lifting your free hand to caress his face as you lean down to press your lips gently to his forehead, tracing them over the bridge of his nose before brushing them against his.

“I’ll bring it to you,” you say quietly, shifting to get up off the bed, but you pause when he reaches out to grab your wrist. His grip is weak, fingers clinging to your suit jacket desperately, you probably wouldn’t have even noticed him grabbing for you if you hadn’t seen him move. “What is it?”

“Stay.”

“I’m not going far,” you tell him. “Just down the steps—”

“Stay,” he rasps out, opening his eyes to look at you again, and you freeze when you see the glassiness in them. “Please.”

“Okay,” you agree, shifting to lay with him again. Usually, he’ll curl into you when you guys lay together, but he stays flat on his back staring up at the ceiling. You lift your hand to turn his head to the side so he’s looking at you, and your heart clenches when you see the pain plainly visible in his eyes.

You don’t have to ask the question. Dazai’s lashes flutter shut, wet with tears he’s not letting roll over his cheeks. You run your finger over his cheekbone again, drawing small circles against his skin as you caress his face.

“I’m so tired,” he breathes out, voice hoarse. “I’m so tired. I’ve done everything he wanted, but nothing has changed. I still feel so empty, I still don’t belong there. I thought maybe once I started doing what he asked, I would change, I’d be better, I’d be good. Happier. But I still feel the same. I still want to die. I’m still me.”

You inhale shakily. For as much as you’ve always known about Dazai’s unending yearning for death, he’s never actually explicitly said it out loud before, at least not to you. For a moment, your thumb pauses in the steady circles you’re drawing against his cheek, but you force yourself to speak.

“You can’t live for someone else, Osamu,” you whisper, voice cracking. “You need to find a reason for yourself.”

“But what if I don’t have one?” Dazai asks, a ragged noise escapes his lips—a sob or an inhale, maybe both. His fingers are trembling in your hand; you think maybe you were wrong. Dazai doesn’t want to die, not really; he wants a reason to live desperately, but can’t find one, and without one, he doesn’t see the point in going on. “What if I don’t have one?”

“Then I’ll help you find one,” you say softly, your voice steady in spite of the tremor that runs through you. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay with you. We’ll figure it out together, you’re not alone. You’ve never been alone.”

Your hand slips off of his face when Dazai turns his head away, breath hitching, but you feel the tears finally start to roll over his cheeks as your hand drops to the mattress.

“But why?” he breathes out, voice wavering. “Why? I don’t understand.”

“Why what?”

“Why are you here? Why are you helping me? I left you, I left you and didn’t even say goodbye, and as soon as I came crawling back into your life, you let me. I know you left Rome early to come check on me. You never leave right after events, you wait a few days until the politics of it dies down.” His voice is pitched. Wobbly. It cracks over every other word, and he becomes more and more distressed with each passing second. “I don’t understand. I wasn’t even—I wasn’t even good to you back then. I couldn’t commit to you, and even when I did commit to you, I was still making things hard. I don’t understand why you’re here, why you’re with me when I only ever make life harder on you, I don’t deserve it. I—”

“Because I love you,” you tell him, sitting up to take his face in both of your hands to force him to look at you. The three words you never spoke before he left because you were afraid it would make him run, the three words you didn’t say back when they slipped from his mouth in the haze of pleasure, the three words the two of you have been dancing around for six years. He stares up at you, frozen, brown eyes wide and lips parted. “I love you, Osamu. I love you so much that it makes me sick sometimes. I love you even when you make things hard, I love you even when you run, even when you push me away, even when you disappear without a word and make me wonder if I’ll ever see you again. And I hate that I do sometimes, I really do—you drive me insane, but I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything.”

His lips part, but no words come out. His hands are trembling, but his grip finally tightens on yours. His chest rises and falls in short, uneven breaths, and you carefully pull him into your arms. He instinctively curls into you, resting his head on your shoulder; you bring your free hand up to cradle his head, fingers tightening around his other hand.

“I left Rome early because I knew you needed me to,” you continue. “And I didn’t want to wait for you to ask, because I knew you’d never.”

His breath hitches. “I just don’t understand. I—”

“You don’t need to understand, Osamu,” you tell him quietly. “You just need to let me love you.”

“I don’t know how to be loved like this,” he whispers. “I’m going to mess it all up.”

“Then we’ll fix it again,” you promise, kissing the top of his head. “We have the rest of our lives for you to learn, yeah?”

Dazai’s nose brushes your jaw as he shifts his head to look up at you, and you let your head fall to the side so that you can look at him. His eyes are swimming with emotion as he lifts his hand to your face—his fingers tremble as they brush your skin.

“I love you too,” he says softly, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. It’s different hearing it now when he’s not drunk with pleasure, when he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him. It makes your throat swell, makes your eyes wet and glassy. “So much. It gets me so twisted up inside that I can barely breathe. I thought of you every day we were apart. It drove me crazy—you don’t understand, I saw you around every corner, I heard your voice in the wind. I dreamed of you every night, and I hated waking up because I knew you wouldn’t be there. When I heard—when I heard you were sent abroad, I went back to your apartment—”

Your eyes widen, and Dazai buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“I thought I would feel better. Your apartment—it’s always where I’ve felt… okay,” he continues, voice muffled against your skin, “but it made me feel so much worse. I’ve felt so guilty over leaving you without saying anything. It’s been eating me alive for years and—”

“It’s okay,” you whisper when his voice breaks into a sob. “It’s okay. I understand now. I—”

“It’s not okay,” he interrupts, voice rising in pitch as he forces himself to sit up to look at you. You sit up with him—his pupils are dilated, eyes wild, and he’s no longer trying to hold back the tears. “It’s not okay. I hurt you, I left you. It hadn’t even been a year since Itou died, and I knew you weren’t okay even though you pretended to be. You needed me and I left you. And—”

“And I forgive you, Osamu,” you tell him, reaching forward to grab his shaking hands again. It scares you how much you realize you mean it—you don’t think the resentment will ever fully go away, but you do forgive him. “I forgive you for leaving. I’m glad you left, I’m glad you got out of there, I’m glad you’re with the Agency. Of course I’ll always be sad that we’re not working together anymore, but we’re still us, we still have each other and that’s what matters.”

“But—” he starts to whisper, nails digging deep into the skin of your hands, but you don’t pull away.

“There is no ‘but’,” you say quietly. “I know you can’t see it yourself, Osamu, but I do. You have changed since you’ve been with them. You’ve changed for the better. I knew it the moment we first saw each other after all those years, and I know it now.”

“Then why do I still feel this way?” he breathes out desperately, looking to you for an answer. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re not just going to suddenly wake up one day and feel okay,” you say with a wry smile, reaching out to caress his cheek. “That’s not how it works. But you’re doing good, Osamu. You are good. If the me from four years ago met the you now, I would never believe that you’re my Osamu—you haven’t let yourself see how far you’ve come, but before we met in my office, the last I remembered of you was when you were an executive, so I can see it better than anyone. The boy I knew four years ago is not the same man sitting in front of me today. I forgive you for leaving because it makes me happy to see who you’ve become since you’ve been gone. I’m proud of you, Osamu—and I know he would be too.”

Dazai grits his teeth to hold back another sob, head hanging forward. You shift toward him to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into you so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“I hate that you always know what to say,” he mutters, fingers digging into the back of your suit jacket as he clings to you.

“Well, it is kind of my job,” you say dryly, lips curling up when he lets out a puff of air that you can only assume is amusement.

“What about you?” he finally asks. You barely hear him since he’s speaking so quietly. “You could leave too. You could come with me. You could be good too—we could learn together.”

“Osamu—”

“You could,” he insists before you reject him, sitting back on his heels to look at you. “You could—”

“I don’t want to,” you tell him firmly, watching as his shoulders slump. “I’m not like you, or even Chuuya. You never enjoyed being in the mafia—you were the most successful executive we had, and you just didn’t care. You were only there because you were trying to find a way to spend your time. And Chuuya, he’ll always do what needs to be done to protect the city—he knows that sometimes you need to do bad things for the greater good, but he doesn’t like it.”

“And you?” he asks quietly.

“I love it,” you admit, swallowing thickly. “I don’t give a shit about the city, or the people, I like the money and I like the power and I like the fear and the respect and the love. I like having the most powerful men in the world in the palm of my hand, and I like knowing that if I wanted to, they would kill for me, die for me, start wars for me. I like that when I walk into a room with the Prime Minister, he’ll walk up to me for my attention. I like being wined and dined in foreign countries because all of their politicians and oligarchs want my favor. I love being with Port Mafia, Osamu. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to be good.”

You don’t expect Dazai to laugh, but he does. He barks out something caught between a sob and a laugh, pressing his hand to his mouth to smother it.

“And what does it say about me that you saying all of that made me hard?” he chokes out between either sobs or laughs, maybe both.

Your hand flies to your mouth to smother your giggle, but it’s to no avail, because when Dazai snorts, you can’t hold it back anymore. He leans into you as he bursts into laughter, and you press your face into the top of his head, burying your face in his hair as you giggle, absently wiping away the tears streaming down his cheeks.

When he finally starts to calm down, hysterical laughter becoming soft giggles, he lets out a heavy sigh. His lashes are still wet against the skin of your neck, and he’s still upset, but his shoulders aren’t tense anymore as he sinks into you.

“If you really think I’ve changed,” he asks, voice too small, “then how do you know you still love me?”

“Because you’re Dazai Osamu,” you answer instantly. “I’ll always love you—whether you’ve changed for the better or worse, I’m yours, and you’re mine. You changing just means I get the chance to fall in love with you all over again.”

A noise slips from his lips—you can’t tell if it’s a soft ‘oh’ or a gasp, but his arms tighten around you. After a few moments, he lets out a breathy, “I love you.”

You kiss the top of his head in response, running your hand up and down his spine absently before he finally lets out a heavy sigh and sits back on his heels to look at you. His eyes are heavy, and his smile is sad.

“Mori wants me back,” he says quietly after a moment. You inhale sharply, heart sinking as your hands drop back to your lap. “He’s mentioned it twice now. And you said it yourself, when he wants something—”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” you say firmly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “I’ll handle it.”

“But—”

“Seriously, Osamu,” you say, and then add teasingly, “Don’t you still trust me? Didn’t you once say body, heart, soul, and trust?”

Dazai’s face instantly heats up. He rips his hand from yours to bury his face in his hands, letting out a long groan. “Can you not repeat all the embarrassing things I said when we were younger?”

“Please,” you laugh. “You don’t think me and Chuuya stopped re-enacting the ‘that’s why I love you’ just because you left, do you?”

“Oh my god,” he complains, falling over onto the bed to press his face into your pillow. You only barely catch the muffled, “I’m going to smother myself, and it’s on you.”

You laugh and shift to drape yourself over his back, kissing his shoulder blade before resting your head down on his back, drawing patterns on his back. “Anyway, I thought that one was cute, not embarrassing.”

Dazai only lets out an irritated grumble that makes you smile.

“Ah, sweet hime, I’m going to have to disappear again for a few days after this one,” he sighs, turning his head to the side to look at you from the corner of his eye. You shimmy up a bit to press your lips to his cheek, watching his eyes flutter shut. “This is all just too embarrassing. You know how I feel about… talking and emotions.”

You can hear the disgust dripping from his words, and you laugh. “Tell that to someone who hasn’t had to talk you off the edge of a roof or wrestle you for a razor blade.”

His lips curl up into a soft smile.

“Fair,” he whispers.

You bite back a yelp when he suddenly rolls onto his back, hands darting out to shift you so that you’re lying on his chest instead. He reaches up to cup your cheek, and you let out a quiet breath when your eyes meet his. They’re still a bit too fragile for your liking, but there’s a peace that you’ve hardly ever seen before in them, and it makes your heart warm.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he admits, running his thumb over your cheekbone, staring at your face like he’s trying to burn it into his memory. “Please don’t ever go somewhere I can’t follow.”

“Somewhere without you?” you tease. “Sounds dreadful.”

He lets out a laugh, but there’s something sad that lingers in his eyes, and it makes you pause. You remember the words he said to you after the near-successful assassination attempt on you four years ago—everything I never want to lose is always lost, I’m so scared that you’ll be next.

“You won’t ever lose me, Osamu,” you promise.

Dazai’s gaze lowers. “I hope not.”

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

502 notes · View notes

angelicblondie · 8 months ago

Text

high infidelity (pt 2)

enemy!luke x princess!reader (MDNI) warning: cheating (not ok at all), smut note: finaly done! thank you for the patience on this! it took me soooo long for some reason so im so sorry! but with that being said, i really hope you all enjoy 🤍 ⋆⑅ೀpart oneೀ⋆⑅

you hadn't properly spoken to luke in exactly 2 weeks. 2 weeks since you threw your coffee all over him at breakfast, 2 weeks since you spent the whole day cleaning camp with him, 2 weeks since you kissed him, and 2 weeks since you slept with him.

eventful day, huh?

after luke had cleaned the two of you up, you had promptly (and awkwardly) showed yourself out, sliding back on your underwear and running back to the beach for your clothes. you thanked the gods that everyone was at the campfire and no where near you and luke, otherwise they would have caught you in a very compromising position.

after redressing, you rushed to the rest of the campers, taking a seat next to alex. your boyfriend.

wow, what a good girlfriend I am, you thought sarcastically.

alex turned towards you, placing a firm kiss on your cheek. "hey babe, where were you?"

you loosened up your limbs trying to appear casual. "I had to finish off some cleaning with luke." you stated, forcing your voice to sound a bit annoyed at the mention of the raven haired boy.

alex sighs. "i know you don't like him babe, but what happened at breakfast was....a bit much, no?"

you bite your lip. "i know, i know, trust me."

his fingers twirl a bit of your hair, and his eyes narrow. "why is your hair wet?"

you blink, thoughts running wild to formulate an answer.

"i think im done cleaning," luke stated, tossing his shirt to the sand and unbuttoning his shorts. you turned to look away, fearing a blush would coat your cheeks at seeing his near-naked form.

you could hear the smirk in lukes voice as he talked, and you turned back to see him just in boxers, walking backwards towards the water.

"gonna take a dip, if you wanna join."

his words were enticing, and you still couldn't figure out why. despite yourself, you slowly peel of you clothes, curious as to where this was going. with a new found sense of confidence, you walked towards the water, locking eyes with luke, who was eyeing your body, and the thin, lacy garments covering you privates.

you held back a shudder of the memory from before, and forced a annoyed look on your face.

"luke threw water on me at the beach." you lied.

alex scoffed. "what a dick, huh?"

you nodded, leaning your head on his shoulder. "yeah, a huge dick."

you winced at your words, because they were true in all senses. you almost laughed at the irony - you had just slept with him and were now talking to your boyfriend about how he's a huge dick. beautiful.

in truth, you felt beyond guilty. here alex was, so sweet and caring, and you had just cheated on him. it was so out of character, especially given your hatred for luke - it was out of the blue.

you regretted it. bad.

but why did that idea fill you with even more guilt?

not long after you arrived, luke had showed up, going over to sit with his siblings.

he glanced in your direction, noticing that you were next to alex. feeling his gaze on you, a part of you wanted to detach from your boyfriend - a small part, but still a part.

and besides, even if that part of you was bigger - that part that quite enjoyed your time with luke over the past hour - it would never work. odds are, you were just a one and done for him. he messes around with girls all the time, its wasn't worth loosing your relationship with alex over.

so at that moment, especially when you saw luke begin to flirt with a girl from demeter cabin, you decided you would forget you and luke castellan ever happened, and you would devote your time into making your relationship with alex work.

because it was the right thing to do.

.·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤

like stated, it had been 2 weeks since your...encounter, with luke, and safe to say things have gone mostly back to normal.

mostly.

the days were mostly the same. you spent time with your siblings and friends, and of course, your boyfriend. you trained the younger campers, you dueled with your peers, and you lead your cabin in all duties, being the head councilor alongside your sister silena.

you relationship with alex felt as if it had only strengthened in the couple of weeks - you had been pouring so much more energy into the the two of you, and if felt good to be investing into something that was good for you.

and besides, you were filled with immense guilt for what happened with luke - the least you could do was spend a little extra time with alex.

so yeah. the days were mostly back to normal.

the nights, however, had changed.

instead of being plagued by usual demigod nightmares, you had been burdened with far worse - dreams of luke.

you were angry, internally blaming it on him, even though you knew rationally, he couldnt have anything to do with it.

you were the issue.

whether you were trying to or not, you were the one dreaming of him. you were the one that as soon as you closed your eyes, you were back in cabin one, underneath him, writhing in pleasure.

you wished there was some sort of therapy at camp, so someone could tell you what the hell was going on.

you knew you didn't like luke - since the moment you met him, in fact, you hated him. the two of you never got along, always competing to be best, always finding ways to get under the others skin. you didn't like him, and he didn't like you.

so it was attraction - simple as that. just because you hated him with your gut, doesn't mean you couldn't find him hot. because he's objectively hot. it would be suspicious if you said he wasn't hot, because everyone knew he was.

so, you could admit that to yourself - that you found him very attractive, but you could never see anything with him. thats why it didn't matter - because theres nothing of substance. with alex - he genuinely cares about you, and you feel safe with him. luke would only ever disappoint you.

but you couldn't deny that lukes surprising warmth was unforgettable. that his lips and skin were shockingly soft, that his voice when quiet and breathless was enough to send shivers down you spine even now, that when you were with him in that state he was all consuming...

you couldn't deny that his touch was electric, lighting a spark in you that you didn't know was there. that his teases weren't aggravating that one late afternoon when he had you, in fact, they only spurred on your need for him. you couldn't deny that despite yourself, the intimacy of the moment you had wasn't lost on you - the way he demanded you look in his eyes the whole time, the way he joked with you and cleaned you up after, even his dirty teases about what your boyfriend would think if he found out - you remembered it, no matter how much you wish you didn't.

you cringed when you remember your own words from that night.

"bet he could never make you feel this good, could he?" luke had asked, his voice teasing and of course, knowing.

you repeatedly shake your head, your words coming out all jumbled together. "no, never, only you, luke," you cried.

"s'that right, princess? only me?" you almost regretted your words, seeing how much it seemed to have grown his ego, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care all that much when he was making you feel so good.

you nod, whimpering as your cunt clenched around him, biting your lip to hold back any more sounds.

you had essentially told him that it was only luke who could make you feel that good, that he was better than your boyfriend.

yikes. it wasn't a good look, especially since you were still with said boyfriend.

you could excuse it, say it was heat in the moment, but in truth, in that moment you meant it. you rarely say things you don't mean, and even if you tried to lie, you knew the truth - you knew that it wasn't a fabricated statement.

you also couldn't pretend that you hadn't seen him looking at you, very often as of late. you'd be at the volleyball court, messing around with your siblings, when you felt his hot gaze on you. you turn to look, seeing him with his own siblings from afar, staring heatedly at you. you would swallow nervously, you body feeling hot, before returning your attention back into the game.

you werent sure why he was pressed - you had assumed he would've been fine with it - getting it out of your system once and then going back to normal.

but nothing between you two in the past couple of weeks was your normal.

you and luke, as always, taught the younger campers a sword fighting class. you had been teaching this together for years, chirons reasoning that you two were the strongest sword fighters in camp, and it would be a shame not to utilize that. the two of your egos had been too stroked to disagree, despite your dislike for the other.

but now, after what happened between you two, you regretted that design greatly.

things were beyond different between you two now. instead of teases and jabs, from luke you were given intense glares and knowing smirks. when the two of you were demonstrating, it was impossible to focus, having to look luke in the eye after what happened between the two of you felt like hell. your cheeks grew rosier the more his lips tilted up into a simper, and your body felt hotter whenever his fingers grazed on you waist to show "correct stances" to the kids.

you felt so angry with yourslef for letting him have this effect on you - you had promised yourself to forget what happened between the two of you, but it was hard when he made you feel so helpless.

it was even worse when you got caught staring at him instead of the other way around - humiliating, even. he would meet your intense gaze, his eyes filled with a rare sense of seriousness. you would look away, embarrassed to be caught, but you would feel his gaze on you for a long time after.

you remembered one night when his stare was far too compromising.

it was about a week ago, aka, a week after the two of you slept together, and alex was walking you back to your cabin after a long day.

"you tired?" he had asked warmly, hodling both your hands as you stood in front of you cabin.

you nodded, a small smile on your lips. "yeah, long day."

he nodded in agreement, before stepping close to you, his lips tilting up. "can i give you a kiss?" he asked.

you internally winced. why did he ask? he was your boyfriend, he shouldnt have to ask to kiss you!

luke certainly didn't.

you shook that thought away before forcing a smile on your lips, nodding softly before leaning in to meet his lips.

kisses with alex were always slow - not that you didn't like slow kisses, but it was all the time - there had to be some sort of diversity.

with luke, there were moments where your lips moved sensually, before speeding up to be more intense. there was moments where he kissed you passionately and deeply, before pulling his lips away, teasing you, leaving you wanting more. it was electric, addictive, even.

luke-why were you thinking about luke right now? you were kissing your boyfriend, and you should be thinking about him, alex, not luke. you felt a prickle on your arms, goosebumps rising, as you flutters your eyes opened slightly.

from afar, you could see luke, leaned out front of his own cabin, watching you guys.

you wondered if you should've felt disgusted, annoyed even - but you were filled with shock.

alexs' lips trailed down to your neck and you gasped, him smiling into your skin. he thought you were gasping for him, he thought you were pleased with his lips.

when in reality, you were reacting to a whole different man.

staring at luke from across the way, your mind could trick you into thinking it was him doing this to you - him holding your waist tightly, lips sloppily trailing kisses along your neck. even though alexs' lips felt much different, you could pretend.

luke watched, his arms crossed, serious gaze softening into a smug expression. he knew. he knew you were thinking about him, he knew you couldn't stop thinking about him - he knew. somehow, he knew.

so anywayse, to summarize the past 2 weeks:

hell. absolute hell.

.·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤

"alice, make sure to keep your feet planted, its easy for your opponent to knock you down if your balance is unsteady"

you heard lukes instructions from afar as your bent in front of layla, a young athena camper, putting a bandaid on her knee.

"why do you and luke not fight anymore?" layla asks innocently.

you look up to here, surprised by her question. you laugh breathily. "um, i dunno, layls. we just don't."

she huffs, wincing when you place the bandain on her cut. "yeah, but you guys barely talk, as well."

you blow out a breath of air, ignoiring her interrogation. "all done. why dont you go join the others?"

she pouts, but does as you say, running back over to her sparing partner as you stay where you stand, overseeing the practice.

you feel the space fill up next to you and you don't have to look to know its luke.

"ben is getting better," he comments, referring to your younger brother. you hum in agreement. "yeah, he just need to be more confident in his moves and then he'll be on a good path."

he hums, and its silent for a moment as you two watch your students.

"listen, i have some changes i want to make to next classes schedule," luke says, breaking the silence. his voice was casual, yet his lips were tilted up in a faint smirk.

you turn to look at him, furrowing your brows. "ok..." when he doesn't say anything, you huff. "go ahead."

he chuckles. "nah, i mean, its too long of a conversation, and class is almost over."

you purse your lips. "ok, fine, then after class."

he hisses in a breath of air. "i'm busy all afternoon," he excuses, faux apologetic. you narrow your eyes. what is he playing at ?

you let out a scoffed laugh. "ok, so when?"

he shrugs. "does after dinner work?"

you fold your lips inwards. you weren't so sure about that. alone, when its dark, with luke? cant be a good idea. but there was no other time to do it, and you knew he wouln't take no for an answer.

"fine," you say curtly after a moment.

he grins. "perfect. meet at the dock, then."

and thats exactly what you did. after finishing up your dinner, making sure all your sibling got ready for bed, you snuck out to the dock.

you saw luke already seated there, and when he heard your footsteps, he whipped his head around, his lips tilting up. "ah, there you are. almost thought you werent coming."

you walk over to sit next to him, yet far enough away. "so, what did you want to talk about?"

he chuckles, leaning back on his hands. "oh, theres tons i want to talk to you about, princess."

you clench your jaw, your cheeks getting a bit rosy. "i meant about the schedule for next lesson."

"oh, right," he sits up a bit, "i think we should change the demonstration to before they start practicing instead of after."

you blink. seriously? couldnt he have just said that earlier? "is that all?"

lukes eyes grow mischievous. "no, actually. i think you should bring your little boyfriend - think it would be fun for him to watch us spar, no?"

you purse your lips, immidiately filled with anger. "stop that."

he throws his hands up in faux defense. "woah, calm down princess. was just an idea."

you roll you eyes, scoffing. "i knew it was a bad idea to come here."

you begin to stand up, but he grabs your wrist. "no. c'mon, stop that," he snickers a bit. "i was just messin with you."

his voice came across a bit soft, and you couldnt ignore the fluttering in your stomach. you stay seated, looking over at him. "whats the real reason you asked me to come out here?"

lukes jaw clenched, and he looked out into the dark water of the lake. the vibe between you two darkened, as did his expression. "you cant just pretend it didn't happen. thats not how it works."

you face fills with shock, his switch in demeanor catching you off guard. he seemed...frustrated, frustrated that you hadn't acknowledged what happened between the two of you.

you swallow nervously. "it was a mistake," you say, but your voice betrays you, coming out quiet and unsure.

luke scoffs. "nothing you do is a mistake, princess. you always know what your doing."

"yeah, well, i didn't in that moment, obviously," you bite your lip. this didn't feel like you and luke - the two of you were being oddly vulnerable, you weren't necessarily fighting - sure you were frustrated, but it wasn't like you were throwing petty insults at the other.

"i..." you start, but have trouble finding you words. "look, i had a good time with you" you admit, your voice quiet. you don't dare to look at luke. "and it was all...really good. but it cant happen again. i've already done enough to betray alex, when he's been nothing but good to me. and-and im a relationship girl, luke. thats something you could never give me."

lukes jaw clenches. alex? nothing but good to you? so you dont know about how he bragged to a bunch of the guys about your body, about how you had given into him? so you dont know that alex had said disgusting things about you, vulgar things?

instead of saying this, he turns to you. "who says i couldn't give you that?" he asks, his voice quiet and low.

you blink, turning to him. you checked his eyes for the truth, and saw nothing but sincerity in his words. shock ran through you. you had no idea he was actually interested in you - you had just assumed he was purely attracted to you, and that was it.

it was like a gate you had forced yourself so seal shut had been cracked open. you had made yourself not even entertain the idea of more with luke, assuming that he would never even think of it. but knowing that he had - that changed everything.

you allowed yourself to consider it, truly consider it. the idea of being with luke. you didn't push it away.

you were brought back to the soft but firm touches, the intimate eye contact, the way he made you feel so special that night 2 weeks ago. you enjoyed it, you know you did, even if you tried to pretend it didn't happen.

but then you remembered alex - sweet alex, who was waiting at the campfire for you after you had fucked luke. gentle alex, who never rushed you, and was respectful.

alex always felt safe.

but what if you didn't want safe?

the silence had consumed the two of you - the only sound that could be heard was the chirping of crickets and the gentle summer breeze. the eye contact you two held was intense - your eyes were glazed over in thought - you both were thinking hard in that moment.

you don't know what possessed you to do it. the moment felt so intimate and private, and he was right there, in your grasp. your hand went out to delicately cup his face. his brows furrowed a bit, confused and a bit surprised by your touch.

you bite your lip. "do you mean it? that you could give me that?" you asked, you voice the softest it had probably ever been with him.

you words were so vulnerable, it caused his heart to clench. after a moment he nods. "i want to. i want to give that to you."

before you knew it, your lips were crashing into his. luke reacted instantly, one hand holding the back of your head and the other cupping your cheek.

you were brought back to the moment where you two kissed at the beach, but this felt a lot different. there was hint of desperation then - you two weren't sure how long it would last, what it meant, even how you were feeling - now, everything was more sure.

you had him now, and he had you.

he pulls you close, and you swing your legs around him, straddling his waist. his hands slide down your waist, squeezing a bit to pull you closer to his chest. you arch into his touch, pressing your chest against his and your hands slide into his hair.

once you start getting breathless you pull apart, panting against his lips.

luke grinned tiredly, and it was so contagious you smiled back.

"let me sneak you into my cabin," his swollen lips practically whisper.

you bite your lip unsurely. "i dunno...what about your siblings?"

he scoffs a bit, as if you said something funny. "they'll be out by now. besides, we'll be quiet"

that was enough to convince you, and before you knew it, his hand in yours, he dragged you over to his cabin, opening and shutting the door quietly, tiptoeing to his bed.

luke sits down first, opening his legs and looking up at you, signaling you to sit down on them. you straddle his lap, cautiously looking around the cabin as luke began to nip at your neck, forcing quiet, breathy hum out of your lips.

he pulls you down, covering you both in blankets, as his lips attack yours. you fall into a steady rhythm, hands exploring each others bodies, breathing heavily into each others mouths. you pawed at his chest. "more," you whisper pleadingly.

"more?" he asks tauntingly. "y'want more? more of what, princess?"

you whine quetly. "of you, luke, please?"

without another words he pecks you chin with a mischievous smile, disappearing under the covers. your filled with anticipation before you feel him lift your shirt up, placing kisses all along your torso.

you bite you lip, holding back the noises that you desperately wanted to release, as you felt his lips move lower and lower.

you wished you could see him, so you ducked under the covers, the duvet just thin enough that moonlight was able to peak in. you could see the shadows of his face, and he looked devastatingly handsome.

he smiled against the skin of your inner thigh, his lips peppering a few kisses there. he moved up, right against your denim shorts, playing with the button and zipper. after a bit of teasing, he slid the down, collecting them in his hands to climb up over you, sliding them under his pillows. he placed a delicate kiss on your lips, before whispering, "is this ok?" against them. you nod feverishly, and he smiles so soft you wonder why you've yet to see this side of him.

he moves back down, his lips against the cotton of your panties, hands holding you hips. just his breath against you was enough to make you feel light, and pool wetness. he place a sweet kiss directly over you clit and you shivered, hands moving to his hair.

"j'wanna make you feel good, princess." he says so quietly you almost miss it. your heart thunders in your chest as he presses more kisses over your panties, his hands sliding down to toy with fabric on yours hips.

"please, luke." you whisper pleadingly, and he gently shushes. "shhhh, its ok, let me handle it. just lay back and take it, hm?"

you nod, your face twisted in want as you relax you head, letting it rest on the pillow.

luke gently tore your panties off, letting them pool at your ankles as his middle finger slows runs down your center. you shiver, and he places a disciplinary hand on your hips. "stay still," he instructs, his finger still gathering your wetness.

his digit pushes into your tight entrance, causing you to swallow a whimper. you shut your eyes, hands gripping his hair.

he places a soft kiss on you thigh, mumbling incoherent praises against your skin.

he slowly moves in and out of you, before his lips press a kiss on your clit again. you jump, gasping quietly as he begins gently sucking.

with his digit fingering your fluttering walls, and his lips slobbering over you pussy, you swear you've never felt such pleasure. its hard to keep quiet, and your surprised you do (not counting the occasional gasp or quiet hums of pleasure).

luke is having way to much fun. you can feel him smirk against you when you let a little noise slip, and you can feel him silently laughing when his tongue flicks over your bud, knowing you would go crazy.

he adds a second finger, and before you know it, a third. every second your coaxed further into your orgasm, and you know he can tell, by the way your pulling his hair to push him closer to your core, and the way your back arches off the bed.

when he does finally bring you too your peak, you bite your lips so hard your surprised it doesn't bleed. your hips stutter against his hand, and his digits inside you slow down, moving you through your high. once you catch you breath, he gently brings your panties back up, placing a kiss over the fabric, before climbing back up.

he kisses you softly, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. he breaks away, the two of your heads peaking out of the blankets.

"good?" he asks quietly and softly, lips red and swollen.

you giggle a bit. "more than good." your hand runs down his chest. "want me to return the favor?"

he shakes his head. "another time, princess."

you pout. "are you sure? i dont mind."

he shakes his head again. "nah. tonight was about you. we have all the time in the world for that."

and it was true, you did. that night 2 weeks ago was the start to something beautiful, and tonight was the real start of you - you and luke.

#xoxo #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #pjo #luke castellan fic #percy jackson x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fanfic #lukexreader #princess!reader #luke x princess!reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan smut #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan pjo

413 notes · View notes

lcriedlastnight · 10 months ago

Note

Can you write something with Oscar based on this post

https://www.tumblr.com/girlonabreak/744982039484366848/may-i-offer-you-something-water-food-my

i’ll try my best anon! thank you very much for your request, i hope you like it!

tw: fem!reader, swears, lmk if you want anything added.

w/c: 2.3k

oscar was a little nervous to have you over. the relationship was fairly fresh and this would be the first time you would be at his place. he’d spent the week prior cleaning every single nook and cranny he could find, then going on tiktok and finding out how to clean the ones he didn’t even know existed. not that you would be inspecting the space behind his fridge for it’s cleanliness.

three days before, when he’d gone shopping, he texted you asking if you liked this specific brand of chocolate and if you would like some for when you stayed over at the weekend.

oscar had gotten more blankets, pillows and even got you a new teddy bear, scared that you would forget the one you couldn’t sleep without. he was determined that you were having a good nights sleep with him. you had slept together before, but not properly. those had only been you falling asleep during a film after a date or oscar coming over to yours the day after the race weekend and feeling so jet lagged he fell asleep on your couch two minutes after you started carding your fingers through his hair.

you had always made him feel so welcome at yours so he was desperate to make you feel the same. even though this was a bit different than those times he was at yours.

oscar pottered around fixing things that didn’t really need fixing at all. he triple checked the fridge incase all the food inside had gone missing. then he checked his bank account to make sure he still had his money and he hadn’t been hacked, just incase you wanted to order in or even go to the shops.

a soft knock at his door shoves oscar out of his thoughts, he runs to the door to answer. you were on the other side, weekend bag in hand. you had little to no makeup on and your hair was thrown up not too messily. oscar then thought about if you would want to shower and how he only had manly products. how could he forget to buy you shower stuff?

“osc?” you ask as you stand in the doorway. oscar blinks once, twice, then is scrambling to take your bag off you.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry. i don’t know where i was there. you look gorgeous. come in.” he says as he spins around and stands to the side to let you walk inside first.

you slowly walk inside and the first thing you notice is the amount of candles he has lit. it give the living room the most homely feel.

“your place is lovely, osc. it’s so cozy.” you tell him turning around from looking at the kitchen to face him. oscar grins at your words.

“thank you, pretty. you want me to put your bag in the room?” oscar asks, feeling a lot less high strung now that you were actually here in front of him. that usually did help calm him down.

you nod. oscar tries his best not to leave you standing all by yourself in the living room for too long. he basically sprints to his room and back. a blink and you didn’t even know he was gone, type of situation.

you’re not standing in the living room when he comes back thought. you’re sitting on the couch. you look like you belong there. it sends a wave of affection to oscar’s heart.

“you want to watch a film?” you ask him from the couch. you already had the remote in your hands.

“‘course, what kind are you feeling?” oscar asks, heading to the cupboard in the hallway to get the massive blanket he’d bought at the shops a few days earlier.

“dunno.” is your reply. oscar can tell you have a film in mind but you may be a little embarrassed to ask to watch it. as he comes to sit down beside you, he throws the blanket over the top of you and it almost suffocates you. instead of commenting on it you just get comfy. oscar rakes his brain for previous conversations about films to find the one you could watch everyday and not get tired of. as he remembers he snatches the remote off of you to bring it up. you don’t say anything but you watch on skeptically.

“this one seem okay? i’ve never seen it before but i heard you like it.” oscar says, a cocky smirk on his face as he sees the look on yours after you realise the film. you grin.

“yeah i supposed we could stick this one on and give it a go.” you pretend like you couldn’t quote the dialogue in your sleep. oscar pressed play on the film and instantly feels the need to be touching you. you had chosen to sit in the corner of oscar’s L shaped couch, an incredibly you thing to do, oscar thought. but because of where you decided to sit oscar was unsure how to go about touching you. he gives up trying to think of ways to get you in his lap.

“come sit in my lap.”

you turn your head from the tv, the opening credits rolling in the screen. “okay.” you reply, shuffling to follow his request.

it ended up that oscar was laying in the corner of the couch and faced the tv. you were sitting to his side with your legs slung over his, shoulders brushing against each other with every breathe. oscar holds one of your hands underneath the massive blanket, the other traces his name on your ankle - just above your socks.

a quarter of the way through, you shuffled around to get comfortable again, your head ended up resting on his bicep as you had moved down a little more. oscar had to hold back the coo that threatened to escape him as he felt your check squash up against his skin. oscar throws his focus back on the tv, as hard as it is he wants to know the film you love so much.

at the end of the first act, oscar moves his attention back to you, he wonders if you’re hungry but are just too scared to ask. or if you were waiting on him to offer you something. were you tired and just wanted to move to bed right now? it wasn’t that late surely. what if you actually did want to go for that shower right now? would he have enough time to go buy some flowery shampoo and body wash so you wouldn’t end up smelling like him?

“can i get you anything to eat?” oscar asks, thumb rubbing over your ankle bone. he wonders if this is the ankle you broke when you were five, or if it was the other one.

“are you hungry?” you ask oscar, head turning to look up at him. the aussie almost melts at your expression. “i am if you are.” you say to him.

this confuses oscar but he decides that eating wouldn’t hurt. he doesn’t care if you don’t eat it all.

“you want to order in or just make something here?” he asks again. it makes him feel bad making you choose but he wants to make sure you’re completely comfortable with him tonight. the time when he can just know what you want and do it for you was right around the corner and he couldn’t wait for it.

“order in.” you say after a few moments of silence. “don’t want to move from here until bed.” you explain. although oscar didn’t think you needed to explain, he thought it was cute. he thought the same thing anyway, not having felt this content in months.

“fine by me. i’ll order it and it should be here soon.”

your film finishes and you and oscar finish the food. you talk a little at the end of the film, asking him about how lando and zak were doing and how strong the car was. don’t get oscar wrong, as much as he loved his job and the fact that you took so much interest in what he did, he just wanted a day where he could sit with you and hypothesise whether or not spider-man was too young to be spidering across the city. instead of telling you this he changed the topic, comfortably so you don’t notice.

“it’s getting late. are you getting tired, pretty?” he asks. he can see the way your shoulders are a little more slumped as you sit in front of him, the film behind you having ended and instead playing a trailer for some unrelated tv series. you nod to answer his question. “a little, yeah.”

“c’mon then. bedtime for us.” oscar says picking you up by your waist and flinging you over his shoulder. he carries you to the bathroom where he sits you on the counter. you are laughing all the way there. oscar’s already thinking about which ring would suit you more. he goes in the cabinet underneath the sink and grabs a pack of two toothbrushes. one pink, one blue. it’s so domestic, oscar nearly burst when he seen them in the shops and thought of giving the pink one to you.

“i know you brought a bag full of stuff and you probably have a toothbrush with you but i thought you could keep this one here and i could maybe clear out a drawer for you in my bedroom for you to keep things here so you don’t have to go back and forth for clothes.” oscar rambles as he puts toothpaste on both brushes and hands yours to you. it’s like oscar keeps forgetting that this is the first time you’re sleeping over, mind already thinking about the next time, and the next and the next.

oscar shoves his brush in his mouth to stop his mouth. you laugh at him. “i would like that. thank you osc.” you say before copying him and brushing your teeth. oscar watches like you were doing something really interesting, his eyes darting over your face. tonight he learns another new thing about you, you’re a really messy brusher. toothpaste slipping down your chin as you brush. he has to hold back the laugh that longs to escape him, not wanting to cover you in more toothpaste than you already have all over you.

oscar spits into the sink then quickly rinses his mouth with mouthwash, then spitting that out too. you follow his actions, hopping down from the counter to spit into the sink, standing in front of oscar. before you can rinse your mouth out with mouthwash though, oscar turns your face to his with a gentle hand.

“you got a little something..” you smile at his words. oscar belonged in a romcom for sure. the boy’s thumb coming out to brush away the leftover toothpaste on your chin. you smile at him in thanks but your smile falls as he wipes it on the shoulder of your t-shirt.

“oscar! why would you do that! what’s wrong with you!?” you squeal. oscar laughs hard, his head thrown back in joy. you’re not really mad, the smile on your face hard to miss. it’s hard to be angry at the boy in front of you who literally looks like the human version of the sun.

once you’ve finished in the bathroom - oscar yapping away as you take your makeup off and done your skincare at the sink - he pulls you to his bed.

“you want to change in here or do you want me to go to the bathroom?” oscar asks, throwing you the t-shirt he’s just washed (and maybe sprayed with his cologne before you came over). you catch it before hesitating with your answer. oscar answers for you.

“why don’t you get changed in the bathroom and i can get a big reveal, seeing you with my t-shirt on?” oscar asks, giddy at his own idea. you nod, if only just to please him, although you do like his idea, thinking it’s cute he wants that.

you’re quick to get changed, your hair taken out of the ponytail to hand down, it will probably get in your face tonight. you hurry out the bathroom to find oscar sitting on top of the bed in his own pyjamas. oscar’s eyes light up at the sight of you.

“jesus christ, pretty girl. you’re going to kill me.” he says standing up, arms outstretched like he would die if he didn’t touch you in the next ten seconds. you happily fall into his embrace. face against his chest. oscar’s nose in your hair.

“you smell like you and me.” oscar smiles as he pull away from the hug and pulls you into bed instead. you laugh at his discovery. “as long as i smell good.” you tell him.

after a quick okay fight over who was getting what side of the bed, you are both cuddled up to each other. it most definitely won’t stay like this all night because what oscar doesn’t know yet is you move a lot in your sleep. he’ll find that out in the morning, but for now he’s happy to have you right where he wants you. oscar is big spoon as his arms are wrapped around you, big hands under your top and on your warm, soft skin. leg over your hip, keeping you trapped under him, not that you would ever complain about that.

the teddy bear oscar had gotten you incase you forgot yours was laying at the bottom of the bed, while you clutch yours to your chest. one of your hands ghosting over oscar’s on your stomach.

the tv is on, playing some sitcom you’d asked for. oscar never usually sleeps with the tv on but for you? he would sleep on a bed of nails if it made you comfortable.

“g’night, pretty baby.” oscar mumbles into your hair, not bothering that it was in his face. you mumble something of the sort back, he knew you were basically asleep. ‘this is my future.’ oscar thought to himself before he fell asleep.

#oscar pastri fluff #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #op81 x you #op81 fluff #op81 x y/n #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #op81 fic #op81 #f1 fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lcriedlastnightrequests #lcriedlastnight

442 notes · View notes

4wkjun · 7 months ago

Text

✴ Kinktober, day five: breeding kink with Soobin

✴ Word count: 1,7K ✴ Content warning: unprotected sex, nipple play, masturbation (f!receiving), love birds, curse words. ✴ Taglist: @starsareseen , @lucid-sombra, @enha13 , @karinashairdryer, @kim2005bomi, @lunathewritingcat , @hyunj00

✴ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! ✴

✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴

After an exhausting week, you finally slept until your energy was fully charged. You woke up around 09:30 A.M. on a Saturday, being held hostage by your adorable husband.

“Soob?”, you mumbled, turning around to face him. His left arm held you against his body as if you were the most precious thing he ever had.

You looked at him, completely peaceful – and half-naked, which made the view nicer for you – in his sleep. You couldn’t get over how precious and pretty he looked, wishing you had a bunch of mini Soobins running around your house.

“Babe?”, you said, softly this time. You glued your lips to his soft cheek, kissing it tenderly. “Wake up, sleepyhead”, you mumbled, kissing down his jaw.

Soobin hummed, his arm holding you closer – but eyes still closed. You kept pecking his jaw and neck, waiting for his response. A few seconds passed by and you chuckled.

“I know you’re awake, Bin.”

“Shhh, I’m not”, he mumbled. “Keep kissing.”

You laughed, giving his neck a slight and playful bite.

“Is it too early for us to talk?”

“Depends”, he said, finally opening his puffy eyes. He leaned back a little, letting go of his strong grip to look you in the eyes. “How much trouble am I in?”

“Mmm… None.”

“Then we can talk”, he smiled lazily. You smiled back.

“We’ve been married for almost two years”, you started. “How do you feel… about us starting to try for a baby?”

Instead of answering, Soobin looked at you, almost blankly. Your blood suddenly ran cold on your body, afraid he’d said he changed his mind about his vows and didn’t want a big family anymore.

“Babe?”, you said, nervous.

“Uh, sorry”, he said, eyes focusing on you again. “Yeah, I’d love that!”

“You sure? ‘Cause you looked a little… tormented right now”, you said, casually running your fingers down his jawline.

“Nah, my mind just ran a few miles ahead of my sanity, sorry”, he said, chuckling a little. His big hand left your back, now caressing your head. “I can’t wait for our family to grow bigger.”

You smiled, leaning in to peck his plump lips. It turns out that’s what being married is about, not giving a single shit about only kissing after brushing your teeth.

“Should we start now?”, he said in a lower tone, hand moving down your ass. He gently squeezed the flesh and pulled you closer by the leg – throwing your leg on his hip –, allowing your core to feel his morning wood.

“Jesus, how did that just happen?” you said playfully.

Soobin blushed, his hand now caressing your thigh. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Nah, too bad, mister”, you said, hand reaching for his biceps. You slowly dragged your nails on his skin, watching the goosebumps hit him right on the spot. “Tell me.”

With a sigh, Soobin’s hand entered your pajama shorts and squeezed your ass again. “The thought of… me… fucking you raw… drove me a little over the edge.”

Your eyes widened, surprised by the sudden confession. The two of you had discussed kinks and boundaries since you started dating – almost seven years ago –, and yet, he never mentioned having this kink.

“Oh, Soobie”, you cooed, hand traveling through his shoulder to reach the nape of his neck. “You never told me you wanted so bad to feel me creaming around your fat cock.”

Soobin mumbled something incoherent, squeezing your ass harder. He didn’t respond, just leaned in to kiss you – properly, this time.

He gently pushed you towards the back, getting you almost 100% on your back and his body a little over yours – both of your legs opened for him. Your husband got himself perfectly fit between your legs, his hard cock pressing against your clothed pussy as his lips abused yours.

He wasted no time, his left hand letting go of your ass to sneak into your shirt, rough palm against your soft skin. In a matter of seconds, his big hand squeezed your right boob, making you smile through the kiss.

Soobin left a wet trace of messy kisses down your jaw and neck, his hand still massaging the flesh of your boob – but not even touching your hard nipple. His lips reached your clavicle, leaving a harsh suck that no one else would be able to see at work.

“Hey, don’t do that”, you mumbled, chuckling. “Are you a horny teenager?”

“Yes, now undress”, Soobin responded, laughing along. You only laughed louder, pulling him in for a kiss, moaning as soon as his tongue touched yours.

One of Soobin’s arms was flexed on the bed, supporting his weight, while the other let go of your boob to pull your shirt. He managed to expose your bare boobs and let go of your lips to attach his to your left breast.

You moaned, your nipple way too sensitive against his hot tongue. Your hand closed around his soft black locks without giving it a second thought, just enjoying the wave of pleasure he provided.

A few minutes ago, you were surprised by how hard Soobin became with nothing but words leaving your lips. Now you were a moaning mess beneath him, ready to beg for him to fuck you until you got numb.

“Bin, please”, you mumbled, reaching for his free hand and placing it right above your (now) dripping pussy. He scoffed, letting go of your nipple to look at you, a huge smirk painted on his lips.

“Tell me, what do you want?”

“Your cock, please.”

“Mmm, I was thinking about eating you out…”, he said, still smirking. “I guess I’m gonna have to skip it since you don’t want me to.”

Before you could answer, his fingers started moving against your clothed clit. You sucked your breath in, closing your eyes harshly.

“No, I…”, you started, fighting to keep your eyes open. “You can…”

Soobin laughed, shaking his head before giving your nipple a single lick. You whined, hand still caressing (or trying to) his scalp.

“I can feel your shorts getting damp”, he whispered before sucking your nipple properly again. You nodded, eyes hooded looking at him.

“Please, babe”, you whined.

His cock was twitching inside of his underwear, the single piece of clothing keeping his body away from yours. Soobin knew you slept with no underwear, only an old t-shirt and a comfortable pair of shorts, so he decided to stop messing around.

With patience – more than you wanted –, Soobin’s lips left your nipple as he removed his hand from your clothed clit, and pulled his underwear down and your shorts to the side. He used his (now) free hand to adjust himself to your slit, his excitement growing bigger as he finally could feel your warm pussy directly against his cock.

“Can I?”, he asked with hazed eyes, rubbing his shaft from your clit to your entrance, making himself hold a moan.

“Please”, you meowed.

With care, Soobin pushed his tip in, your walls extremely tight due to the lack of preparation. Soobin was big, and you knew it. It burned a little, but you could deal with a little discomfort for a few seconds.

“Jesus, you’re so tight”, he moaned, head buried in your neck. You kept massaging his scalp while he slowly kept pushing himself in. Your gummy walls felt heavenly for Soobin – and he knew he’d had to think about something else or he’d cum super fast.

He bottomed out and you could feel a little bump on your lower stomach due to the size difference of you two, and you moaned as your hand left his soft hair and pressed the bulge down. Soobin groaned.

“You love how far you can feel me, don’t you?”, he whispered, nipping at your earlobe.

Slowly, Soobin started to fuck you, going in and out at a delicious pace. Usually, you’d beg him to go faster, but his slow and hard thrusts had your eyes going way past your eyelids.

“Bin”, you moaned, holding against his flexed biceps. “I love you”, you let out – for no apparent reason.

“I love you more, bun”, he groaned against your skin. “I’mma impregnate you so good, you’ll be so fucking hot, glowing pregnant.”

As you bit your lips to contain a moan, you finally understood: Soobin got so horny out of nowhere because he had a breeding king and never told you.

“Yes, please”, you moaned, smiling a bit. “I want your cum in me, Binnie, please!”

Soobin groaned, thrusting harder than before. “Your walls feel so soft around me, I can’t wait to have them dripping my cum.”

You brought your hand to your clit, circling it slowly to match his thrusts. None of you would last.

“You’ll cream around my cock, won’t you?”, he moaned, thrusts erratic as you kept clenching around his shaft. “In a few months, you’ll be full of one of my babies, right?”

“Yes Bin, please”, you whined, feeling your orgasm close.

“I’ll have you cumming around my cock every day until I get you filled up real nice, you got it?” he mumbled, eyes strongly closed as he felt himself close too.

Even though Soobin got almost numb with all of the pleasure, he noticed you started holding your breath, silently announcing you were about to cum.

“Cum for me, be a good girl creaming around my fat cock.”

That was it. His single sentence drove you to cloud nine, orgasm exploding inside of you with a high-pitched moan. A few seconds later, Soobin came as well, finally painting your walls white with his thick cum. He kept thrusting for a while, not wanting to waste a single drop.

Finally, Soobin let his weight down on you, almost crushing you underneath him.

“Babe,” you whined. Still brain-fogged.

Soobin said nothing, just held your body tight and turned around, laying his body on the mattress again – his cock still buried deep inside of you. You moaned.

“We need to talk about this breeding kink you never told me about”, you whispered ten seconds after, breaking the silence.

“Shhh, I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk first. Then we’ll talk.”

You laughed, nodding. Soobin gave you a peck on the lips and closed his eyes for a long minute. Turns out you barely left the bed that day.

#soobin smut #soobin x reader #txt smut #txt kinktober #kpop kinktober #soobin kinktober

368 notes · View notes

longing-for-the-past-times · 2 years ago

Text

The four times you fell asleep on Ghost and the one time Ghost fell asleep on you - two.

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

word count: 3,157 (got a bit carried away)

synopsis: after a mission, you and Ghost end up in a safe house, waiting for exfil. Both of you are exhausted after two days of being under the fire, but will any of you give in to exhaustion?

notes: I definitely did not expect so much support on the first part, so thank you very much, I really don't know what to say. I hope you enjoy this as much as the first part!

reader's callsign is Bambi (she/her)

find it on ao3 part one part two part three part four part five

masterlist

two.

You hadn't slept properly in two days, but at least the mission was a success. As successful as a mission can be when you have to spend the night in a deserted safe-house, in the middle of nowhere, waiting for exfil.

At least you were not alone, you reasoned, as you lay on the ragged couch and pulled out your sniper rifle. And perhaps you could get some shut-eye before dawn if your partner would assign you to the first watch.

There was a catch though. The person you ended up in the safe house with was none other than your Lieutenant, Ghost. And after the embarrassing scene where you fell asleep on him on base last week, you were mortified to be in his presence, especially when you were alone and there was no one there to fill the awkward silence that would settle in. He hadn't even teased you about it—only that one time, immediately after you groggily awoke on his shoulder.

The memory of the moment lingered in the back of your mind: the exaggerated way in which he rolled his shoulder, as if to emphasize your weight almost put his arm to sleep, and the glint in his eyes, perhaps delighted to catch you off-guard. If you hadn’t been so busy avoiding him for the following days, you would have noticed his slight shift in demeanour towards you. Whenever you were in the same room, his gaze would linger on you, his eyes visibly softening as if he was silently reliving the scene. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but after he had the time to fully process the interaction, he’d felt oddly satisfied with himself - he made you feel safe and protected, even if it was only for a fleeting moment.

So why wouldn’t you look him in the eye when he tried to speak with you?

“You can go rest, L.T., I’ll take the first watch!”

He definitely did not want to give you that look, not when it had been two days since you’d last exchanged any words with him. But he was stubborn, and you were also stubborn, and the last thing he wanted was to argue with you.

“There’s a bed in the other room. You can rest there till they get us out.”

So he chose his preferred tactic: deflect your words, plainly overlook them, as if they were merely a background noise in the conversation.

He did not miss the way your shoulders tensed up or that you’d stopped cleaning your sniper riffle. The fact that your breath stilled was not lost on him, but he kept pretending he was busy checking his own riffle as if it would determine you to listen to his words and get some well-deserved rest. And yes, he was stubborn. But you were more than stubborn. And you had also won several debate competitions in high school:

“I was only involved in surveillance, I believe I am rested enough to take at least the first watch!" “We are not having this conversation, Sergeant!”, Simon rolled his eyes in annoyance, all too aware that you were only beginning your argument. “You haven't slept in two days!” “Well, technically I was in a position that allowed me to rest more than you! I was literally resting on my belly for most of the time while you were out there, in the line of fire!” "We both know that's not how it works, Bambi!", he let out a frustrated groan that made you widen your eyes in his direction. It was the second time he expressed himself in such an uncharacteristic way, not even seeming to be bothered afterwards by the sudden display of emotion.

But that did not make you back down. Instead, you propped your sniper riffle on the small coffee table, purposefully ignoring him as you busied yourself making the necessary adjustments so that it pointed towards the middle of the wooden door. Anyone who would try to barge in without identifying themselves would be pierced by your bullets before realising what was actually going on. Ghost placed his skull mask on the same table and discarded most of his heavy gear, until he remained in the tactical vest, a basic black balaclava covering his face. As he got up from the couch to check on his ammo, you also started to get rid of the heavy layers of your sniper gear, most of which was covered in grass and dirt. You wouldn't even bother to clean it up when you got back to the base - the messier it was, the more realistic it looked on the field. As you were checking that all knives were in their sheaths, your gaze fell on the skull plate casually tossed next to your riffle. You were so used to it being plastered to Ghost’s face that seeing it carelessly thrown on the table seemed out of place, inexplicably domestic even. The more you thought of it, the more you realised that you’d never seen it anywhere but on his face - he must have kept it stowed away somewhere when you were stationed at the base.

If you were sane and did not have a death wish, you would have at least asked for permission before leaning in to touch it. No, scratch that, the thought of the action itself would not even cross your mind: no one touched L.T.'s mask, whether it was on his face or not. But you were exhausted, the two days of constantly being on the lookout, with little news of your team, starting to take a toll on you. And the sight of splattered blood across the cracked white surface was troubling enough to make you let your guard down and start scrubbing the mask vigorously with your sleeve, in a seemingly futile effort.

You were so concentrated on the task at hand, eyebrows etched into a deep frown, that you did not notice the creeping silhouette that was lingering in the doorway. The sight of a 6'2" man, coming to stand directly in front of you with his arms crossed in a suggestive stance was completely lost on you as you kept rubbing your palm against the red stains, huffing in annoyance when they did not seem to go away. He must have been involved in some form of close combat as the blood clearly wasn’t his and although you knew he was more than capable of taking care of himself, the thoughts of what could have been if he hadn’t paid enough attention, or if he’d been outnumbered plagued your mind. You were not supposed to worry about him like that. He was just your superior.

And also the person you fell asleep on once.

In the meantime, Simon was at a loss for words. He too was tired, having spent the last 48 hours being shot at and almost stabbed a couple of times. And perhaps, if he had to spend the night with someone like Soap, he might have gone to sleep for a couple of hours, letting the demolition expert keep watch. But he couldn’t allow himself such a liberty when you came into the equation- the need to protect you, to keep you from harm’s way was too intense, almost burning inside him. He could not fathom the thought of trying to rest with you having to spend the night in alert, on the lookout for any potential enemies. It was not that he did trust you with such a task, he was aware you were fully capable of it, but it just didn't sit well with him.

Yet there you were, your hands holding a piece of him. More than a couple of years have passed since he'd donned the persona of Ghost and the mask that you rubbed your knuckles against was an integral part of it. Never before had someone dared to touch his mask, he knew that everyone was too scared of it, of the persona he'd created through countless missions and stories. He was used to hearing people whispering behind his back, scrawny recruits sloppily pointing at the skull plate he'd spent an entire night stitching to a balaclava. He was also aware of the bets made on that topic and the gossip that claimed he must have been some kind of mutant, his physical features too grotesque to be displayed to the world.

There was a time when he himself did not know why he was wearing it, but the familiar weight on his face was a comforting sensation, a lover's embrace. That was the moment he knew he was becoming one with Ghost. That, and the fact that people couldn't tell his mood based on his facial expressions anymore. It was sort of liberating, not having to be judged based on what your face looked like at a certain moment.

He slightly tilted his head to the side, both amazed and alarmed that you hadn't noticed him yet. He hoped it was because you didn't think of him as a threat, not because your situational awareness was dimmed as your exhaustion increased. And he had to bite back a smile when he heard you mutter a string of curses under your breath when the crimson stains didn't seem to go away. Should he tell you only bleach does the job?

He decided to keep that secret to himself, loudly clearing his throat to get your attention. At that point, he was willing his eyes to stay inexpressive in spite of his lips twitching as your reaction to him was worthy of your callsign.

You couldn't help but flinch at the sudden intrusion, quickly placing the mask back on the table. You gave Ghost a tight-lipped smile, all too aware of the heat that was spreading across your face, your eyes resembling those of a deer caught in the headlights.

"I'm so sorry, Lieutenant, definitely did not mean to pry like that!', you profusely apologised, trying, but failing, to not look into his dark orbs.

Those damned eyelashes, why did they have to be so perfect?

But Ghost was too distracted by your doe eyes that he did not process your words properly. He wouldn't ask you to repeat whatever you'd just said, but he also did not want to ignore you, not when you spoke to him more than you did in a week, so he said the first thing that came to his mind: one of his army puns.

"Why did the mask go to therapy?"

You blinked back at him, not quite accepting that he'd simply brush it off like that. But his look was so expectant, almost willing you to answer what you knew was going to be one of his bad dad jokes, that you had no choice but to gesture him he could go on.

“It had too much 'bloody' emotional baggage.”

You cringed visibly at the reply, letting out a small sigh as you sat back on the couch, with him plopping next to you:

"Not gonna lie, but that was really bad, Ghost!"

He gave you his usual unimpressed look and you could see his balaclava shifting as he opened his mouth to answer, but a huge yawn interrupted him. A huge yawn that you tried to cover with both of your hands and that made you give him a sheepish look, that of a naughty child who pretends to be innocent.

"Wanna hear another?" "Oh God, spare me-" "Why did the tired operator try to stay awake during the mission?"

It was your turn to look unimpressed. He was definitely making it up on the go.

"Because she thought falling asleep on the job would be a 'mission impossible'."

His balaclava may have been on, but his eyes were sparkling again, a small glimpse of amusement in them. You wished you'd known a couple of one-liners just to be able to keep that glimmer as it was.

"You're really enjoying yourself, aren't you?" "All I'm trying to say is that you should get some rest, Bambi. I know you think I'm also tired, and believe me, I am, but you know what do two tired operators make?"

If you were taken aback by the amount of words he put into that sentence, you did not let it show. Instead, you caught on the quip and dutifully replied:

"Two dead ones." "You're a quick learner. So just get some sleep, even half an hour would do it. In the bed, on the couch, hell, even on the floor if that's what you want-" "Ok, ok, you got me, Ghost! But on one condition!" "Let's hear it." "When I wake up, it's your turn to rest. Two tired operators are dead operators, but one rested and one tired operator are just as much!"

The defeated mumble that you got as a response made you smirk, purposefully avoiding his determined gaze, currently set on you. Shaking your head in defeat, you trudged to the bedroom, took the weighted blanket from the bed and placed it on the couch, unaware that Ghost had scooted over to make you more space. It was not a complete success, he'd rather you took the bed that at least had a mattress more comfortable than the springs from the couch, but he would make the compromise. And you would be sleeping in his presence again, not that he had any feelings, good or bad, towards it. He would just relish in the vulnerability of the moment and his role as your protector.

"Alright, wake me up in 30!", you warned him as you got under the blanket, leaning on the arm of the couch, bracing your knees to your chest.

The deep hum you got as an answer sent a soothing sensation down your spine, and you couldn't help but smile as you cuddled up in the fetal position you chose. Deep down, a part of you felt selfish for giving in to the weariness, but the Lieutenant was right: fatigue led to mistakes which could lead to getting you killed.

Besides, you would also make sure he got some rest before morning. You were confident you could do it, you just didn't know how. Yet.

***

The mark of half an hour came and went, but Simon did not shift from his rigid position facing the entry of the safe house. He couldn't bring himself to wake you, not when the faint noises you occasionally let out were a testament to how much you needed the break. And it was not like he could have slept as peacefully as you did - now that he had time to think and reassess the mission, his mind was plagued by alternate scenarios and what-ifs. What if Laswell's intel pointed them to the second building in the compound instead of the first, and they would have been blown up to pieces as soon as they'd broken in? What if Soap hadn't warned him through comms of the two hostiles that were headed towards him, from his blind spot? What if someone had noticed that their men were falling even when no one in the building was shooting at them, and sent someone to look for the sniper positioned nearby?

His trail of thoughts was interrupted when he felt a familiar weight near his leg. He momentarily froze and had to make an effort to look down at the couch and see that your head was resting dangerously close to his leg, your hair gently brushing against his worn-down tactical pants. You must have somehow shifted in your sleep, as the weighted blanket you covered yourself with was forgotten on the floor, your left arm hanging limply on one side of the couch. You were lying on your back, soft snores leaving from your half-open mouth, and all Simon could think of was that your head was almost in his lap.

Why did he want it to be there? He recalled your embarrassment when you fell asleep on his shoulder, back at the base. You would be mortified if you woke up with your head in his lap, and tactically speaking, it would make it harder for him to react to an immediate threat. Then why was he craving the contact like he craved the feeling of the sun on his face on those first days he wore the mask?

Another hour passed and Ghost had no intent of waking you up. You truly must have been exhausted, he thought to himself, as he took in your soft snores and occasionally small sighs. The night was dark and silent, and the only source of light that trickled into the room was a dingy lamppost from across the road.

Eventually, Ghost let his eyes wander over your sleeping silhouette, hooded eyes hungrily lingering over the delicate details accentuated by the faint glow. And in that moment, you were as boundless as the sea and vast as the universe. You were lost in a world woven from your dreams, while he, awake and aware, found himself trapped in a dream of his own. And he was in deep that he did not realise when he let his arm rest above yours, leaning his head onto the back of the couch. The grip on his combat knife remained firm, ready to jump into action if needed, but his eyelids were heavy, too heavy for his liking and the soft cadence of your breathing was too inviting. He would only rest his eyes for a bit, not that he could fall asleep like this. He shouldn’t fall asleep like this, not when he is supposed to keep you safe.

The faint crackling of your communications could be heard across the room, mingling with the sunbeams that filtered through the heavy curtains. Grunting in annoyance, you rolled on your side, looking for the blanket you’d covered yourself in earlier. It took your mind a moment to register you were not in your bed, but on a couch, yet it was too late to prevent you from rolling into thin air, the heavy thud of you falling on the floor reverberating across the room.

Ghost opened his eyes in an instant, eyes promptly directed to where you had been sleeping. The absence of your body sent his half-asleep mind into a frenzy, hands scrambling for a weapon which he pointed to the floor. His cold gaze softened when he saw your bleary-eyed figure, a smile dancing on his lips as he took in the string of curses you kept muttering under your breath.

“Watcher 1 to Bravo 0-7, how copy? Exfil’s inbound your way. I say again, exfil’s inbound your way.”

Not taking his eyes off you, Ghost pressed the button on his comms, wishing he had Soap’s Polaroid at hand:

“Bravo 0-7 to Watcher 1, copy.”

taglist: @neoarchipelago

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #task force 141 #ghost imagine #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #call of duty imagine

3K notes · View notes

chipthekeeper · 10 days ago

Text

On September 21, 2022, one day before my 30th birthday, I took a vacation day. I usually take one on my birthday when it falls during the week, and I would have done so in 2022 as well if not for the fact that something monumental was happening the day before. On September 21, 2022, a Wednesday, I slept in as long as my pent up excitement allowed, got up and made coffee, then went to my living room and settled into my recliner, placed directly in front of my tv as if I could sit in the front row of a movie theater. I cursed under my breath at some noisy people working in the apartment next door and at the light of the morning still sneaking in through the window even though I’d covered it with a blackout curtain. With the conditions as close to perfect as I could get them and my giddy anticipation becoming unbearable, I finally pulled up Disney+ and turned on the first episode of the show that I’d been waiting to see for almost two years.

What I saw that day, and for the next nine Wednesday mornings (getting up an hour before my usual 6:30 alarm just to watch because I could NOT wait the whole day), was nothing short of incredible, life-changing Star Wars. What I'd hoped would be at the very least a nice buildup to my favorite movie about the rebellion turned out to be perhaps the most meaningful piece of media I've ever consumed. You don't need me to list all the reasons why. We've talked about it over and over, and many people have said it all so much better than I could ever dream to. The hope this show instills and the representation I felt in watching it can never be properly put into words.

But even more than the experience of watching the show itself over those ten truly incredible weeks, I've come to value all the many, MANY weeks since. Nearly two and a half years. One hundred and twenty-five weeks. Eight hundred and eighty-one days. Some of them went by so slowly and painfully that we started to think we'd never reach this day, but we did. And we did it together. We did it with gifsets and metas, with shitposts and unhinged poll tournaments. We created names and lore and fics where there was never meant to be any. We some people truly lost the plot and created the peedy-verse (and for that I am constantly repenting).

The point is, I am so grateful for the day I finally decided the boredom was too overwhelming, when I started dedicating myself to [Shit]Posting Through It with more organization and passion than any day of actual work in my life. It has been the greatest privilege to have existed here with you all throughout this wait, to have seen this community stick together and thrive in our little corner of the internet. We've gotten through some really tough times together with the help of this show and all of our friends we've made along the way. And now the day has come that we've all been waiting for, and I could not be happier to get to experience it with everyone.

Whatever happens now, we made it! From the bottom of my heart, thank you all so much for helping spread joy throughout this community every single day we've had to wait.

Now let's have some fun, rebels <3

#no you're crying #okay i'm crying #i love you all #andor #my posts

82 notes · View notes

the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 1 year ago

Text

Paperwork

summary: While Price's injury is healing nicely, you're growing needier by the minute. But you're not the only one. With the doctors order in mind, you and Price attempts to stave your hunger by having you cockwarm him in his office.

pairing: cpt. John Price x reader (sunshine universe)

tags/tw: afab!reader, depiction of canon related injury, NSFW, mdni 18+ please and thank you, cockwarming, p in v, teasing, masturbation (f), unprotected sex, creampie, implied age-gap

a/n: Well, that little valentines blurb really helped to get the writing going🫡

Sunshine universe MASTERLIST & John Price MASTERLIST

Christmas passed just as slowly and cosy as you'd predicted, perhaps with one slight change of plans.

You'd returned home the night you'd dropped John from the hospital and helped him settle in somewhat. Despite debating whether to stay the night, your soldier urged you to head home to rest properly after spending so much time away.

You understood he tired of your company. In fact, he had a point, seeing how you wouldn't sleep soundly with him, constantly worrying if you would disturb his sleep by sharing a bed. And you needed a fresh set of clothes anyway. But you also noticed that being hurt took a toll on John. He'd accepted that you would be there to help him, but something told you he needed time to brood over the fact he was on med-leave for the upcoming months.

Once you returned to the flat you'd left in a hurry almost two days ago, you wandered aimlessly, trying to finish setting up your Christmas lights. However, whatever adrenaline the past 48 hours provided finally seemed to ebb, and you crashed on your couch shortly after finishing your task.

By the time you woke up again, it had been dark outside. Dinner that night hadn't been glamorous, partly because you didn't have any finished food in your fridge and partly because you were yet to be hungry from the late lunch you shared with John before leaving his place. Still, the bowl of instant ramen warmed the cold feeling settling in your body from merely looking outside your window and down at the snowy streets.

You slept in the next day, waking up with a warm body and nose slightly chilled from the cool temperature in your room. The rest of the day was slow. You checked in on John with a message around noon, accustomed to reaching out to anyone in your closest circle around that time, seeing how no one usually was up earlier on the weekend, even if John definitely didn't categorise as one of those. He'd given you the awaited broody reply, grumbling about a horrid night of sleep and a dull ache even after taking his prescribed meds.

You stared at his message for a minute until deciding to give him a call rather than answer it.

'Hell, love'.

'God, you really sound worse for wear', was your instinctive response as John greeted you with a rough voice.

'Cheers', he huffed in return, a groan following shortly after. At that moment, you rubbed your forehead, an ache settling in your heart at not being there with him.

'How about I come over today already? Christmas is approaching, and we already said we would celebrate together. Wouldn't hurt if I stayed with you in the upcoming days with your shoulder and all...', you trailed off at the end.

'Know you have no problem with it, but I don't want to take up all your time if you have other things planned', he responded tentatively. 'I've managed worse on my own'.

'Don't have to do it alone anymore'. You reminded him, and with that, he didn't argue.

'Pack your bags, then'.

And you'd packed your bags for a week. Although, by now, you'd stayed two, with the occasional trip back to your flat to swap out some clothes.

John's shoulder healed nicely, even if the process was arduously slow, but at least it meant his injury wasn't inflamed. God forbid you would've seen it like that. While you never counted yourself as squeamish, the first time you'd helped John rid himself of the bandages and the surgical tape that, for a seeable future, needed to be changing once a week, you also remembered that neither had you ever seen a freshly sewn-together wound.

His skin was a deep pink, and the sewn-together parts puckered and elevated from the surrounding areas. You almost shied from pulling the surgical tape the rest of the way when first laying eyes on the injury. Upon seeing the scrunch of your nose and worried glance up his face, John made you step back and do the rest, reassuring you it didn't hurt, just strained unpleasantly if he moved wrong.

While it may not have hurt while gently cleaning the wound the first time and that John now could go without the sling, it didn't mean you didn't notice the pull in his features when he did make a too-fast movement or a shift that pulled at the stitches and deeper-torn tissue. He's still instructed not to carry anything heavy, making you catch a grumble of 'a goddamn month more' as you passed by right before your name was called numerous times.

You didn't chide him from initially thinking he would manage on his own, but you both knew what the look you sent him implied and that his thank-you kiss was a silent acknowledgement that you'd been right. It would've been anything but enjoyable for him if you hadn't spent the past two weeks with him.

Even though only two weeks had passed, you quickly noticed John wasn't a man who could go long periods without doing anything. That didn't mean he couldn't take it easy. As he said himself, he'd learned that skill. But, reading so many books while having x amounts of scotches was only as enjoyable and appropriate as it could be to not count as light alcoholism. John was itching to do something more than sit idly around or keep you company during whatever you did.

So, it wasn't a surprise the first time you found him in his study a few days ago. He'd looked up from the papers with a caught-in-the-act look when you knocked on his study's door, the excuse of work piling up that he needed to look over leaving his lips instantly. You'd never been the one so strict about working when home; your free-lancing job was practically based upon it. Therefore, you'd waved his excuse away, padding into the office you'd barely set foot inside despite the many times you'd visited him.

You'd leant against the side of his desk, not more than casting a quick side-eyed glance on his computer to show you noted its presence but not the contents on the screen before your gaze sought his. Upon your curiosity of what it was, John indulged you in what he occupied himself with.

And just like that, John, who usually was so strict about not working when spending time with you, grew lenient on that rule of thumb, restlessness gnawing at his bones enough to slip away an hour or two each day to occupy his mind. But, you always saw him at the same times during the day, joining you on the couch in his living room or in his bedroom, hijacking the TV remote to follow the post-Christmas football matches.

You jokingly poked his side each time he did, commenting on how there were two TVs in his house if he'd forgotten. But you only got a quirk in his lip and wink in return as he proclaimed he needed to convert you into a fan, teasingly anchoring you to his side with a heavy arm if you threatened to escape.

But you both knew you didn't mind cuddling into his side with your head on his chest, following the matches of the day, only if he started getting too worked up when his team played and jostling your head around too much.

And that settled you into a new routine. While you busied yourself around the house, occasionally working a few days here and there, John watched football and occasionally retreated to his study. Although you left him to his work, he always left his door open, showing you it was free to enter if you desired.

Today was one of those days you did your separate things, not having seen each other much since the breakfast you shared, after which John left you with a kiss and 'know where to find me'.

It had been fine. It is fine. You'd gotten ahead of work for the new year, and John eased his workload gradually. And yet, glancing at your phone screen, you note lunch is overdue.

Sure, today had been slow. You and John had laid in bed for a while, basking in the last of the Christmas spirit the days between Christmas Day and New Year's Eve carried. And so, breakfast had been eaten later than usual, meaning lunch was also to be pushed forward. However, at half past one, John should've emerged from his office for a well-deserved break and shared the task of cooking something.

Putting aside your book, you move from the couch and wander outside the range of the fireplace's warmth. Its fire had long since burned out, and now the only parts glowing were the embering coals.

Your fuzzy socks act as a barrier between your feet and the cold wood beneath as you wander up the stairs. Despite the constant blast of radiators and the fireplace harbouring a non-stop fire, the floor always remains chilly when the temperature drops outside.

Much like the past days, the door to John's study stood ajar. But, compared to earlier, when you'd retrieved something from the bedroom, you didn't only pass it with a glance inside, finding John staring down at his computer with his injured arm resting in his lap as his other scrolled whatever he was going through. Now, you pushed the door open, locating him not behind his desk but seated in one of the two Chesterfield armchairs.

The edge of your mouth quirks upwards as you observe his upper body bent backwards over the low backrest, laptop resting in his lap, kept only from slipping by his hand. As you enter his peripheral vision, he glances in your direction. You offer him a warm smile as you close the distance, moving to stand behind the chair.

"How's it going?" You look down at the head tilted far enough backwards that John can watch you, albeit upside down, from where he sits. He grunts in response, eyebrows raising swiftly as he straightens.

You chuckle, hands that previously rested on the leather sliding to rest on John's shoulders, where you immediately dig your fingers into his muscles. He groans again, but this time, his head dips forward as you follow the tight tendons near his neck.

"That much to do?" You hum as you let up on the pressure, concentrating more on his uninjured side, following the muscles out to his shoulder, only to return and follow his spine to the back of his head.

"Not really". A harsh breath follows John's sentence when you find a knot along his neck and concentrate on easing it with your thumb. "The boys can manage, Laswell too, but whatever's possible to be pushed forward, they leave to me, meanin' things that need readin' through and cleared for the go-ahead".

"Imagine it ain't like that book I gave you", you muse, John only scoffing in return.

"Nothin' like it", he almost grumbles. "Would much rather cosy up with you and read that than this". He flicked the screen with his finger, a semi-metallic, semi-glass tick ringing from his action.

"You know very well you can drop work and cosy up with me and that book anytime you want. You're on leave". You remind him with a small smile, knowing he isn't really complaining.

With this being your first Christmas, you'd agreed to not spend too much on presents, even if you both had bought each other spontaneous gifts before, John being the culprit for spoiling you with expensive things much more often. While he'd gifted you a necklace he'd caught you looking at, you'd gotten him a book he mentioned wanting to read and a cigar to add to his collection. One, that at the moment, remained pretty stagnant as John refrained from having a smoke the first weeks of recovery. But you knew he itched for one, catching him eyeing the container he kept them in more than once.

"Hm, 'bout that", John's head lolled backwards, his gaze locking with yours. "Come here", he cocked his head, motioning for you to move around the chair. You did as he wished while he lodged his feet beneath the furniture's edge, moving the heavy armchair slightly backwards to allow you to stand between him and the low table.

With you now in front of him, John placed his laptop on the wide armrest, leaning forward shortly after. Concerning it being the closest, the hand of his injured arm slipped around your naked lower thigh when he sat forward, your oversized sweater ending just above his hand.

"Said here", John nods to his lap, pressing gently at the back of your leg.

"Your shoulder, John", you lightly scold his insistence, knowing where things would go if you ended up straddling him.

"It's fine". He insisted, tugging at your leg again. This time, you relented somewhat, stepping between his spread legs, the armchair's brown leather cool against your shins.

"The doctor told you to take it easy, let it heal." You reminded him of the instructions he'd received, but now, he scoffed at them.

With his head tilted to the side and displeased crease between his brows, his hand slipped down just an inch. The sudden tug as his fingers dug into the back of your knee took you off guard. It made your leg bend, and to not fall forward, your leg caught the excess seat beside his thigh as you caught yourself on the armrest to keep yourself steady.

You send John a look, as his stunt could've easily made you brace against his shoulder rather than the furniture. But he only cranes his head slightly as you hover over his self-satisfied self, a quirk bowing his lips.

"Takin' it incredibly easy, just you who's makin' me work hard for it". There's a glint in his eyes as his hands slide upwards, massaging the back of your upper thigh from how your dress-like sweater has ridden up somewhat, sneakily trying to urge you to settle entirely on top of him. Even so, you remain hovering.

"Missed you, love". You narrow your eyes at the change in his approach.

"Missed me or something else?"

"Both." John's answer is almost boyish in how a half grin stretches his lips and the cock of his head. You roll your eyes but can't withstand his request any longer, the butterflies in your chest never truly escaping when close to the man.

Climbing into the seat with as much grace as possible, you're mindful of his shoulder, bracing against the opposite side on the backrest to ensure you don't accidentally grip it for support. But the armchair is wide enough for your legs to comfortably slot on either side of his hips, and your hands slide to rest on his abdomen instead.

Now planted in his lap and more accessible to avoid straining his shoulder to reach for you, both of John's hands find purchase on your waist.

"That wasn't too hard, now was it?" He humours you with an arched brow as you shuffle in his lap to make yourself comfortable, only to feel something beneath you.

"No, but something seems to be". You tilt your head, alluding to the semi you slowly felt more prominently in his sweats.

"Haven't felt my girl in nearly a month. Can you blame me?" You shake your head with a huff through your nose, gaze cast down until it returns to his.

"Thought you were confident you wouldn't cave first".

"Never said that", John hums as he curves his back to make himself more comfortable in the armchair, making you settle more firmly over his crotch. "Although I remember you sayin' you could go the longest without a proper fuck". He dares you to deny it with a cock of his brows.

You roll your eyes but don't technically argue against him. "With how you are speaking, I could think you're growing desperate".

He clicks his tongue. "Can't guilt trip me for missin' your warm cunt".

"Jesus, John", you flush under his heavy gaze and crude words, enough for you to look to the side.

Fingers knock beneath your chin, quickly redirecting your attention back to him. Greeting you is a pair of blue eyes twinkling in intrigue. "So what you say, wanna keep me warm while I work?"

You eye him sceptically. John had figured you liked cockwarming him, the fact nothing hard to figure when you always pulled out the process of him slipping out of you as you caught your breaths in the aftermatch of whatever session had your body trembling and his clutching yours to anchor himself. But those times often happened after, not before.

"We're not fucking", you point at him.

"Keep still, and we won't". He chuckles at your muttered 'insufferable' as you rise to your knees.

John helps you as much as he can, stabilising you with his un-injured arm as you tug down the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers digging into the fabric of his underwear, feeling the hotness of his still not-fully erect member. He sighs as you pump his cock to bring him to full erection before pulling his length out, rubbing the tip against the fabric covering your cunt.

A warmth, a need, you hadn't felt in the past weeks blooms in your lower stomach.

Since his injury, you and John hadn't had sex. It might only be a few weeks, but having a mostly bare-chested, burly man like him walk around the house nearly every day because it was too tricky putting on a shirt did things to you, things which you repressed in favour of not pushing anything onto John that would strain his injury. Doctors orders.

But as you pushed your underwear to the side, how easily worked up you got whispers of a repressed desire, your slit wet without any proper foreplay, not more than the mere thought of finally feeling him inside you. Even so, you softly whine as you sink down onto him, the stretch as he entered not unfamiliar in comparison to unused to.

A drawn-out exhale escapes John as your tightness slowly swallows him, his hands falling to lift your shirt and simultaneously massage your hips.

"Just like that, love", his words are drawled as blue eyes follow how you inch your way down, having to work up and done with rolls of your hips take him after this long. "Just relax. You always take it so well". His praise makes you flutter around him, making your and John's breaths catch.

With a last shift, your thighs finally touch his, his cock buried to the hilt.

"Fuckin' hell so warm". You glance up at John, having his head notched backwards, lips slightly parted. Calloused hands slide up the smooth skin of your sides, outlining the curve of your hip, making your shirt ride up enough to show your stomach before it slides down again as his hands smoothened down your body again.

"Didn't you say you would work? Hard to do that while coping a feel". Your breathy comment brings John's head forward again, his eyes partly lidded.

"Only need one arm for that". There's a gentle tug in the corner of his mouth as he angles his laptop towards him on the armrest.

While propping his uninjured arm along the armrest, scrolling on the mousepad as he returned to the reading you previously interrupted, John's unoccupied hand gripped your hip as he brought you closer. The slight shift makes him move inside you, and your eyes flutter shut. Shit, this would be much harder than you'd anticipated.

In hopes it would distract you, you lean forward, nose knocking against the column of his throat. You inhale his scent, concentrating on how the typical aroma of rich cigar smoke is vacant from his skin with the lack of smoking.

John's unoccupied hand travels to the small of your back, fingers alternating between massaging your muscles and tracing light patterns against your skin.

Shivers run up and down every part of your body, unconsciously making you shimmy as the shudders reach your shoulders. Your shifting jostles him inside you, causing you to clench reactionary. John's chest heaves, indicating he definitely felt how you squeezed around him.

But he didn't say anything, not verbally, at least. He simply grabs a fistful of your asscheek until flesh spilt between his fingers. The silent scold forces you to resist rocking in his lap, only releasing a quiet whimper, burying your face deeper into the curve of his neck and shoulder.

You inhale to steady your breath.

The shower John took in the morning made his body wash more prominent. But he still smells of a certain alluring warmth, a musk simply describable as him, the one making you nuzzle against his bare upper body. You don't know whether to curse or hail him for not wearing a shirt nowadays, his nude chest distracting you somewhat from the delicious stretch and fullness of finally having him inside you. Until you knew it definitely did not help you.

As the hair dusted over his pectorals tickled against your lower chin and his beard against the upper part of your forehead, you ran your hands up and down his abdomen and chest.

Feeling the thick cords of muscle beneath a layer of fat that made him so deliciously big and broad clench beneath your fingers acts like a lighter to gasoline. Mental images of seeing those muscles work as he pumps himself into you fill your head.

You don't even notice how your hips begin to roll until a heavy hand clutches your side, swiftly preventing the motion.

"Be a good girl, hm?" You glance up at John, but he hasn't even angled his head to face you. His blue eyes simply remain fixed on the computer screen. Even so, you feel how the muscles in his neck flex, and a soundless chuckle shakes his chest.

You squeeze your eyes shut, face falling to hide against his neck again, but your attempt to remain calm has already failed as your mind supplies nothing but the filthiest scenes behind your eyelids. Grunting. Pistoning hips. Flesh grasped tightly.

You force an exhale, refraining from moving with any and all willpower in your fibres as you feel his girth throb inside you. You need a distraction. You need to distract yourself from thinking about how his cock fills you so well.

You start to mouth at his skin, light presses of your lips along his collarbone, trailing only far enough to his shoulder that you didn't aggravate his injury. When you once again reach where his clavicle met his sternum, you begin trailing kisses up his neck. You hum in delight, nuzzling against John's jawline, his beard tickling the tip of your nose. You felt him sigh, his chest pressing against yours before he exhaled through his nose.

God, you pliantly move with him as he shifts in his seat, attempting to find a more comfortable position by sliding down somewhat. But you can't help but momentarily dig your fingers into his abdomen as the slight stir pushes his hips against yours, forcing him deeper inside you. The sting of your nails makes his hips jump more erratically than when he'd shuffled just seconds earlier, and you can't stop a moan as you press yourself down into his lap. The only thought left in your mind is that you desperately need to move. Now.

Rocking your hips, you gave a quivering sigh, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his blunt tip hitting something so sensitive.

"Love", John's voice is even, hinting at nothing more than attempting to earn your attention. However, how his hand travelled from around your waist to your ass, angling your hips roughly in an arch so you were pressed, forced stationary, against his chest, spoke of something else.

When you emerge from his neck, with hands planted on his chest, his blue eyes lock with yours, and how he tilts his head causes a shiver to run down your spine.

"Said to sit still, didn't I?" A soft whine leaves your mouth, lower lip jutting out. "Only going to keep me warm, eh?" He tuts amusingly.

You huff as you catch the amusement in his voice. "You seem to like it".

"Not 'bout likin' it love, but seein' how strong that resolve of yours is", he hums, taunting words brushing over your lips

You could bare your teeth at that response, like a cat hissing at someone, even if they were petting them because they came close. John's cock was literally throbbing inside you, his hips shifting to get more comfortable, only to rock himself deeper into you, demanding, mocking you to do something about your predicament.

As if feeling your body tense, your frustration growing, the menace of a man you're perched upon decides to stoke the fire by giving you a small kiss on your lips.

"Not fair", you hiss against John. This time, his chuckle is audible.

"No one said anything about fair". You send him a deadpan look, but he only chuckles deeply again. "Now relax again, love". His hand pushes against the back of your head, bringing you to rest it against him. You don't fight him, hooking your chin near the juncture of his neck, staring at the bookshelf opposite you.

You knew you'd given a false promise when you said this wouldn't lead to anything. Called your own lie and his with your initial scepticism. But now you're too far gone, too horny after nearly a month of not properly feeling him; you let out a shuddering, displeased moan as you purposefully squirm.

Your constant shifts were too small to bring any real pleasure, erratic enough they would be written off as shifts to get comfortable if it wasn't for how you and John knew it definitely wasn't.

You could already feel your juices dripping, coating your inner thighs and his crotch, probably soaking his trousers. The lewd picture makes your pussy throb around his length again, and you quietly mewl, brows furrowing in frustration as you glare straight forward.

As if to make matters worse, your clit caught perfectly on the rolled-together line of your underwear that pressed into you at the angle John kept you from sinking deeper onto him. The realisation is like a doomsday announcement, as now it's impossible not to notice how your bundle of nerves is throbbing.

The ache is unbearable, especially as pleasure is within sight, the planes of John's lower stomach pressed right against your mound. With such temptation just a breath away, you wriggle your hips, stuttering a breath when pleasure rushes through your abdomen.

You start with small movements, yet more calculated than before. But soon, your squirming evolves into grinds that never fully make you sit back on John's lap.

You reckon that's why he doesn't stop your movements. But what catches you, pleasantly, off-guard is when you feel a slight push of his hand against your backside.

John lazily guides your hips a few times but stops suddenly as if catching himself of what he's doing when his concentration slips from his reading.

He chastises you with a soft pinch to the skin of your hips, and you know what's coming when he grabs the nape of your neck.

"Thought you said no fuckin'?". He directs your head in front of his. John's eyes have darkened, the good kind, his chest heaving more with each breath.

"I'm a big fat liar. That's what you want to hear?" You're quick to reply, the amusement rising in his blue eyes evident as he rolls his lips between his teeth with a content quirk in their corners before he answers.

"Always a delight when you admit you're wrong".

"Yeah, yeah", you roll your eyes, heat licking up your limbs and spine until pooling in the pit of your stomach. You attempt to quell it by mimicking the same move you'd previously done, but don't get far before John's strong hand anchors you squarely in his lap. The sweet pleasure of him filling you to the brim is momentary as the action keeps you there, fixed.

"Never said I would fuck you. I'm quite satisfied with this arrangement". John Price may be a humble man, but sometimes his cockiness soared when having you at his mercy.

"Piss off".

"Goin' to remain right here", he flashed you a devilish smile before returning to work.

His blatant disregard makes your mouth fall open as you stare at him.

You know John saw your reaction from the corner of his eyes, but he was adamant about not acknowledging you. You clench your jaw, sending him a nasty look.

If that's how he wants to play.

With the single coherent thought that you would get your release, no longer desiring to play into the torture John was putting you through, you decide to make him cave right along with you.

With one hand stabilising yourself on his chest, your other hand slide down beneath your sweater. Your mouth falls open when your fingers brush your clit, faintly feeling how he stretches you open, unabashed moan clawing up your throat and out of your mouth.

Oh, you saw the twitch of his head and felt his fingers dig into your waist. You knew how much he desired to look at you but remained stubborn enough not to indulge himself.

What must be a delirious-looking smile spread on your face as your mouth remains open, releasing all the soft breaths and whiney moans you'd muffled earlier. He's still keeping a steely grip on your lower half, keeping you from rocking your hips, but you make do with what he can't control.

You bend forward at the waist, head falling alongside his until you face his throat.

Whereas your previous kisses had been light, worshipping, now they were shy of foul. You don't leave more than a few open-mouthed kisses along his neck as a heads-up before you trace your tongue over the same spots you journey.

You never stop the slow circles over your clit, your heavy breaths fanning over the wet trail you paint against his skin. And with your pleasured sounds so close to his ear, your lips marking him up without abandon as no one but you will be able to see the light marks, a deep groan fills the air.

Silencing your satisfaction that you're slowly tearing his resolve, you release a low whine straight into his ear instead. "John-".

His facade cracks again, head tilting backwards, and you know he's fighting demons to not give in to your pleasure. But you show him no remorse, chuckling breathlessly over the shell of his ear before nipping his earlobe.

Laving over the sweet little spot on his neck, right at the angle where his beard fades and beneath his ear, another grunt fills the air as his other hand abandons the computer and shifts to grab you.

With both of his hands now on your hips, you take your unoccupied hand and drag it down his chest, the wiry hair tickling you as your nails catch his nipple. You paw at his chest as you push your mouth into the shell of his ear, shakily uttering, "Going fill me up, John?"

"Jesus-". His gravelly voice, how he gropes and grabs at your soft love handles, hints at the restrained pleasure leaking through the cracks you're creating. It eggs you on, quickening the fingers rubbing your clit as you try to see if he'll let you rock your hips.

Although he clutches your flesh when you start to roll your hips over his thick cock, he doesn't stop you, hands remaining dormant on your ass. And, since you don't get any resistance from John this time, you don't stop.

You flutter around him, your peak moving a lot closer when you sit straight, looking down at the man who showers you with his attention as you rise on your knees in tandem with the rocking of your hips. And that seems to break the last straw of his willpower.

You thank the heavens when he hastily moves to close his laptop and slides it a bit too aimlessly into the armchair beside the one you're occupying. The amusement in his eyes quickly faded to offer more place for surging arousal.

His uninjured arm rises to settle his hand at the back of your head, tugging you into a kiss as his other hand paces itself as he lowers it, swatting away your hand to overtake the onslaught on your bundle of nerves. As his thumbs find and rub firm circles onto your clit, you moan into his mouth.

John leans away to look at you, watching your features contort in pleasure as your cunt throbs around him. A lazy smirk on his face tells you he has no desire to drag out your or his pleasure any longer.

He starts moving his hips, meeting each of your falls into his lap, pressing him deeper into you than what you'd managed on your own. John sounded fucking heavenly as a fucked up into you, groans and grunts slipping past his teeth, even if he let you do most of the work, taking it easy with his shoulder.

"Fuckin' hell, that's my girl". He jerks inside you upon picking up the wet sounds squelching each time the back of your thighs meet his. "Takin' my cock so well after all this time, s'good for me, fuck- missed you havin' you around me". John's head drops backwards just as his hand falls to give your hips a firm squeeze, helping you guide your hips. You whine, clenching around him, slumping against him even if your hands get trapped between your chests.

He feels so good inside you, girthy length stretching you so deliciously, every ridge and vein rubbing against your walls. You pant against his skin, teeth closing on the tendons in his neck, not biting, but the pleasure just feels so good that you barely know what to do with yourself.

"Feisty today, eh?" John's jab is breathless, rasped from the back of his throat. "Hm, get so needy when you don't get my cock".

"John- fuck", your eyes squeeze tightly shut as your sensitivity is upped, orgasm nearing, the digit playing with your clit making you keen. "Feels so good, you feel so good... shit, missed this", you blabber. He groans at your admission, planting his heels more firmly to get more power behind his thrusts.

An involuntary squeak leaves you as the added force makes you slide forward a bit, your arm swinging around his neck on his uninjured side. It's nowhere near as fierce as John otherwise can shove himself deep inside of you, but after this long, he doesn't need to.

One final thrust sends you over the edge, body quivering, thighs squeezing his waist. Your moan breaks into heaving breaths, hips stilling in their up-and-down movement. John's not far behind, manually grinding your hips back and forth before he rolls his hips upwards, praises falling in groans from his lips as he spills inside you.

"Best believe you're not going back to working after this", you sigh into John's neck, having caught your breath just as he slackens beneath you.

He gives you a shakey laugh yet to level his own breathing. "No thought 'bout it", his voice is throaty as his arms curl around your waist.

#john price call of duty #john price x fem!reader #john price cod #captain john price #john price x reader #fanfic #cod mw2 #john price #captain john price x reader #john price x you #captain price x reader #john price x y/n #john price x female reader #captain price #task force 141 #captain johnathan price #john price smut #john price fanfiction #john price fic

763 notes · View notes

lanawinterscigarettes · 8 months ago

Note

hiii i just found your blog, I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE, and if i can request like an angsty story about house and wilson with reader, and the reader has like some disease that'll kill her😭😭😭😭😭im just craving angst

YOU ARE SO SWEET THANK YOU 💞💞 it's been awhile since I've written a good angst fic so this is perfect for me

Your Last Breath (Greg House x gn reader x James Wilson)

Warnings: talk of hospitals/medical procedures, reader has a mystery illness that kills them, they/them pronouns used a few times to refer to the reader in a gender neutral way, hurt/no comfort, heavy angst, main character death (spoiler: it's you)

The doctors had been trying for months to figure out what was wrong with you. Months of invasive tests, months of going back and forth with possible explanations, months of being put on temporary treatments that seemed to work for a short while before you eventually succumbed to whatever was causing your problems again.

Everyone was stumped, and by everyone I truly do mean everyone. Not even House could figure out what was wrong, something that frustrated him to no end for multiple reasons. And by the time he was finally able to figure out what the cause was, it was already too late.

The disease had progressed too far along on its course for the doctors to be able to treat it properly. The best they could do was make you comfortable for the few weeks you had left to live.

Usually he liked having cases he couldn't crack, he liked figuring out the puzzle of what was bothering his patient, he liked being able to go to Cuddy and say "I told you so" when it ended up him being right and everyone else was wrong. But not this time.

This time all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and die. If only. He'd gladly give up both of his legs if it meant you'd get better.

Meanwhile, the resident head of oncology wasn't taking the news very well, either. It was normal for House to shut himself away for extended periods of time, but not Wilson. He barely left his office anymore, not to check on his own patients, not to accept a request for a consult, nothing. In fact, the only time he ever did leave was to visit you.

Most nights were spent with either him or House at your side, checking your vitals and fetching whatever it was that you needed. You ended up having to beg the both of them to go home at some point, even if it was to just shower and change, but they still refused, choosing to stay at the hospital instead.

Occasionally one of the ducklings would stop by if either of them couldn't for some reason, whether that be due to another patient needing attention or because you finally convinced them to take a break for once.

Foreman was solemn, talking about arrangements that could possibly be made for your body after death if you hadn't decided already. Cameron was sympathetic, reassuring you that they'd make sure you wouldn't be in any pain during your last days on earth. Chase was playful, trying to take your mind off things by cracking a joke or two. And Cuddy was surprisingly very nurturing when she managed to make the time to check in on you.

The whole thing was very bittersweet. While you appreciated everyone caring so much about you, it hurt to know why they were doing it.

Your final day was surprisingly quiet, with no nurses stopping by to check on you every hour or so like they had been for the past couple of weeks where you'd been bedridden almost completely. You suspected someone had requested for that, so you could have a bit of peace in the last few hours you'd be alive for.

House stood at the foot of your bed, watching as you slept. He looked like he was about to say something when Wilson suddenly spoke up from the armchair beside your bed.

"Don't even think about it, House. You're not waking them up right now."

Despite Wilson's firm tone, House couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Oh, come on. It's not like it matters much, they're going to be dead soon anyway."

It took everything in the oncologist not to snap and strangle the man in front of him. The only thing that managed to stop him was the sound of you letting out a hacking cough as you woke up. Even with the oxygen machine, it had become increasingly more difficult for you to breathe.

"Guys, don't fight," you tried to make your tone stern as you lectured them, but your throat was dry and therefore made your voice weak and raspy when you spoke.

"Hey, hey, don't speak, it's alright," Wilson gently reassured you as he reached out to take one of your hands into his. Your skin felt clammy, but he didn't care.

House had a pained look in his eyes as he watched you, but he did his best to cover it up with his usual snark. "We were just talking about you. Trying to figure out who should get your stuff when you die."

Wilson gave him an evil look, but you simply laughed. At least, they thought you laughed. It was kind of hard to tell given how sick you were.

"You guys are funny."

If it were any other time, House would've beamed with pride and joy at being able to make you smile with one of his quips, but this time he just felt empty inside, knowing that it was possibly the last one you'd ever hear. He quietly observed as Wilson helped you drink some water out of a small paper cup, one hand helping you hold it up to your lips while the other rested on your shoulder.

"Thank you," was the only thing you managed to get out once you were done, your breathing stalling yet again when you tried to speak. The three of you knew it was getting close to when it was going to happen. The problem was that only one of you had accepted it, and it wasn't either one of the two doctors who were in the room.

"I love you guys," ended up being your final words, a bittersweet smile on your face and tears in your eyes as you took your last breath. You hoped they knew that you meant that. You hoped they knew that you didn't blame them.

And you hoped that your death helped to bring them closer together rather than tearing them apart. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but who really cared? It's not like you'd be around to witness it anyway.

End notes: I rarely ever finish a request this early so please don't expect this to become a normal thing 😭 I just got really into writing this for some reason and once I started I just couldn't stop

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated | requests are currently open

Main masterlist | House MD masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

🏷 taglist: @pigeonmama @caplanreblogsfics

258 notes · View notes

orionremastered · 1 year ago

Note

could you do where they react to scars? like maybe from sh? how they would act around a s/o with them and stuff. it’s totally okay if not! and oml i love all of your hc sm they are so fun to read and like insanely accurate!

Masterlist

I Can Love You For You

CW: (past) Self-harm

Dick Grayson

It happens when he's talking about something in that animated way that makes you smile

It just so happens that he's holding a cup of coffee and it spills... all over your hoodie

You both scramble to take it off which is when he sees the scars

He holds your wrists and keeps asking you what they are. what happened. why you felt that way

He's so concerned for you it makes you feel loved in a way you haven't felt loved in a long time

Makes you your favourite snack and drink before telling you to explain everything that happened

Jason Todd

He wakes you up during him having a nightmare and you wait for him to wake upon his own accord

It's the first time you've slept over at his place and he didn't tell you about having nightmares

When he finally wakes up you comfort him and he seems to trust you

Trust you enough to open about what happened to him without you knowing him for more than a month or two. he tells you everything and almost seems ashamed of it

So you open up too. To tell him it's okay and that what happened to him wasn't his fault

Eventually you both fall silent and just hold each other. Understanding that you're both just half a person and together you might fit as one.

Tim Drake

He figures out pretty early into your relationship, like two or three weeks, that you used to self-harm

He's seen it many times and he knows the behaviours that follow, but he just doesn't know how to bring it up to you in a way that isn't forcing you into anything uncomfortable

A month or two into the relationship, this idiot is still trying to figure out how to bring it up when you tell him

He wasn't expecting it but is relieved that you feel comfortable enough to talk to him about it

He remains supportive and comforting the whole time, holding your hand and rubbing your thigh (only if you want him to, of course)

Damian Wayne

Definitely notices something's constantly off about you

At one point he's almost convinced himself you're a criminal trying to spy in him and his family, though that thought only lasts like an hour

At one point he asks you to take a shower with him and you just say 'No.'

That's when it hit him

He gave it away that he knew by constantly holding your wrists and suddenly all your razors were gone and the kitchen knives vanished too, only able to use his knives when he was the one cooking

You eventually opened up to him one night and told him everything. he didn't judge you and didn't say anything until you were finished telling him

Held you so tight that night that you almost couldn't breathe

Need mental help of any kind?

There's no need to feel ashamed about what's happened to you. Life can get the better on all of us at one point or another; but if someone does walk in and you don't have time to close the website properly, you can use the button at the top of the web page to quickly switch the tab to a weather forecast website.

#batfam #batfamily x reader #damian wayne x reader #jason todd x reader #batfamily #x reader #dick grayson x reader #tim drake x reader

478 notes · View notes

batstalked · 1 month ago

Text

research mode in the bunker wasn't that much different, in truth, than the research mode at home. only he had far more help here. Tim will admit that that was due to the fact that he didn't want help when he'd been at home. but here he was a little out of his depth when it came to trying to solve this puzzle. still something wasn't adding up in his mind. they had to be missing something. there had to be more to this whole thing. of course getting out of there was the best choice, who knows what would have happened if they'd stayed. but it seemed too easy.

talking to Sam enough left Tim with enough to know that this wasn't something that he was going to find the answer to in a random book. this was going to take a lot more just putting pieces together from different sources of information. luckily for them, they had a secret weapon. well Tim considered him a secret weapon. at least when it came to gathering information. it takes a few times of dropping the hint that Ben should ask Dean to teach him how to shoot a gun, the time comes that he can utilize the angel at their disposal to gather the information that he needed. luckily knowing exactly where Scarecrow likes to hide out comes in handy.

it takes weeks to piece it all together once he has everything that Crane was using to complete the ritual of opening the gate. his room looked like a bomb went off in it. his own notes strewn everywhere. he hasn't slept in two days but he was on a roll, he almost had it. it was on the tip of his tongue and he couldn't for the life of him spit it out. staring at the picture that Dean had sent Sam of the door itself, he needed to see it in person. it doesn't take any time at all to find Cas. pleading with the angel to take him to the gate, he knows that it wont react to him but it would give him the chance to examine it more closely.

"that's it..." he mutters to himself, fingers moving along the etchings in the stone. a near hysteric laugh leaves him. "that's it. i can close it!" the expression on Cas' face never changes but he can see the confusion in his eyes. "i have to write it down and then i'll explain." there was already a plan forming in his mind. he could do this. and Dean would have no choice but to go with it. he just needed to put it onto paper before he trusted his sleep addled mind to have come up with something that would work properly.

only after a two hour nap does Tim come running out of his room when he knows that Dean would be making breakfast and slams his hands on the table.

"i can close it."

@therebetterbepie

#. ® closed #therebetterbepie #. ® case file 352: masks and monsters #rubbing my hands together like a fly

64 notes · View notes

sturniolohohoho · 20 days ago

Text

FUCK YOU TOO - PART 6

Intro 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

summary: ....no comment. just read it.

c/w: smoochin, flirting...cheating

wc: 2.6k

Y/n POV

Sometime during the night, Chris had managed to coax you into your house, but you were so tired you didn’t even remember it. You wake up tangled in your own sheets, light shining softly on your face. With a groan, you sit up and look around. He’s nowhere to be seen, and you feel a little well of disappointment. Did he go home?

Sitting up and walking down your stairs into your kitchen, you were pleasantly surprised. Chris was standing there, looking like he just woke up, but was cooking breakfast. The scent of bacon wafted through the air, and you wondered how you didn’t notice it from upstairs.

“G’morning, y/n,” he mumbles, squinting a bit as he looks at you. His voice is several octaves lower than usual, and it would have made you laugh if it wasn’t so…anyways.

His hair is tousled and he��s dressed in sweatpants and a white tank top– yesterday’s outfit.

“Chris! I thought you left in the middle of the night. Where did you sleep?” He shrugs and gestures to your couch– mind you, a loveseat couch– nowhere big enough for him to fit.

“There? Your whole body can’t even fit properly! You could’ve slept–” he interrupts you, grinning sleepily.

“What– in your bed? Weirdo.” you groan and shove him with your shoulder. His skin is so warm and you just want to hug him, you weren’t really sure where the two of you stood, especially because of the change of events. Almost as if he’s reading your mind, he outstretches an arm and wraps it around you, hand resting on your bare shoulder.

“You’re cold,” he remarks, rubbing your skin slightly with the pad of his thumb. You let yourself melt into him, as the air fills with comfortable silence and the sizzling of breakfast.

You shift slightly, resting your head against his shoulder. “Did you, like…actually sleep?”

He snorts. “Define ‘sleep.’”

You pull back, giving him a flat look. “Chris.”

He grins, looking down at you with a sheepish expression, but there’s a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. “I’m fine. Your couch is just…uh, not made for people over five feet tall.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can reply, he leans down a little, voice dropping. “Why? You worried about me?”

There’s a teasing lilt to his tone, but his gaze is steady, searching. You huff, turning toward the counter to grab a mug. “No, I just think it’s dumb you didn’t take the extra blankets.”

“You coming to Ryan’s tonight?”

You hesitate. Not because of the party itself– you go to these all the time. But there’s something about him asking, about the way his voice is just a little too regular, that makes stop.

“I dunno,” you say, stretching your arms over your head. “Depends.”

Chris raises a brow. “On?”

You shrug. “How I feel later.”

He tilts his head, studying you. “You always feel like partying.”

“Maybe I’m tired.”

Chris hums, unconvinced. Then, after a beat, he leans in slightly, voice dropping just a little. “Or maybe you don’t wanna go if I’m there.”

You scoff. “Please. You think you have that much power over my plans?”

Chris smirks. “So you’ll be there?”

You exhale, faking annoyance. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Good,” he murmurs, his smirk softening into something else. “Wouldn’t be as fun without you.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, watching him.

_________

Chris POV

The house is packed, the bass from the speakers thumping against the walls like a second heartbeat. You stand near the kitchen, red cup in hand, half-listening as y/n tells you a story about the last time she were at this place and someone tried to do a keg stand off the pool table.

She’s laughing, talking with her hands, animated and a little tipsy, and you can’t help but smile, watching her. Y/n’s got that glow again– the one you’ve been chasing in your peripheral for weeks now. Something about her tonight makes everything look dimmer in comparison.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see her.

Ness.

She’s standing near the back sliding doors, haloed in that stupid fairy light glow the host probably thought looked whimsical. Her hair’s curled the way she used to do it when she knew you were going to be at something. Her dress– black, short, a little too perfect– is a punch to the stomach. It’s like your brain doesn’t know how to process seeing her again. Your chest gets tight.

It’s been weeks. Long enough for the anger to settle into confusion. Long enough to miss her in a way that makes you hate yourself a little.

She hasn’t seen you yet. Or maybe she has. Maybe the tilt of her chin and the slow sip of her drink are the acknowledgment. She always knew how to haunt a room.

“Chris?”

You try to pull your eyes back to Y/N. She’s still talking. Hands animated. Face lit up. You want to focus. You want to stay there. But it’s like Ness has a leash around your neck and she just gave it a tug.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You clear your throat, plastering a smile on. “Just hot in here.”

She gives you a look that says she doesn't quite buy it, but she doesn't press. Instead, she finishes the last sip of your drink and hands the cup to him.

“I’m gonna go absolutely butcher some karaoke. You coming?”

You hesitate, and something in her face flickers. She knows you’re about to say no– but she was only a bit disappointed– nothing more.

“Try not to miss the show,” Y/n teases, already walking backwards toward the living room where the karaoke setup is.

You watch her go, your mouth dry, her words muffled by the thumping beat and the blood in his ears.

Then you look back toward Ness.

And this time, she’s looking right back.

_________

Y/n POV

[For best experience listen to Glitter and Violence by Nessa Barrett.]

You walk/stumble up to the DJ, who’s currently looking for karaoke singers. You fucking love karaoke. Plus, the alcohol in your system was enough to make you confident. As you walk up to him, he takes his headset up, pleased at the first singer of the night.

“Hey DJ guy! Can I do karaoke?” He chuckles at your name for him and nods.

“Yeah of course– you’re the only one to sign up so far. Just tell me what song you want and you can go in a couple, yeah?” You sort of let out a laugh, and when your turn comes, you walk up onto the stage.

The small stage’s lights were pretty blinding, and it was hard to make out faces in the crowd. Energy coursed through your body as you picked up the microphone– Glitter and Violence by Nessa Barrett.

The starting chords play, as you feel yourself getting swept into the familiar rhythm and song. You can tell that everyone loves it– it’s not often people actually get up and sing.

Squinting as you keep singing lyrics, you try to find Chris.

I know you pray for it

You make out the figure of him closer to the door that you had entered from. And you realize– Ness is there too. Black dress. Lipstick shade you know too well. Her hand a little too close. His face a little too neutral.

Want me so fuckin' much that you would pay for it

You feel a void opening up in your stomach and you see them talk. Chris doesn’t even look up at you, completely transfixed on her. He was looking at her like she was the only girl in the room– In the world.

Empty out your 401K for it

You watch as Ness pouts and extends an arm out, placing her palm on his chest, saying something. It’s hard to make out Chris’ expression, but he wasn’t moving.

Pretty snow angels, champagne pouring

All you wanted to do was get off the stage and break them apart, yell at her that she was yours now, and to leave him alone– to stop talking to him. But you knew, that wasn’t your right. The whole fake dating thing was to make her jealous– so you suppose he succeeded.

You came for it

Blood in the water

Your voice trembles slightly on the next line, but no one seems to notice. You can’t tear your eyes away from them—Chris and Ness—talking like they were never strangers, like the weeks apart hadn’t mattered. Her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, and it makes you feel sick.

Everyone wants her

Ness always had that effortless pull. She didn’t need to try—people just wanted her. Even Chris. Especially Chris. You watch as he leans in, just a bit closer, and your heart sinks further. It’s not the kind of look you can misinterpret. You feel your hands clench around the mic stand. You feel small.

Somebody's daughter's making money tonight

You sing it sharper than you mean to, almost bitter. Your voice rings out above the party noise, and heads turn to look at you, but not his. Not theirs.

(Glitter and violence) blood in the water

The lights blur as your eyes gloss over. You can still see the outline of Chris’ back and the way Ness tilts her head at him like a challenge.

(Dollar bills flying) everyone's watching

You don’t need to see anymore. But you do. You force yourself to look. Because looking away feels like giving up—like admitting there was nothing there to begin with.

Somebody's daughter's got your daddy tonight

And that’s when it happens. Chris takes a step. Then another. And just like that, he’s following her. Ness throws one last glance over her shoulder, her smirk razor-sharp, her victory obvious. She takes his hand like it belongs to her.

The door opens.

Closes.

They're gone.

_________

Chris POV

“I’m gonna go absolutely butcher some karaoke. You coming?”

You hesitate, and something in her face flickers. She knows you’re about to say no—but she was only a bit disappointed. Nothing more.

“Try not to miss the show,” y/n teases, already walking backwards toward the living room where the karaoke setup is.

You watch her go, your mouth dry, her words muffled by the thumping beat and the blood in your ears.

Then you look back toward Ness.

And this time, she’s looking right back.

You haven’t seen her in weeks. That was the point. No messages. No closure. You were doing so well not looking back.

But now she’s standing ten feet away, bathed in cheap party lights and looking at you like you never left.

You don’t even try to hide your stare. You just let it happen.

She breaks the silence first, sauntering closer with that same rehearsed sway in her hips. The one she used to swear was just for you.

“Chris,” she says softly, like she’s tasting the name. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You swallow hard. “Didn’t think I’d want to.”

She smiles, slow and sharp. “And yet here we are.”

There’s a beat where neither of you says anything. You can hear Y/N’s voice somewhere in the background—something soft and low, the intro to a song. One you recognize. Nessa Barrett. Glitter and Violence.

Ness steps closer.

“I missed you,” she says. No preamble. Just that.

You laugh under your breath, bitter. “Right.”

“I’m serious.”

“You cheated, Ness.”

“I made a mistake.”

You shake your head, jaw clenching. “No. You made a choice.”

She moves closer, hand brushing yours. “And now I’m making another one.”

You freeze.

“Ness– I-i’ve moved on now. I’m with y/n.”

Ness presses her hand to your chest, a fake pitiful look in her eyes “Ohhh, her, huh?” she glances at her on the stage, mockingly pouting. “C’mon Chris. You really never thought about me? Not once?”

You don’t answer.

Because yes. Of course you did.

Even while fake-dating someone else. Even while letting someone good—really good—make you laugh again, trust again.

Even then.

Ness leans in. “Just come outside with me. Let’s just talk this out,” she whispers. This is Ness. The love of your life. You just stare back at her– her eyes are so fucking beautiful.

Your chest feels like it’s caving in, breath tight like you’ve forgotten how to pull air into your lungs properly. You know this is a bad idea. You know it. But logic never stood a chance with her. Not when she’s this close. Not when her perfume is crawling up your spine and making your head fuzzy, like the first drag off a cigarette you swore you quit.

She reaches her hand out and takes yours, giving you a soft smile that only angels could produce, walking you like a dog towards the exit.

As the door swings open behind you, the music inside fades into a dull hum. You’re outside now, where the air is colder and you can breathe easier, even if your ribs ache with it.

Before you realize what’s happening, she’s unlocking her car with one hand and sliding into the driver’s seat like this is fine. Like you haven’t been trying to scrape her out of your bloodstream for months.

You don’t speak. Not on the drive.

She pulls into that old parking lot behind the bowling alley.

Puts the car in park.

Silence.

“I missed you,” she says again, softer this time. “You looked good tonight. Happy, even.”

She places a hand on your chest, light but deliberate. Her fingers flex slightly, like she’s checking if she still fits there.

You hate that.

You hate how your body leans just a little closer.

“Chris… I don’t know what we are right now, but please,” she says while crawling over the centre console. “Let me love you,” she whispers in your ear. Settling over your lap, hands moving up into your hair.

You give in. You grab her waist with one hand and the back of her head with the other. You kiss her like you’re drowning.

Like her mouth is the only oxygen left on Earth.

Your hands roam her back, up under her jacket, desperate to remember every dip and angle. Every place you used to know like your own name. She gasps against you, fingers curling tight into your hoodie like she thinks you might disappear if she lets go.

“God, Chris,” she breathes, barely a whisper. “You don’t know how much I needed this.”

You do. You’re kissing her like an apology, like a confession, like a prayer.

“I missed you,” you mutter, the words slipping out between frantic, clumsy kisses. “I missed you so much it made me sick.”

She whimpers. Her nails dig into your shoulder as her mouth crashes into yours again, harder this time. It's not slow. It’s not soft. It’s starving.

You pull her closer, practically dragging her into your lap, and she melts into you like she never left. Your fingers tangle in her hair. Hers slip beneath your shirt, shaking, cold and certain.

“Ness,” you groan. “Ness.”

so i did a thing.... anyways sorry if this is corny ahh or not legible i can never write shit at normal hours of the day!!! love you guys <3333

@sturniolosrtewsexy @sturnbrooke @emely9274 @babytomatoes21 @arianna1342 @gemzyy @namelesssav @chestersturn @ellieluvssturniolos @tits4matt @vanteguccir @luke8989 @matt-sturnioloo @glee2skkii @riggysworld

Comment to be added!

divider creds to @junabuggy

64 notes · View notes