#inescapable. around every corner

[loverdude]

I have absolutely had it with that stupid Barbie mugshot meme I saw like literally 2 before I started getting annoyed by it and I keep seeing it everywhere

[lovetwist]

Veil of Deception (I)

SYNOPSIS: In a world where political alliances are forged in blood and treachery lurks around every corner, you find yourself thrust into marriage with Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen. Born to be his perfect mate, you grapple with the terrifying prospect of becoming entangled with a man known for his brutality, obsession, and madness. As your union unfolds, you navigate a landscape of deception and dark desires, struggling to find your footing in a marriage fraught with danger and uncertainty. Caught between duty and defiance, summon your strength and resilience to survive in a world where loyalty is a luxury and love is a dangerous game.

WARNINGS (R18+): mildly dub-con, smut, first time, weapons kink, mentions of violence, manipulations, genetic breeding, power play

Word Count: 3.5k

PART 2

Below the towering spires of obsidian and steel, against a backdrop of opulent extravagance that flaunted wealth and power, a tension hung heavy, pregnant with the promise of destiny.

As Lady Atreides, sole daughter of Leto Atreides, you stood poised on the precipice of a meeting that would shape the course of your future. Your heart seized with nerves as you awaited the arrival of your betrothed.

Since your 15th name day, you had known of your engagement to the na-Baron. It was an inescapable fate predetermined by the Bene Geserrit. Your mother, Lady Jessica, had gone against them by giving birth to Paul, a male heir for Leto. Two years later, she gave birth to you – a gift of compromise for both sides. In return, Lady Jessica and Leto achieved the familial harmony they wanted, through the sacrifice of their daughter.

Every year, the Harkonnens requested your portrait to be sent along with a lock of hair. In exchange, they sent House Atreides jewels, gold, silks, and spice; disguised bribes for the upkeep of such a fine lady. They had only sent a portrait of Feyd-Rautha once. It was taken during his coming-of-age ceremony, a lean young man dressed in black fighting leathers. You stared often at the picture, looking to find some clue that could reveal his character. His demeanor was unnaturally cold and collected, yet his dark eyes barely concealed a burning rage. You wondered if Feyd-Rautha poured over you pictures as you did his.

Years passed and the engagement felt more like a false formality than reality. Unlike other noble families, you never exchanged letters with Feyd-Rautha or even met as a courtesy. Having completed your Bene Geserrit training under your mother, you learned that such things did not matter when it came to pairings arranged by the Reverand Mother. You caught whispers of conversation between your mother and her Bene Geserrit sisters. There would be no chance of failure, this union would be perfect. You were genetically engineered to be his absolute mate. Attraction and physical compatibility was assured. Everything about you was designed to lure him in – your scent, your voice, your everything was to be his undoing from the moment he would lay eyes on you.

Yet the thought gave you no confidence as you stood here now in Giedi Prime. Sexual attraction differed greatly from love, he didn’t need emotions to breed you. Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen, was a man followed by countless stories of brutality and wickedness. You heard that he laughed when Reverand Mother subjected him to the Gom Jabbar. He didn’t endure pain, he reveled in it.

Your palms grew clammy, breath becoming increasingly shallow as you pondered the dark fate that awaited you in the form of this formidable man. Would Feyd-Rautha be the embodiment of all the whispered sin that had reached your ears, or would he prove to be an enigma beyond your wildest imaginings? With each passing moment, the anticipation mounted, weaving a delicate web of uncertainty around your heart as your braced yourself to meet the man who held your destiny in his hands.

The grand doors of the chamber swung open with a regal flourish, your heart quickened its pace, echoing the rhythm of anticipation that thrummed through the air. Through the gray haze of incense, you beheld Feyd-Rautha, a vision of masculinity and charisma, whose presence seemed to command the very essence of the room. His eyes met yours across the expanse of the chamber, a charged moment filled with unspoken tension, as if the universe itself held its breath in anticipation of this meeting.

You were ensnared in a tempest of conflicting emotions, thoughts swirling like sand caught in a desert storm. You questioned your own composure, wondering if you could maintain the facade of confidence expected of a lady of House Atreides in the presence of the young Harkonnen and the terrifying Baron. Feyd-Rautha may be your future husband, but he was not required to provide you a good nor happy life. After all, why would he? You were the daughter of his family’s sworn enemy. He may have been bound in marriage to you by centuries of bloodline manipulation, but he maintained a free will.

Would his words falter, betraying the tumult and hatred raging within him? Or would he summon the grace and poise befitting his station, masking the turmoil that churned beneath the surface? Your apprehension mounted, a symphony of doubt and fear playing out in the recesses of your mind. Yet, amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a glimmer of determination flickered like a distant star on the horizon, urging you forward into the unknown with a quiet resolve born of necessity.

For in the labyrinthine dance of politics and power that defined their world, you knew that you could ill afford to falter now. With a steadying breath, you squared your shoulders and prepared to face your destiny, whatever form it may take in the guise of a madman husband.

Feyd-Rautha, with an air of effortless confidence, strode forward, his gaze a smoldering ember that ignited a spark within your soul. In that fleeting moment, as your paths converged amidst the darkness and mist of the surroundings, you felt a surge of something unfamiliar yet undeniable—an electric current that crackled between your bodies, binding your fates together inextricably.

Words eluded you as you struggled to articulate the wave of emotions that threatened to consume you. Yet, in the silence that stretched between you two, you found solace in the understanding that this meeting was but the first step on a journey fraught with uncertainty and possibility. He bowed without taking his eyes off you. In greeting, you extended a gloved hand, Feyd-Rautha grasped it with a firm sense of resolve. You knew that your lives were now intertwined in ways neither could fully comprehend nor stop.

And in that moment, amidst the hazy dream of your shared future, you glimpsed the faintest flicker of something akin to desire dance across his eyes. You noticed a dilation of his pupils as he laid a kiss on the back of your hand. Then, his grasp of you tightened and tightened. Your face contorted in pain as a crooked smirk appeared on his features.

In the dim light of the chamber, your eyes traced the contours of his cheekbones and the fullness of his lips, searching for traces of the young man you once memorized in a portrait. Yet, try as you might, only a beast stood before you in the guise of a gentleman. When he stood at his full height with his darkened leer, you held yourself back from cowering. His gaze was vicious, his smile vulgar with blackened teeth, and he exuded an air of savagery.

“How delightful it is to finally meet you, Lady Atreides.”

His deep, raspy voice caught you off guard. What a performer he could be! Long gone was the ethereal allure he displayed when first entering the room, now you could see him for what he was.

“Likewise, my Lord Feyd-Rautha.”

Uncertainty lingered like a specter in the room, casting a pall over the impending union that would bind you with him. You let your gaze lower onto the floor as your parents approached to talk with the Baron and na-Baron.

You could feel his intense gaze burning through your body even as you moved away to be with your brother. Could his eyes pierce through your facade, unraveling the intricacies of your soul like fine thread? Such questions gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, casting shadows on your will to remain strong.

As the evening progressed, the tension in the air thickened like a fog, suffocating any semblance of ease. Seated at the long banquet table surrounded by your family, the Harkonnens, and noble guests, you found yourself ensnared in a delicate dance of propriety and peril.

Across from you, Feyd-Rautha lounged in his seat, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he watched you with unabashed fascination. His demeanor was that of a predator toying with its prey, his every movement calculated to instill a sense of discomfort. Your family would leave to Arrakis after the wedding festivities, then you would be truly left alone with him. The precariousness of your position tugged at your heart.

As the meal commenced, the atmosphere grew increasingly tense, punctuated by the clinking of silverware and the strained chatter of polite conversation. You forced yourself to engage in small talk with those seated around you, your words measured and careful, lest you betray the fear that coiled like a serpent in the pit of your stomach.

Despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of composure, you couldn't shake the feeling of being scrutinized by those dark, probing eyes. It was as if Feyd-Rautha could see straight through you, peeling away the layers of pretense to expose your most secret vulnerabilities. You found yourself growing increasingly unsettled. You longed to escape, to retreat to the safety of your chambers and away from the suffocating presence of the Harkonnen heir.

But you knew that there would be no reprieve, no sanctuary from the darkness that had descended upon your life like a shadow. For tonight, and every night thereafter, you were bound to him by the cruel machinations of fate, condemned to walk a path fraught with danger and uncertainty. And as you raised your glass to Feyd-Rautha’s toast to your impending union, you couldn't help but wonder what horrors awaited you.

“To the most beautiful bride in the world, I will certainly savor tomorrow’s…memories.”

The men at the table chuckled darkly while your father’s and brother’s jaws clenched. You lay your delicate hand over theirs, do not mourn me. If I am to die, I shall do so with honor.

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

As your mother lowered your veil, you noticed tears forming in her eyes. You never thought you’d live to see the day the impenetrable Lady Jessica shed tears for you. I must really be walking into my death, you thought.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror. There were no words to describe the vision you saw. Crafted from the finest silk and satin, your wedding gown exuded an air of majestic elegance with flowing skirts cascading like waves of moonlight around your figure.

The bodice, adorned with intricate beadwork and delicate lace, hugged your curves with a tailored precision, accentuating a slender waist and graceful neckline. A row of tiny diamonds trailed down your body, gleaming against the smooth expanse of your back. While the front of the dress was conservative, your back was tastefully exposed through a combination of sheer silk, diamonds and pearls.

Your hair was pinned neatly into a bun with a delicate braid on each side. The veil was gauzy, making your face seem like a daydream. The ivory fabric of your dress pooled at your feet in a sea of frothy tulle and satin, forming a train that trailed behind you like a regal cloak. The wedding dress was embroidered with delicate motifs of growing vines, mountains and ocean waves – a reminder of Caladan.

At your collar, a border of intricate lacework added a touch of timeless elegance, its patterns catching the light in a dazzling display of shimmering beauty. With every movement, the gown seemed to whisper tales of romance and splendor, a clear hope to the love and devotion the seamstress had prayed you’d find. You choked down a sob.

You’ve made me an angel for him to ruin.

The wedding hall was adorned with such grandeur, you’d expect the emperor’s daughter was getting married instead. The flickering silver torches cast dancing shadows upon the ebony stone walls. As guests gathered in hushed reverence, the air crackled with anticipation, as if the very walls themselves whispered of your impeding damnation.

At the front of the hall, beneath a canopy of arched black silk, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stood, an imposing figure in his ceremonial garb. His porcelain skin was stark against the darkness of his clothes as he awaited his bride.

You approached with measured steps, hardening your grip on your father’s arm. Your eyes must’ve betrayed your fear and resignation because you could see Feyd-Rautha biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a laugh.

As you reached the altar, his lips curled into a predatory smile, his voice dripping with malice as he spoke the vows that bound you together in unholy matrimony. The words echoed through the hall like a curse, sealing your fate alongside his.

As you exchanged rings, a union forged in the fires of despair, you vowed that though your body may be bound to Feyd-Rautha, your spirit would remain forever free.

Standing before him, you felt the weight of his gaze like chains around your soul.

With a solemn nod from the officiant, you and Feyd-Rautha were instructed to seal your union with a kiss. He removed your veil, his eyes lingering on your face. As his lips met yours, a shiver ran down your spine.

The kiss was surprisingly gentle, but devoid of love. You gasped when his tongue entered your mouth. It was a macabre dance of dominance and submission, a twisted mockery of affection that left a bitter taste upon your lips. You try to push him away, but he holds your hands firm against his chest. The Harkonnens roar with applause and laughter. As you pulled away, a sense of profound emptiness washed over you, a hollow echo of the dreams and desires that had once burned within your heart.

The rest of the wedding banquet was a blur. As you were led to the high table by Feyd-Rautha's side, you couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped, ensnared in a web of malevolence. The guests, mostly Harkonnen allies, noble families, and sycophants, feigned smiles and exchanged whispers, their eyes gleaming with a perverse curiosity at the spectacle of your union.

The feast itself was a decadent display of excess, with platters of exotic delicacies and goblets overflowing with rich wines. But the opulence only served to accentuate the suffocating atmosphere, as the room was closing in on you with each additional piece of ornate furniture.

Feyd-Rautha, ever the consummate host, played his part with calculated charm, his laughter ringing hollow in your ears as he regaled the guests with tales of conquest and murder. You watched him from across the table, his features twisted in a mask of false benevolence, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of revulsion mingled with a sliver of pity. He, too, was playing a part – ever the performer. 

Throughout the banquet, you were subjected to the leering gazes and whispered innuendos of the Harkonnen cronies, their crude remarks slicing through the thin veneer of civility like daggers. But you held your composure, steeling yourself against their taunts and jeers, refusing to let them see the cracks in your mask.

As the night wore on and the wine flowed freely, the mood grew increasingly raucous, the revelry descending into a frenzied ecstasy. You found yourself adrift in a sea of faces, each one a grotesque caricature of humanity, their laughter and applause a cruel mockery of your predicament.

And amidst the chaos and debauchery, you couldn't help but wonder what was in store for you, chained to a man whose heart was as black as midnight. As you absentmindedly finished your last sip of wine, Feyd-Rautha stood suddenly, his chair loudly rattling against the granite floors. A chilling silence descended upon the hall.

He extended a hand towards you and you immediately understood his intentions. You departed the hall, hand-in-hand as men watched with envy and women stared with pity. You couldn’t bear to look at the faces of your family, afraid that you might beg them to take you home.

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

As you left the banquet hall with Feyd-Rautha, a heavy sense of foreboding settled over you. The echoes of the evening's macabre festivities lingered in your mind, each laughter, each lewd jest, a reminder of the gilded cage in which you now found yourself imprisoned.

You walked beside Feyd-Rautha, his grip firm upon your hand, guiding you through the labyrinthine corridors of the Harkonnen estate. There was an eerie stillness in the air. With each step, you felt the weight of your predicament pressing down upon you, the reality of your situation sinking in like a cold, unyielding truth.

You stole a glance at Feyd-Rautha, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Occasionally fireworks would alight by the window, allowing you to see his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger that made you look away immediately.

As you walked in silence, your mind raced with a flurry of thoughts and emotions, a storm raging within you. You couldn't help but wonder what awaited in the bedchamber. You weren’t ignorant to the act of consummating a marriage, but your husband was no ordinary man. What horrors lay in store for a woman bound to a man as cruel and cunning as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen… what would satisfy a man like him? But amidst the fear and uncertainty, a flicker of desire burned within you, a stubborn resolve to claim him as much as he claims you.

He led you into a large room with double doors. Compared to the gaudy decorations of the wedding hall, this room was relatively simple: a chamber of dark elegance and understated grandeur. There were only the bare necessities required of a bedroom, but each piece had been impeccably handmade with the most exquisite of materials. At its center, a massive four-poster bed stands as the focal point, its frame crafted from polished ebony wood, intricately carved with motifs of serpents and ivy. Perfectly sized above the bed, stretching over the ceiling was pure reflective glass. You swallowed thickly, this man had no shame.

A grand chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, its crystals casting prismatic rays of light across the room, illuminating the space with a haunting allure.

The walls are lined with dark, navy paneling, adorned sparingly with antique tapestries depicting scenes of forgotten battles and dangerously sharpened weapons. A sleek, black writing desk sits nearby, stacked with books on war strategies and adorned with quill and parchment.

A sense of regal simplicity pervades the space, each element carefully curated to its master. This is a sanctuary of solitude, where one can retreat from the heaviness of the Harkonnen world and immerse themselves in the embrace of peace.

Busy admiring the room, you didn’t notice Feyd-Rautha locking the doors behind you. You tensed when you suddenly felt the coldness of a blade against your back. With one precise slice, he cut your wedding dress open leading all the decorative pearls to fall to the ground. Your hands instinctively went to cover yourself, but his newfound grip on your wrists was even faster.

“You are mine now, pet.” His hands slowly guided yours down as he ripped away the rest of your dress. “Do not resist me, I want to see you in all your beauty.”

Your face flushed as you looked away from him. You knew objecting to his wish was futile, perhaps if you appeased him then he’d be gentler. You learned this was a useless thought the moment you saw his expression – raw, animalistic hunger chipped away at the edges of his sanity. His pupils dilated so wide that his eyes became monochromatic orbs of obsidian.

He removed his own clothes with swift and lithe movements, revealing pure sculpted muscle. Through the rapid rise and fall of his chest, you could see that he was barely holding back his lust. Feyd-Rautha was going to devour you without leaving a single morsel for the world.

“I-I… If you hurt me, I will scream.”

“Go ahead, it’ll only stroke my ego if you do. Scream loud enough for the whole banquet to hear. Let them know what pleasures your husband bestows upon you.”

With each step he took towards you, you took two steps back. When you felt the bed come into contact with the back of your knees, you realize you’ve been trapped.

“Lie down.” he commanded.

Sensing the tonal shift in his voice, you obeyed. You felt his long, slender fingers enter your most intimate place. When he curved against your inner wall, you let out an involuntarily moan – which he quickly swallowed from your lips. You had touched yourself before, but only rarely during occasions when you couldn’t sleep and the moon was hanging high.

However, this was different – he was different. His fingers reached places where yours never could. Your body made lewd sounds as he pumped in and out of you with torturous speed. The way you grind against his hand was indecent, but he rewarded you with such sweet friction. Hearing his low pants against your ear, you couldn't help but writhe into his touch. When you came undone, he smirked and licked your essence from his fingers.

Before you could catch your breath, he was on top of you again; caging you between his toned arms. He reached out to grasp your chin before roughly crashing his lips down on yours. The kiss was all-consuming, he was drinking in every part of you without letting you breathe. Your eyes wandered down to where his member stood unnaturally stiff and enlarged. Your new husband sneered at your expression before his right hand circled around your throat.

“Your throat… it shall be my axis tonight.”

[eroticunt]

𖦹 clingy abby hc's

𐙚 Despite what her intimidating, stoic size may suggest, Abby follows you around like a lost puppy on lazy days stuck at home. Her big blue eyes flutter in your direction each time she sees you stand in her peripheral, her own feet immediately hitting the floor and heavily trailing after you. Calloused hands find home on your hips as she shuffles behind you, face dipping into the crook of your neck to litter kisses along every visible mole and freckle, lips quirking against your skin when you complain you were just going to throw something away.

𐙚 Each afternoon, as the sun begins to dip far below the golden horizon, filtering a warm light through the gaps in the blinds, she insists that you sit with her while she reads. Indiscreetly, she looms over your shoulder as you wash the dishes, elbow deep in soapy water that prunes your skin. She loudly huffs each time you pick up a new dish, an unhappy crease etched between her eyebrows– you feel the hair on the back of your neck prickle as the oceanic radiance swimming in the blue of her irises pierces through you.

"What, baby?" Finally turning to give her your undivided attention, a soft smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you take in how pitiful Abby looks beneath your gaze; book tucked beneath her arm as if impatient for the opportunity of having its pages thumbed through, her naturally pouted lips downturned into the physical image of sadness.

Her own gaze flickers to the digital screen of the clock above the stove, face twisting in meek disapproval at the numbers that greeted her– the self-proclaimed schedule she had decided in her mind to be mandatory was now tarnished by your lack of cooperation. "Babe- I've been waiting for hours."

You playfully roll your eyes at her usual antics, plucking the dish towel from the handle of the stove to dry your wet hands. "Well, I'm right here.."

𐙚 That's all it takes for her to drag you into the living room by your forearm, the warmth of her hand contrasting that of the firmness at which she held you– as if you would even think of trying to slip free. She settles comfortably in her favorite chair, her back slumping into the deep cushions as she holds you against her broad chest, firm grip softening in lieu of gentle fingers threading through strands of your hair. Her lips move in tandem with her eyes trailing across the ink-printed pages of her book, tone lulling you into a state of relaxation only disturbed by the cellulose crinkle of pages being turned. She stops only when your gentle breathing turns into even gentler snores.

𐙚 The incessant chime of your phone sang the tune of a day- or a few hours- spent apart from one another. Whether it be a day at the gym that was the cause of the unbearable distance, or an inescapable errand, Abby would update you on each and every part of her day, no matter how unimportant of an experience it may have been. It wasn't uncommon to find a facebook-mom-esque picture of her dinner waiting for you, or a five-minute-long voice memo about an interaction with a stranger that brightened, or darkened her already miserable mood. She made sure you were well informed, miraculously still finding time to fill your inbox with a million I miss you's.

𐙚 Her lap had to have been her favorite place for you. The way your back seemed to mould along the curve of her chest, slotting together like the missing piece of her puzzle, never failed to send a swarm of butterflies to her stomach. She especially liked sitting you on her thigh as she watched you apply your makeup, chin pressed into the slope of your shoulder as she gazed at you through the mirror.

Leaning into your reflection, you carefully apply a crimson line around the natural shape of your lips, free hand intertwined with Abby's in your lap. You hear something akin to a chuckle huff through her flared nostrils in the form of an exhale, a row of white teeth peeking below her gums like shimmering pearls as she smiles. Curiosity piqued, Abby enters your line of sight, still exchanging eye contact through the mirror. "What?" You question, a smile of your own gracing your lips in spite of your cluelessness.

"Nothing, angel.." She assures without a second thought, a hand idly smoothing up the plush dip of your waist.

You weren't convinced, head tilting over your shoulder to face her, a soft frown on your half-painted lips. "What? Why are you laughing at me?" You press, unable to stop a whiny tone from infiltrating your question.

She coos gently, silencing your worries with a soft kiss to your jawline, chest pressing flush against your back as she straightens her posture. "'M not laughing at you, baby," she whispers, warm breath caressing the shell of your ear as she speaks. "You just look so pretty. Can't help it.."

[k0yaz]

shackled.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, arranged marriage, arle referred to as your husband, use of her real name, idk if this is angst so I’ll tag it as angst and fluff, wlw, I actually fucking hate arranged marriages irl but it’s interesting to write about, fun when it’s the character you like and not a 10 year old girl getting married to an ugly ass 60 year old man who gets no bitches, uhm anyway not proofread.

A/N: nobody gonna request arrange marriage? I’ll do it myself with my husband/husbwife arlecchino 🕯️

Uneven beats of your heart pulsed in your eardrums continuously as you stared out the open window, a cool breeze caressing your downcast face gently. Your pupils flickered down to your extended left hand, dilating smaller out of disdain upon catching sight of the cold silver ring encircling your ring finger.

You dreaded it. This arranged marriage parted an endless uncomfortable pit in your stomach, which you had felt would remain as long as you were trapped in a bind you didn’t want. Gazing down at ring once more, you couldn’t help but find it difficult to swallow the choked feeling in your throat whenever you laid eyes upon the ruby, nausea enveloping every possible sense you had in the moment. Rather than a promise ring that bound you to someone you loved, the one on your finger felt like a tiny silver collar clamped around your flesh. An irking feeling that forced you to love a stranger.

Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate Arlecchino. The woman had actively attempted to respect your personal space, being able to tell how much you loathed the inescapable grasp of your arranged marriage. You could tell that she opposed even the thought of this, especially from the way her eyes would stare down at her own ring with an empty and unfeeling expression.

Sighing deeply, you reached an arm up to grasp the satin curtains, before tugging your arms inward in a single dynamic motion. As you turned your back to walk away from the now closed up windows, you felt a gust of light air brush against your nape, causing you to spin around and lower your eyes from slight annoyance. Right. You forgot to shut the windows first. You just went over to shut the windows, still harboring a hint of irritation. Ever since that marriage, you always tended to feel unwilling to do anything anymore. Frequently always irritated by the smallest of actions as you’d always think to yourself—what’s the point?

Upon closing up the windows completely, you fell back onto the intricately decorated sofa set situated in the corner of your shared bedroom, your mind still a cluttered mess from all your thoughts being scrambled rather than neatly arranged in an array. You began to ponder once more. How things could’ve been different. Ran away, or disobeyed your parents to a full extent.

There wasn’t anything you could do. You didn’t see a point in even trying to keep a happy front anymore. All of your aspirations that you had, every little dream, was now out of your reach as you were shackled into this marriage. The warm air of the heater hit your skin as you rested your cheek into your palm. A small smile made its way onto your lips as you mused at the possible scenarios that could’ve happened if you were free. Perhaps if you were wallowing in your delusion, you could smile atleast once.

“I’m home.”

You blinked from sudden surprise, jolting as the bedroom door creaked open—albeit a bit roughly. Arlecchino’s emotionless voice rang in your ears, had she called out upon entering before? She often enters the living room first, and doesn’t enter the bedroom until nightfall. Then again, you tend to reside in the living room to await your husband’s return, so maybe she simply wondered where you were.

Stray specks of blood decorated her cheek, scattering small splatters ranging in a variety of spots across her face. Right. She was the fourth harbinger after all. You folded your arms as Arlecchino towered over you, still standing upright while her x-marked eyes pierced into you. Shifting uncomfortably, you decided to clear your throat, gesturing towards your own cheek in an attempt to break the thick fog of tension between you two from the lack of words.

“You got some-“

“I’m aware.” Arlecchino replied coldly, making you bite back a scoff at the harbinger’s dismissive response. Well, excuse you for trying to make this shitty marriage more bearable.

Still, it didn’t seem intentionally rude although it did come off that way. You only looked away from her, eyes fixating on a random painting hung over the flower pot on one of the shelves. Hunching your shoulders, you bit down on your quivering lip subtly so that Arlecchino wouldn’t notice. Although you were the one that distanced yourself from her. Although you were the one who only focused on despising this marriage, rather than even trying to get closer to Arlecchino in the slightest for atleast a small hint of peace. It still hurt seeing your husband brush you off like this.

Her seemingly exhausted expression remained glued to her face as she dragged the folded white washcloth along her cheek, eyes staring at the ground aimlessly as she continued to clean her stained face. The weight of all of this had clearly taken a toll on her as well, yet she had to keep a sturdy front for the sake of her profession as a Fatui harbinger. Yet her actions regarding you had always been courteous and respectful. Consistently respecting your boundaries and trying her best to avoid making you feel uncomfortable must have taken a toll on her, especially knowing full well that your resentment for this marriage could have set you off at any given moment.

A sudden wave of sympathy flooded you upon seeing Arlecchino’s tired eyes, dark linings shaded below her eyes as well. Just maybe, you could try to repay her for having your comfort in mind throughout the course of this resented relationship. This relationship wasn’t her fault, and you knew that. She hated this just as much as you did.

Deciding to swallow your pride, you rose to your feet, standing before her as you awkwardly shifted for a couple moments while remaining standing there. Arlecchino paused her movements, raising an eyebrow at your sudden motion of getting up off the couch. She simply stared at you with a puzzled gaze, trying to figure out your sudden want to interact with her.

Hesitantly, you reached out a shaky hand, lining it up with her cheek and gesturing her to lean in. Arlecchino on the other hand, wasn’t expecting you to switch up suddenly like this, only keeping her skeptical gaze locked onto your own eyes. It felt like a trap to lean in to someone who was so hesitant to even look at her. No matter how badly she wanted to lean into the soft skin of your palm, her hesitance seemed to uphold her rationality despite her exhaustion.

“Arle…it’s okay, you can lean in…”

She needn’t be told twice as you felt her hand grab ahold of your wrist to keep it in place, her head nearly collapsing against your hand. Deep breaths echoed within the vicinity, her breaths cancelling every other noise around you two as Arlecchino slowly composed herself from your touch. She pulled back after a couple moments, her cold front faltering for a moment with a flash of tenderness, before immediately snapping back to her calm demeanor.

However, you didn’t stop there. You don’t know what flipped that switch in you, but you just felt the urge to grow closer to Arlecchino. Perhaps it was the realization that you weren’t alone in the hellhole of a marriage, and that you two may be suffering together. Knowing she hated this as much as you was comforting, it remedied your internal turmoil slightly, and made you detest the idea of anyone else going through what you were. Or maybe, it was the fact that Arlecchino didn’t push anything in this marriage, and respected you, preventing your mental state from growing worse. It could even be both.

Regardless, you wanted to atleast provide a sort of ease to her. Cupping her cheek once more, you pulled the washcloth from her hand, rubbing it against her cheek in circular motions as stains of blood began to soak up onto the cloth and coloring it red. Arlecchino didn’t seem to protest your attempt at soothing her, face pressing further into your shaky palm as it seemed to be working. The quiet buzz of the heater reverberating through the silence, and the general tidy atmosphere of the neatly arranged bed made everything feel so right. As if this marriage wasn’t so awful after all.

Arlecchino exhaled a swift sigh as you finished washing up her face, remaining silent. The two of you awkwardly awaited for the other to speak up, the crickets outside chirping louder than the two of you by this point. You finally decided to say something, face tinged a light pink from moderate embarrassment

“You didn’t want this either did you?”

Arlecchino shook her head in affirmation, her eyes still avoiding yours—as if she was afraid that your vulnerability would shift over to her, and shatter her calm self at this moment.

“I’m well aware of this situation. Your parents are already closely associated with the Fatui, and want wanted you to marry a harbinger in order to elevate their own status for the sake of the family.” She replied. A sour taste seeped onto your tongue at the mention of the reason why you were forced into this in the first place, unpleasant memories beginning to race through your mind for a few moments.

“Why did you accept the offer then? You could’ve easily declined if you didn’t want to be in this marriage either. There’s multiple other harbingers my parents would’ve auctioned me off to.” You said bitterly, strangely hating the idea of getting married to anyone who wasn’t Arlecchino at this point. Arlecchino merely shrugged in response, raising her shoulders to remove the white fur coat cloaking her and draping it neatly over the coat hanger drilled into the wall.

“I’m not sure.” She paused, taking some time to think over another answer to compensate for her vague response. “I believe I just felt it was necessary in that moment.”

You sighed back collapsing onto the mattress. Suddenly, you felt an arm circle your waist, pulling you closer as you felt Arlecchino push her torso flush against your back. Your face burned from the sudden intimate action, the warmth of her body only serving to make you lean into her further as her sharp nails raked along your stomach lightly. Arlecchino whispered out against you, visibly less uptight than when she came in. She was a bit more relaxed and clingy with you simply with a mere touch against her cheek, it was sweet honestly.

“I still care about you, (Name).” She muttered against your neck, voice muffled as she was evidently quite tired. Pale rays of the moonlight illuminated Arlecchino’s now eased expression, watching her eyes lowered shut as her exhaustion began to catch up with her. Surprisingly, you found yourself relishing in the comfort of her arms as you flipped onto your side facing her to examine her rested features.

“…I’m starting to care about you too, Peruere.”

Your hand drew down along her arm, all the way from the skin of her shoulder down to the black faded enveloping her arms from her curse. Maybe, just maybe, this could work. You found solace in the fact that you could make the best out of this marriage with a woman who kept you in mind and tried her best to care about your interests.

Maybe, you could warm up to her.

A/N: im screaming idk if this turned out good guys pls asaaawaabshshs but yayyyyy arlecchino MY CONTENT WARNINGS WERE ASS ON THIS ONE WHY ARE THEY SO BORING AND SAD ‼️

[str4ngr]

congrats on 800 !!

any chance u can do number 6 for both fluff and suggestive w the character megumi fushiguro ??

⭐️

warmth.

m. fushiguro. | my drug, my addiction.

cw: none, fluff, established relationship, canon divergent bc f u gege, sorcerer! megumi, fem! reader. wc: 598. notes: i love love love love love this prompt w him. not proofread [when is it ever]

When it came to his wife and her rulings, missing dinner was absolutely unacceptable.

"You need to eat!"

You scold, hand on your hip and an accusatory finger pointed towards him. Quite the welcome home, Megumi thought. He kicked off his shoes, shook his head, and took his jacket off, not given the chance to speak before you continued. He couldn't help the wya his lips twitched at the corners, sucking in his bottom lip as your sweet face twisted in honest worry,

"I mean it, Megumi!"

He blanked, brows furrowing as he stared at you. Staring back, both hands held your hips, the cute apron you begged him to buy you, which you didn't need to plead for but he decided to have some entertainment, stained with your just finished recipe. He wanted to, but he decided to be distracted by your beauty later. For now, what did you just say?

"...Megumi?"

"Yes, Megumi!"

Who the hell was that? No honey, no sweetie... no gumi ?? nothing.

He huffed, clearly disgruntled by the lack of overzealous, fervent pet names. Megumi's sharp glare met yours while shuffling his tired feet to stand in front of you, head cocked to the side and a playful smirk gracing his lips. Your stared at his eyes, deep blue and endless as they swirled with warmth unfamiliar to such a cool colour, handsome lashes fluttering as he blinked away the sunlight that invaded through the curtains,

"Try again."

"Try eating three meals a day."

A silence fell between the both of you, crooked lips twisting into goof smiles as Megumi was the first to fold, snickering quietly as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest. Hand gripping his shoulder, you wheeze silently before bursting out into laughter. His fingers dug into your soft waist, paying no mind to the way the colours of food transferred from your apron to his shirt.

He didn't mind the way the your fingertips dug into his sore shoulders. Or the way you stumbled and pulled him with you in uncontrollable giggles. Or how your lips tasted like a peek of dinner that was still unknown.

It was a helpless, inevitable, inescapable warmth. One that swallowed him whole as he rushed to shower and get dressed, skipping down the stair so he could idle in the kitchen as you finished cooking. So he could stick his finger in the pot, your spoon coming down on the back of his palm,

"Gumi!"

"What? You're the one who tells me to eat!"

"Yeah, off a plate!"

Laughter rung throughout the kitchen, more angelic and harmonic than the wedding bells that rang two years ago. Megumi could never pull his eyes away from you, brows raised as his whole expression softens, melts, into you, your presence, your existence. But tonight wasn't a special night. It was another simple day in the middle of autumn where the leaves fell on the window sill, the setting sun tinted as it glittered across the kitchen. He watched as warm oranges and red graced your perfect features, held in the palm of his hand.

You raised a playful brow at him, reaching to hold his face too as you hummed quietly to the music that played off your phone. Smiling, Megumi trailed his hand down your arm, to your waist, to him, enveloping you in a hug.

Today wasn't special. Yesterday wasn't either. And tomorrow probably wouldn't be. But, Megumi believed, that no matter how insignificant a day may seem, it was priceless for every moment he had with you.

notes: f u gege x2. uhm, i was gonna say smth but i forgor.

[love-bitesx]

HI MIAAA just have... Hobie brainrot... About little details in every day life like 😭😭 him nonchalantly pulling u by the waist so he's on the side of the street facing the road, him towering you in the bus or underground, blocking you from the big mass of bodies or any possible creeps (had my share when bus is too crowded 😭), or giving you the window seat because ita your favorite and that way he can block u from the aisle and protect u like with the street thing 🥹🥹 letting you fall asleep in his shoulder or hugging his arm. Sitting always in the chair facing the door when u go to a cafe or a pub, so he can watch out for any possible threats that could come in and be ready for them, so u can rest assured and enjoy ur time. Letting you play with his rings when you're bored or anxious, holding you tight when you hide a bit behind him if you're too shy when he first introduces you to his friends, his hand giving u a reassuring squeeze. !!! EXCHANGING BATTLE JACKETS <<333333 maybe yours fits him a little shorter but its so cute... Such a bonding act.... Making patches or diy badges for each other's jackets too!!! Painting each other nails and kissing the knuckles for every nail painted 😭❤️❤️ i could go on and on. I LOVE HIM!!!!

VIVI I SCREECHED INTO MY MATTRESS WHEN I READ THIS OH MY LORD ABOVE

i’d like to elaborate, if you don’t mind—

his brain was so wired to protect you that half the things he did weren’t even consciously (cupping his hand around corner of tables or cupboards so you don’t hurt yourself/hit your head, steering you to the other side of the pavement, away from the road, etc.). of course, you knew having spider-man as a boyfriend, you’d be safer than most, but when the mask comes off and it’s just your hobie, dark eyes lidded, watching you through his lashes as he towers you at the packed bus stop, cuffed arm pressed above your head, you knew nothing bad could ever touch you.

something about him mindlessly towering you on the tube just. wow. it’d be packed, rush hour hitting and he swore he could’ve just swung you both to your location, but you refused. swinging made you nauseous, and the tube wasn’t all that bad. if you chose to sit down, his ringed hand would be glued to your thigh, not to be a flirt, but to ease your anxiety, know that you’re safe and that he was there. if it’s too busy, he’d let you play with each steel band, secretly calmed by the sensation.

standing up, however, he’d hold onto the railing on the roof, free hand on your hip to bring you flush against him, grip tightening at every bump and screech of the crooked underground carriages. you know it isn’t his intention to tease you, but the way his body moved around yours at every turn, his cologne and natural scent inescapable with how close he held you, and the incredibly nonchalant intimacy of it all. something about the smirk that sat on his pierced lips, however, made you believe that his intentions aren’t always mindless. anytime you questioned him about it, he’d brush off your accusations, simply saying;

“too many creeps around ‘ere, darlin’. gotta keep you safe.”

he trusts you with every part of him and more, but his trust for other people was non-existent at best. so, at the pub, he always liked to be able to feel you (within reason (or without, actually, he wasn’t fussy)). whether it’s simply your knees pressed together, or you playing with his hands from across the table, arm snaked around your waist or shoulders as you sat next to him. he’d like to keep you away from the door, sandwiched between himself and his mates.

although he insists his intentions are strictly safety-related, he’d be lying through his teeth if he said that the visible rush of blood to your cheeks and falter in your voice as his hand slides across the skin of your thigh under the table, wasn’t an added bonus. the smug prick.

he’d share everything with you, if it’s possible. clothes? yours. no question. jewellery? yours. badges, patches, safety pins with beaded designs? yours within a heartbeat. hell, you even had a collection of guitar picks on your bedroom dresser that he’d been dying to give you after special shows. you had no use for it, but the giddy smile he wore on his face as he kissed it between his lips and offered it to you, who are you to refuse that?

speaking of gifts; if he wasn’t the one and only spider-man (well, of his dimension) then his criminal record would be miles long, purely because of the sheer amount of stuff he steals for you. he’s like a cat. anytime he leaves you for the day, he’ll crawl back through your window with pockets full of tiny trinkets he’d robbed throughout the day. anything he sees that even remotely makes him think of you and he’s slyly sneaking it into his back pocket – and trust me, it’s a lot.

all in all, he’d go to insane lengths to keep you safe, and if he’s able to keep a smile on your face – and a blush on your cheeks – whilst he does it? then he’s a very happy man. loves you more than he could ever say, and hopes these little measures let you know that.

i’m violently in love with this man, i actually need to be sedated

[beatrixstonehill2]

"I'm ready for my injections," Holly told her boyfriend, Ryan.

"Good, you're becoming so obedient. I told you you'd come around eventually. You almost look eager."

Holly blushed, feeling the weight of her breasts hanging off her chest, already about twenty-five pounds each. Fifty whole pounds of pure breast. It felt absurd to her, so wrong, and yet inescapable. It was her new reality. "I'm excited to see them grow for you....."

"That's a good girl," he said, inserting IV needles into her breasts at various points.

Holly winced as her boyfriend injected her breasts with over a gallon of saline each. She remembered when she first met Ryan barely a year ago. He was so charming, they met at the gym and were both very passionate about being fit and healthy. She worked as a gymnastics instructor. Now she couldn't imagine trying to work her old job. The mothers would be horrified at such a huge-breasted cow of a woman trying to teach their daughters.

Soon into their relationship, Ryan mentioned having a big tit fetish. She thought nothing of it, what guy doesn't? Before long, she noticed her breasts were getting bigger and started lactating. He fessed up that he was drugging her water bottles, and apologized, but said he wanted her EE-Cup breasts much bigger. She was angry but as her girlfriend was still excited to please him and get bigger for him, despite not wanting large breasts.

Her breasts got bigger and bigger, impeding her ability to do gymnastics. Women began recommending she get a reduction or chop them off outright. Holly had to reluctantly admit her boyfriend was making her grow them out like this. His fetish consumed her life, made her lose her job, getting so bad she found herself becoming a living embodiment of his kinks. No longer Holly at all, just an object he acted on and molded into his perfect toy.

She gasped as the gallons of saline flooded her breasts, his new favorite means of torturing her. When they were done, her breasts ballooned to double their size, red and swollen, round and very taut like fake tits. He took out the needles and placed heart-shaped bandages over them to help keep her tits from springing leaks. This new way of increasing her breast size would ensure once the saline is absorbed her breasts would stretch, getting saggier, longer, emptier. Instead of being beautiful and full from the breast growth drugs, like a woman who's pumped out a dozen or so kids, her breasts would switch between extremely saggy, floppy and empty, and enormously round and heavy, filled to the point of popping with saline, heavy as two water coolers strapped to her chest.

Holly winced as Ryan tightened her leather straps and added the rest of her corrective harness, which looked a bit like bdsm gear, to help keep her back upright, pushing out her giant saline-filled boulder tits. Ryan smiled, smacking Holly's breasts, which made her recoil in pain. "It feels incredible when I hit them, doesn't it?"

Holly nodded, barely able to catch her breath. "Y-Yes.... Smack them all you want. They're yours."

"Good girl, but they're about to be all of Lower Manhattan's. I want you bringing in lots of money tonight, OK? Smile a lot, eagerly service any man, even the homeless ones or violent looking ones. I can't have you saying no to any clients. Don't worry, I'm taking my anti-STD pills every day so I won't contract all the bugs you're collecting. Oh, and if you don't mind, I want you whoring on the corner by your old dance studio, hopefully some of the moms and other women you worked with might get to see your new occupation. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Holly was blushing beat red. "B-But....."

"None of that. You don't have 'no' in your vocabulary. Now off you go!" he said, smacking one of her breasts again.

"OK.... I won't disappoint you."

"Good, otherwise I might have to paddle all that saline out of your tits when you get home"

Holly yelped as he spanked her, sending her out wearing only her harness and nothing else, to go enjoy her new occupation as a whore with giant saline-filled breasts. Which she slowly started to feel was exactly who she was always meant to be.

[pin-k-ink]

masquerade // gojo satoru

tw ⇢ teacher-student relationship, petnames, sexual tension, teasing, possessive!gojo, jealous sex, rough sex, implied age gap, dirty talk, unprotected sex

wc ⇢ 4.9k

a/n: i headcanon that gojo would definitely fuck his genderbent version

"No way, there's absolutely no way I'm losing this bet!" you declared, eyes shining with competitive determination.

Gojo simply chuckled, running a hand through his silver hair as he leveled you with an infuriatingly calm look. "We'll see about that, pretty girl. I hope you're prepared to eat those words."

You stuck your tongue out at your mentor in a childish display, ignoring the spark of heat that flared in your belly at his teasing endearment. Squaring your shoulders, you focused back on the task at hand - besting Gojo Satoru in an impromptu cursed tool duel.

The terms had been simple: whoever disarmed or immobilized the other first would get to choose their partner's costume for the upcoming Halloween soiree being thrown at the Kamo Estate. As one of the oldest and most prestigious jujutsu families, their holiday celebrations were always a lavish affair that attracted sorcerers of status from across the region. Needless to say, you were determined to avoid any humiliating outfits by claiming victory.

You circled each other warily, fingers twitching in preparation to summon your respective tools. A bead of sweat trickled down your temple as you tried to predict Gojo's opening move. Despite his perpetually laid-back demeanor, he was a finely honed weapon - powerful, precise and lightning-quick to strike.

Seconds ticked by in tense stillness. Then, without warning, Gojo was a blur of motion, pale hair whipping around his face as he twisted and struck out with one long arm. You threw yourself sideways in a desperate dodge, boots skidding across the training room floor as you pivoted to face him again. But he was already capitalizing on your evasion with a flurry of sharp jabs and slicing arcs, each one guided by a hair's breadth from clipping your defenses.

Cursing, you backpedaled furiously, mind racing to formulate a counterstrategy as you parried and deflected his relentless assault. He was aiming to herd you into an inescapable corner, you realized - a position from which he could use his greater size and strength to pin you effortlessly.

Gritting your teeth, you waited for the precise moment his next overextended swing left the barest opening in his defenses. Then, with every ounce of your cursed power thrumming through your limbs, you twisted and launched yourself into a furious set of combos.

Gojo's eyes widened fractionally as you unleashed everything you had, pushing him back in a dizzying flail of fists, elbows, and knees. You could sense his surprise at the sheer force behind each blow, the speed and fluidity of your combinations leaving him unable to predict the source of your next attack.

For one blazing, triumphant second, you caught a glimpse of victory as you arced into a spinning heel kick aimed squarely at his temple. But then Gojo was there, materializing inside your defenses with that masterful grasp of space and time that made him nigh untouchable. One second you were on the offensive, the next you were crashing into the unforgiving floorboards with a breathless "oof," limbs twisted and cursed tools clattering uselessly away.

"Well now," Gojo purred, looming over your winded form with a satisfied grin. "Looks like I win again, baby girl." His hand was warm and calloused where it encircled your wrist, grip light but unbreakable.

Groaning, you flopped back against the mats in a dramatic display, skin still tingling from your exertions. "That's so not fair," you whined petulantly. "I totally had you on the ropes that time!"

Gojo barked out a laugh, nudging your side with the toe of one shoe. "In your dreams, maybe," he teased. "A good effort though. Maybe next time you'll actually pose a challenge."

Pushing up onto your elbows, you leveled your best glare at the infuriatingly smug man. "You are SO going to regret those words, sensei. Just wait until you see what ridiculous costume I put you in next year!"

His grin widened in a way that made your stomach flip with anticipation. "I'm counting on it, beautiful."

The following week was spent in a whirlwind of preparation as the Kamo Estate staff readied for the biggest event of their social calendar - the annual All Hallows' Eve Masquerade Gala. Gojo, curse him, remained completely unhelpful about his chosen costume, waving off your repeated inquiries with that maddening enigmatic smile of his.

"You'll just have to wait and see," was all he would say, the gleam in his eyes promising delicious torment. "It's going to be a surprise."

And surprise you he did, on the night of the Gala when he finally unveiled your "costume" with a dramatic flourish of cursed energy. Lying innocently on your bed was an all-too-familiar set of clothes - Gojo's signature uniform of a plain white undershirt and billowing black slacks and jacket.

You sputtered incoherently, gesturing between him and the outfit laid out before you. "You cannot be serious!"

But that bastard just grinned back at you, all sharp canines and twinkling mischief. "Oh, I'm dead serious. You wanted an embarrassing costume, pretty girl? Well here it is, in all its glory."

Frantically, you cycled through a dozen different protests and pleading arguments, each of which he deftly waved aside with infuriatingly logical counterpoints. By the time he was done dismantling your defenses, you had no choice but to grumble your capitulation and snatch up the clothes, stomping towards the bathroom to change with as much dignity as you could muster.

"You're going to regret this," you threw over your shoulder with as much venom as you could muster. "Just you wait!"

Once the door clicked shut behind you, however, your feisty attitude melted away into pure girlish giddiness. Sure, wearing your mentor's clothes in public could be considered a bit humiliating. But you'd be lying if you denied how the thought of being surrounded by Gojo's scent, of wearing the same outfit that clung to his broad frame didn't spark a fluttering warmth low in your belly.

Quickly stripping down, you took a moment to appraise the garments with an appreciative eye, fingers trailing over the soft cotton of the undershirt. Even just holding it up to your body, the excess fabric was dwarfing your slender frame adorably. Giddiness mounting, you slipped it on carefully, rolling the cuffs up your forearms.

The fitted white fabric pulled taut across your chest, the sloping vee of the collar frequently slipping off one shoulder to tease at the soft swell of cleavage it created. A possessive thrill shot down your spine as you adjusted it back into place. This shirt, the one that skimmed and hinted at the sculpted planes of Gojo's body, now lovingly outlined the feminine curves it had never been intended to cup so intimately.

Restless heat blossomed under your skin at the thought of him seeing you wearing it later tonight - tousled, practically spilling out in all the right places. Would his gaze linger as unsubtly as yours always did on him? Or would his effortless cool manage to rein in any excessive reaction?

Anticipation began curling tight in your core as you recalled the thousands of lingering, liquid-hot glances you'd exchanged with Gojo over your years of training. The way his stare could scorch across your bare skin, turning mundane movements into something charged and provocative as he drank in your form with ravenous intensity. What you wouldn't give to see that look of blatant male appreciation washing over his handsome features as you showed up in this sinfully snug getup.

Shaking yourself free of the dizzying fantasy, you took a steadying breath before eyeing the slacks with disappointment. As you suspected, they were entirely too loose around your hips and thighs to be flattering. With a frustrated huff, you shimmied out of them, leaving them in a puddle on the floor.

Your gaze landed on a pair of worn but buttery-soft leather boots tucked in the back of your closet. A wicked grin curved your lips as you tugged them on, lacing the tall shafts all the way up to mid-thigh. The supple leather embraced your legs like a second skin, accentuating the toned lines and feminine swell of your calves in a deliciously provocative way.

You barely recognized yourself in Gojo's oversized undershirt paired with those thigh-high boots. Instead of the properly buttoned-up appearance his uniform conveyed on him, you oozed a wanton, edible sort of allure - all tousled hair, stretched cotton, and miles of creamy leg on display. Your mouth went dry imagining how Gojo might react to such a tantalizing twist on his borrowed look.

'Two can play at this game, sensei,' you thought wickedly, eyeing the smolderingly seductive lines and hints of bare skin your borrowed outfit provided.

After securing the jacket, you realized simply styling your own hair wouldn't quite achieve the full Gojo effect you were going for. A sly smile curved your lips as you procured a long, straight white wig from the depths of your costume trunk.

Carefully situating the silky strands, you fluffed and arranged them until they tumbled nearly to your waist in a perfect mimicry of Gojo's signature silver mane. Coupled with the oversized uniform draped over your frame, the full look was startlingly effective.

The only thing missing now was the pièce de résistance. A wicked grin curved your lips as you rooted around in his cupboard to procure a familiar black-framed pair of glasses. Pulling them on, you struck an exaggerated pose, imitating that cocky smirk and calculating squint he so loved to level at you during training.

"Hollow technique: Purple," you growled in a lower register, jabbing an imperious finger into the mirror. "Tch, not even worth the effort."

Giggles bubbled up uncontrollably at your shoddy impersonation. But one glance back at your reflection snuffed the laughter from your throat instantly. Never could you have predicted just how...devastating the whole ensemble would look together.

Raking a heated gaze down your figure, you took in the panels of taut, stretched fabric clinging deliciously to every curve. The alcohol collar and unbuttoned plackets teased at tantalizing swells of cleavage while the cuffed hems allowed teasing flashes of toned legs to peek through. Paired with the untamed silver and signature spectacles, the entire look was pure, potent temptation - a wicked combination of dishevelment and restraint, of masculine and feminine.

You spun and posed, watching in the mirror as the loosened shirttails flared out around your hips, providing glimpses of the black lacy panties painted onto your backside. A rosy flush crept up your throat at the blatant allure, suddenly unsure if you possessed the sheer audacity to debut this ensemble publicly.

A sharp rap at the bathroom door startled you from your reverie. "You about ready in there?" Gojo's husky voice filtered through the wood, sending a shiver of pure sin down your spine. "Or do I need to come in and help get you properly dressed, pretty girl?"

You swallowed hard, breath catching at the dark promise laced through his tone. Was it your imagination, or did he somehow already know the delectable effect his clothes would have draped over your frame? The thought had your blood pounding anew in a heady rush of nervous excitement.

"I'll be right out," you called back, somewhat proud of yourself for keeping your voice steady despite the tremor in your limbs. One last heated glance at the mirror and your reflection was all but searing itself into the backs of your eyelids. If Gojo thought he could torment you further by forcing this depraved twist of a costume upon you, then he had sorely underestimated your own deviant brand of mischief.

Straightening your spine, you threw open the bathroom door and sauntered out wearing every ounce of sordid confidence you could muster. Gojo stood leaned against the wall, arms crossed negligently over that sculpted chest you knew so well from countless clandestine ogling sessions. But the second his visible eye landed on you, his entire body seized up in an unmistakable full-body jolt.

With no small degree of heady satisfaction, you watched distinct shock and something infinitely darker flare across those striking features you admired so profoundly. His stare raked over your figure in a molten sweep, nostrils flaring as he scented the air with unrestrained hunger. And lower, beneath the loose vee of his unbuttoned slacks, you caught the unmistakable twitching of rapidly interested anatomy.

Well well, it seemed turnabout was fair play in the battle of temptation. You offered a simpering smirk, propping one hand on a cocked hip in a move you'd seen him execute a hundred times - legs shifting just enough to highlight the pleasant distraction at his groin.

"Like what you see...sensei?" The endearment dripped from your tongue like poisoned honey as you tracked his body's visceral reaction. "I modeled it pretty closely after the real thing, don't you think?"

A tremor rocked through his deceptively relaxed stance as the full implications sank in, gaze darkening perceptibly when you toyed with the fabric riding up your thighs. Slowly, he drank you in from tousled crown all the way down to where his shirttails brushed teasingly over the bottom of your ass before slashing back up in another unhurried glide of naked appreciation.

The heavy weight of his undisguised desire washed over you in dizzying waves, stoking the tendrils of challenge and want already suffusing your bloodstream. You felt powerful in a way you rarely allowed yourself to embrace - beautiful and profoundly sensual under the searing brand of Gojo's attention.

"You look..." he started roughly, pupils blown wide before Adam's apple bobbed in a harsh swallow. "Sinful," he finally rasped, the single syllable loaded with enough molten promise to scorch. "Absolutely fucking sinful, pretty girl."

A punched-out gasp slipped free at the blatant admission, need guttering low and hot in your pussy. Bold, you took one pointed step closer, until the fabric of his borrowed jacket brushed softly against his abdomen. The tips of your breasts skated lightly across the clean lines of his chest as you leaned in, mouth brushing his ear in a ghosting caress.

"So do something about it, sensei," you growled, nails raking lightly down the front of his shirt. "Show me how sinful you want to be."

For one tremulous heartbeat, you thought he might actually give in to the simmering tension and haul you bodily against him right then and there. His jaw flexed tellingly, fingers flexing at his sides as muscles coiled for action. But then he blew out a long, shuddering breath, spine straightening as the burning intensity blinked out behind his lids.

"Don't tempt me, baby," he rasped in a low purr, tone thick with sinful promise that had your knees quaking. One large, calloused palm cupped your jaw reverently, angling your face up towards his in a searing look of abject want. "I'm only a man, and you look good enough to eat in that little getup."

He allowed his thumb to drag slowly over the plush swell of your lower lip, gaze riveted while you instinctively parted on a shuddery inhale. Your senses swam with the woodsy undercurrent of his cologne, the scorching heat of skin and muscle thrumming just beyond reach.

"But sadly, we have somewhere to be tonight," Gojo continued, voice pitched quieter yet somehow infinitely more powerful in your close proximity. His eyes raked over you again, taking in the way his shirt barely contained your curves and how you'd opted to forgo the slacks.

Instead, a pair of wicked black leather boots laced all the way up to the middle of your thighs framed your bare legs deliciously. He groaned low in his throat at the sight of so much skin on display, gaze heating further when he noticed the full, straight silver wig cascading nearly to your waist in a perfect mimicry of his hairstyle.

"And if I started getting a taste of you now...well, I wouldn't be able to stop. Not until I'd thoroughly ruined you for the rest of the night's events."

Your mouth went bone dry as graphic imaginings of his sinful promise ricocheted across your consciousness. Unconsciously, your tongue flicked out to wet your lips, silently imploring his thumb to dip between them, to caress heated skin and let you suckle on the rough pad.

But Gojo simply grinned wolfishly, knowing far too well the images he'd conjured behind your hooded gaze. "Easy there, pretty girl," he crooned, all indulgent heat and dark delight. "Soon enough you can have all the punishment you can handle. First though, we have to attend a party."

In an effort to regain some scrap of composure, you cleared your throat, ignoring the shaky rasp. "I'm not sure I can pull off that hair," you countered weakly, reaching up to attempt taming the silver strands. To your utter dismay, Gojo's hand shot out and clamped around your wrist, effortlessly thwarting your movements.

God, he couldn't get over the delicious recreation of his look - the fitted shirt straining at the buttons, those long, lean legs accentuated by the knee-high leather...it was as if he'd been stripped bare and repackaged as the most tantalizing, irresistible version of himself imaginable.

"Don't," he commanded, voice dropping into that smooth, spine-tingling bass that infallibly left you aching and molten. His free hand wound through the tousled locks, mussing them further into resembling his artfully mussed style. "Leave it just like this. Every time I glance over, I want to be reminded of how utterly delicious you look in my clothes. So very pretty for me."

A delirious sound punched out of your core at his gravelly praise, knees going watery at the second heady rush of promised debauchery glimmering in those devilish blue eyes. God, how you burned to give in and let him utterly wreck you right then and there. But the iron bands of his behemoth self-control held firm.

"Now then," he practically growled, punctuating the words with a scorching press of bodies, "I believe we have a party to attend? Hmm, pretty girl?"

You managed a shaky nod, delirious with wanting. How much longer could you keep dancing around this undeniable inferno?

At the Gala, every eye was instantly trained on you from the moment you arrived on Gojo's arm. You could feel the weight of hungry stares caressing your body as you moved through the crowd, taking in your blatant mimicry of Gojo's look from the glossy wig to the clinging shirt. More than one leering partygoer let their gaze linger just a bit too long on the exposed expanses of thigh and cleavage.

For his part, Gojo seemed to bask in the absolute chaos you were causing. One broad palm never left the small of your back, possessively guiding you through the throngs of people while sending a clear message to any who dared approach - this pretty little thing belonged to him.

And oh, how you reveled in his proprietary attitude. Something low and wicked in your core thrilled to be so openly claimed, desired with such naked ferocity in front of all these esteemed strangers. Gojo's intense stare scarcely left you for more than a few seconds, tracking your every move with a heated focus that bordered on predatory.

More than once, you slanted a sultry glance in his direction, lower lip caught between your teeth as you preened shamelessly under his ravenous regard. His visible eye would instantly darken to cobalt, jaw ticking with barely restrained hunger before he forcibly dragged his attention back to whatever politician or clan head was fawning for his attention.

"Down, boy," you purred at one point, leaning in so your pouty murmur brushed hot against the shell of his ear. "Don't make me put you in timeout, sensei."

The low, guttural rumble that punched out of Gojo's chest sent delicious frissons of heat licking through your veins. You giggled privately at how his fingers flexed against your hip, thumb rubbing distracting little circles into the jut of bone.

"Oh I'll show you time out," he growled back through a smile placid enough to fool the nobles milling nearby. "Just wait until I get you alone later, pretty girl. I'm going to teach you all about punishment."

A full-body shudder rocked through you at the dark promise, nipples pebbling painfully beneath the thin cotton. Every nerve was alight with giddy anticipation at what delicious retribution Gojo might have in store for your cheekiness.

Your little game of teasing cat and mouse continued in that vein for most of the evening. He would pin you with those unholy bedroom eyes, gaze dropping conspicuously to the shadows hinting at your body's secrets beneath the too-small uniform. In retaliation, you'd arch into him with a sugary innocent expression, reveling in the way his pupils would blow wide and his breath would stutter over a barely perceptible growl. The heated charge between you grew thicker and headier with every tortuous brush of skin and wicked murmur exchanged.

Eventually, it all became too much for even Gojo's formidable restraint. You were draped over one of the antique sofas, legs crossed in a way that allowed the rumpled white shirt to slip rakishly up your thighs, when he suddenly materialized before you like a force of nature.

His large hand encircled your bare ankle in a scalding grip as piercing blue eyes bored into yours from behind the familiar black frames. You shivered at the mute intensity of his stare, that intoxicating aura of power and sin rolling off him in waves as he slowly, inexorably dragged you upright and flush against his chest.

"That's it, pretty girl," he rasped into the heated hollow beneath your ear. The words were velvet soft yet laced with enough dominant possession to have you melting against his solid frame. "I've been more than patient with you all night. But enough is enough - you've tested every last ounce of control I have."

You shuddered violently as his mouth grazed your jaw in a hot, openmouthed glide. "Sensei..." you whimpered, not even sure what you were pleading for anymore.

"Shh, I've got you," he murmured, a scorching palm settling at the small of your back to guide you through the gawking crowd. "Time to go, baby. You and I have a... private lesson to attend."

Somewhere beyond the thudding rush of arousal, you recognized the distinct clearing of throats and murmured whispers from the nearby guests as you allowed Gojo to propel you towards the exits. But it was impossible to care when he was caging you against him with such blatant feral intent, muscles locked into coiling restraint like a panther poised to pounce on its prey.

The cool night air hit your overheated skin like a slap once you stumbled outside. Gojo didn't so much as pause before scooping you up into his arms in a bridal carry, cursed energy already whipping around you in preparation to activate his Infinite Void technique.

"Hold on tight, pretty girl," he warned, the normally gentle rumble of his voice pitched low enough to send molten heat shearing through your core. "This may get...intense."

And with that, the entire world collapsed in on itself until there was nothing but the whisper of energy across your nerve-endings and the solid warmth of Gojo's body wrapped around you as the in-between rushed past in a blur.

You materialized seconds later in your dormitory suite, Gojo already stalking towards the bedroom with you cradled to his chest. He kicked the door shut with a deafening bang before throwing you onto the mattress with enough force to bounce you enticingly.

Chest heaving, you pushed up onto your elbows to drink in the sight of him looming over the foot of the bed - hair tousled into glorious disarray, shirt disheveled and straining against his broad frame, eyes burning with naked sin and untempered hunger. He looked like some kind of depraved avenging angel, utterly devastating in his authority and desire.

"Do you have any idea," he growled, prowling closer like a predator scenting its prey, "what you've put me through tonight with that little act of yours?"

A shocked squeak fled your lips as one large hand fisted in the loose hair of your wig, yanking just harshly enough to expose the vulnerable line of your throat. Gojo took greedy advantage of your arched position, dipping down to lave hot, filthy kisses along the thundering pulse point as you writhed beneath him.

"All evening, I've been surrounded by the scent of you in my clothes," he rasped against your slick skin, free hand already dragging the shirt up to divest you of the flimsy material. You arched eagerly into his frantic touches, nails scoring paths down the quivering muscles of his back as his lips continued branding every inch of bare flesh.

"That sweet, pretty little body of yours wrapped up to look just like me. All decked out in black and white and silver...fuck, you're lucky I didn't bend you over in front of everyone at the party and take what's mine!"

A desperate keen reverberated from your very bones at the graphic suggestion, hips straining upwards instinctively to grind against the rigid cock already pressing into your soaked pussy. Gojo rewarded the involuntary motion with a punishingly deep grind of his own, dragging the luxurious slide of cotton over your swollen clit and leaving you boneless and gasping.

"Is that what you wanted, baby?" he rumbled darkly, nipping your ear with blunt teeth. "To make me lose control and defile you in front of all those poor, unsuspecting fools?"

You could only whine in response, beyond coherent speech at this point. Rough hands shoved the hem of his shirt up to bare your chest, bunching the fabric over your ribcage as Gojo settled onto his knees between your splayed thighs. Cool air ghosted over your feverish skin for only a moment before his mouth enveloped one taut nipple in an all-encompassing scald.

It was like the last floodgate had opened, finally allowing the pent-up tension thrumming between you to surge free in an unstoppable flood. You dissolved into a litany of shameless sounds - moans and whimpers and breathy curses that only seemed to goad Gojo on further. Soon the bedroom filled with the filthy sounds of devoured kisses, skin slapping on skin, and flesh stretching to desperate accommodation around the punishing thrusts into your convulsing body.

Over and over again, he hilted himself inside your drenched cunt with enough force to slide your sweat-slicked bodies up the rumpled sheets. Wave after wave of blinding, throbbing pleasure eroded the last remnants of sense until your entire universe narrowed to the mouthwatering play of chiseled muscle and tendon as he hovered over you. You couldn't get enough of his harsh grunts, the deeper-than-sin rasp of his voice crooning debauched praises and sinful promises against your fevered skin.

"That's it, just like that, baby girl," he ground out as your nails scored down his back hard enough to sting. "Open up nice and pretty for your sensei. Going to absolutely fucking ruin you for anyone else after I'm done."

The very thought sent electric sparks arcing straight to your clenching pussy, throat already rubbed raw from howling your rapture into the quiet night. There was nothing recognizable left in your voice as you chanted his name like a benediction, uncaring of how the whole dormitory might hear your shameless cries while Gojo robbed you of any last shred of composure.

His hips snapped in a final few deep, piston-like drags before stilling with a full-bodied shudder. The feeling of him painting your fluttering pussy in thick, virile streaks of cum finally triggered your own cresting climax. You shattered around him with a ragged wail, arching wildly as exquisite pulses of lightning ricocheted out in tingling waves to your fingertips and curling toes.

Boneless and limp as a ragdoll, you lay there soaked in the glorious aftermath. Gojo blanketed you with his weight, his breath rasping hotly over your sweat-dampened skin, lips tracing sluggish patterns in their comedown. Neither of you moved for long stretches, simply existing in the tranquil silence of that sacred, sated space.

Finally, Gojo pulled back just enough to free his arms and gather you carefully into his embrace. You hummed out a contented sound, burrowing shamelessly into the solid comfort of his chest while clever fingers worked the constricting knots out of your wig until the heavy silver strands cascaded freely onto the pillows.

"You," he started, pausing to clear his throat and collect his scattered thoughts, "are going to be the absolute death of me one day, pretty girl."

The words were fond instead of chastising as he pressed lingering closed-mouth kisses into your hairline. You smiled against the corded expanse of his throat.

"Promise?" you murmured cheekily, arching up to ghost your lips across the strong column of muscle. A low groan rumbled against your mouth at the blatant provocation.

"Mark my words," Gojo growled, rolling you both until he loomed over your pliant, wrecked body once more. This time though, his touch was barely-there, gentle, almost worshipful as he traced the scattered constellation of marks blooming across your damp skin. "By the time I'm through with you, you won't be able to so much as look at another set of clothes without thinking of me, of how thoroughly I'm going to take you apart and put you back together again."

The heated storm in your blood kick-started anew at his dangerous tone, goosebumps prickling in the wake of his maddening caress. There was no doubt in your racing heart that this deliciously sinful man would make good on every last lurid implication behind those words. And you couldn't wait.

[targaryenluvs]

AT FIRST SIGHT

PAIRINGS: Dark!Evan Buckley x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Never in his life would Buck have ever thought that he’d end up with the girl of his dreams. How she ended up with him doesn’t matter, right?

WARNINGS: Lovesick Buck, obsession, memory loss, kind of Stockholm syndrome, lying, gaslighting, fluff, kisses

a/n: this literally popped into my head after reading @mrsdarkandyandere7 fic on their firefighter so this is definitely inspired by it, go check it out! i know evan’s character isn’t like this but i just thought it’d be cool to explore maybe what could’ve happened if buck’s breakups and general trauma had taken a toll on him 👀

WORDCOUNT: 3.8K Words

Gif not mine, credits to the owner!

Buck was enjoying his day off when he first saw you, waving his way. He turned his head, expecting a friend of yours to be behind him but was thoroughly surprised when you approached him. “You’re a firefighter aren’t you? I saw you on the news.”

Buck smiled at the recognition and nodded along, “Yeah I am, how’d you know?” You laughed at his joke before smiling, “You did an amazing job there, just wanted to let you know. I know sometimes you don’t get the props you deserve so… just wanted to come over.” You looked gorgeous, and your smile was infectious. Buck had been lonely lately, feeling as if he’s behind everyone else.

Always wondering what would’ve happened if he never changed, at least he’d have girls around, right?

But then, he met you. And all of a sudden, he was glad he wasn’t the original Buck. The Buck who felt the incessant need to get into bed with almost every girl he wants. “I sadly have to get going, but it was nice meeting you.” Enraptured with your smile, he watched you walk away. As he smiled to himself he realised, “Wait! I didn’t—,” You’d entered your apartment already, and he didn’t know your name. But you had left your purse on accident.

He sighed deeply, settling back into the bench he was sat on as his hand tightened around his coffee cup. “Stupid Buck, should’ve asked her name straight away.” Whilst plotting about how he could find out your name, the smell of smoke invaded his senses.

Your building was on fire.

He sprung up straight away, his hands sliding all over his phone whilst calling 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“23 Rayweo Drive, there’s a fire!”

“There’s already been multiple calls sir, units are on their way. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Uhh, Evan Buckley. I’m a firefighter!”

“Okay Evan, can you please—,”

All composure faded away the second he saw you at your window, arms waving frantically. “Help! The doors blocked!” The muffled voice coming through his phone was discarded as he made his way up the fire escape. The conjoining apartment had a balcony only about three to four metres from yours, Buck jumped across before grabbing the metal table on yours.

Your apartments glass door shattered as Buck made his way inside, the sirens were getting closer. “Hello? Where are you?” Buck held his arm infront of his face, searching the place for you. “In here!” Your apartment wasn’t fully engulfed yet, the kitchen and entrance were inescapable. But the rest only had small fires, yet to grow. Your bedroom door was untouched but had ceiling debris blocking you from leaving.

Buck went right into action, carelessly throwing the debris to the side before bracing himself, “Move away from the door!” You stood in the corner of the room as Buck pummelled through, ending up on the floor. You rushed over, “Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” His coughs were rapid, “I’m— i’m okay, let’s get you out of here…” A soft smile came across your lips, “Y/n.” He smiled back, “Buck.” The two of you slowly made your way out, but you stopped and stared.

A painting of yourself and your best friends, hung on the wall. The frame was gold, and melting. Your first ever apartment, up in flames with some of the most precious memories and moments of your life. “Hey, I know it’s a bit of a shock but we need to go.” Buck turned around to look at you, and at the right moment since the ceiling caved in on you. “Wait!”

Your hand waved around trying to grasp something as you held your breath. Were you going to die? All you could feel was a throbbing pain in your head, you’d fallen head first. And as your eyes closed you felt two hand grasp your arm, attempting to pull you out. “Stay with me!” Buck pleaded.

You woke up as you were being lifted onto the stretcher, eyes adjusting to the brightness. “Where— what’s happening?” The paramedic to your right smiled, “Welcome back, can you tell me your name?”

“Y/n/n!” Buck rushed to your side as you smiled, “Buck.” His hands brushed away the hair from your face, “Yeah, I’m here. Right here baby.” You smiled as they lifted you into the ambulance. Buck looked up, “I’m riding with you guys Hen.” The girl, who you assumed to be Hen nodded. You held onto Bucks hand the entire ride, earning some stares from Hen and Chimney.

When they thought you were out, they started questioning him. “You know her don’t you?” He nodded, “I do.” You opened your eyes, as everyone’s attention fell back on you, “Hey there, how ya feeling?” Chimney asked as you smiled, “Good, heads hurting a lot though.” Hen nodded, “You did take a bit of a fall, it’s a given. Your vitals look normal, seems like it’s just a concussion and some smoke inhalation. A few nicks and bruises, you’ll be out in no time sweetheart.”

“She’s right, you’re gonna be okay. Is there anyone you’d like us to call?”

“My mom. Her number is…” Your eyebrows furrowed at your lapse of memory. “Her number is…” You tried again to no avail, “Oh my god, I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember?” Hens face drained, “Uhm, you may have hit your head harder than we thought. Is your phone on you?” You shook your head, “It broke when I fell.”

The ceiling was all of a sudden the most interesting thing in that ambulance. How the hell did you forget your own mother’s number? You tried your hardest to recall but it was hopeless. You tried your fathers, and nothing.

“Maybe a sibling? A boyfriend?”

“I don’t have siblings. No I do, a sister maybe? Or is it a brother? My boyfriend… I—,” Buck watched as you tried your hardest to remember things, and he hated it. He felt horrible, watching you struggle. He just wanted to shout at you that he was here, you didn’t need anybody else. He muttered under his breath, “I could be your boyfriend.” You turned your head, “You’re my boyfriend?” Hen and Chimney looked up at him, “You’re the man? Why haven’t you said anything?”

He was going to disagree, he really was. But with you looking up at him so hopefully he couldn’t help himself. “I didn’t want to confuse her, especially if she didn’t remember. That’s not wrong.. is it?”

You shook your head. “No, no it’s not. I’m just glad you’re here.”

The last few days had been a blur, sitting around or laying down. Nurses fluttering in and out with a million questions of ‘How are you feeling?’ or ‘Do you need anything else?’

Yes, to go home. You wish you could yell at them, but then again, you didn’t have a home. But through it all, you had your boyfriend. Who was nothing short of a gentleman. Always with a smile on his face, always asking how you were. And with him you just wanted to answer his questions.

“Discharge papers are all signed, you’re free to go sweetie.” The nurse beamed as you sighed, “Thank you so much. Have a nice day.” As she left you squealed before hugging Buck, “Whoa there, slow down sweetheart.” You rushed back, “I’m sorry, I’m just so ready to leave this place, and eat real food.”

Buck laughed at your growling stomach, “I promise to cook for you every night.” He pledged with a hand to his heart, “Oh shut up! Quick question, does this mean I’ll be staying with you? Until I find a new place and talk to my insurance company?” Buck frowned at the idea of you leaving him, “I know this might seem a bit quick but, what’s the point in you moving out? When you could just move in with me? I mean… you’d never have to worry about a fire with me.”

You grinned at him whilst picking up your purse and slinging it over your shoulder. “I already look like you since I’m wearing your clothes. You sure you want me 24/7?” He’d want you glued to him if he could. “Of course, I could never get sick of someone so pretty.” Buck flirted as your cheeks heated up, his hand traced your back sending tingles up your spine. He cupped your face and brought you closer.

Your lips were soft and sweet, the lip-balm you used was flavourful and he couldn’t get enough. His hand traced down your back, pulling you closer into him as you smiled into him, “Buck.” Your voice was muffled as he continued on, you put your hands on his chest and pushed back, “Stop, we’re in public.” You giggled as he threw his head back, “If anyone looks at you I’ll just punch em’.” You gasped, “Buck!”

He raised his arms, “What?” The two of you finished packing up before saying your goodbyes to the nurses that had taken care of you. “You never told me you had a jeep.” Buck laughed, “I was kind of hoping you’d remember, you love her.” You nodded at his words, “I can definitely see why I did, or do.” When you arrived at his place you were irrevocably in love.

“I love the exposed brick!” Buck set your purse down on the counter as you ran your hands along the walls before making your way to the couch. “And the couch is tucked away, it’s like a bit of privacy yknow?” Buck leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, “Well duh, you’re the one that helped me pick it.” He knew you hadn’t of course, but it was somehow easy for him to block her out and replace her with you.

“I did?” You looked his way as he walked over before standing in between your legs, “You loved this place a lot. So I got it as a surprise.” You smiled at him before pulling him down on top of you, “Why don’t we spend the rest of the day at home, and you tell me all about you and me?” He smiled at the sound of ‘home’, your home.

And that’s exactly what happened, the rest of the day he spent making up an ideal version of the two of you. Of how you met, how the two of you were yet to tell anyone since you really loved keeping it to the two of yourselves. And how he was always a ‘in the moment’ type person, explaining the lack of photos together. You then went out to buy yourself a new phone, and trade over the SIM card.

“Hey babe?” You called out to him as he cooked in the kitchen, “Yeah what’s up?” He glanced over his shoulder to you, “I can’t find you in my phone.” Buck breathed in, he forgot about that. “We… had a bit of a fight the day before. Pretty sure you blocked me or something, and since I’m petty, I did the same thing.” You stared at your phone in confusion, “I’ve never blocked someone, especially over something as simple as an argument.”

“Well, you have. Your brains a bit fuzzy babe, it’ll come back to you soon enough.” You glanced up at him, suspicion filling through you. “Alright, can I grab your phone and put my number in?” He nodded before pointing to the bed upstairs. You jogged upstairs before unplugging his phone. “My birthday.” You quickly filled in the password and were met with a million messages and calls.

Hen: Buckkkk, reply to us. Are you okay?

Cap 🔥: Buck, you need to call in if you’re not coming.

Maddie ❤️: YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?

Eddie: There’s no way you have a girlfriend and just forgot to tell me.

Eddie: I’m coming over.

These guys must be his friends and coworkers. But you couldn’t help but wonder, had he seriously not told any of them that he has a girlfriend? Not even a hint? The last text from Eddie was only half an hour ago, which meant—

RING!

The doorbell rung out as you made your way downstairs, “Hey, no I’ll grab the— door.” Buck was late to it, as you swiftly opened the door to reveal, “Eddie!” He smiled, “Hey Buck, and you must be?” You grinned, “Y/n, but you can just call me Y/n/n. Please, come in!” You opened the door wider to reveal a kid, “And who’s this?” Eddie had his hand on the kids back, “Y/n, meet my son Christopher.” You kneeled infront of him before stretching out your hand, “Well hello there Chris, I’m Y/n and it is very nice to meet you.”

“Hello Y/n. Buck never told us he had a girlfriend.” You laughed at the comment as the two shuffled in before settling on the couch, “Well, if it’s any consolation, we hadn’t really told anyone yet. So technically you’re the first to officially meet me. None of my friends or family know about Buck yet.” Chris smiled, “What do you mean officially?”

“Well technically, everyone’s kind of met me already but I was rescued from a fire.” Eddies face dropped, “Oh my god, I completely forgot to ask, are you doing okay? It must’ve have been hard to recover.” You appreciated his empathy, “Yeah, it was a bit difficult at first but I was in the hospital. I mean, it was my first apartment and it went up in flames, it’s pretty hard to just get over it. But Buck has been an absolute angel, I’m really lucky to have him with me. I’ve been having memory issues, to the point where I wake up and forget where I am,”

“Oh god, have you been put on any medication?” You nodded, “I have, and it’s been helping. I think with the days my memory will come back. I mean I didn’t even remember Buck and I were together in the ambulance.” You laughed as you looked over at Buck, he chuckled at the joke whilst Eddies eyes flicked between the two of you before laughing dryly.

“Dinners ready!” Buck shouted out, the conversation was getting a bit too much for his liking. The four of you stuck to light topics at the dinner table on account of Christopher as well as you. And it was super enjoyable for you, Eddie is an amazing father and you could see how close Buck was with him and Chris.

“Well I think it’s time for this one to go to bed.” Eddie rose up before collecting the plates, “Hey no, you’re a guest, you don’t have to clean up.” You spoke as you grabbed the plates from him, “No no, you should be resting Y/n/n.” You both made your way around, “Okay we can both do them. You wash, I dry.” Buck sat on the couch with Chris playing video games, whilst simultaneously trying to eavesdrop.

“It’s way too late for the two of you to be driving home no? I’m sure you could stay. Me and Chris upstairs and the men on the floor seems just right,” Eddie threw his head back laughing, “Ohh, I see how it is!” You bumped his side and he bumped right back.

If all of Bucks friends were this great, he would’ve had to be one of the luckiest people around.

Chris and Eddie did end up staying the night, but the two men couldn’t sleep. So Eddie and Buck ended up having a few late night drinks, “So, Y/n. She’s absolutely incredible. So I have zero clue how you ended up with her.” Buck shoved his arm, “Hey I am a catch.”

“That I’d throw right back out.” Eddie joked as Buck rolled his eyes, “But you never told us anything about her, and I’m not gonna lie, I’m a bit disappointed. We usually talk about everything Buck. And I know you well enough to know when you’re talking to someone.” Buck sighed, “It’s… complicated.”

And the weight of his secret was bound to come crashing down at some point, right?

Eddie stood with his head in his hands trying to understand everything his best friend had tried to tell him. “So you kidnapped her?” Buck immediately turned to him, “What? No! We were in the ambulance and she assumed I was her boyfriend, and god if you’d seen the look on her face you’d understand why I said yes. She was all alone, her apartment was burned down and her phone was broken. Maybe if it was some random person I wouldn’t have said yes, but I’d talked to her before. I knew she didn’t deserve anything that was happening to her. And she wouldn’t have a place to go if she couldn’t even remember her friends or a phone number.”

“So you took her in, to be a nice person? Were you going to kick her out when she remembered? What if she calls the cops?” Eddies head had about a million scenarios rushing through right now, “Eddie, please. You know me, I’m not a bad guy. If she starts to remember then I’ll tell her. But, we’ve gotten along so well these past few days, like you said she’s incredible.”

“Oh god, don’t tell me you fell in love with her.”

“Well…” Buck scratched the back of his neck as Eddie groaned, “Buck are you serious?” Eddie screeched, “Shh! Do you want to wake her up? Look, if she realises then I’ll explain everything I promise. But it’s not like I’m holding her hostage. I’m just trying to give her a place to call home before she gets back out there.”

“Buck, she calls you ‘babe’, and you do too. You have a million nicknames for her. Every time you get the opportunity you kiss her. It’s wrong, she has no clue what’s happening here.” Eddie tried to rationalise with him but it was no use. Buck sighed, “I know, it’s just— I know her. I met her before the fire and she was so nice, I was going to ask her out but then this all happened. And it’s not like she doesn’t like me either, is it really so wrong?”

“I guess not, but you need to tell her. If she really likes you, then I guess she’ll give you another chance to actually take her out.” Buck rushed forwards and hugged him, “You think she’ll give me another chance? Thank you Eddie!” Eddie scoffed, “You really like her huh?” Buck couldn’t help but look back up at you, “I do.”

Your eyes were wide open, adjusted to the dark. Eddie and Bucks conversation was playing over and over in your head, he lied to you. But again he wanted to keep you safe, would you be homeless right now if it weren’t for him? Or would you have found a friend?

The good and bad parts of the situation were equal in your eyes. He’d been lying to you, kissing you and treating you as if you were his girlfriend. Taking advantage of your state of mind, but you’d met before, and he was going to ask you out. And if he had, you knew what your answer would have been.

Yes.

And it wasn’t as if he was dangerous, or at least you hoped not. Tiredness came over you, the last thing you remember hearing being the sound of Bucks voice wishing you sweet dreams.

By the time you woke up Eddie and Chris were long gone, Buck was busy cooking up breakfast. “There you are sleepyhead.” His smile was always bright when directed at you, and with the morning glow you could only see the good. “Buck, we need to talk.”

Who knew five words could strike such fear?

And you sat infront of him, “I know. I know about the fire, and the fact that you aren’t my boyfriend. And hey—,” Buck didn’t waste a second apologising, “I’m so so sorry I knew I should’ve told you straight away. But when you said I was I went along with it and that was stupid. But I didn’t want you to be alone and if you want to go I will—,” Your laugh stopped him in his tracks, “It’s okay Buck. I’m not mad, well I am a little since you’ve been kissing up on me every chance you get but… you’re just a bit dumb in how you went about it.”

Buck smiled as he set out breakfast for the both of you, “Now how about this. We finish up breakfast and then you take me out on a proper date where we get to make all of our firsts for real. I really do like you Buck, your heart was in the right place, execution? Not so much.”

And the rest of the morning you spent laughing at Buck and his love sickness. “You know you’re kind of obsessed with me, it’s a bit creepy.” Bucks face immediately drained, he stared at your back as you washed the dishes. “But my heart was in the right place right?” He sounded desperate with the sentence, “Sure.”

You liked Buck, there was no denying it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of weirdness.

As the two of you continued getting to know eachother Bucks happiness sky rocketed. And everyone could tell, “If you smile any longer we’ll need to tattoo it onto your face Buck.” Bobby joked as everyone teased Buck, “I am in a happy, loving relationship. Be proud of me.” Eddie couldn’t help himself, “Does she know that?”

The whole table burst out laughing as Buck groaned, “She has her memory back can we please not joke about it.” Hen pointed at him with her fork, “Trust me, we’re not laughing at her, we’re laughing at you Lover Boy!” The footsteps coming up the stairs were drowned out by the sea of laughter, “If Shakespeare was alive you’d for sure be an inspiration Buck.” Chimney spoke from the kitchen.

“Wonder what he’d name it.” Your voice caused the five of them to turn your way, “Y/n!” Eddie shouted as you engulfed him in a tight hug. “If I squeeze too hard you’ll forget my name,” He joked as you punched his abdomen, “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“There’s the famous Mrs Buckley.” Bobby smiled as you made your way over to him, “Cap!” He opened his arms up to you as Buck grinned, his team finally meeting you made him feel happy. “Great to finally meet you, but I feel like we already know you.” He spoke as he pulled out a chair for you. “He’s right, Lover Boy never shuts about you.” Chimney teased as you kissed Bucks cheek.

“Well aren’t you sweet? We all know how lovesick he is I presume?” The team laughed as Buck rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah let’s get the jokes out the way.” You smiled before holding onto his hand.

Buck downplayed just how much he loved his team, they were like a family, and now you were apart of it too. Buck was grateful to be in it, especially with you being the new addition. But every once in a while he couldn’t help but remember how he got you.

Love At First Sight.

[sometimesanalice]

Leave a Light On {vol. i}

Summary: When Bradley had given you a key to his place, what he probably didn’t expect was to find you there at 2 am sitting at the piano you’d helped him find.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 7k

Warnings: lots of pining and yearning (Minors DNI)

(this was the story I was working on back in January, before the 'Like I Can' series and anything else on my masterlist. I'm so excited to share it with you all! This will be a 2-part series.)

When Bradley had given you a key to his place, you imagine he probably thought you’d check on his plants every now and then. That you’d pop by to give them a quick water and then be on your way.

Maybe that you’d take the Bronco out for a quick spin, so that his baby it didn’t sit there too long going unused. You were one of a very small handful of people he trusted to drive his most prized possession. There was something special about being behind the vintage wheel with the sun on your face as you cruised along the highway, even if it wasn’t the same without him sitting there smiling next to you.

He’d already put his mail on hold with the USPS, but you knew that he knew he could count on you to rescue any stray package that might slip through the cracks and make its way to the front door of his charming craftsman bungalow.

What he probably didn’t expect was for you to be there sometime past 2 AM sitting on the creaky bench of the old, but well-loved, piano that you had helped him to find.

You should be tucked away under the comforter of your own bed, in your own room, at your own place.

Instead, your fingers are navigating over the black and ivory keys trying, yet again, to make it through a tricky passage on a song that you’ve spent the better part of the last three months trying to perfect.

He was coming home soon and you couldn’t wait to hold him, to love him, to surprise him.

Each time he leaves, it gets a little easier to miss him. You wear your longing like a locket rather than an albatross around your neck, always there but easier to bear.

Rooster had a way of filling a space in a way you’ve never experienced before. His larger than life charisma was one of the first things that had caught your attention, followed by that damn smile of his.

He was always humming in the kitchen.

Or whistling in the car.

Or playing the piano to decompress after a long day.

Or listening to something on his mom’s refurbished record player.

His presence always so tangible and warm, like a blanket pulled fresh from the dryer. With Bradley around, you could wrap yourself up in the sheer comfort of him.

And when he was gone, it was the quiet that you struggled with the most. A constant reminder of just how far away he was. No texts or calls or voice memos throughout the day. No little everyday sweet somethings that let you know he was thinking of you.

The sound of silence followed you everywhere. Its heavy companionship making itself known regardless of how loudly you sang along to his favorite songs on the playlist he had made you or how many times you played through the song you were learning just for him.

You had grown up in the silence, you knew it well.

Parents who stayed together because it was easier than splitting the house and sharing the kid. And on the rare occasions it wasn’t quiet, it was loud. The kind that was inescapable regardless of how much you buried under the covers or how far you tucked yourself away in the corner of the backyard.

Until one day the glossy, satin walnut upright piano appeared along the wall in your barely used dining room. And then it soon became your favorite way to cover the quiet and to mask the loud.

Looking back on it now, maybe your parents had wanted something to fill the silence too.

The hours and hours of lessons you and Bradley had both been forced to sit through as children was something that the two of you had bonded over pretty early on. And while he had kept up with playing, it was something that had fallen to the wayside in your life. First with school, then with a career, and now with purposeful avoidance.

There was once a time when reading sheet music had come as easily to you as reading a book. And then one day, they were just a bunch of random dots scattered in between and across five lines on a piece of paper.

There was once a time when you didn’t even need to look down to know where your fingertips were flying to. And then one day, all your fingers could do was stumble and trip over the keys as you winced at the dissonance it created.

And when Rooster had learned about your mutual musical upbringing, he had made it his personal mission to try and get you to play something for him. He was so sweet, so sincere in the way he’d ask you, all big brown eyes and hopeful smiles.

It had always made your chest tight to brush him off. It was something he clearly wanted to share with you, but that part of you ached like a phantom limb. You didn’t know what would be worse embarrassing yourself or disappointing him with your lack of skill when it was something that you used to be so proud about.

It was easy to dodge him at first during nights out at the Hard Deck with your understandable Not with all these people here’s to your practical Mozart would just bring the vibes down’s to your evasive Maybe next time’s. 

And when his polite requests were met with empty answers, he took it a step further.

One night in his bed, the curtains fluttering as the sea breeze mingled with his sandalwood scent, he’d whispered into your heated skin, “I’ll get you to play something for me one of these days. Maybe I just need to find the right form of bribery.”

His teasing innuendo juxtaposed deliciously with the deliberate touch of his fingers and tongue as he’d played your body to a perfect crescendo.

It reached a point where you couldn’t stomach to see the dejection in his eyes, the hurt he tried so hard to hide when you’d deny him yet again, that you had to own up to your closely guarded secret.

The confession had whooshed out of you in one breath, leaving you feeling deflated and defeated afterwards.

When you eventually mustered the courage to look at him, he’d been wearing the softest look of understanding on his face, as if he could sense the toll it took to admit the loss of that part of yourself. Then he gathered you in his lap and held you, all while the tears of frustration simmered behind your tightly squeezed eyes.

And when he offered to help remind how to read that language without words, to help you remember the letters of the keys beneath your fingers, it had made your heart hurt a little less.

You weren’t ready then, not like you are now.

But nothing gave you as much pleasure as it did to watch Rooster seated in front of the well-worn and well-played upright piano of Penny’s at the Hard Deck. There was nothing more exhilarating than seeing him in his element so at home on the bench, scuffed and scratched from performers of the past, as he shared that part of himself with everyone in the bar.

He made it look so easy. So damn effortless. His thick fingers flying purposefully over the keys as he played from memory. His joyous enthusiasm electrifying and substantial enough to get the whole bar singing along with him.

It always drew him a lot of attention.

How could it not? He was magnetic on a bad day and captivating the rest of the time. And entirely too handsome for his own good.

Interested eyes, curious eyes, hungry eyes followed him around more often than not after an impromptu performance.

However, those brown eyes of his were always set on you.

Never wavering, never straying from you as he’d weave his way poco a poco, little by little, back through the packed bar. Handing out high-fives to people on autopilot as he passed by to return back to your side. Glistening with the sweat he worked up and grinning widely as he’d greet you with a How’d I do, sweetheart?. Those big, capable hands sliding around your waist, in the back pocket of your jeans, under your top to rest on your low back.

The two of you never stuck around for long after he wrapped up. You didn’t mind helping him find ways to put that excess adrenaline to good use. Usually in the backseat of the Bronco.

You’ll never forget the first time Bradley serenaded you. The song meant for you and you alone.

If someone were to cut into that soft, pink part of your brain, you’re pretty sure they would find that memory pressed there like flowers between the pages of a book. Forever apart of you.

It was the song that always took you right back to that little vinyl shop along the pier. And back to that date that had almost derailed it all.

When Rooster had picked you up to take you to dinner all those months ago, he had seemed a bit antsy and absentminded.

Sure, he had gotten out of the Bronco to come fetch you like a gentleman, instead of sending some half-assed Here text like your ex had been fond of doing. You thought for sure he’d be hustling you back inside after he caught a glimpse of what you were wearing once you opened your front door to greet him.

So you were surprised when he’d simply pressed a dry kiss to your cheek and escorted you to his car with a hand placed respectfully between your shoulder blades instead of cheekily in that space between your low back and ass.

That spot that toed the line between decent and indecent. That spot that made him smirk when you’d give him a pointed lift of the eyebrow, because the two of you knew exactly what he was doing. And better yet, liked it.

However, that night it was almost like he was going through the motions, like he was already somewhere else.

The car ride to the restaurant was silent except for the white noise of the highway as he drove. The circular knob for the radio set to the left.

Off.

Which in hindsight should have been your first warning, since Bradley was never not listening to the Oldies station. A vintage vibe for your vintage boy. 

When you were finally seated across from him at that new trendy Thai place you had been dying to go to, his fingers wouldn’t stop tapping out some unheard tune. On the tops his thighs. On the top of the table.

His eyes were landing everywhere else other than on you. On the large leaves of the potted palms, on the ornate pattern on the gold silk that was swathed across the ceiling, on the intricate hand-painted tiles on the floor.

You’d been trying to carry on a conversation for the past fifteen minutes and were feeling completely on edge when you had to repeat yet another question for him.

The anxious feeling growing in the pit of your stomach had been getting more and more difficult to ignore. You could tell he wasn’t really there, what you were trying to figure out was whether or not he just didn’t want to be there with you.

And god, the drinks hadn’t even come out yet. There wasn’t anything for you to distract yourself with other than your water glass, and even that was already empty except for a few melting ice cubes.

His half answers and noncommittal noises were rapidly clearing things up for you.

He’s breaking up with me.

It was at that crushing realization that the waitress had returned with your drink orders. The bright orange concoction that she set in front of you had been topped with a lovely purple orchid and glittery swizzle stick.

A happy looking cocktail for the girl who thought she was going to have another great date with the guy who was saved in her phone as “Golden Boy”.

“Have you two decided on what you want to eat? Or would you like to hear the chef’s specials again?” the waitress had asked, her gaze bouncing back and forth between you and Bradley.

You could tell that she was sensing the brewing tension between the two of you.

“I don’t think we’ll here much longer, maybe just the check--”

“Sorry, if we could have a few more minutes to decide--”

You’d both started speaking at the same time only to turn to the other wearing matching faces of absolute confusion. He’d gone ramrod straight in his chair, his fingers finally still on the tabletop. The shock in his eyes was apparent, and you could only assume it was there because you beat him to the punch.

The waitress had looked at you sympathetically before saying she’d come back in check in a few minutes and then quickly spun on her heel to take her hasty leave.

It was the look that she’d given you that had really sealed the deal for you, and wasn’t that just great? You wouldn’t have been surprised if the rest of the waitstaff was already hearing about the couple fighting at Table 12 and taking bets about whether or not they’d break up.

Lucky them, dinner and a show.

You’d reached the fruity drink in front of you, the condensation from the glass leaving a ring on the table and took a large sip for moral support. Feeling the weight his stare on you the whole time as you savored the tart taste of passionfruit as it burst across your tongue.

He’d just have to wait. It was your turn to ignore him.

As you’d swallowed it down, it had left you feeling more than a little angry that it tasted so good when you were feeling so shitty. He knew how much you liked an over the top cocktail, why couldn’t he have picked some dingy hole-in-the-wall to do this at rather than ruin this place for you? The hot prickling sensation of righteous indignation filled your chest.

You really didn’t want it to drag out any longer, setting your liquid courage back down you’d met his stare and got right down to it, “If you’re going to break up with me, Rooster, can you just do it now? I’d like to still be able to order Pad See Ew in the future without thinking about you and this moment.”

You removed the napkin from your lap, folding it up primly before placing it back upon the table as you waited for the final nail in the coffin to be pounded in on the remains of the happiest-and-easiest-and-clearly-too-good-to-be-true relationship you’ve ever had.

“Wait, what? I don’t want to break up.” His eyes were wide and searching, the hurt in his voice had been evident. And it was the first time all evening that he seemed to be present with you, like your Golden Boy had finally showed up to the date. “I thought things were going well. More than well, actually.”

“Yeah. I mean, I did too. Until tonight,” you’d agreed, defeatedly. “I’m really confused here. You’ve been completely distant tonight. Not to be vain, but look at me,” you gestured to the sexy lowcut dress you’d worn for the evening. It was something you’d been saving in your closet for the right occasion. And you’d thought it was going to drive him wild, but he hadn’t even given it a second glance.

You’d leaned in a bit, lowering your voice, “It’s a boob and leg dress, Bradley. I look really fucking hot, and frankly, I didn’t even think we were going to make it here once you saw this. It wouldn’t have been the first time we’ve missed a dinner reservation. And you haven’t said a single thing about it.”

It felt like a silly thing to be upset about in the grand scheme of things, but his inattentiveness that evening had stung more than you’d wanted to admit to.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I noticed,” he’d retorted hotly. His eyes had been heated as he’d matched your movement and leaned in further across the table. “Half the men in here noticed it too the second you walked in.”

You didn’t bother trying to hold back your scoff of frustration, the man was infuriating.

“Then I don’t understand why you’re making me feel like being here- with me- is the last place you want to be right now?” You’d given up on trying to sound unaffected, this was not the evening you had envisioned. It felt like being blindfolded on a rollercoaster, unable to see what exactly you were hurtling towards.

“I got my new orders today,” he’d blurted out, his eyes trying to read yours for the reaction. “I’m being send as aerial escort for a diplomatic mission. I ship out next Monday for six weeks.”

He’d told you later that he was grateful it wasn’t a longer one, he knew he was lucky because he could have just as easily been sent away for a deployment longer than you’d actually been together.

“Oh.”

You’d known that that moment would have happened eventually with his job, so you shouldn’t have been surprised. However, it was one thing thinking about it theoretically rather than looking at a ticking clock with a deadline.

“Cards on the table, sweetheart?” He’d waited for you to nod before continuing on, “I am really fucking into you. I’m trying not to put pressure on this, because I’m pretty sure you’re my dream girl. I wanted to take you out for a nice meal, get you a couple of those complicated fun drinks you like. I even looked at the menu in advance, they have one here that they light on fire and it seems like something you would love.”

He was right, it was something that you’d love. You had even eyed it when you first got the menu, but you hadn’t wanted to get anything that would draw you more attention when you already felt like you had too many pairs of eyes on you.

“Then I wanted to take you home with me and tell you after we had a great time out. I wanted to ask you to save that Sunday before I leave for me, so that we could spend the whole day together.” His fingers had started playing that unheard tune on the table again. “I wanted to show my girl the best time, to keep her wanting to come back and to stick around. So that someone else doesn’t catch her eye, so that I don’t lose her to someone better than me while I’m away.”

His confession had your heart taking up residence in your throat. Having him lay it out for you so clearly and knowing that he’d felt as serious about you as you did about him was everything you had wanted to hear. However, one thing nagged at you.

“Bradley, you make me happy. Like really, really happy. I’ve only got eyes for you. If I’m being honest, this stopped being casual to me around our third date. And I trust you enough to know you’d tell me if this”, you’d gestured between the two of you, “wasn’t what you wanted anymore before starting up with someone else. I hope I have that same trust in return, because if you’re worried about me stepping out on you while you’re away, I don’t know how this is going to work. And I really want it to work.”

“Shit, I’m really striking out here. Batting 0 for two,” he’d sighed out more to himself than to you, leaning back in his chair and running his hands through his hair. “Our third? Really? I thought for sure after that disaster that you were going to block my number.” He huffs a laugh, cheeks turning the same shade of pink that they had that chaotic evening on the beach.

“Bradley, it was comically bad.” You couldn’t help but crack a smile at the memory of it. “You were trying so hard and you were so flustered. It was so endearing.”

“Who would have guessed getting attacked by seagulls and coming home covered in sand flea bites could have been so appealing?” He joked self-deprecatingly.

“Me, I could have. Since I was with you,” you said sincerely, “No one I’ve dated has ever put half as much effort into trying to make me happy as you have.”

The two of you exchanged a soft, tentative smiles.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you had a wandering eye or anything, I promise.” His eyes pleaded with you as he reached for your hands and threaded his fingers through yours, his palms slightly sweaty. “This deployment is different for me. I’ve never had to ask someone to wait for me before, never had anyone who wanted to. And I’ve been really in my head because I was trying to find the right way to tell you, to ask you.”

You were still getting to know all of the expressions of his face, but the look of open insecurity he was wearing was new to you. And you’d felt something deep in your chest release and unlock.

For how easily he owned a room, for how confident he could be, getting to see these tender parts of him because he trusted you with them had made you ache in the most bittersweet of ways for the man who was in front of you.

You held his gaze, taking in his anxious expression. How anyone couldn’t want this man or didn’t think he was worth the wait was incomprehensible to you.

“So Sunday the seventeenth, huh?” you’d said with a grin.

His relief was palpable as he’d squeezed your hand a bit tighter, “Yeah, baby, you up for it?”

“A perfect day with my dream guy?” you mused, squeezing his hand back, “Yeah, I think I’d be up for that. I’m up for all of it.”

Not just the date. Not just the deployment. You already knew. With him, you wanted it all.

When the waitress returned a few moments later, Bradley ordered a green curry for himself and the Pad See Ew for you. Along with one of those complicated, fun drinks that arrived with fanfare and flames, all while he played with your fingers.

And after you were finished, she’d dropped off a fluffy looking coconut covered dessert that she’d stated was on the house as walked away with a wink.

You’d totally called it, dinner and a show.

As you’d left the restaurant, he tucked you in close under his arm pressing kiss after kiss to your temple as you made your way back to the Bronco.

And later, when he had taken you back to his place for the night, your boob-and-leg dress forgotten somewhere on the floor, he’d apologized again. This time with his mouth on your body.

Twice.

It had been a fluke, really, finding that record tucked away in that small, but well-kept shop on that Sunday before his deployment.

You’d surprised him with a certificate for a haircut and hot towel shave at an upscale barber for a little pre-deployment pampering. He’d gotten his hair trimmed the day before and he was somehow looking even more sunkissed than usual. His patterned shirt was mostly buttoned up and he had on your favorite pair of jeans- the ones that might have been a bit too snug, but did devastating things for his ass.

It was the outfit he’d been wearing when you had first met.

You and Bradley had spent a lazy, perfect morning at the beach reading and lounging and trading sea salt kisses before changing and to grab a bite to eat. He’d held up a towel up around you to slip into your sun warmed dress, behaving himself for the most part. But you’d still caught him sneaking a peek from over the top of the terry cloth.

After eating a late lunch at his favorite little café that served the best cioppino, you’d popped in and out of the various shops that dotted the boardwalk near the pier. It might have been the bottle of wine you shared, but he made sure to stop at every photobooth you passed along the way, collecting strip after strip of snapshots and tucking them into his shirt pocket.

His hand staying in yours the whole time.

When he’d spotted the tiny record store, he’d cheerily pulled you along with him wanting to look for new additions for his ever-growing collection. It was his newest hobby after getting his mom’s old record player restored. You had even helped him build the sideboard he had specially ordered for it to display his prized collection in the living room of his home.

You could hear him talking excitedly to an associate about some Jerry Lee Lewis albums, who offered to take a look in the backroom for him. You never had good luck when you tried to search for specific things, so you were happy to meander around a bit aimlessly and see what spoke to you.

Casually flipping through the stacks, you’d gasped when you landed on what appeared to be the holy grail of all vinyl records ever made.

“Bradley, look!” You’d held out the record for him like a prize. And he abandoned his own search to come join you on the other side of the store.

“Soldiers’ Sweethearts, huh?” He grinned at your find, his eyes crinkling around the edges. The navy colored jacket highlighted a trio of glamourous looking women, each of the three records featured a different performer and their covers of songs popularized during WWII.

“Mm-hmm,” you’d preened, feeling entirely too pleased with yourself. “You’re a soldier, I’m a sweetheart. I’ve never seen anything more perfect in my life. I have to get it.”

“Well I’m not a soldier, technically,” he’d chuckled, as you’d rolled your eyes at him. The joke had you scrunching your nose, and his mustache grazed you as he leaned in close to press a quick kiss to it. “But you’re definitely a sweetheart, sweetheart.”

You were still trying to learn the ins and outs of that part of his life. But you’d liked how he never made you feel stupid when you had questions. More often than not he seemed excited to answer them for you, that you were interested in what he did.

Rooster gently took your newest most prized possession into his big hands, “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Flipping the album over, he’d scanned the tracks listed on the back for the three records. “Some classics, but a lot I don’t think I know. Definitely some intriguing titles, like ‘Daddy’,” he read aloud with a raised eyebrow and a grin that could only be described as lewd.

The man was a menace and had no problem finding new ways to make you blush. You were grateful that the shop was empty except for the two of you, as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks.

“What about ‘Who’s Taking You Home Tonight’? Have you heard that one before, sweetheart?” His large body moving in and crowding yours, the smell of his cologne making your thoughts go a bit fuzzy around the edges. Your heartbeat kicked up in tempo as he brushed a piece of hair off your forehead.

That find was definitely a jackpot.

Him and those records.

“Mm, or how about ‘Make Love To Me’?” He’d murmured into your ear, his free arm slid slowly against your waist, making a home for itself low on your back. The warmth from his hand seeping through your dress and into your skin.

It was heady being the target of all his heated words and teasing tone. The pull in your low stomach getting more intense with every moment you’d stayed pressed against his hard body. You could see how his pulse was pounding arditamente con forza, boldly with force, from how close your face was to that thick throat of his. And you had wanted to--

“I knew we had it somewhere!”

The associate’s cheery announcement as he returned from the backroom startled you back into yourself. Feeling flustered you’d tried to pull away, but Bradley just kept his arm locked around you as he’d made his way to the counter.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. We’ll take this one too,” he stated as he’d smoothly placed your Soldiers’ Sweethearts album on the top of the pile he had accumulated. Only letting go of you to pay.

Naturally, you’d wanted to play the record the second you made it back to Bradley’s place.

He set it up for you before giving you a lingering, deep kiss leaving you to your own devices as he worked on the final few things left on his to-do list before his deployment early the next morning.

You were happy to make yourself comfortable on his wide seat couch with an Old Fashioned listening to Jo Stafford’s soothing voice with your eyes closed, wanting to luxuriate in the moment.

One where Bradley was less than twenty feet away puttering around in his kitchen and humming and murmuring to himself.

One where you could call out to him and he would be in front of you in a few long strides.

You wanted to avoid thinking about the next day and the beginning of your new normal.

One where you couldn’t expect text messages from him throughout the day.

One where concern and uncertainty would follow you around like a dark cloud until he came back home to you.

But he was here for now. And you wanted to savor it all, to soak up all of its sweet, syrupy goodness like the expensive cherry in your glass.

He must have sensed the turn in your thoughts because his sandalwood scent gave his closeness away before his voice did, “What do you say, Miss Soldiers’ Sweetheart? Can you spare a dance for me?”

You opened your eyes to see him standing before you with his hand outreached for you. The smile so gentle and open on his face, made it impossible for you to do anything other than wordlessly nod your head in agreement as you’d let him pull you up from your comfy perch.

“Apologies in advance for any injuries caused by my two left feet,” you joked a bit bashfully as he wrapped his arm around you.

“Lucky for us, I was gifted with two right feet. Don’t worry, we’ll even out each other,” he murmured.

He pulled you into his gravity, pressing your joined hands against his chest where you could feel the steady beat of his heart. The hand on your lower back urging closer, closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between your bodies. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head where you had tucked it into that safe space where his neck meets his shoulder.

take me in your arms, and never let me go whisper to me softly while the moon is low

True to his word, he’d guided you in a smooth, easy rhythm. The confidence in his steps as you were held within his sturdy arms was enough to make you feel secure in your own movement. With him you were completely taken care of.

hold me close and tell me what I wanna know say it to me gently, let the sweet talk flow

Your other hand slid up slowly from where it was resting on his shoulder to wrap around his neck, fingers threading through the fine hairs at the nape of his neck as your thumb traced the thick column of his throat.

Come a little closer, make love to me

He held you tighter, held you closer, as the song came to an end. The easy rhythm turning into a gentle sway that continued as the next song began. And the one after that.

That night in his bed he moved against you with such purpose, such tenderness. The sex with Bradley was always stunningly good, he was never content to let himself come until he’d rendered you thoroughly boneless and breathless. He was easily the best you’ve ever had, but that night it was different between you two.

The mood weighty and intense, both of you exposed in a way you hadn’t been before. But there was no mistaking the deliberate way he touched you, the unwavering way he rolled his hips against yours, the unguarded way he held your gaze as if he was committing that moment to memory as he made love to you.

He’d held you close to his warm body, his fingertips leaving trails of goosebumps, as you shivered through your orgasm. His mouth pressed against your ear as he whispered soothing sweet somethings until he followed you over the edge.

For Bradley, you were up for it. For him, you’d be up for all of it.

yesyesyes

Things were a bit too quiet for you.

You heart clenched in a different way when you looked at Penny’s piano on those evenings you spent with the Dagger Squad without him. The ache was still there, but so was a new kind of longing. Part for him, but also for yourself.

But you’d made it through that deployment with the help of your three favorite sweethearts: Jo, Vera and Anne. Although you always queued up one song in particular anytime you found yourself missing him a bit more than normal.

And when Bradley returned back home to you six weeks later, it was easy to fall right back into him. That quiet period was almost too easily forgotten when he was around to fill a space.

That night at the Hard Deck when he serenaded you for the first time, it was normal for him to strut over to the old jukebox to unplug it. His timing impeccable as always, silencing whatever country song Jake had queued up.  

What wasn’t normal was the way he took you by the hand leading you directly to the old upright and pulled you right onto the bench next to him.

There was already some sheet music spread across the shelf, you’d noted as he’d wiped his hands on the outside of his jeans before settling his hands on the keys. It only took you a couple bars of the intro to realize what song he was playing, already completely enamored before he’d even opened his mouth to sing.

It was your song.

Nothing in the world could ever compete with Bradley Bradshaw’s deep, raspy voice singing just for you. The significance of the song meant for you and him alone.

You heart had swelled in your chest until you thought it might burst from happiness. Never in your life had you been so thoroughly swept off your feet. It was a gesture came from his heart that made a home in yours.

Ever the showman Rooster put on a full performance, his aviator sunglasses sliding down his nose as he really leaned into it.

Your wide grin had turned to laughter when a few members of the Dagger Squad jumped in as back-up vocals, singing into their beer bottles in a way that obviously had been rehearsed. You didn’t know how he managed to keep it a secret. While Rooster was a vault in his professional life, when it came to his personal life Bradley couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.

The whole bar was having fun with the jaunty tune, some couples dancing along in smooth circles on the sticky wood floor as he crooned. He’d leaned over to place a kiss on your cheek every now and then in between verses, and you’d felt yourself fall for him even harder.

He’d pulled you into his lap once he was done playing, as the din of the resumed chatter softly cocooned you. You’d seen all you needed to know reflected in his eyes as you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.

“Will you play it again?” you’d asked against his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.” And you rested your head on his shoulder watching his fingers get into position on the keys once more as he played the few opening notes.

Somewhere you heard a groan followed by a grumbled, “Not again.”

“Shut it, Bagman,” you bossed at him, not even bothering to look in his direction. You only had eyes for Bradley.

“You heard the lady,” he chuckled. “Shut it, Bagman.”

And then he played it again.

take me in your arms, and never let me go

You should be asleep in your own bed and not at his place with only the soft light of the lamp above his piano and a now cold cup of tea to keep you company.

Tired of tossing and turning, you’d given up on the idea of getting any sleep at your own place after the second hour of trying. Throwing on your slippers, you’d grabbed your keys and then drove over to his place, still in the oversized t-shirt you’d put on before bed, in hopes that scent of his sheets would help lull you to sleep.

But all it did was make you miss him more.

It was too quiet without his soft breathing next to you as he held you close and tucked against his chest.

Too quiet without his records.

Too quiet without his happy humming.

Too quiet without him.

The sound of the tea kettle on his gas range had helped fill the silence, but it was his piano that had called you as you had waited for the water to boil. The sheet music you had left there from the last time you were over beckoning like a siren’s song.

It was your secret.

Only for a few more days, only until he came home.

You wanted to surprise him, to sweep him off his feet the way that he always did with you when he played for you.

During that first deployment, for the first time in years, your fingers yearned for the feel of cool, smooth keys beneath your fingers.

You hadn’t even told Bradley, the one person who would understand it the most, that you’d been thinking about it. Let alone that you were actually taking classes again. Making up excuses about manicures or errands or spin classes for why you were busy for an hour every Tuesday at five PM.

The thing that had once hurt your heart the most, was now the only thing that helped soothe the ache of missing him. The only thing that made you feel close to him when you were thousands of miles apart.

You wanted that familiar comfort of making music. You wanted it because you missed him, but you also wanted it for yourself.

A co-worker had given you the name and number for her kids’ instructor, Mrs. McMullen, an elderly woman who started teaching after her husband passed away. It took you couple weeks to work up the courage to make the call, the sticky note burning a hole in the pocket of your purse you had tucked it into.

You had been an anxious mess the day of your first lesson, hands shaking like you’d had one too many shots of espresso. It felt strange, a little surreal sitting there in the body you’d grown into on the padded bench in her cozy living room. One of the walls filled with shelves and shelves of sheet music, her own personal library.

And for a brief moment, you were transported to a different year on a different bench in a different room. Now and Then. Older and Younger. Both versions of you there to learn. All too familiar, yet entirely new.

You started with the basics. A reintroduction to those lines on the page and the notes that spoke their own language for those who knew how to read it.

Your fingers wanting to move quicker than your sluggish mind, like an echo of a memory of how it used to be. You winced and apologized after every wrong note, until she put her hand on yours, her skin looked as delicate as her fingers did, and said gently, “We learn by doing, mistakes only mean that you are trying. Once more, once again.”

After that first lesson, you’d gone back to your car and promptly burst into tears. Overwhelmed tears, happy tears. That tender part of you still soft, however no longer aching.

You’d left feeling lighter as you pulled away from her house to go meet up with everyone at the Hard Deck, but also with a packet of sheet music to practice for your next lesson.

When Rooster had told you about getting his new orders, when he had asked you again if you were still up for it. You’d told him the same thing you had at that date, you were up for it all.

You would take the sadness with the sweet any day of the week for as long as he was yours.

You’d known how you would fill the space he left behind. And exactly how you wanted to welcome him home. You’d been excited to put that certain song just for him in your cart, and then tacking on one more song to your order, a song that would be just for you.

Both you and Mrs. McMullen had be surprised at how you’d been able to pick things back up over the months, you still weren’t anywhere as good as you were when you were younger, but it wasn’t nearly as daunting as it used to be. And when you showed up to your next lesson after your songs had been delivered, she was more than happy to help you figure out ways to simplify the songs a bit so that you’d be ready when he returned.

And now you’re bent over Bradley’s piano with a pencil tucked behind your ear as you played through the hardest bit of the song, you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve gone over it tonight. This morning? You were in that liminal space between yesterday and today. Where the time on the clock was just a suggestion because it felt neither here nor there.

You had practiced and practiced the song you had wanted to play for him once got home. You’re pretty sure Mav wasn’t supposed to tell you the significance of that particular song, but it had made your heart flutter wildly in your chest when he’d told you. And every time you’ve heard it since then.

It was polished, it was perfect, it was ready. All you needed was him.

The one you’re playing now con amore, with love, is the piece you pull out when you long for him the most.

The cover of the song had made you think of him from the moment you’d heard it. It was more lyrical and delicate than the original, and captured just how you felt about him. Just how much he meant to you. Sometimes you sing along with it, sometimes you just let the keys and pedals express the things you otherwise could not.  

It was the song of your heart.

Your fingers trip over one of the notes yet again, probably from the lack of sleep, but you weren’t ready to crawl back into Bradley’s comfy bed. Not just yet.

Sighing, you pull the pencil from behind your ear, muttering to yourself out loud as you note the spot on the page. It was already filled with little pencil marks, some older and some newer. All made because you were trying.

Once more, once again.

Breathing out slowly, you settle your hand back on the keys-

“Can you play it from the beginning this time, sweetheart?"

Read {vol. ii} here!

He's a sneaky one, friends! I have Part 2 in the works, not to worry! We have to see how it all plays out! (put intended)

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist for the grand finale!

Here's a link to the Soldiers' Sweethearts Album, if you're curious!

But this is their song, the one Bradley serenaded her with! Jo Stafford's version of 'Make Love to Me'

I ended up making two moodboards for this part!

Here's the more colorful one! And here's the more yearn-y one!

You can check out my other stories here!

And a big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for letting me spam you about this one!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[nightmarist]

Some Zevlor Things —

EDIT 12/2/23: Added a few more things

A fellow Tiefling Hellrider, Tilses, is with him in the caves acting as his bodyguard. He sometimes calls her Tilly.

There is one bedroll in the caves shoved off in the far corner with a book titled "The Devil You Know: An Autobiography" - not sure if it's his personal writing or if he's reading it, either way it adds to the flavor of his of his tiefling pride (and/or anguish).

It reads:

Have you ever had a god change your blood? It is a horrifying thing, even for those who may desire it. Yet few tieflings wished for Asmodeus to claim their bodies, only be given no choice in the matter. It is not as if we were well-loved before the archdevil's gambit. Our people have always struggled against the notion of 'devilkin', as if a single drop of infernal ichor inescapably corrupts. How amusing, when so many others willingly sell their souls to fiends, yet their culture as a whole escapes the blame. By what method can we redeem ourselves, when the crime is not ours? I would drive a blade into every warlock that aided Asmodeus' damned ritual, but personal vengeance cannot undo the will of a god, much less one as slippery as the Lord of Lies. When every passerby thinks you a thief and heretic, it is deeply tempting to become one. (cut off) The only thing that has stopped me is knowing Asmodeus wants nothing more than for all of us to fall from grace.

Around the his table are Invasion Plans for Elturgard, Traveler's Guide to Baldur's Gate, Traveler's Guide to the Sword Coast Vol IV: The Risen Road (which aligns when he tells you earlier there are gnolls on the road), and "Front and Center: a Thespian's Memoir" that reads:

"... in fact, the greatest joy of my life hasn't been acting, but becoming. When you choose a character to play, you don't just wear a mask - you take a little bit of their soul for your own. Whoever you are in your heart of hearts, if only by the faintest note."

Zevlor aside I think this is a sweet quote for the player and player character relationship <3

Dialogue in the Caves:

Zevlor: I Hardly need a bodyguard, Tilses. This isn't Avernus. Tilses: No sir. At least the monsters there looked like monsters.

—

Tilses: Commander— Zevlor: Just Zevlor, Tilly. We're civilians now, remember? Tilses: With respect, sir — being a Hellrider is for life. They can't take — Zevlor: They can, and did. Avernus changed things — best we get used to that. Tilses: ... Yes, Zevlor

—

Tilses: The Watch or the Flaming Fist? Zevlor: Pardon? Tilses: When we get to Baldur's Gate. Where are we enlisting? Zevlor: I'm done soldiering, Tilly. I'd like a clean start. But go with the Watch. You're too honest to be a mercenary.

—

Zevlor: No word from the scouts, yet? Tilses: No sir. But if there's a clear path past the goblins, they'll find it. Zevlor: Yes, of course.

ITEMS —

in the Chest there is a bronze goblet, 46 gold, and a battle-worn blade. On his person he has his gloves (Hellrider's Pride), an apple, a camp supply pack, and the key to his chest.

The blade says:

A fine by well-used sword. It seemed to have once belonged to a holy order, but the indication of rank and patron deity at the hilt have recently been filed down.

The gloves' flavor text says:

A waft of sulphur emanates from this proudly-kept piece.

Celebration at the Camp:

"I should be out there, talking with them. In... Just a moment, maybe." "Is this everyone? Our numbers have grown so few..." "No more. I can't afford to lose any more of them." "No. Let them have fun. I'll be ruining it come morning anyway."

Mindfayer Colony:

Things he mumbles in the Pod:

The pod will show you his memories of Elturel:

After saving Zevlor, I forced myself to pick the "mean" options just to see how it goes.

If you tell him its his fault tieflings were imprisoned in moonrise, he says:

If you tell him "Do yo have a right to ask?" when he asks about the tieflings:

He doesn't argue with any of your remarks except one, when he says "For a moment I welcomed it" and you tell him "For a moment until you realized your reward would be a tadpole" he corrects you:

If you tell him if he wanted power he should live up to his own ideal:

If you tell him to get out of your sight:

When you tell him it's not his fault he was enthralled:

If you tell him "Fine. Good luck, Zevlor."

If you say you could use another blade in the fight to come:

At the Netherbrain:

(smiling <3)

"The journey has been brutal, but I stand here a Hellrider once more, and I would die a proud man if I died this day."

I know it's a Soldier thing to be proud to die for a cause but it still makes me worry for him given his background so far <:]

If you click on him, he has two unvoiced lines:

if you pickpocket him at this point, he'll have the same items on him as before (in this save he has a carrot instead of an apple for me).

His stats at this time: (Steeped in Bliss is from one of my items)

Post Game (Patch 5)

I don't know if there are other permutations of this letter, yet, but this is what I received:

I hope my penmanship has improved somewhat in the past months. When I first stumbled into this city, I shook so badly that I could scarcely hold the soup the priests pressed into my hands - let alone write and thank you as you deserve. It is only when the city itself began to shake that I felt my hands grow still. Along with the other veterans sheltering at the temple - discards of Elturel's 'unworthy' legions - I watched that monstrosity rise over the city. We felt no fear. Only anger. Disgust. Purpose - and with it, power. I do not know what oath we cling to now, or how long it will last - but we shall use it to ensure that this city will not suffer as Elturel did. Whether it wants us or not. It is more than thanks alone I owe. No words can make amends for what I did to my people, but that is as it should be. More come to the temple every day to aid in the relief efforts, and if I am permitted to work alongside them, then I am content. Come and see us, when you can. Zevlor

It's interesting — if not bitterswet, tragic, and inspiring — to hear that Zevlor and other Paladins regained their Oaths via pure, stubborn devotion to saving people when it began to look as bad as Elturel.

[buddie-buddie]

Bucktommy + “Go back to sleep.”

“Go back to sleep,” Tommy mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

Buck finishes tugging Tommy’s duvet up, tucking it beneath his chin and curling in on himself in an attempt to warm up. He doesn’t care if it makes him a blanket thief; he’s cold. Plus, Tommy is practically a human space heater. He’s laying beside Buck in nothing but his boxer briefs and looks perfectly content. Meanwhile, Buck’s in sweatpants and a hoodie and can’t seem to shake the chill that’s climbing up his spine and taking up residence deep in his bones.

He mumbles a sleepy apology, but if the way Tommy’s breathing has already evened out again is any indication, he doesn’t hear it.

Waking up next to Tommy is all of Buck’s wildest dreams come true. He loves waking up with the familiar, grounding weight of Tommy’s arm draped over him, loves the way Tommy tightens his grip as he feels Buck stir beneath him, how he mumbles a sleepy “Morning, baby,” into his hair as Buck slowly blinks his eyes awake.

Every day he wakes up next to Tommy is a dream, but days off are the best.

Days off are when Buck wakes up warm and cozy in a sun-drenched room, tucked against Tommy, their bodies curled around each other like a pair of parentheses. The warm, familiar rumble of Tommy’s early morning voice low in his ear, the brush of his lips against the shell of his ear, chased away by the slight burn from Tommy’s day-old stubble against his skin as he trails kisses down his cheek, across his jaw. For a few quiet moments, it’s just them. There are no alarms ringing, no fires to put out, no helicopters to fly, no nothing. There’s nothing but them. Nothing to do except just be.

The thought of this particular day off– this particular morning– was the thing Buck was most looking forward to all week. And it had been an epically awful week. It had been six days since the last time their days off had last lined up, and he’d been all but crawling out of his skin with his need to see his boyfriend outside of a quick FaceTime call between claxons ringing.

On top of that, the station’s A/C had been on the fritz and Chimney had been out sick with a flu he still insisted he didn’t have, both of which made shifts considerably less enjoyable. They’d had a few really tough calls, including an especially hard loss in the middle of the week that was still living behind Buck’s ribs and needling at his heart each time the air fell silent and his mind began to wander.

Their shared 48 off had been the light at the end of the tunnel. A very dark tunnel that was starting to feel less like a tunnel and more like an inescapable hole towards the end, but a tunnel nonetheless.

“Hot date?” Hen had teased him as he all but ran for the locker room the moment B shift started filtering in through the bay doors.

Buck thought about what was waiting for him. His sweet, beautiful boyfriend. His favorite pad thai takeout from the mom and pop place around the corner from Harbor. Sheets that smell like Tommy and a pair of reading glasses on the nightstand and two toothbrushes next to each other in the cup beside the sink.

“Yeah,” Buck grinned, dipping his chin as his cheeks flushed. “You could say that.”

The feeling of waking up beside Tommy is everything Buck always wanted and never let himself believe he could actually have. It’s better than anything he ever could’ve dreamed up. Even now, when he wakes up and it’s still pitch black outside, the only light in the room coming from the glow of Buck’s phone on the nightstand as he taps it awake to check the time. It’s not even four o’clock.

No wonder Tommy told him to go back to sleep.

They’ve barely been asleep for five hours, and after the week he’s had, Buck would like at least twice that before even considering getting out of bed. But he’s up now and he’s freezing. He flips over beneath Tommy’s arm, turning to face him and curling himself into Tommy’s side with a small, content sigh. He tucks his head beneath Tommy’s chin in a shameless attempt to leech his body heat.

Tommy murmurs something indecipherable in his sleep, one of his big, warm hands coming up to rest between Buck’s shoulder blades. His welcome touch is warm and familiar, instantly soothing. And yet, it does nothing to stop another shiver from running through Buck.

He closes his eyes, starting to drift back to sleep just as Tommy shifts beneath him.

“Evan,” Tommy says quietly, concern clinging to the word. “Baby, wake up.”

Buck blinks slowly, confused. “Y’just told me to go back to sleep.”

“You’re burning up,” Tommy says, his other hand coming up to feel Buck’s forehead. He makes a tsk sound under his breath. He tries to sit up, but Buck protests by way of a sleepy whine, holding onto Tommy even tighter.

“M’cold,” Buck mumbles against Tommy’s chest.

“C’mon,” Tommy says gently. “Let me up. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Buck is too tired to argue. Tommy extricates himself, and Buck can tell he tries his best not to disturb him too much as he does. True to his word, Tommy returns a moment later. He runs the thermometer over Buck’s forehead, and its rapid warning beeps are followed by a small displeased sigh.

“Fever?” Buck asks. Another shiver wracks through him, and he knows the answer.

Tommy’s hand is warm and solid as it rests on his cheek, his thumb stroking over Buck’s cheekbone in a soothing back and forth. “Yeah,” Tommy says. Buck can hear his frown. “Gonna give you some Tylenol.”

Buck lets Tommy help him sit up enough to bring the pills and a glass of water to his lips. He’s a little more awake now, enough to register the way that his head feels heavy and his eyes feel hot behind their lids. His arms and legs ache as he settles against the pillows, and he has a fleeting memory of Maddie saying that Chim’s flu started out with a high fever and body aches.

“Be right back,” Tommy promises.

And he is. He returns a moment later with another blanket, a heavy one. He covers Buck with it, tucking it beneath his chin and running a hand through his hair fondly before climbing back into bed beside him.

“No,” Buck protests. “I’ll get you sick.”

Tommy’s arms encircle him, pulling him in until they’re pressed up against each other. “Don’t care,” he says simply. “We’ve already been pretty close.”

Buck sighs against Tommy’s neck, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he remembers the very enthusiastic reacquainting that happened against the back of Tommy’s front door no more than a minute after Buck had come through it. Not to mention the hours they spent on the couch watching a movie after dinner, with Tommy’s arm around him and Buck’s head on Tommy’s shoulder. All of which was before they fell asleep practically plastered to one another.

Tommy does have a point.

But Buck felt fine going to bed, which means the fever must have spiked pretty recently, which means it could be early enough that Tommy could still save himself and—

“I can hear you overthinking.”

Buck frowns. “Am not.” And then a moment later, “I’ll go to the guest room.”

“No you won’t,” Tommy says simply. “There’s no blanket on the bed.”

“But you—”

Tommy silences him with a kiss to his forehead. “I am exactly where I want to be.”

Buck’s heart squeezes. A tiny, happy sigh falls from his lips. And for the first time since waking up, he feels warm all over.

prompt game

[chiwhorei]

Bésame

Miguel O’Hara x reader

Tags: 18+ ONLY mdni, College AU, roommates to lovers, tooth-rotting love for this man, pussy-devouring, fingering, squirting, I wrote this in one go so you get what ya get

Word count: 2.3k- written in one, prolonged blackout

Notes: I’m fucking back bitches. I missed you, I missed this. I hope I stick around this time. This was supposed to be a blurb about squirting but the melancholy romantic won again.

Cross-posted to Ao3!

There’s something about the smell of crisp summer morning, the feeling of gentle air, humidity whispering across your face. The inescapable heat of late July is hidden from the world in its earliest hours.

“Keep up Mamí, I’m not getting stuck in the rain because you’re daydreaming.”

You pick up the pace, jogging in quick steps to catch up to Miguel. He’s farther ahead than you realized, strong muscles and wispy brown hair outlined by dark storm clouds.

Your breath is heavy, rattling against your ribs while you match the canter of Miguel’s long stride. He’s never gone easy on you, but your labored breathing makes him ease up a bit.

“What’s got your attention this morning? Or were you admiring the view behind me?” Miguel reaches up to adjust the cloth headband keeping his hair out of his face. His arms look like they’re chiseled from marble, strong, tanned skin flexes under the cutoff he wears in some iteration every morning.

Your eyes glaze over, not realizing the intensity of your gawking until Miguel’s eyes find yours. The color is deeper than usual, darker and melting into the black of his pupil. You write it off as the gloomy weather above, but he licks his bottom lip before relinquishing your stare.

You forgot what he asked you, but he doesn’t press the subject any further. Out of character, but appreciated.

“What time is your last class over tonight?” He asks, you fix your eyes on a stop sign ahead to avoid getting lost in his stare again. You see him from the corner of your eye, the angle making it seem that his gaze is focused on the bounce of your chest.

It’s just the angle, you sound even less convincing in your own head.

“Uh- well it’s Monday, so I have lab until 4:30.” You groan out the last part, ruminating on the long day ahead of you.

“My evening class got canceled for today, so I can take care of dinner tonight.”

You hum at him, his offer settles against your shoulders like honey. Something to look forward to at the end of a long day.

Sometimes he almost feels real.

He folded you into his life like melted chocolate. An easy, peaceful affection towards you since you moved in all those months ago. An offer to join his morning runs, filling a thermos of coffee for you to grab before leaving the apartment, coming home to dinner with that casual dismissal that makes your head spin.

“It’s no problem, mamí, that’s what roommates are for.” He’s always been so plain and earnest, smoothing over any objections with a sugary term of endearment and those big brown eyes.

Your heart aches so deeply when you forget that he’s just your roommate. Stabbing and twisting in your breastbone when you think about how much effort he must put in with dates.

You stop abruptly, feet cemented to the sidewalk and chest heaving rapidly. Miguel slows to a stop when he notices you missing from his side.

“Hey, don’t tell me you’re quitting, we’re two blocks from the apartment.” His voice is light, but his eyes fall from amusement to concern when he sees how hard your breath falls from your lungs.

“Whoa, what’s wrong, are you feeling okay?” He paces towards you and another deep inhale fills your senses with his musky scent instead of the rainy morning air you desperately need.

“I- I’m fine,” you struggle against the words, lifting your gaze to see Miguel’s sweat-slicked curls flop against his forehead.

You blame the early hour, or light-headedness, or a moment of delirium as your hand comes up to tuck the stray hair back under his headband.

“You’re so beautiful, Miguel.”

Your words tumble out, breaching the filter in the back of your mouth that keeps you from saying stupid shit to the man you’re stuck in a lease with.

Miguel’s breath hitches, concern falling away and filling its place with an unreadable expression. His eyes pace between your pupils, freezing the blood flowing under your skin. Why does his proximity make you act like a love-sick puppy? The frustration wells up, lining your tear ducts.

“That- I- I’m sorry.” You return his look with an awkward laugh, coughing around the lump in your throat.

Your body moves on autopilot, sidestepping his frame to make a run for it, but Miguel circles your wrist with a large palm. His skin is callused and warm as he pulls you to stand in front of him once again.

He holds you in his stare, burning eyes and the light grip of your wrist is more than enough to keep you in place.

There’s nothing more you can do but stutter around your tattered pride. Racking against your brain to find an excuse for your weird behavior. A possession? A moment of psychosis? You’ll call a priest later, but you first need to get away from Miguel and the sweet smell of cologne and sweat so you can think clearly again.

“Mi hermosa,” your balance is kicked out from under you as he holds both wrists against his chest.

Miguel’s lips dip down to you, you can almost taste his cherry chapstick as he traces his words above your mouth. You feel the first drops of rain as they hit Miguel’s cheek and bounce off your nose. Before you can taste that distinct cherry flavor, the angry crack of thunder pulls your bones from your skin.

“We need to get home,” you see a flash of lightning as it reflects in Miguel’s eyes, it splits the clouds and opens up a swollen reservoir- rain pounding down on the two of you, “we’re getting soaked Mig-“

“Say the word, Mamí,” He interrupts you, barely fazed by the storm that was ripped from your soul and clawed itself into the sky, “Tell me to fuck off and I’ll never try this again.”

Miguel drops his grip on your wrists, moving those eclipsing palms to the juncture of your neck. His lips beg for your touch once again and for the millionth time.

“Bésame.” Your accent is rigid and unpracticed, remedial at best but music to Miguel’s ears. His mouth meets yours in a wide smile, fingers finding purchase on either side of your neck.

His kiss is dripping and desperate, if you’re not careful you could drown right here and sink into the concrete.

All of the times you’ve imagined this moment are nothing compared to the real thing. He’s aggressive and hungry, licking into your mouth and vibrating your tongue with a growl.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Miguel bites at your lip before pulling away, his face is obscured in the pouring rain, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

How wrong he is, you think.

Miguel pulled you through the threshold of your shared apartment as soon as the door was unlocked, the only sense he has left is depleted- used up from keeping his composure while you fumble with your keys. His strong, broad arms circling around your waist to tug you ever closer, keeping your mouth open and whining against his.

Your feet lift from the carpet as Miguel lifts you up with the same effort as a paperweight. The feeling of his hands settling on your ass is the last pull against your unwinding composure. You’re legs wrap around his middle and you grind down hard against his abdomen.

“Fuck, I can feel your pussy through your leggings.” His words make you dizzy, grinding against him with a brainless rhythm.

“We don’t have to,” his lips trace down your neck between each word, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

The sincerity in his eyes hits you squarely in the chest and moving across your skin like fever.

“Miggy, I need you. Please, anything you give me- I’ll take it.”

Your even tone shocks the both of you, the most confident you’ve sounded all morning.

“Fuck, I almost want to make you regret those words.” His teeth graze the tender spot under your chin.

“But the first thing I want is a taste of that sweet little cunt.” You’re sure your knees would buckle if Miguel wasn’t holding you, the rough tambor of his voice will be the death of you- you’ll take your chances.

Miguel carries you past the small kitchen and living area, you don’t notice where he’s sat you until he pulls his lips away from yours.

His room smells like fresh laundry and pine, the bedspread he’s set you on is tucked neatly on either side and soft under your touch. You’ve sat in this exact spot plenty of times, to study into the late night, to watch reruns of your favorite show on lazy Sunday afternoons- but never like this.

Miguel pushes you lightly so your back hits the mattress, he spreads your legs apart at the knee and you feel the tight fabric of your leggings as it shifts against your pussy.

Your running set is tight against your skin, sweat and rain covering your trembling body so that every inch is sticky and damp.

Miguel’s pointer and middle finger rub against your pussy, memorizing the outline of your plush lips under thin nylon. He’ll tuck the image into the back of his mind in case he needs it later.

“Mmm, no panties this morning,” he muses, pressing his thumb against your clit.

Miguel pulls at the fabric on your pussy, letting it snap back against your skin, you can feel the tight material drenched from your aching pussy. You want to tell him that you can hardly take this teasing, but all that comes out is a wobbly string of please, please, please.

“Don’t worry, Mamí, I’m gonna take care of you.” Your thoughts don’t catch up to him until the chill of open air hits your bare cunt. Your soaked leggings are tossed to the corner of his almost clinically clean room.

Miguel takes a moment to marvel at the sopping wet pussy he’s got trapped against his mattress.

“Que maravilla,” he kisses his words flatly against your puffy lips before coaxing them open with his nose. His face is covered in you already, glistening across his lips and chin. But it’s not enough, it won’t be enough until you drown him.

His tongue laps at you like you’re what’s keeping him alive. He kisses with his mouth open, collecting your offering to him and drinking it down with every flat lashing of his tongue.

You taste tangy and sweet, a heady mix of sweat and pheromones that pulls him in ever closer. Desperate to drink his fill of you. Every long swipe at your sloppy hole is dotted with a kiss, every inch of skin is electric- zapping against your clit with every measured nip.

Miguel’s fingers find their way to rest against your pussy, pushing in gently when he’s satisfied with how well his tongue worked you open.

Once the digits are wettened, Miguel pushes two in to the first knuckle. He groans at the feeling of how welcoming your pussy is, how responsive you are to his touch.

He licks his praises against your soft skin as your muscles relax around the thick intrusion. His vision fuzzy at the edges thinking about how you’ll take his cock. The thought is pushed back for now, lingering on it could break you when he’s just gotten started.

Your hips rock down against him, catching your clit with his wide palm.

Your whimpering emboldens him, cock weeping in the waistband of his shorts. He’s harder than he’s ever been, the frustrating ache in his balls is poured right into the quickening pace of his fingers. He needs you to break- crumble into pieces so he can put them back together.

“Miguel, fuck, I need- you need to slow down or I’m gonna“

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, Miguel is hypnotized at the sight of your pussy spilling over against him. He doesn’t relent even as you cry out and shake under him. He doesn’t miss a beat as your pussy squelches, clear liquid splashing against his chest.

“Oh fuck, you didn’t mention you’re a squirter.” His pace is torturous, pumping against that spot deep inside you that turns you into a puddle.

Once his other hand comes down to circle your clit, you know that you’re done for. The fear of letting loose like this is something that holds your rigid body from completely letting go. No one’s ever pulled you from that damn before, but Miguel has torn it down completely.

“Let go for me, Mamí, need to feel you cum against my fingers, need to see you squirt for me again.” The words drip from his mouth like hot syrup and coat your stiff muscles.

He pulls more out of you with each pump of those skilled fingers, more than you ever thought you had in you, more than you could imagine.

You cry as you cum, tears spilling over your cheeks in fat streams. The feelings you’ve kept inside for Miguel, the schoolgirl crush, the craving, the primal need all splashes against the both of you with the telltale spasm of your cunt against his fingers.

Your mind feels like it’s been dipped in wax, dripping from it’s fixed position to coat your shoulders. He makes quick work of tugging you back down to earth, lying next to your limp body with an anchoring hand on your stomach. He coos you, whispering praise into your hairline.

The sun peeks through Miguel’s window, clouds moving on to the next town and leaving the still early morning to brighten up the sky. Your face feels hot in realization.

You’ve got a long day ahead of you.

* * *

All work is mine blah blah I don’t wanna go find my old copyright thing but I’ll piss in your water supply if you steal this.

[cherryspicest]

A better one

I'm here for you part 2 NMIXX Seol-Yoona x Male Reader 7k words

It's been months since I've written again and I had this perfect month to finish this. Sorry for the hiatus T-T

Everything felt like a dream, an inescapable thought, one that would be hard to forget. You cleaned as you shut the door, sweeped a few crumbs with a small pink towel. After placing the last washed dish on the tray, your phone vibrated, a notification popping up as the screen lit, then looking at it was your girlfriend’s message, apologizing for not visiting tonight. Your frustration seemed to lessen down, but it was still there. You decided not to reply and went straight to your room, laying down on the bed. Wonyoung’s kiss felt like it would change it all. The amount of thoughts consumed your mind, and you slowly drifted to sleep. 

You woke up feeling refreshed, blanket almost covering you up like a pharaoh mummy buried for millennia. Headache, you feared having it every time you slept stressed. You stood up and there was none, luckily. The clock showed 8:30; 15 mins before your Science class, and it made you pack your things right away, then rush upstairs to grab your towel to shower. 

Afterwards, you decided to walk your way to school.

The sun’s heat didn’t bother you, the sunlight did. Leaves scattered on the ground moved by the wind’s direction. People walked on the opposite side, but you took the other way for the trees that would cover you from the rays. 

At school, you saw red bandanas hanging on the entrance gate, then to the main corridor, with the school’s name spelled on giant letter stickers with red borders in each. Students stood left and right, having interactions, some had their own task for their school though the council don’t even seem to appreciate it .

You entered the classroom and sat beside Jun, and he gave you a wink. The professor was at his table with a book in his hand and a ballpen tucked between his index finger and middle. A presentation slide was displayed on the TV; talking about what and how’s on Tsunamis.

After the lunch bell rang, your classmates quickly headed outside. You waited for your friends by the entrance door. Others carried lunchboxes, while Jun normally had a wallet in his hand. Along the way you asked him about the situation around, and he called you dumb for being clueless about the inter-school sports competition. Arriving, you saw the canteen crowded. Your friend spotted an empty table at the corner of most of the place with trays and empty chip bags over it. Two tables away from the right sat ladies in white sports jackets, red curves and black stripes in sleeves. One of them looked familiar. 

“Watch your eyes, you wouldn’t want to argue with your girlfriend in this place.” Minho places his lunchbox, opens it, then brings out utensils from the bag. 

“Not really, I’m just wondering what school they are from.” 

“Yonsei, don’t you know?”

You looked at him quickly. Did you hear it right? You thought that you’ve misheard it, but right as he repeated his answer, you’ve been reassured. They are from Yonsei University; the school where Wonyoung currently studies. 

“You alright? Did I say something?”

“No, nothing. I just wondered how we end up fighting against a high class university.” You forced a smile. 

“Ask your hot girlfriend. You know, some girls are blessed with such skills. Should be glad about it.”

Your friends arrived together, holding their bought lunches as they placed it on the table. They wore smiles, out of randomness, they might have stumbled upon something. Your circle’s humor is broken. Sometimes you felt that someone in your classroom was annoyed by your group’s humor. 

“How was your Christmas fam.” Jun wraps his arm around your shoulder, then takes a spoonful bite of rice on his other hand. 

“Sucks.”

“Got sucked or . . “

“No shit for that dirty humor.”

“Just kidding, why the long face though.”

“They must’ve fought,” Minho answered, mouth full. You kept your mouth shut and you knew they would understand, especially Jun.

“So are we guessing the reason for it?” Jun raises a brow.

“She didn’t visit me yesterday. She didn’t even tell me she’s going to drink all night with her friends. I’m not gatekeeping her with all such actions but, isn’t a simple thing to do to update me at least?”

You noticed your friends glanced at each other. Minho paused from taking another spoonful bite of his tonkatsu and placed down his spoon. 

“You both talked about it already?” Jun asked.

“I’m not in the mood to talk to her today.”

“Doesn’t give you a reason though to look up at other girls because of that.” Minho interrupted. Jun nudged you hard in the shoulder

“Yah? I know those Yonsei bitches are a bunch of hot daddy’s daughters. But you know we don’t tolerate cheating, right?”

“I’m not someone who’d do such a thing. I love Sullyoon, alright? It’s just that I'm disappointed.”

“The consequences as well. Sullyoon is hella popular around here in the campus, you should know your decisions. Just talk about it, can you both?” Jun placed taps on your back, and you nodded. 

“We would.” You sighed. You knew how lucky you were to be in a relationship with Sullyoon, everybody does. Not only because she’s pretty, Sullyoon achieves high in classes and you were inspired to be one as well. Through countless arguments between you and her, it got resolved no matter what, but this time you found it worse. 

You snapped off upon the crash sound of a bowl. Minho had accidentally spilled his soup, scattering liquids on the cold floor. Some turned to look at him, and one of them was the Yonsei girls on your right. You made eye contact with one of them, staring for countful seconds, you felt you met her for some time yet you don’t remember. Her hair was curly, eyes almost identical with puppies. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, then slowly a light smile appeared on her lips.

Your friends watched the woman approach your table. They looked fascinated, then nervous. 

“Y/n?”

“Yujin?”

“Gosh,  I missed you.” She sat on your right despite the little space, and you were forced to move left. She was close, you didn’t care. 

“I missed you too, sunbaenim.”

“Yah, I told you to stop calling me that. Just because I scolded you back when you were noisy as hell does mean you’d make me look already.” Yujin pushed your shoulder. You felt relieved to meet your old friend. She never failed to keep her matured beauty. “I didn’t know you transferred to this . . . school?” Her eyes wandered around the place between words.

“Not everybody is blessed to stay in Yonsei like you.”

She clucked her tongue, pouting. “If only I had enough money to help you return to us, I did already. Bunch of normies around our floor, I hate seeing them.”

“How’s your thing with Junho?” You giggled. 

“Ew?

“Keep ewing, some day you’d fall back at him as well.”

“Stinky ass basketball players.”

“So you’re calling me stinky?”

“You play basket?” Jun interrupts in a polite way. 

“Yeah, you guys don’t know?” Yujin answers, glancing at you confused. “Your friend never told you he used to break legs at our school?”

“Nah, that’s too much.” You sigh and shake your head.

“Hey? Why not tell shit, huh?” Jun nudged you hard once again. He complained why you had to keep it from them, even Minho. You wanted to be an academic student instead. Being popular used to be your dream goal in a campus, but you failed countless times until the last year of senior high, which is the year where you closed with Yujin and her old friends.

 Yujin asked about your participation in the inter school basketball tournament, and the answer was obviously no. Disappointed, but as if she could do anything to change your decision.

“This is Jun, Minho, Lei and Jian.” Each of your friends wave as you introduce their names to Yujin. 

“Oh wait, I’ll introduce my friends as well to everyone.” She called her friends on the other table, gesturing to come as the girls glanced at each other, seemingly lazy, but shortly they stood altogether. You felt a little excitement, new friends maybe? But not until you saw one of them familiar faces, making your heart race. You never expected Wonyoung to be with them.

“Shit, they’re attractive.” Jun mumbled. Soon as they stood beside Yujin, you looked back to your front, at Minho. 

“So this is Rei.” She gestured her hand to the pink haired girl. “Leeseo.” to the ponytailed woman. “Gaeul.” to the short haired girl sucking the lollipop on her hand. “Liz,” to the long haired girl who seemed to love bangs.  “And lastly, Wonyoung.”  Her hair was curly, and last night it wasn’t. With specs atop her hair, you still felt her rich vibe with any outfit she wore. 

You met her eyes, locking for several seconds before you decided to end it. You can’t see her the same anymore. 

“They looked more normies than what we have back in the campus.” Gaeul chuckled.

“Yah? What’s this woman pointing out?” Jun pointed his finger at her, glancing at each of you. “As if the boys in your campus could last in a fist fight, huh?”

“Tryhard bad boys huh?” Liz scoffs. 

“Yujin, these are your friends?” You whisper to her, and she giggles, pushing your thigh.

“Well, Minju, Yena, Chaewon and the others transferred schools. We Wonyoung were the only ones left in Yonsei.”

“Never expected you to obtain such a daddy's girl attitude ass type friends.” 

Yujin giggled, she knew you hit the spot and she seemed to agree. 

***

The beef between your friends and Yujin’s team took a little while, and it stopped until you decided to take Yujin for a treat around the canteen. You never worried about running out of money because you had savings, hidden under the closet, and stupidly getting asked why not put it into the bank instead.

“You and Wonyoung still talk right?” Yujin presses the straw over the shake. 

“Of course.” It took you several seconds to answer. 

“Why didn't you seem to acknowledge each other awhile ago?”

“Are we supposed to pounce on each other when meeting?” 

“Not really, it’s just not normal. Tell me, you fought?”

“Of course, no.”

She presses her shake on your arm and you flinch on how freezing it was. 

“Gonna tell me or what? I knew you sucked on making lies and excuses. Come on, we’ve opened up to each other countless times.”

You sighed heavily, and guided her to the wall railing where the other blocks could be seen. You leaned yourselves on the bar, facing each other.

“She kissed me last night.” 

Yujin choked suddenly, intentional or not, her expression was valid. She then slowly covered her mouth with her fingers.

“Wony? Why? Like she knows you’re in a relationship right? Is she out of her mind?”

“She knows. She told me she kept her feelings for years.”

“So she was not certain about your platonic friendship?”

“Perhaps. I don’t know, I don’t see her the same anymore. I’m very confused right now. I just want to tuck myself inside somewhere that no one could ever find me anymore.

A sigh escaped her mouth. After then she reached her drink at you, asking you to take a sip. It was random. Despite your rejects she kept insisting and you were left no choice to take one. The shake was sweet, melon in flavor and the bits of crushed ice filled in your tongue. 

“I’ve heard that iconic quote from you again.” She grinned and turned to look at the outside view while she combed her hair down with her fingers. “I don’t know, she never opened up to me about it. Though you should talk about it together, but of course not today or here, you might not want your girlfriend to scandalize around the campus.” She glanced at you with a smirk, then shortly her eyes traveled behind you. Her smile slowly dropped.  “And there she goes.”

You felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist. It was soft at first, then tightened a little once it had fully wrapped you. 

“Hey baby.” You hear that usual voice, sweetness with bitterness. The Jasmine scent of her hair soothed; she’d always have that. “Never thought you could talk to outsiders these days.”

You noticed Yujin's little scoff. Sullyoon’s team came together, the Crows, and they stood behind your girlfriend. 

“She’s my old friend from Yonsei, when I used to study there. Her name is Yujin by the way.”

Sullyoon gave her a light smile, and it was enough for you to take that, though you felt it’s a forced one. Yujin gave a light bow in response. You saw Yujin’s team approaching from the distance, walking altogether, their eyes fixed at you and to the Crows. Their faces fearless as they stood behind Yujin, the sense of indirect heat up between the opposing teams. You switched your eyes at your best friend standing behind Liz, and she quickly looked away. 

“Come on, it’s time for practice.” Rei started off. Her eyes traveled between Crow’s members, passively yet aggressive. It must be her natural eye shape. 

“Yeah, I’m going off anyways.” A light smile forms in Yujin’s lips, keeping eyes at you, then bows lightly. “Nice meeting you once again, Y/n.” 

You expected things to go worse, but it turned out not. You’ve known Yujin to act non-passive, she’d always be. Despite her approachable, cool vibe boys would feel comfortable to talk to, she’d be completely opposite. There were reasons, and she told you about it and you felt lucky to get close with someone like her.  The Yonsei girls walked away altogether, turning backs at the same time. You knew they’d talk about it when some of them surrounded Yujin. 

You didn’t know what to do. Yujin and her friends disappeared on your sight when they steered left. The skies dimmed and became cooler when the sun got covered by the thick clouds left and right. There was a sense of heaviness in your chest that wouldn’t just disappear quickly. Sullyoon kept herself beside you while she nodded at her friends, signaling they could walk away. You were hesitant to face, not because you are scared, but because your emotions are still mixed after last night, and what she had left you in. Then when you managed to gather yourself up to face your girlfriend,  her eyes were fixed at you, crossed arms, but in a way she’d let you know she was pissed. 

“Let’s not argue for now.” You started calmly. 

“You’re deciding things between us now?”

“It’s your game day, I don’t want . . . “

“I don’t care Y/n.” She interrupted. “See, you’ve clearly left me in inbox this morning, then seen last night, and this is what I’m going to see?”

You didn’t answer. It was not the sense of being cornered, but in a way you were holding yourself in with your thoughts and words. In few hours, your girlfriend will play carrying the university’s name, and you don't want to be the reason for her downfall.

“I don’t understand Y/n. Sometimes, you’re just ridiculous. I don’t know what to say anymore.” 

You pulled her wrist when she began to walk away, but she shook it off, not bothering to look at you nor give a glance. The struggle to speak, and as you watched her walk out, your feelings got mixed out even more that not even anyone could describe. You kept your composure and watched her follow the team downstairs. 

You didn’t know what to do anymore. 

Few hours later you returned to the classroom, your friends headed first and you saw them in the back row, a chip bag tucked between Minho’s thighs. They would always reserve an empty seat for you. Throughout the class, you felt dumber, maybe because you were stressed, or the short argument between your girlfriend. Jun noticed your sudden quietness. He asked you in a manner the professor wouldn't notice, whispering, but useless when you shook your head as an answer. 

Exactly the start of your girlfriend’s game matched the subject’s wrapping up, and you headed to the gymnasium with your friends, then met three adults outside the entrance door. You’ve thought worse, but it was only a security check, always in every event. Patting each of your clothes, shortly they let you all in. You saw how crowded it was inside, every section almost filled in but there were empty ones around the middle lower area. Red bandanas knotted on each railing ends above, hanging freely as it swayed with the wind  Minho found empty seats on the upper right most section. He asked all of you to sit with him and nobody contested. He bragged how he could pick such good spots and you told him how good the spot is sarcastically. The view felt a kilometer away from the court like it was some Taylor Swift concert. 

The crowd erupted in cheers. You looked over and saw each team appear from different directions. Your school’s team from the left, and Yonsei on the right, near the fire exit. The fans on the right ride waved their balloons colored in blue. They were the Yonsei, and they never left that color. Your school chose the contradicting color, red, just how much you’ve seen that color fill the whole corridor downstairs.

Few minutes long, the game had started. Each student in their own schools chanted their school’s pride along their aggressive wavings of their balloon. Shouts echoing through walls. It was really like a concert. You looked at your friends to see them busy with their phones, and only stopped when they noticed you. You didn’t really care, it was just confusing why they had to stop. 

You could recognize your girlfriend despite the distance from your seat. She is tall, everyone knows that, but you had a certain way of recognizing her: her alluring thighs. Her curvature is just unique, and most of all her pretty face. 

She had thrown good serves and spikes throughout the rounds. Shouts from men seemed more audible, maybe the ones beside their benches where they left their things. It was louder when it’s your girlfriend’s play. Mark beside you never focused on the game, showing you some Instagram reels on his phone that he found hilarious. His humor was broken, but then everyone in the circle understood that.

After several rounds, Yonsei students' chants began to fade but the school’s students. On the digital clock, right in the middle of the net pole, your school had an advantage of four points from your old school. You could see how Yonsei pushed more with their style. Liz managed to give a clean set to your best friend, Wonyoung, and managed to spike the ball hard on the school side. A quick high five on Yonsei’s team then got back to their positions right away. After the whistle blew from the referee, a clean rally was made again. Pass there, pass that, throw, and receive, that’s the flow. When Jinsol spiked the ball, the short-haired girl from Yonsei managed to save it. It was Gaeul if you remember. The ball was a float receive, where Yujin took the shot from the utility position and spiked the ball right beside your girlfriend. You saw Sullyoon shake her head and give a quick side-eye to her. It was funny. Sometimes she’d show her arrogant side, but very rarely. 

Few rounds both schools were tied in points, and once they made another point, then it’s their win. Sullyoon served and was received by Gaeul. Yujin’s team started aggressive. A minus tempo set from the middle by Liz and spiked by Wonyoung, but was received by Haewon from the back. Jiwoo set the ball to Sullyoon on the outside then gave her a good position to spike, but then it was received by Leeseo. The screams from both schools loudened. Balloons waved aggressively. Some began to chant their team’s name, and your friends were focused on the rally. 

As the ball floated on Yonsei’s side, Yujin tried another attack to the opposite side, and Jinsol blocked it, but then was saved by Rei from the left. Given another chance to correct their mistake, Liz sets the ball to Wonyoung. She was open, it was a clear shot for Wonyoung. It felt like the world slowed down and one shot would end the school’s journey to the trophy. The sense of joy was within, it’s your best friend anyways, but it’d be worse to hear the school’s loss.

When she landed a hard slap on the ball, your girlfriend had a lucky timing when she raised both arms sideways at Wonyoung, and as the ball bounced off her arms, it fell down sideways and met Yujin’s court side. Your school’s students erupted in cheers and screams while the Yonsei students died down, but some were still waving their balloons. Your friends cheered. Jun stood up with both arms lifted, and sat down quickly when you and your friends looked at him. Everything was chaotic, the loudness around the court got into you, and it was a sort of memorable experience. A cat walked past when you got outside. Yonsei students made their way towards the shuttle parked outside the large fences. Some wore long faces, some did not, just normal though the bitchiness could be seen. The sun had set down through flat grayish clouds in the distance as if it was peeking at the school. 

You cradled the black furry cat. You were bored, still clueless about what just happened back inside. 

“So, why alone all of a sudden?” Yujin walked from behind, standing beside you as she caressed the cat. 

“Oh, hey.” You smiled, her presence always made you feel relieved. She tilted her head waiting for your answer. “Is it wrong if I Am?”

“It is, and you’re not with your girlfriend right now. Your school won, aren’t you happy with it?” Then she pointed her finger at you, a smirk forming on her lips. “Or you really are, you still support your old school huh?”

“Old school still hits differently.”

“Come on now, support your girlfriend back there.” She nudged your arm. “I’m saving you from your two sided girlfriend. She thought I wouldn’t notice that side-eye she gave me huh.” She giggled and came closer to your ear. “They’re just lucky Gaeul had a fever.” “She had?” “Yeah, but she wanted to play as well. There’s no other better liberos out there than her.” She sighs and looks in the same direction where you are looking. “Well it’s fine, I don’t really care that much. When we first met, I was already playing. I’m tired as fuck I wanna quit, but I wouldn’t want to be replaced by someone stupid as well.” She smiles. “Come on, go inside. We’ll see each other again soon, don't worry.”

You opened your arms, wanting a hug. She faced you with crossed arms and scanned you from toes to your eyes, then grins. She placed her hand between your chest and placed a few taps. It was soft, her hands. 

“You want your girlfriend to kill us both? Well I don’t mind, it’s just you that I’m thinking.” She gently pushed you away. “I’ll return that when you visit Yonsei again. It’ll be more than just a hug if you do.” 

“Like?”

“Of course it’s a secret boy” Her voice disappointed. “Go to our school then you’ll see.”

You shake your head while she keeps that mocking look at you. It sounded wrong, or it was just you. Being green minded has always been inside anyone’s head, so it’s normal, but perhaps you assumed too much. 

***

Back inside, it was messy. Confettis and long red ribbons scattered on the floor, then swept away as you walked through. There were still students around, but most were schoolmates. Yonsei had mostly left together with Yujin’s team. Everything smelled confusing like a group of crowds in the city market. 

You stumbled upon Jinsol before you could reach the gym door. She told you Sullyoon was left back inside, probably waiting for you. She never looked mad or disappointed, she never was, and even placed a ‘bro’ tap on your back before you would have pushed the door open. 

The door clanked closed and it echoed throughout the court. You spotted your girlfriend as she exited the locker room, carrying her duffel bag. She still wore her red varsity shirt and black shorts, kneepads on her knees. Her black hair is loose. There was silence between you two, around five to six seconds, before you ended it with clearing your throat. 

“Congrats, babe. I watched everything, you did great.” You began, hesitation in your tone. 

Her face stayed emotionless, not a single inch of movement from her lips. She kept her gaze and you felt her hatred behind those eyes. She’d always give those whenever she’s mad and you were used to it, but doesn’t fail to give you discomfort at the same time. 

“I mean I know you’re not in your mood to see me right now, but I just want to congratulate you as your boyfriend, and someone who’d stay by your side even in the worst times” You swallowed the lump in your throat, and after another silence came through you started to walk away. 

“So you’re leaving?” She finally spoke, but in a plain tone. You stopped and turned at her. “Is that a boyfriend act?”

“No, of course. I . . I”

“Hesitant? Same reason all over again because you’re scared to talk to me right in my face when these matters come.” 

“I just don’t wanna ruin your day. Today is your win day.” “You step out that door” She points her finger. “And leave me hanging all alone, you think that will not ruin it as well, Y/n?”

You felt exhausted with everything, and it’s just that a simple hug would clearly end this all right away. You were not in your mood to argue, to open up your hatred about Christmas day, and you just want to rest. You let out a deep sigh and walked towards her. The shoes of yours squeaking against the court floor.

“Look, I'm sorry. My emotions consumed me when you ghosted my texts the whole night during christmas. I really hated when I saw you post pics on your story while you left my messages hanging throughout your party. I’m overthinking, and worried. You know that?” You spoke calmly. She crossed her arms, tilting her head.

“You don’t trust me don’t you?” 

“It’s not like that, Yoona. Is it bad for me to feel that way, I’m just worried.”

“Yeah you’re worried, because you don’t trust me. That’s it. We’ve been together for a year and a half already, babe. If I’m that of a cheater like all the other girls you see around this campus, you think we’ll last this long? I chose you because I know I could trust you, and I thought you’d do the same. It’s always you who’s trying to make things worse.”

“I do trust you, okay?” You sighed and groaned. “Alright, I’m sorry. I told you. My emotions consumed me.”

"And what now? You think your sorry could do something on that pain you gave to me? Always the same usual word I'll receive and then guess what, you'd do it again."

"It's my fucking emotions that made me do it. I was out of my mind, I was angry."

"It's not a valid reason for me Y/n. What if you've done something worse than this? Tell me. I'm trying to be understanding most of the time. Why do you have to abuse it?"

There was silence. It was hard to form up such word or thought, and it was better to shut your mouth than feed the fire with more gasoline. She'd always turn the tables and make you the worse one between you couple. She never failed, but you who's a stupid, would let her do it over and over again.

She kept her gaze still, keeping her arms crossed. You could hear her breaths fasten. The silence seemed to calm the situation as it got longer. There were no other people around rather than both of you, so no matter if you both shouted at each other, no one would care. 

“I don’t want our day to be like this, Y/n.” She looked up at you, her tone calmer. Her eyes were still disappointed but she tried her best to look welcoming after. Then she removed her gaze at you and moved it somewhere behind your direction. “So, I’ll let this slide for now. I just want the day great.”

Your light nods made her look back at you. 

“Go get my stuff I left there inside the locker room. That’s the thing you can do for me, for now.”

So you followed. Inside, there were her bags over the bench in the middle of their room. The room smelled Jasmine and a mix of Lavender. The blue tinted glass pane colored the lights outside blue with a hint of ray passing through the glass, down to the floor. As you carried her items, you saw Sullyoon at the door. It was closed, then a clunking sound. She kept her gaze at you while leaning, her hands behind her waist, her foot resting against the door.

“I found it, let’s go?” You smiled and there was still silence. She pushed herself with her foot and began to walk slowly towards you. You kept your composure, watched her image get closer and closer. It was dim. She had not opened the lights but her presence was not impossible for you to see. She pushed the bags over your arms away and you watched it fall on the ground. Her eyes, those alluring eyes, were still chained on yours. You were confused. You began to step backwards while asking her sudden actions, but not a single answer escaped her lips. And when you met the wall behind you, she tilted her head and grasped your right wrist, pushing it against the wall.

Then she leaned for a kiss, capturing your lips quickly. It begins soft, just touching your lips, then slowly she starts to suck into your upper lip. You raised your left arm and wanted to touch her shoulder, but she moved it away, slapping your hand. She pulled away when she grabbed your other wrist. Her eyes filled with hatred, and she gave those to you. Your both arms are both pinned against the wall. 

“Don’t touch me.” She said softly in a warning tone.

“Yoona, here?”

She narrowed her eyes, your question seemed to annoy her more. “You are worried if someone’s gonna catch us here, fucking your loved one inside this dark room. But you never thought of getting worried on how I may feel with all these shitty actions you’re doing nowadays, huh? Isn’t that unfair?” She pressed her body more into you. It was getting more uncomfortable, but sort of hot at the same time. Her breaths warm on your neck. “So I’m here . .” Every phrase, she kisses and slides her lips onto your neck. “To remind you . . . that cheating on me . . . is your loss . . .” She bites your neck and you let out a soft groan. “ and not mine . . .”

She captured your lips once again and this time it was aggressive. You returned the favor, kissing and sucking into her lower lips that felt very soft. She wrapped her arms around your neck. Her strength enough to pull you even for a deeper kiss that your lips were shoving into each other. She let out soft moans between kisses. You felt her tongue asking for entrance and you welcomed it inside yours

Her hands finally freed your wrists, now below your shirt as she pulled it out from you, leaving you shirtless. She continued to place kisses on your necks, and once she gave a hickey on a spot where it’s impossible to be hidden, just a centimeter between your chin, then she came closer to your ear. “And this will be a reminder to your Yonsei friends.” She whispers. 

She made her way down to your chest, sucking into your nipples. You felt like you were in heaven, quite painful, but seeing her hot face devouring you like her post-celebration meal was enough to take those pain away. Her sports shirt, shorts that exposed her thick thigh, she was the definition of seduction. After her works around your chest and into your abs, she finally knelt down. She looked up at you with full desire and lust. Her quickening breaths showed how much energy she had put with those. 

Her hands made their way into your belt, unbuckling it, and there was the click of the lock. She bit her lip when it came loose. She threw it away and pulled your pants down. The bulge of your dick on your black underwear greeted her like a toy that is ready to be played with. 

You felt her hand on your arm, wrapping her fingers, then pulled you to sit on the bench . The blue light ray from the glass pane shining on both of you is enough for her to enjoy the sight even more. She traced circles around your bulge with her fingers, slowly and sensual. Oh you say, it felt like a sort of heavenly trial that is impossible to resist, and when that index finger reached the tip you knew it was the time to succumb upon her. A soft moan escaped her mouth; you felt it hot over your abdomen. Then when she pulled down your underwear quickly, your dick sprang out to show how it’s ready to be served to her. “Quite a long time.” She hummed, enjoying the view in her eyes. And when she wrapped her fingers around it, she began to take you into her mouth, sending shivers to your body. Your hand resting against the bench and your other on her nape. Cold never existed around the room. Every second you’d feel a sweat trick down your body, and thus it easen her job right now. She takes you even deeper into her mouth, pushing herself more down to your cock. You could hear her choke between, but you ignored. It feels more satisfying. You were enjoying every second that she gave to you.  She pulled away and took a quick deep breath. Her eyes tired, but yet the signs of lust. Her hair messy, and a slick of her saliva on her mouth. She bit her lip, continued to take herself more into your cock but this time she went faster. Now it was a different feeling, a sense of rush and it brings you closer to your climax. Seeing her like this was enough to make you finish, but you didn’t want to disappoint your girlfriend, and you know you owe her a lot after all.

Your breath quickened, you were getting very close. And as she watched you, seeing her work at you, she went faster and faster. One last second she pushed herself deeper more into your cock and heard her gurgle. All of today’s argument, stress, and adrenaline finally came into a thick white semen into your girlfriend’s needy throat. She had to make sure it all went straight into her, nothing to waste, nothing to leave a mark of her dirty work. The light outside finally dimmed and it was the sign of night. You let out a deep breath, trying to catch your breath after all. You thought it was done, just a simple quickie she’d always wanted every time, but when she stood up with her eyes not leaving against yours, and leaned closer into you with her fingers grabbing a few strands of your hair, it said otherwise.

“Your turn.” She smirked.

She pressed her foot over your pants to keep it still when you raised your legs out from it. Now you are bare naked. You grabbed her by her waist and brought her towards the locker, pulling her to bend over. Her thick thighs, her soft ass, you were craving for it and you’d never get tired of it. When you slid your hands around it, taking your time to enjoy every inch of it despite the clothing that separates yours and her skin, she moaned. Those moans that’d always keep you active in dirty activities. She made sure it was soft. 

“Show me how sorry you are for your doings.” She groaned.

There was no time to waste. You pulled her tight black shorts down, and showed much of her delicious ass beneath her red undergarment. You squeezed in your fingers between her panties, grabbing both cheeks, then pushed your hands down to her legs where the garment had freely fallen along. She watched you enjoy the view of her thighs. Her hair down free. The moans that escaped her mouth as you guided your hands from her thighs up to her perfect curvature of her waist reminded you how sensitive she was with your touches. Sullyoon crumbled within your fingers, and you knew she enjoyed it. You placed kisses on her ass cheeks, to her thighs, every part down to her knees. She’s something worth praising for. And with this image of her, bending over from a red locker with her desireful eyes gazing was only meant for you. 

As you shoved your cock into hers, she let out a short loud moan, but quick enough to cover her own mouth after. You began to thrust into her slowly, wanting to hear those noises from her mouth and how she’d beg you to ruin her like a slut. She arched her back and showed more of her curves, resting her arms against the locker doors. Your hands wandering on her skin and her sweat made her body look even more hotter. Now that you quickened your pace at her, her moans began to grow. Her fingers clinged against a small hook of an empty locker. She’d try herself not to be loud, but each second, you’d hear her groan and moan beneath her breaths. She’d give you those eyes pleading you for more.

From her waist, now your hands made their way up to her chest while you continued to grind her. You slowly lifted off her varsity shirt when she raised both of her arms, and only left her with her thin black clothing. Quickly unclipping it, you pulled it out and threw it away, exposing her breasts that were soft in your palms. They were perfect, not big, but not too flat, just enough for your palms to squeeze into. Her nipples hard. She pressed your hands more into her pair of tits while grinding yourself into her, and shortly she tapped your waist to stop.

You watched her turn around and face you, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling you for another deep sensational kiss. Your mouth's sounding the room. She grabbed your hands and placed them against her breasts once again. They were really soft, her nipples that were satisfying to pinch, and each time you’d do, she’d moan between kisses. You pulled away when you felt her hand around your cock and saw her guide it back inside her. It took quite a moment, but shortly she got it done. Her walls were warm, and you couldn’t wait to grind her throughout the dusk. 

“Fucking fuck” She muttered between moans as you resumed your work at her. You carried and held her ass as she raised her legs to wrap it around you, now her full weight under your carry. You pushed her against the lockers and each thrust you gave made audible bangs on the locker doors. She didn’t seem to care about the pain, and the noises seemed to push her louder. 

There are only a matter of seconds before you could reach your climax once again. Her nails dug into your scalp. It was painful, but not for your orgasm that consumed you which made it inevitable. 

“I’m close” She gasps, a visible plea in her face.

She moans loudly around the room that felt like a scream, but now you don't care much. You loved hearing those, her moans felt like a temporary boost to your thrusts, a signal light to be faster. Everything seemed to lose within seconds. You are not in a condom, you don’t know if she’s on her pills, it’s just an entire guess here guess what, pleasure in the end, without thinking of the possible consequences. But right before you would have reached your climax, you pulled away. She knew it, and her mischievous grin showed much of it. Her hands pushed you back into the bench to sit as she knelt down in front of you, continuing to stroke your cock. Her hand rubbed it hard, then  swallowed it back into her throat where you fully shooted your second round of cum. You noticed her rubbing her clit along with her devours and her juices had spread on the floor. 

“Shit, Yoona” There were no other words to say but this. She continued to take you into her mouth, twirling, then slowly pulled off. A slick of your cum on her mouth before she licked it off. You watched her catch her breath while she looked back at you, her eyes showed appreciation, and her hatred seemed to disappear after all. 

“I like it when we do it somewhere illegal. Not in your just boring ass apartment.” She giggled, resting herself over your thighs. You caressed her cheeks and ran your fingers over her smooth hair that was now messy than an hour ago. You could only take your time now appreciating her presence by your side. People don't know what’s in here. They must’ve been in their homes now. It’s already nighttime, around six or a half, and she doesn’t seem to care about it. She just wanted you, being reassured that your love is within her till now.

[almostempty]

Maladaptive Coping Mechanisms

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Looking for an escape from a horrible day, you take a sexy stranger home from the bar. 

Warnings: drinking, smoking, smut, glorification of substance use as a coping mechanism, using sex to avoid processing emotions, PWP, like mostly just porn and emotions, spit, one (1) pussy slap, pussy pronouns, size kink, sort of pleasuredom!javi, AU unprotected sex has no risks bc i like it that way, piv sex, fingering, creampie,

Notes: cigarette vending machines were real, part 2 exists and if one single person asks for it i’ll post it 

please leave feedback! open to constructive criticism or delusional inspiration

Thanks: to @auteurdelabre , u know what u did 

WC: 6.7K

AO3: here

Part 2: here

Masterlist: Here

It’s not enough.

You feel the inescapable temptation racing like wildfire through your veins. Thick, hot air whips your hair into your face, and you laugh, throaty and as loud as a barking German Shepherd with saliva frothing against their teeth. The thought of jerking the wheel and rolling your car into oncoming traffic causes your fingers to twitch. The roar of the semi-truck you pass drowns out everything else, your music, the wind surging through the windows, and your violent intrusive thoughts. You decide not to opt for a head-on collision. Heading towards your side of town, you slow to a less reckless speed, immediately missing the road noise. 

The temptation still pounds in your head, unbearable. Something stronger. You need something stronger before you drive to his house and choke on the smoke while you burn it to the ground. 

But you’re free! You grin as you race directionless through the streets, the kind of grin that would unsettle a small child. The evening sun blinds you whenever you choose a street facing west, and you welcome the jarring obtrusion, the pain. But driving into the sun isn’t enough. 

You pull over at the first parking spot you can see, ripping off your seatbelt and twisting around to dig under your seat. Nails catch on the carpeting, but you only recognize some change, receipts, and a petrified french fry. The muscles in your shoulder could tear from the tendons for all you care as you contort yourself to check under the passenger seat before digging through every compartment you can fit your fingers into. 

A cigarette seems healthy in comparison to crashing your car or lighting your ex’s house on fire. You swore there was a forgotten pack of smokes under one of the seats in your car, stashed away in case of emotional emergencies months ago before you committed to quitting. Nate must have found them and tossed them. Of course, he could still keep making this day worse. Even after you’d walked out on him mid-rant about how it was somehow your fault that he’d become even more of a repulsive asshole during the months you’d spent apart. “Hope you’re happy with how you chose to use your last ‘second chance,’” you had spat at him, already halfway to the door. You imagined the look cemented on his face as you left. You hope to never imagine his face again. 

Dried tears sting the corners of your eyes. Rubbing at the raw skin burns. You stare at your red eyes in your rearview mirror, and you can see the flicker of your soul nearly snuffed out from the years of despair. Blood pounding in your ears, you roll your head on your shoulders, and popping and grinding noises in your neck add to the symphony of your pulse. Tipping back against the headrest, you refocus and take in your surroundings. A bar. A beacon in the fading golden hour as dusk overtakes her glow. 

Bars have cigarettes. A drink, or four, would help, too. You need to feel something else. Find something strong enough to break through the numbness of anger and embarrassment. Something to override your loquacious internal monologue. It’s not enough.

Your demons materialize on your shoulders, prepared to fight your morality. The neon beer signs in the window sing a siren song. Temptation wins in the first round, she’s a seductress not to be outclassed. 

The gravel crunches under your feet as you cross the parking lot, kicking up little clouds of dust in your wake. Inside, you swerve between the pool tables, crossing the dimly lit space in a beeline to the cigarette vending machine for a new pack and matches before lasering in on an empty stool at the bar. Tunnel vision. 

Cold beer soothes the burn in your throat from the tequila shot you slammed before you even settled your full weight on the barstool. The liquid waterfalls down your throat until the bottle runs dry. The surly bartender replaces it with another, and her eyes flick from yours to the empty shot glass and back. 

“I’ll just stick to beer for now,” you answer. A barely perceptible snicker yanks your attention to your right. He’s smirking to himself, trying to hide it with a swig from his bottle. Your scowl softens by a hair as you rake your eyes down his profile. Strong features, sparkling dark eyes, well-groomed, and an open collar that teases you with a glimpse of the skin of his chest. His look piques your interest. But that smug curl of his lip raises your hackles as you return to your mission: a neurochemical intervention. Maybe he knows where you could procure a lobotomy if nicotine and booze don’t help. 

You slam the second beer, signaling for another. Your head weighs heavily on your shoulders, but you can start to feel the warmth of the alcohol blooming within your chest. A welcome warmth despite the suffocatingly thick air in the bar. You feel the layer of sweat coating your torso. The skin bared on your thighs sticks to the vinyl stool, but you don’t care about being warm and sticky. Your assignment is simple. Get the liquor to your brain before you recruit Smug Mustache and Silent Barkeep to your crew. She can drive; he can be the lookout. Accomplice to arson shouldn’t be a hard sell.

You smile to yourself at the thought. 

The tiny muscles in your face start to relax, and the line between your brows softens. The racing thoughts get quieter, and you can process your environment more easily. The clack of the billiard balls on the pool table, the rock ballad barely audible over the buzz of the patrons. A variety of mostly bald or bearded men occupy different seats, and women with brassy hair and loud laughs hold all the secrets. You and the man seated next to you don’t quite fit the demographic, but nobody seems bothered. 

You slide a cigarette out of your pack, and before you tuck it between your lips, the man next to you pushes the amber-colored ashtray he’d been hoarding towards you and offers you a light. 

Leaning towards him, you’re hit with an intoxicating rush of spicy aftershave, leather, and tobacco. You seize the opportunity to take in his features head-on, inhaling deeply while he unabashedly sweeps his dark eyes over you in turn. Sinfully dark, they flick back up to yours. He drags his thumb across his bottom lip, and you’re entranced momentarily by the need to feel that plush lip between your teeth. 

Sex. 

That could work. Ease the restlessness and the deepening impulse to scream. Maybe that’s the third ingredient to your impulsive master plan. 

“Thanks,” you exhale, breaking the heady silence. The rush of nicotine entwined with alcohol begins to replace the rage in your veins. Vengeful racing thoughts are replaced with a mantra. A dull pounding in the back of your skull. More. You smile. More. More. He tracks your mouth as you press the cold glass bottle to your lips. You swallow and swallow. He raises one eyebrow, head cocked, as you drain the bottle. 

“I’d offer to buy you a drink, but I’m not sure you’d taste it at this rate,” he teases in a voice thick as molasses. 

You consider your frenzied rate of consumption. Might be time to slow down. 

“Maybe you could convince me to savor it,” you challenge. He nods and orders. He studies your lips as you take another drag from your cigarette. More. He doesn’t shy from holding your gaze. Not when you smile or when you look him up and down again. You usually aren’t so forward. The cocktail of substances and the emotional hangover from your failed reconciliation emboldens you. But, one tiny crack fractures, and for a brief moment, you’re gone. 

Your eyes lose focus. Disconnected from your body, the bar, and reality. He watches with amusement. He knows that look. He wears it often. 

Your thoughts flash and crack like a lightning storm. Nate’s face. Livid, red, and sputtering foul insults at you. Enraged that you’re drinking, smoking, and desperate to whore yourself out to the first man you see. Worse. You don’t care. Nate wasted your time and shattered your goodwill. You want to be set free. Erase him and his pathetic voice altogether. 

You take another sip and another drag, hoping one of them will detach his grubby claws from your conscience. You blink, and the horrifying hallucination is gone. 

“Drinking to forget, cariño?” the man you’d been staring past interrupts your thoughts. His tone is genuine. But why? Is that his schtick? Offering to fix broken women with a well-timed light and teasing glance?

“Something like that,” you muse, taking another drag. You hadn’t realized how close you were sat until now. It’s intimate. Smoke curls in a delicate dance between you, alluring as it winds and flares. You feel drawn to him, connected by chance. Something new to focus on. To study. He watches you with such intensity you note. Unwavering. Too sober and too shiny to be a regular old barfly. It’s not a bar full of singles. He’s out of place. Maybe he got lost along a warpath like you. Good. More.

He’s still watching. Waiting for you to elaborate? You let your knee slide forward until it’s pressing into his firm thigh. “Just trying to feel something,” you answer honestly. 

“Mm,” he takes another swig, and you watch his neck in slow motion as he swallows. 

“And you?” 

“Same goal, I guess,” he confirms. His hand drags slowly down his thigh and slides onto your knee. Your mouth parts at the contact of his palm. A new fire rips through your veins, but it’s not rage. More. 

“Would you say it’s working?” you gesture to the bottles coated in beads of condensation on the bar top. 

“No.” He stares at you openly. His carnivorous mouth splits into a grin. 

His boldness makes a giggle bubble up in your throat. You tilt your head back with a laugh. Your hair slides behind your shoulders, exposing the delicate flesh of your neck.

“No,” you repeat in agreement. You match his physicality and grasp his own thigh firmly with your hand, studying his face for any hint of a response. “It’s not enough,” you add, dragging your hand further up his leg. Slowly. 

“You’re looking for more, cariño?” he dares with cloying charm. Yes! More!

You might've rolled your eyes at the whole situation if you weren’t so many drinks in with a sinister desire for escapism. You’ve barely spoken to each other, engaged in an elite-level erotic staring competition instead. 

The best you could do was exchange names. 

“Javier Peña,” you repeated back to him. Deciding if you liked the way it sounded on your tongue. You wet your lips. 

“Just Javi is fine,” he counters while leaving enough cash on the bar to cover both your tabs with a generous tip. 

“Smooth, Just Javi,” you bait, looking at the cash and back to him. He flashes a wolfish smile back. It makes you want to fuck him right here on the bar. More, you scream at him with your eyes. 

He removes the nearly finished cigarette between your much smaller fingers, takes the last drag, and stubs it out in the ashtray. 

If you weren’t so aroused by everything about him, you’d chastise him for trying to get you out of here so quickly. But you feel it rolling off of him, too. It feels like taking a narcotic. Time is syrupy and slow. You feel your smile sticking longer than you meant, your eyes linger hotly, and you squeeze his upper arm harder than intended. It’s an addictive rush to feel your desire reciprocated. And with such urgency. You take in his height and broad frame now that you stand face to face. He stills. Observant. You don’t need any more time to decide what you want. You need to feel him and only him as soon as possible. 

“Let’s go. Now,” you order as you lead him out of the dingy establishment into the clear night. 

You expect him to cage you against the cool metal of his pickup, but he’s a suave gentleman opening the passenger door for you instead. Fine. You slide across the bench seat just as he’s turning the key in the ignition, pressing your curves into the side of his firm body. Restless and grabby, your fingers dance over him, unsure where to start when he grips your chin in his large palm and tilts your face towards his. 

Rage flashes behind your eyes at his interruption. Never far from the surface, ready to lash out.

“Be good for me, cariño,” he says sternly. 

“Oh, I’ll be so good,” you purr, dragging your hand down his chest towards the bulge in his too-tight jeans and batting your lashes before he grabs your hand. 

You huff, indignant. Rolling your eyes. 

 “I’d like to give you my full attention.”

“You can have mine.” 

“No.” 

“Who put you in charge?” you spit out with a fierceness. 

He laughs, harsh and mean. You flush with irritation, recoiling like his grip suddenly burned. What is this? You thought you were reading everything right; you’re in his truck, ready and wanting. Frustrating man. You need something to ease your anger, or you’ll spit venom. 

He leans into your ear like he has a secret despite the privacy of the cab of his truck. Dragging his voice over broken glass and gravel, he murmurs, “You want to feel something?” his hand is suddenly wedged between your legs. “You want more?” He squeezes tight, pressing his fingers against the seam of your denim shorts, and you choke back a moan. His spiced scent fills your nose. You feel his smile against your ear. Your head spins. Yes. You need it now. No games. Your nails dig marks into his wrist, pleading. 

“You get to touch, but I don’t? What is this, Javier? Afraid you won’t last?” You jeer at him. 

His hot laugh fans down your neck. Your body betrays your mind in search of friction. Shamelessly, your hips roll against his hand. 

“Such a sharp tongue,” he tuts at you, pulling back to look into your eyes, “for such a needy pussy,” he pulls his hand away. You fight to still your body and level his stare, feeling the heat of anger and lust in your face. He lists his demands. 

Be good for me. Until we get home. 

Simple. 

Then I will give you what you need. 

Bold. 

Something different washes over you, but you keep pushing at him. 

“And what do I need, Javi?” 

“Need to be stuffed full of this cock until you forget what ‘more’ means.” 

Soaked. Your traitorous pussy floods your already ruined panties. But you can’t shut yourself up. You have to push him harder. 

“Awfully confident, Javi. Hope you aren’t the type to oversell and underdeliver–” Your snide remark is cut off when he covers your hand with his and presses it into the hard bulge in his jeans. 

“Does it feel like an oversell?”

You barely hear him over the sound of your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. No, it most definitely does not feel like an oversell; you refuse to admit it out loud. He grazes the edges of his teeth down tender skin. At the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, he snaps you back into reality with a sharp bite. A small gasp escapes you that he definitely doesn’t miss. 

You catch the smirk. Cocky bastard. 

“Now,” he demands your attention, “you’ll be good for me all the way home.”

It’s definitely not a question, but he stares like he’s waiting for a response. 

You fold your hands in your lap begrudgingly and nod. But something in your chest blooms brightly. The dance for dominance does exhilarate you. He grips your upper thigh like he’s the only thing holding you to the earth. Like you might fly out the window if he lets go. Or, like you might crawl into his lap, sink down onto his cock, and cause you both to launch through the windshield when he crashes into a ditch. 

His fingers tease under the edge of your shorts, white-hot flesh against flesh. You’re wired.

You direct him to your place. It’s close, and you’ve no patience. He doesn’t argue. 

..

You lead him into your home. He doesn’t take you ferociously against the back of the door. Infuriating. You behaved all the way home. He’s a curious juxtaposition of lewd and polite. Restrained, he takes his shoes off at the door and asks for a glass of water. Like he’s your neighbor invited over for tea. But, you can feel the carnality radiating off him as he watches to see if you’ll show good manners. More.

“That’s good, cariño,” he praises, soft and raspy, taking the icy glass from your hand. “Show me your room,” he instructs. How is it your turf, but he’s still in charge? You glare at him briefly before you acquiesce and traipse down your hallway to your bedroom. 

He places the glass of water on your nightstand, still full, and turns to assess you. You furrow your brows. Was the water some kind of test? Whatever. You behaved in the car. You behaved all the way to your bedroom. You’re nearly dizzy with need. Every breath feels like a lifetime.

His golden skin glows in the lamplight. You’d describe it as angelic if he wasn’t driving you mad. Morbid desire crawls under your skin, itchy and tense. He gestures for you to sit on your bed, and you do. If he insists on leading, you’ll follow. 

You fold your hands in your lap again as if awaiting his next command. He cradles your cheek in his palm, and you look up through your lashes. You are not the saint of patience; your fingers twitch with the urge to tear his clothes into shreds. Why is he taking his time? Your mind is racing for a snarky comment when he interrupts your thoughts like he could hear them. 

His touch is so gentle. Patient. Like he’s experienced in domesticating rabid animals. 

“Shhh, I know,” his voice is earnest. Not teasing. Not mocking. 

It catches you off guard. Grounding you. Strange. 

His expression seems to slip into something unguarded as well. A moment of understanding. You see him. Something is building in the distance in your mind. Like the shore is receding before a tidal wave hits. But it’s too quiet without the waves breaking on the rocks. More.

“Make me feel something, Javier,” you reply. 

It hangs delicately in the air. You aren’t provoking or begging. It’s a genuine expression of your desire to run from your internal state.

“I intend to,” he confirms with confidence. Like that’s the permission he was waiting for, the wait is over. Your lips connect. He kisses you with a bright and burning passion. Plush lips and wet tongues slide together expertly. Sharp little nips pull whiny melodies out of you. Your hands tug and pull at his hair, shoulders, and shirt. It’s not enough to just have his mouth. 

“More,” you demand into his tongue. 

“So needy,” he condescends, and you feel your cheeks warm. 

He peels off your shirt, and his hands fly to exposed breasts.

“No bra?” he tuts as if he didn’t put that together while ogling you at the bar. You shake your head in response as he kneads at your soft skin. “Of course not.” He pinches at your nipples with precision, pleasure bridging on pain coursing through your body. You feel your chest arch towards him for relief, deep moans falling from your mouth. You want him to consume you. He looks like he might. 

..

Javi hums at the way your body responds to him. Pliant but strong. You move into his touch, seeking intensity. He increases pressure and maps out your body. 

He lets all his thoughts be filled with you. Your warm skin and soft vanilla scent are hidden until his nose trails behind your ear. You freely let all the sounds and breath spill from your mouth as he caresses you reverently. He wants to know how many sounds you can make. 

You were a delightful surprise, crashing into the bar next to him. He recognized the look in your eyes. He’s going to give you what you need. Because you want it. And because he wants to drown himself in it. He feels drawn to you somehow. 

..

Despite how good it feels to have his hands and mouth on your body, your neglected clit aches for attention. He continues on, almost obliviously, and you reach a fever pitch that splits your eyes wide open. Possessed by one word. More. 

Your fingers come to life and work rapidly, yanking at his belt and the button on his jeans before slipping a hand in to feel. You’re struck with a surge of delight as your hand skates over his hot flesh and coarse hair. A hedonic sense of imminent victory unfurls in your core. 

“No underwear?” you tut back at him. 

“Nope,” you swear he winked at you as he said it. 

He pulls you up to stand, stripping the rest of both of your clothes off quickly. You push him back a step to get a better look at his now fully naked form. 

“Shit.” “Fuck.”

You mutter over each other at the same time. Like you’ve been compelled, you reach for him, needing to immediately taste and touch him everywhere. You knew he was a gem in that dive bar, but in front of you in your bedroom, you realize: he’s fucking gorgeous. 

Of course, he won’t allow you to touch him. Nasty man with his beautiful body and devilish disposition. He scoops you up like the petulant child you are about to become and drops you onto your back in the middle of your bed with ease. You bounce against the mattress. 

He catches the sour pout on your face as he settles himself between your legs. 

“No need to think now, princesa,” he kisses just inside your left knee, “that’s my job now.” His mustache tickles the soft skin of your inner thighs, but it’s the spark in his dark eyes that makes you squirm. You groan in frustration at being deprived of the freedom to touch him once again, but you remain malleable. 

“I need you to lay back and spread these legs for me.” 

You comply. Parting your legs wider as his hands slide towards your center. Your eyes are locked on his, and his eyes are locked on your glistening folds in front of his face. 

“Fuck, cariño, yes, just like that.” 

You curse your body for needing to blink. Enraptured with the look on his face, you don’t want to see anything else. Floating and lightheaded, nobody has ever seen you like this. Seen the truth in your eyes so easily. Seen your blaring evidence of need pooling and dripping. And still looked at you the way he does. Desperate to be touched, you are grounded in the present. No other conscious thoughts. More. 

He pulls at the skin on the top of your thighs, nowhere near close enough for your liking, but fully exposing your achy clit and fluttering entrance to his eyes. You’ve needed his touch since you left the bar, or maybe since you first felt his husky voice frazzle your brain. 

He stares and stares as you watch impatiently. 

“Such a gorgeous pussy,” he says to himself before he hovers closer and blows a stream of cool air over your swollen folds. 

You could slap him for that or scream, but what comes out is a breathy “fuck,” and you clench your fists in an attempt to remain composed through this macabre sexual torture. You feel like he’s been down there for an eternity. And still, he’s given you no relief. 

You brace for another stream of air, but instead, you watch agape as a glob of spit falls in slow motion from his lips to your clit. The barely there sensation snaps something in your mind as his saliva flows downward. 

“You just gonna look, or you gonna touch any time soon?” you goad. 

Javi’s eyes shoot to yours, narrowed. You’ve interrupted a private conversation. Vague and meaningless threats start flowing from your mouth, and you shift to reach for him when an abrupt slap to your pussy jolts your nervous system. 

Before your brain and mouth can comment on his audacity, your body betrays you. You feel the patchy flush on your chest burning and the gush of lubrication in anticipation. He clocks both signs. 

“Cariño,” he coos at you darkly. “I told you,” head shaking with disappointment, “no need to think.” He looks back down, “Now look, she’s crying for me, and I haven’t even had a taste yet.” 

Your head sinks into your pillows with an exasperated sigh. How can torture feel exquisite? Wretched man. 

“No. You don’t take your eyes off me,” the edge in his tone suggests you don’t want to disobey. 

You find the strength to tilt your head back towards him. And it’s just in time to watch as he runs two fingers up and down your glossy folds. He ghosts around your clit, avoiding what you need most until he’s satisfied with his coated fingers. He plunges them both into your eagerly awaiting hole, petting at your velvety walls. An animalistic noise that must come from you fills the room in competition with the slick, wet sounds of his fingers. 

“That’s right. Keep those pretty eyes on me while I play with your pussy.” Javi looks down to watch for himself. “You look so good swallowing my fingers,” he rasps thickly. Your walls clench and constrict around his fingers as his voice carves out a home in your mind. 

Your room is cool, thanks to the hum of your window AC unit, but your body runs hot. You’ve never had a man in your bed who was this good with his words before. It forces you to stay focused. Present and aware of every sensation. Your ex was too insecure to be vocal. Other partners lacked tact or creativity. None of them ever took charge like this or took their time. You feel your chest heaving and see the wide smile break across his face. Your skin tingles as a sheen of sweat breaks out.

Javi takes his time experimenting with the ways your body responds. He speeds up and slows down, changes pressure and patterns, tapping and tracing, petting and prodding. It’s like the nine extra settings you don’t need your vibrator to have, but better. It’s not careless. You watch, like he instructed. He seems studious, observing how you respond, scanning your face and body. Microexpressions on his face calculating and plotting. 

You flex, tense, and writhe as much as you dare, trying to maintain some control over your body. Your eyebrows are pinched, and your hips are tight as you strain. 

Javier can tell. Do you not trust him? He needs you to give in to him. 

“Let me take you there, cariño,” he urges. “Can feel she wants it; just relax for me, breathe.” 

“Fuck,” you confirm with a whisper and do your best to let go of some of the rigid tension. He maintains a steady rhythm for you to focus on. He slowly builds in intensity, and he continues to murmur encouragement to you. Breathe. There you go. Easy. 

You slowly melt into it and let him puppet your mind and body. Building and building. Breathing and breathing. Allowed to be out of control. That does it. Your climax crashes violently against your loose frame. Yes, cariño, just like that, fuck. Contracting muscles in your core pull your chest forward. Jerking and spasming, you raise with stuttering gasps. You aren’t sure if you should laugh or be embarrassed as you pant, feeling like he just performed an exorcism on you. His expression settles you. Pleased with an edge of ravenous. 

He slides his fingers from you and sits up, looming tall and strong on his knees over your damp, limp body. Your eyes are glued to his weeping cock, softly bobbing at your eye level. Saliva pools in your mouth, craving the weight of it sliding over your tongue. You swallow and blink. Recalibrating your senses and figuring out what he just said to you. 

He runs his fingers back through your overly sensitive folds to get your attention. Your entire body twitches, wrenching your attention to his face. He already has you at his mercy. 

“Close your mouth, baby,” he commands. You weren’t aware it had been hanging open and snap it shut. He laughs gently at your stupor. Enamored. Then he’s running his slick coated fingers over your lips like a debauched lipgloss. Your mouth parts to question him, and he slides them onto your tongue before a word gets out. 

“Good,” he praises, “suck.” You do. And as he drags his fingers out he replaces them with his tongue. He sucks and nips at your lips, tasting everything. The bright flavor of your arousal, the lingering beer from the bar, the smoky tobacco, and the gum you tried to sneak on your way out of the bar. It’s a potent concoction, and it fuels his thirst. You run your tongue along his neck and commit the flavor of his sweat-salted skin to memory. 

You can feel the rumbly groans filling his chest, and you’re back to needing more. Clawing at his skin and tugging at his hair. One of your soft hands finds his throbbing cock, and wrapping your fingers around it causes you to exchange throaty moans. You slip your thumb around the head, coating it in precome and using it to glide your full fist down his shaft. It’s stupid how big his cock is, and part of you is loathe to admit it. You just know he’s already aware, but a mindless so big slips out of your mouth anyway. You feel him smile against you. 

“Y’think so?” he breathes against your neck. 

You roll your eyes at him and tease, “Don’t be trite, Javi.” You tug firmly at his length. “I’m sure all the ladies you pick up in shitty dive bars fawn over your pretty cock.” 

A distant look flickers across his face before he flashes a sly grin at you. 

“Y’think it’s pretty?” Is that all he heard? 

“Oh my god,” you groan in feigned annoyance at him. 

He looks down to watch your hand stroke him and decides that is a pretty sight. 

You hope he was right in the cab of his truck. That when he fills you up, you’ll forget how to think. He pulls back from your greedy little grasp. I know, I know. He says with the marks he leaves along your skin. 

“You think she’s ready for me?” he asks as he adjusts to line up with you. You’re too entranced to respond. He slides himself through your folds, and you whimper at the pressure. He’s still waiting for an answer. He pauses and stares at your face. He gives your clit a playful swat with the weight of his cock. 

You blink back up to him, “huh?” 

“You think she’s ready to take me?” he repeats. 

“Yes, Javi, m’ready.” 

He gives you a disapproving look, for god knows why. And shifts further away from you. You feel your face shift into a pout. 

”I think she can give me a couple more first.” 

Something in you loosens, and you realize you’re defenseless. Willing.

This time, he doesn’t toy with you. He strikes swiftly. Overwhelming your senses when his fingers slide back inside of you and the hot furnace of his mouth envelopes your no longer neglected clit. He brings you over the edge rapidly with the combination of his curling fingers and the firm pressure of the flat of his tongue. 

He praises you adoringly, but he doesn’t let up. That’s it. Dámelo. Breathe. You can take it. Another. Know she wants it. Like that. Taking you further than you thought you could go. Again and again. You’re blind and boneless, a sticky mess. He could watch you like this for hours. Writhing against his fingers as his other arm wraps over your belly, holding you in place. 

“What’d you say?” he asks as you come down from another flood of endorphins. You weren’t aware you could form words. You blink dazedly before you can figure it out. 

“Please, Javi, please,” you repeat. You don’t know what you’re begging for anymore. 

His lips are pressed to your sweaty forehead. When he pulls back, a mischievous grin spreads across his face. You’re trying to think of what you were trying to communicate, but it’s hazy. 

“Doing so good for me, cariño, you deserve it now.” 

You can only nod and whisper another “please.” He slides the head of his cock through your dripping, sensitive folds. That’s what you wanted. More.

“Yes,” you chant, “please, oh god, yes, Javi, please, fuck.” You exercise the full extent of your current vocabulary in quick succession. 

“Beautiful, cariño,” his words drip over you like honey. 

“Yes, Javi, please,” you continue your chant. 

Slowly. Painfully slowly, he begins to feed his cock into you, eyes rapidly flipping between studying the expressions crossing your face and the view of your pussy stretching around him. 

“Oh god, oh,” you repeat mindlessly as he works his way inside of you. 

“Fuck” he exhales and locks his eyes on your face before pushing the rest of the way in. When your eyes widen, and your jaw falls slack, he knows the image will be seared into his memory. 

“Yes, Javi, fuck–” your mantra is cut off with a deep moan as he grinds his hips into yours. You're so full. You run your hands down his back, trying to force him closer. Trying to merge solid bodies into liquid pleasure. Transform physical vessels into the intangible. More.

He begins to slide in and out, never leaving the clutch of your warm walls all the way. His pace steadily increases, along with the intensity of the snap of his hips once he’s as deep as possible inside of you. He folds your knees towards your chest and thrusts with fervor, captivated by the way your tits bounce. 

A cacophony of lewd noises bounces off the walls in your room. Your shared panting, the rocking bedframe, the wet slip of his cock sawing into you, the skin-to-skin slap of his heavy balls bouncing against your ass, it’s all a debased symphony together. 

A delirious giggle pours from you as the realization strikes. He was right, no need to think; all you need is to feel how perfectly he fills you up. He’s not thrown by your fit of laughter. You think he knows. His mouth is moving, though. He’s speaking to you. You focus with all the effort you can muster. 

“Again, cariño. You’re going to come on my cock for me,” he breathes like he’s the one ready to beg. You obey. It takes the slightest touch, swirling your fingers around your sensitive nerves. Watching the tense expression on his face. The weight of his body fucking you into your mattress. You’re clenching around him like you could pull him any deeper.

“Fuck, that’s right,” he drops his mouth to your salty neck, “so well-behaved for me.” 

You preen at that. Breathing each other's air. 

“These legs still work?” he asks, swatting at your thighs. 

“A little,” you shrug. 

“Good.” He sits up, pulling your chest into his, breathing with you for a minute as you wrap your legs around him and settle on his lap. “Not done with you yet,” he growls into your hair. You think about the moment at the bar earlier, when he lit your cigarette for you. You hoped he’d be good. You didn’t think he’d be this good. 

“Yes, Javi,” you agree as if you know what’s next. He shifts, and you let him arrange your body as he pleases. It’s blissful. Not having to think. He maneuvers you like a doll, but you know you aren’t an object to him. Not with the way he gently rolls you onto your belly, arranging a pillow under your head. You rest your cheek against it and peer dreamily at him. He lifts your hips, propping you up on your knees, and pauses for a second to admire the way your pussy glistens readily for him. The way your smooth back arches in presentation just for him. But it’s the expression on your face, the insatiable more in your eyes, that gives him purpose. 

He kneels behind you and sinks in easily, a groan ripping through his throat as you push your hips back into him with more energy than he expected. You moan loudly in response, attempting to muffle it into the pillow. 

“Oh my god, Javi,” you rasp at him. “How can you possibly get any deeper?” you ask incredulously. 

“How are you still talking, cariño?” he taunts, picking up an unyielding and brutal pace. 

“M’not” you decide, “no thoughts.” 

“Fuck” you both echo as he hits a new angle. 

“Please, don’t stop,” you beg openly, “just like that, Javi, holy shit.” He slips one hand underneath you to play with your swollen clit. 

“Yes,” you begin chanting again. But you want him to come. You need it. You slide your own hand under his to replace it. Reaching further to feel the way you’re stretched around him. You wish you could see it. The feeling alone turns your brain to mush. 

“Javi?” you plead for his attention. You could sob with the intensity building in your core. 

“Yes?” he asks without slowing down. 

“Need you to come,” you whine into the pillow your face rocks into. 

“Yes, cariño,” he consents. 

“No, now. I need you to fill me up, please; I need to feel it,” you beg like you were invented for him in a dream. So perfect. 

“I know,” he asserts, “gonna stuff you full,” and that sends you. 

“Fuck, Javi, yes, I need it,” you sob out as your muscles flex and contract around him once more. 

He grips your spineless frame and tugs your back into his chest. You might be drooling as your head rolls into his shoulder. You register a hand squeezing at your tits as he gives you what you want. A few more harsh thrusts and he’s filling you up. You can feel his cock flexing and straining to give you everything he’s got. Javier’s rough breaths reverberate through your blissfully quiet mind. It’s enough. 

He lowers you back to your pillow, still on your knees, and he slides out of you with a soft groan. You echo it, feeling immediately emptier without him.

You stretch across the bed to fish for your cigarettes in your pile of discarded belongings from earlier or maybe a lifetime ago. 

He accepts one when you offer and, in turn, offers you the water he asked for earlier. You gratefully accept. You ask if the water trick works on all the women he picks up in dive bars. He argues that it’s not really a trick if the sex happens before you drink it, and you share a real belly laugh at that, realizing he’s right. You finish your cigarettes in a calm silence next to each other. Your mind is quiet. You let out a satisfied little sigh. 

He gets up and starts pulling on his jeans. Reality hits you like a brick smashing into your skull. Leaving blood and bone fragments across your pillow. Substances and sex are temporary. Distractions, not solutions. A fleeting release to quell your demons. The ones that reappear back on your shoulders, cackling with glee over the chaos. Your mind is back in action racing. You drag your hands down your face. Holding your eyes shut tightly. You wait, holding your breath. Listening for the sound of your front door opening and closing any second. 

[thoughtidtry]

Dress Pt.2 - LN

SUMMARY: Lando's best friend can't keep pretending he's not her everything. Not after missing seeing him in person for so long. PAIRING: Lando Norris X LongDistanceBestfriendfem!reader A/N: Inspired by Lando's race win and song Dress by Taylor Swift. 2.6k+ words (Honestly thought it would be shorter lol) LMK in the comments if you would like a pt.3! Part: 1 2 3

"Inescapable, I'm not even gonna try."

From the moment you were in Lando's arms, he never let go more than he had to. While showing you around the McLaren garage he made sure to guide you through with slight touches or nudges in the right direction. You knew there was no way he was letting you out of his sight. With his hand placed firmly on the small of your back, he explained every corner of the garage in painstaking detail while knowing you probably didn't really care. Something about the way you attentively listen though made it seem like you hung on his every word. 

Really, you had just missed his voice. Phone calls could only do so much to make up for the distance between you two. It had been something you both had gotten used to over time. Now you didn't know if you could ever go back to not being beside him. The hours before the race started passed faster than you had hoped they would. Something just clicked when you were together like you had never been apart in the first place. 

Soon you watched from the side as Lando talked with the engineers and strategists about the race plan. You had seen him in racing attire before, back in secondary school, but the memory did not prepare you for just how good he looked. He couldn't stop smiling, not when he felt your gaze on his every move. After he had finished talking to everyone, he made his way back over to you with a headset in hand. 

"Here let me put this on you, it connects to the radio in my car so you can hear me during the race."

You nodded along in understanding as he placed the headset on your head and fixed it to the correct settings. Earlier, Lando had told you they recently made upgrades to the car and that it would be the first race to test them. This made you hopeful for the results of the race, you knew how much Lando wanted a win. The excitement of everyone in the garage could be felt as they made final preparations.

"You're gonna do great Lan, I just know it."

You beamed up at him with the widest smile possible. Lando couldn't help but smirk a bit letting your confidence boost his own. He reached to stroke your cheek as he spoke.

" Of course I will, I've got you here to cheer me on. I always do better when I know you're watching the race. Just imagine how I'll do today with you actually here."

You look away feeling yourself start to blush while trying to figure out how to respond to that. Luckily, Lando's name was called as the race was about to start. Quickly, you stand and swiftly peck his cheek whispering good luck in his ear before pushing him towards the calling engineers. He looked back, shaking his head a bit before jogging to put his helmet and other stuff on.

"My hands are shaking from holding back from you"

Watching a race in person was exhilarating for you. The energy in the garage made every turn, overtake, and pit stop more suspenseful. Getting to hear Lando’s voice through it all made the race even more real. He hadn’t had a good start to the race but was quickly making up for it by getting the fastest lap multiple times. 

A crash happened towards the back of the race resulting in a safety car being put onto the track. Lando had already passed the pit when the car was released, giving him an edge. Once the race started again his engineer was avid about keeping a gap between him and Max. As the final laps dwindled, you felt overcome with hope. This could be it, Lando’s first win. 

As Lando crossed the finish line you heard his cheers over the radio. The joy and relief was evident as you knew how long he had waited for this. 

One of the mechanics was kind enough to escort you over to where the winners would park their cars. The whole McLaren garage ended up walking together to the spots. Once you all arrived, you slipped a bit away. As much as this was Lando’s win it was theirs and they didn’t need some random girl in the middle of their celebration. 

You watch from your spot as Lando pulls up and stands on the top of his cars. The crowd was cheering his name and many drivers made a beeline for him after parking their own cars. It was clear how loved he was not only by his own team but by everyone here. His large smile would forever be etched into your mind as he received hugs from everyone and even started a crowd surf with the McLaren employees. Your hand were shaking with all the excitement built up in your system. 

Everything was perfect, at least you thought so, but you noticed Lando kept looking around. Was there a specific driver he was looking for or some important person? 

Lando was on cloud nine getting out of his car parked in P1. He was a race winner after so long fighting for this moment it felt right to have you here. He wanted to find you and celebrate as soon as possible. 

As all the drivers came up to him he wanted to soak in the moment but he just kept looking around for you. Were you still at the garage? Turning to see the McLaren team waiting behind the barrier he knew what they were waiting for. 

Starting at a full sprint he launched himself into their awaiting arms. It was then on top of his teammate he caught a glimpse of you off to the side with a smile as bright as the sun.  As soon as he was back on his feet he was making his way to you. 

When Lando’s eyes found you it was like time stopped for a few moments. Before you knew it he was headed straight for you. He crashed into you, wrapping you up in a bone-crushing hug while lifting you off your feet. You squeal a bit as he begins to spin you both around before tilting your head back to laugh. 

“You did it Lan! You won!”

Lando set you back on the ground as you started to speak. He could see the spark of joy in your eyes as you spoke. 

“Told you I’d do better with you here”

Lando exclaimed, smirking as he looked down at you in admiration. 

“Knowing you were cheering for me made all the difference. I couldn’t disappoint you after you came all this way.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, he could never disappoint you. It didn’t matter to you whether he came in first or very last place as long as he was happy. Before you could tell him that a staff member came up to grab Lando for his post win interviews. He nodded to let them know he was on his way and let you know he’d be only about half an hour. Calling another McLaren mechanic over, he asked if they would see you back to his driver room after the podium till he was finished with the media. 

With that he was off and you followed the mechanic over to where the podium celebration was to be held. The ceremony was amazing as the two other drivers covered Lando head to toe in champagne. He didn’t even have a chance to open his before the other two started their assault which made you laugh. Once they had moved on to their next victim, Lando walked to the front of the podium doing his signature move to start spraying the champagne all over the crowd before spraying the other driver as well. 

"I don't want you like a best friend"

The interviews didn’t take long so Lando was back and ready to leave the paddock not long after arriving. Oscar had been sneaky when helping you book a hotel for your stay and you were apparently staying at the same place as the drivers were. 

Lando noted to thank Oscar again as he ushered you to his car stopping along the way to sign autographs and take pictures. He filled you on the plans for tonight as you drove and what time to be ready by. 

Once at the hotel, you went to your separate hotel rooms to get ready. You pulled a dress out of your suitcase packed specifically for this see Lando again. It was a beautiful purple dress that hugged the top of your torso while still being flowy. After taking a shower and getting ready you texted Lando to let him know. Turns out most of the drivers were already dressed and down in the lobby. Quickly you grabbed your clutch and made your way down.

Lando was smiling as he put his phone away after answering your text. He and a couple other drivers had finished getting dressed early so they were in the lobby while waiting for the rest. He felt a nudge on his shoulder and found all the other drive smirking at him with knowing eyes. Max was the one to speak up always most blunt when it came to feelings.

"So are you gonna tell her how you feel or are you just gonna let her go again?"

He didn't know much about your friendship with Lando but he knew the younger boy was smitten. The other drivers piled on words of encouragement and how they could tell you liked him back. The more the others added, the pinker Lando's cheeks got until he finally defended himself.

" I just don't want to lose her guys. Now shut up she is on her way down."

The other drivers chuckled while shaking their heads but they left Lando alone after that which he was thankful for. Looking around he noticed you starting to make your way over and stopped in his tracks. He hadn't forgotten how beautiful you were but in that dress, it was like you were enchanted. He knew Max was right, he wanted more from you than just a friendship, he always had. Ever since that day in secondary when he had introduced himself he had wanted more, to know you more, hear your laugh more, be near you more.

The sound of laughing gave away their location long before you saw the group. From the looks of it, they had been teasing Lando about something as his face was lightly pink. He was looking towards the ground wearing all black and a backward cap. It made you smile a bit at how flustered he seemed by whatever they had said. Only a few seconds had passed when he caught your presence.

You grew a little nervous under his gaze and began to play with the hem of your dress as you came to a stop in front of him. Looking up into his eyes, a mostly green color now, you softly whispered

"Hey, Lan."

You clear your throat while tearing your eyes away from his to speak to the whole group.

"Hey guys, everyone ready to celebrate?"

The other driver let out a cheer and Carlos showed up a moment later. Apparently, he was the last one the group was waiting on so everyone began to decide how we were getting to the club.

“Only bought this dress so you could take it off”

Once at the club the boy immediately went to grab drinks while you stayed back with the other drivers' girlfriends. Girlfriends. Something you could only wish to be. They were nice and asked many questions about how you were, what you do, and how long you have known Lando. You explained with ease the timeline that led you here. Lily was the first to speak, seeming to be a bit in shock.

"Wait, you're the mysterious best friend? The one Lando has kept hidden away like a treasured prize?"

The other girl nodded in agreement at her statement. Had Lando been too embarrassed to talk about you? You felt a bit ashamed for a moment looking down. Lily was the first to notice, adding on with a kind smile and a bit of laughter.

"Oh, no! It's not a bad thing! Trust me. He lights up anytime you even text him. It's more like he doesn't want to share you honestly. I was just surprised he finally let the princess out of her tower to be seen by the rest of us. That boy is head over heels-"

Before Lily could finish her sentence you felt an arm snake around your waist. You turned assuming it would be Lando but you had been mistaken. The man before you was taller with brown eyes and reddish-brown hair.

"Hey, wanna go dance with me beautiful?"

The man smiled as he looked you up and down. He wasn't a bad-looking guy, not as handsome as Lando though. Someone else probably would have agreed, but someone else wasn't in love with their best friend. You tried to step away as his hand on your waist just felt wrong but he was able to grab onto your arm before you were fully free.

"Oh come on, just one dance couldn't hurt. I doubt your friends would mind."

You tried to pull your arm free but his grip was firm. The panic started to set in as you looked to see where Lando was. He would help, he would always save you.

"Her friends might not mind but her boyfriend definitely will."

A familiar voice called from behind you as your head snapped toward it in relief. There he was, your Lando, he looked pissed, flanked by an annoyed-looking Max and an angry-looking Carlos. The man quickly released your arm and turned to storm off with a scoff. You stumbled back a bit before Lando caught you. With no hesitation, he wrapped his arms around your waist before leaning down to speak in your ear.

"Can't let you out of my sight for a minute without someone trying to steal you huh?"

Your face turned bright red as you turned to him feeling a wave of confidence. Was he jealous? The look on his face was downright murderous at least. Wrapping your own arms around his neck, you leaned up to speak in his ear.

"We both know you're the only person this dress would come off for."

Lando stood in shock for a moment as his grip tightened on your waist. It only took a moment for his lips to crash into yours. You could taste the alcohol he had been drinking and feel how tense his body was before he relaxed into the kiss. Sure, you had kissed other guys before but never had anyone kissed you with so much overwhelming passion. Breaking away from the kiss he sighed.

"How about we get out of here?"

You can only nod still thunderstruck by how passionately he had kissed you. Lando smirked at the effect he has on you while leading you over to the group of driver not far away.

"Hey guys, were gonna head out."

The drivers look in between the two of you with knowing glances and exchange goodbyes with Lando as you two start to leave. You look back and wave goodbye to everyone as Lily gives you a thumbs-up. Blush rushes to your face as you both get into the taxi with Lando giving the hotel's address. You can't help but stare at him in the moonlight. He glances down at you with a smile.

" You know I'm never letting you go, right?"

You smile up at him with love-struck eyes. At this moment you decide, you would do want ever needed to stay by his side from then on. The company you worked for has offices abroad, and you could travel if needed, you would do anything to stay like this.

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Pt.3?

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