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randombush3 · 2 years ago

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Floss Got Hot IV

florence pugh x reader

[series masterlist]

summary: exes and ‘oh’s…

words: 9216

warnings: smut, drinking, brief panic attack

notes: IM SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT MY LOVES

“As in your ex-boyfriend Zach?”

Flo looks horrified. And mortified. She feels sick.

“The actor Zach?” You keep going every second she’s quiet; “the old one? The one you lived with? The one that looks like—”

“Stop fucking holding that against me! I’m genuinely upset, Y/n.” You love her, but you’ve got to laugh.

“I don’t mind meeting him.” Maybe this is the side of you that needs to be humbled, Flo wonders. Your ego has got to be big if you’re not annoyed. “But why?”

She shifts her weight on her feet, uncomfortable. It’s a stupid reason. It’s such an LA reason. “We’ve got to do the dog handoff.” There’s no way you can’t laugh at that. She finds a cushion quick enough to hit you when you’re vulnerable. “I’m stressed about it.” Your girlfriend climbs over the back of the sofa onto your lap. You groan. You get hit by a cushion again. “You’re a terrible girlfriend.”

“Never sleep with your heroes.”

“I hate you.”

“I’m not scared of your ex, Flo. Is he coming to Budapest?” He better not be staying with you. You wouldn’t appreciate that at all. She nods fretfully.

“Staying for a night and then flying out to London. He hasn’t asked to stay with us but…”

“I have a whole hotel!”

“It feels rude. He’s bringing my baby, and he’s agreed that she can live with me most of the time.” Toby would crucify his sister for sharing custody over a dog, so Flo then asks you to keep it quiet. She won’t live it down at family dinners. They’ll be ruthless. “Can he… Can he stay?”

“Can we have really, really loud sex when he does?”

That’s your third strike. Next time she’ll hit you without a cushion.

“I agreed so you can’t be cross with me.” She can and she will. “Was that why you broke down multiple times today?”

“I’m nearly on my period.”

“You overthink.”

“Not all of us are perfect.”

Flo has noticed that nothing fazes you. You work and keep her feeling loved, you can drink too much and carry on like it never happened the next day, and she feels a little insecure. She feels that way because you’re intimidating. Someone that put together is intimidating.

“Flossie, how can I be perfect?” You sigh as she adjusts how she’s sitting, now with her legs either side of you and her forehead pressed against yours. “You haven’t seen me have a bad day yet. When I have them, everything goes to shit. Trust me.”

“I don’t believe you,” she mumbles, snaking her hands around your neck.

“One time I lost it and cried in a board meeting.” It was embarrassing. You had needed them to take you seriously but your emotions thought the opposite.

“I bet you were a baby.”

“It was six months ago,” you correct, smiling when she giggles. “And once I tried to talk to a Japanese investor in Japanese — we needed a lot of money from him and he needed more convincing. I thought I had told him his office was lovely, I said that I was horny by accident. They don’t even sound similar.”

She laughs outwardly. No longer trying to miserable, grinning. “That’s awkward.”

“Worst part was that he’d already tried to get in my pants the previous evening at dinner.” You swear you hear her say who wouldn’t try that, and find a way to fight off your blush and take the piss simultaneously. “You’re so in love with me.”

“Am not,” she declares. A futile denial but a funny one.

Bemused, you counter, “Has it been decades?”

“Decade,” replies Flo, rolling her eyes. “I’m not the one building a hotel for my girlfriend.”

“I hate the term girlfriend,” you groan, smirking. “I don’t want Zach to think you’re my girlfriend.”

“I’m not getting engaged to you.” Worth a shot. “You can’t ask me like this. That’s not romantic, you need to be romantic.”

“I’m not a romantic person, Florence.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t I know that.” Flo sinks into your lap now, getting comfortable. You know she’s aware of how tense you become, how your body temperature lurches up a few degrees, how if she grinds down ever so slightly you’d probably moan. In fact, she actively decides to be super still, no matter how uncomfortable it becomes, until you initiate something. You don’t like begging, but she loves being irritating.

After a minute, she breaks the silence. “Babe” — she never calls you babe — “can you turn on the TV?”

You’re drawn out of your fantasy in which this situation is a lot more favourable, forced to reach for the remote and carry out her wish. “Any channel?” A Hungarian news network suffices, lunchtime news won’t be aggressive.

“Y/n,” Flo says, voice low, “I’m giving you the most perfect opportunity to take my clothes off.”

You manoeuvre your head around her body, shrugging her arms off your neck. “I want to watch the news,” you dismiss. Through the reflection in the TV, you watch Flo remove her t-shirt (your t-shirt). She isn’t wearing anything underneath.

“No, you don’t.” You can feel her pressing into you, her bare skin against your organically-sourced, overly-expensive navy sweatshirt.

“You’re right,” you quickly amend, grabbing her hips and using them to recentre your view to her. ‘My eyes are up here’ would be a very appropriate statement right about now. “I don’t,” you breathe, “I really, really don’t.”

“Hm.” It’s a triumphant little sound. Definitely Flo one, you zero. “What do you suggest we do?”

“…Each other?” That’s one way to put it.

She pauses, as if debating whether you should be allowed near her after saying that, but concedes with a sigh, dipping her head down slightly to reach your lips. You smile into the kiss, only because you’ve managed to annoy her and frustrate her very successfully – not because being kissed by your girlfriend makes your brain go fuzzy and send you up to heaven. It could never be that.

Your hands were once modestly on her waist, but that is forgotten the moment you bring them to palm her breasts, teeth clashing against each other as you both realise how long it has actually been. Today, neither is too exhausted to tap out early or succumb to the other’s ‘let me take care of you’. It’s now a competition.

Flo has always put up a fight; right now it’s to stay on top. To make it so that your shorts are coming off first, not hers. She needs it, probably, to quell the insecurity that secretly nibbles at her, but you conclude that if you are going to truly make her feel better, you will need to be a challenge worth doing. Not that you’re ever not worth doing in her eyes.

Her lips, her tongue, her teeth become your everything, everywhere, all over you, biting down, sucking, running her tongue over your skin. You are consumed by her well-conveyed desire, all the while still kneading at her chest. She sits up on her knees as you lean into the plush back of the sofa, moaning softly at the sight of you. This is not a side of you many get to see, because not many have actually made you feel the way she does. Unrestrained, wild. Alive.

Panting and then catching your breath, you pull her into you, not caring if her elbow jabs your ribs. With, “we need to get away from these windows,” and a chaste kiss to her collarbone, you stand up with her legs locked around you, enjoying the display of strength. She waits only a second – the time it takes for you to pass the offending glass and reach the more private corridor – to continue her assault on every inch of your exposed body, and when you get to the master bedroom she is halfway through the removal of your sweatshirt. It’s disappointing to find that you’re wearing a bra, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a swift motion of her fingers. Flo has always been way better at taking bras off than putting them on, a fact she discovered when she first wrestled on Womanhood.

You grunt softly as your back hits the firm mattress, feeling the coolness of the sheets rush over the heat of your body until it is beaten the moment she’s on top of you again, this time with nothing else on. Willingly, you relinquish all control of your body to the woman kissing her way down your sternum, paying no heed to any neighbours as moans fall through your lips into the otherwise silent apartment. Well, silent save the murmur of Hungarian news. Her fingers dance their way up your inner thighs, but when your hips rise in pursuit of what should be there, they meet only emptiness and a throaty laugh from Florence.

“Don’t be mean,” you find yourself snapping at her. She draws her wandering hands back, and you feel a sudden shiver of coldness.

Though it does take a moment to see past your sexual frustration, you recognise the expression sweeping her features as one that you often catch in photos of you together. She has stopped to admire you. You want nothing more than to break the bed if she is going to keep looking at you like that.

“You are so beautiful,” she whispers, quiet because it doesn’t feel right to be loud and abrasive near you.

“Would I look more beautiful between your legs?”

And it hits you that this might be the first time you have sex and not need to be touched to gain anything.

Oh, and Flo almost dies.

By the time she has recovered from the life-threateningly intense emotions she just felt, you’re no longer underneath her. Nimble and experienced, you have rolled her onto her back, but she has to crane her neck downwards to find your body and face. You are patiently waiting for your girlfriend to come back to Earth, using the time to gather your stamina and regain control of your breathing.

“Y/n?” Flo asks weakly. You hum in response, and she feels your exhale wash over her entire body. “Please fuck me.” That does the trick.

Your arms hook around her thighs, both of you burning hot, pulling her closer into you. Her hands slide out, anchoring her by bunching up the bed sheets and holding on for dear life. The TV’s soft hum is interrupted by your phone ringing, but you ignore it without hesitation. Whatever it is, it can wait.

Finally, Flo’s head lulls back as your tongue slips over her, a soft moan escaping from her lips. You chuckle to yourself, very aware of the vibrations that slice straight through your girlfriend. Your tongue is steady and assured until you skim her clit, changing from heavy to light with a simple movement. She gasps and almost gives into the urge to push your head down but has no time to when you slide your hands up her thighs and pull her even tighter into you. With frightening ferocity your tongue falls again onto her clit, swirling, sucking, adding to the wetness that is beginning to drip down the insides of her thighs.

She twists and writhes and arches her back as your attack on her begins to become too much, your magical mouth doing things it hasn’t done to her before. A sharp whine surpasses her lips as they fall open, and they don’t stop until she physically has to breathe. Even then, her breathing is ragged and heavy, as if she can’t function with you between her legs.

She can’t function with you between her legs.

A hand tentatively lets go of the sheets, but suddenly your tongue is inside of her and she needs something to hold onto. It’s an accident when she pulls your hair so hard that you whimper, though your eyes immediately look up into hers and dare her to do it again. She can’t carry out your request, because all the tension builds to a point where a graze of any part of her body would have her crying out. Her hips buck into your mouth as you move your lips back to her clit and replace your tongue with your fingers. You’re no longer holding her down, meaning she can grind into you, chasing her orgasm as if you hadn’t been getting her there all this time. Flo hears herself just before she comes, the moans, the whimpers.

You think you’re going to suffocate when she comes. Her thighs clench around you, freezing in position save the shudder that runs through her. White heat explodes in Flo, setting every inch of her body on fire, and her breath catches painfully in her throat, eventually released when she reminds herself she hasn’t yet ascended to heaven (it sure felt like it).

“You’re good at that,” she pants. She then realises you’re trapped.

When you can breathe again, you kiss her fiercely. She can taste herself all over you, on your neck, your jaw, your tongue. You break only to ask if she’d like some water, both of you downing a glass each, and spend the next few hours tallying orgasms and attempting to beat the record of fourteen for her and twelve for you. It isn’t hard when you’re driven by the fact her ex-boyfriend will be staying over in two days.

- - -

In the early hours of the morning, you both wake up, having fallen into appropriately deep sleeps around dinner time. She claims neither of you will go back to sleep considering 4am is too close to six for proper rest, and then threatens to smother you with a pillow if you try to convince her that that is not your stomach rumbling.

You pull on a hoodie and joggers when she forces you out of bed, letting her do her morning routine while you pick the clothes up from the bedroom and living room floors, turning the Hungarian news off. Your phone has vibrated its way onto the hardwood, lying face up with four missed calls from her mum.

“Mum hasn’t called me in a week,” Flo mutters behind you, shaking her head. “That woman has favourites, I’m telling you.” You laugh, setting a reminder to call Deb back at a more reasonable time. She wraps her arms around you, burying her face into the black fabric of Toby’s merch. “He charged me for my sweatshirt so I refused to buy it. I’m in the fucking song, but that’s not enough clearly.” He had been such a dick about giving you his hoodie for free, so you told him not to get you a birthday present. You gave him a slap around the head for his birthday that year.

“I’m going to lie on the sofa and pretend I’m not awake.” She calls you dramatic. “I can’t believe you think this is logical. Millie is going to think my laptop has been stolen if I log on this early.” You’re a late-night workaholic by choice. The only acceptable business that you’ll wake up for is travel, and that’s because you were banned from the private jet when you used it to fly five alpacas from Southern Peru into Luton airport to keep as pets. What your parents should have taken away from that incident was that they shouldn’t instruct staff not to question their children, but you don’t mind being distanced from the beastly metal bird seeing as it has been renamed after your step-mother. So much for it being called Y/n.

“Let me have my tea and then I’ll make us coffee and breakfast.” You nod sluggishly, climbing onto the sofa and closing your eyes. “Did you charge the speaker?”

You groan. “I think I might give you back to Zach.” The music’s good, but it’s fucking loud, and you’re aching. “I’ll find another woman who sleeps well into the afternoon. You’re going to make our children morning people if I don’t get rid of you now.”

“Oh yeah?” Flo doesn’t want to admit how much your throw-away sentence means to her, instead trying to focus on successfully pouring the boiling water into a mug. “How many kids are we having?” she calls from the kitchen, looking over at you from behind the island in the open-plan apartment.

“Two!” you shout back, smiling at the thought. “Toby wants two as well and I want to have the better pair of your parents’ grandkids.” So far the best is Bella’s baby because it’s the only one they have.

“With the better Pugh!”

She doesn’t like the sound of your grunt. It’s akin to a scoff. “The best Pugh is Raff!” You’ve known Raffie pretty much her whole life now that you think about it. Flo sits on one of the dining table chairs as she drinks her tea. “Oh, what are we getting her for her birthday? Millie says she’d like that Vivienne Westood necklace that everyone apparently has, but I got her a necklace for her eighteenth.”

“I was just going to get Saoirse to send her a text,” Flo says casually. “Y/n, darling, you need to be a proper billionaire and get your assistant to sort it out. She’ll be too drunk to care on her birthday.”

“I’m not going to Venice. Your publicist told Millie, and Millie’s already scheduled my meetings.” Flo’s publicist is a formidable woman who is going to call you at seven in the evening today to discuss this further.

You carry on explaining your gift dilemma as she finishes her tea and starts on coffee. She needs lots of coffee to comprehend all the information you’re giving her, because once you get started on something, you won’t stop. Flo much prefers your quiet moaning and groaning to this newfound early-morning chattiness.

“What time are you going to set?” you ask after she kisses you to shut you up. “I’ve got a meeting at one, and I want to see what all this fuss about your acting is about. I don’t believe you’re that good,” you tease her. She is not impressed. “I won’t slag you off to Toby, I swear.” Flo raises her eyebrows. “I won’t!”

“Timmy has been pestering me to introduce him to you. He’s convinced he could steal you from me.” You clear your throat. “Sorry. Not from me, but… You know?”

“But Timmy is a man,” you state plainly. “There has to be a lot of stuff in my system for me to do men.”

That reminds Flo of a burning question. Your answer might really ruin her mood. “Have you slept with Toby?” She has had guy friends, and some of her friends from her teenage years were definitely more than that. Your face is a relief, thank god, because the sheer disgust in your eyes and the fact that you don’t even try to hold back your gag indicates strongly towards the negative. “Good.”

You debate telling her, and then it slips out, “I’ve slept with Scarlett.” Flo looks intrigued. “Not when they were together, before that. And, you know what, I think I might have made out with Hailee Steinfeld at one point. We were so drunk, and Toby and Sophie completely egged us on. She’s a really good kisser.”

“She’s…?”

“I don’t know,” you answer, shrugging, “anything goes after shots. Hence why I try to avoid shots.” That and gin. Bad things happen after you’ve had a few gin and tonics. “Since we’re on this topic, did you lose your virginity to the boy you met on the beach that one time in Greece? Toby and I have long wondered whether it was him or the girl you were kissing the year before at one of those entertainment team discos.”

Flo blushes as she’s yet again reminded that you were there for all her bad holiday mistakes.

“Um,” she falters, almost spilling hot coffee on herself. “The girl, but she ignored me afterward. I think her family was really religious, because she ran away muttering something under her breath.” Flo remembers hearing the beginning of a prayer and almost dies inside.

“Did you not recognise her in Paris?” you question. Flo is glad that all hot drinks have now been consumed, seeing as you down your coffee because you don’t like the taste and she downs it because she needs more caffeine to have this conversation.

“No,” she groans with a frown. “She was there? Did she recognise me?”

“Yeah, but she didn’t want to say anything. They all know we’re together.” You are talking about the social circles your family are in, of course, not the general public.

“How do you suggest everyone else finds out?” she asks, seeing as it’s easy to bring it up in the conversation. You should be on the same page if you’re going to call her publicist, to be fair.

“We film a sextape and put it on Twitter. Simple.”

“I see why she asked you not to go to Venice.”

“We should still film a sextape.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“If it gets leaked they’ll know Harry Styles has nothing on you. The world’s not ready for your talents.” She rethinks her statement, correcting it. “Bar the hundred people you’ve had sex with.”

“Can’t believe the whole world got to see your boobs,” you complain. “It makes me feel very unspecial.” She rolls her eyes. You’ve made this point before. “I buy you a five thousand pound necklace and you–”

“Oh, be quiet. I love you. You’re a billionaire and you’re going to freeload in my flat.”

“I’m building you a fucking hotel!”

“Don’t you dare get down on one knee right now.” You smirk. Maybe… Just to spite her… “No, Y/n, because I’ll say yes. And I’m not ready to say yes, but you make me incapable of saying anything else and I’ve held out long enough.”

“I’m going to propose after we have really, really loud sex when Zach’s here.”

“Never meet your heroes is such a fucking true statement.” By ‘meet’ she means ‘sleep with and date and marry and have babies with’. Not that the latter have happened yet. “And we’re not doing that when Zach’s here because Billie is used to sleeping beside me so you’re on the sofa.”

“Why isn’t Zach on the sofa?”

“He’s our guest so he gets the spare room.” That makes you feel fucking fantastic! “It’s one night. You’ll be fine and I’ll go out and buy some Hungarian lingerie the minute he leaves.”

“Fuck that,” you declare much to her surprise. She thought you’d be easily compensated with the prospect of ruining more of her underwear. “If I’m on the sofa then I’m going to my hotel. Budapest is the only city hotel with a spa. I’ll ask for their prettiest masseuse.”

“You’re so petty.”

“You’re such an actor! You’ve got shared custody of a dog.” She laughs. “I might have to buy a Union Jack dildo to fuck the Brit back into you, because Billie is a dog.”

“Where are you going to find a—”

“You’d be surprised, Floss.” She shakes her head, not wanting to know anymore. You look down at the sizzling of the pan, smiling. “I wanted my eggs sunny-side up, not burnt. Looks like we’ll have to feast on those granola bars in your trailer.”

She frowns and raises the spatula to your face threateningly, swatting the air when you clear out of her way. “Text my assistant to tell him you’re coming. Is your meeting in person?” You say no, because it’s Aunt Board Member who’s calling from Surrey. “Fancy working in my trailer then? I won’t disturb you.”

“Sure,” you answer, both agreeing to her request and disagreeing with her statement. “Millie and I are having a late lunch at Onyx as my apology for blowing off yesterday, so I’ll leave then. I should probably buy some wine for when Zach comes? And a bed for Billie?” Flo doesn’t have the heart to remind you Billie’s sleeping in your bed.

- - -

Regrettably, the day of Zach’s visit pounces on you. Flo has an early morning shoot, but around lunchtime she calls to tell you it’s morphed into the whole day. The cast, who you met the day before, pick up on who she’s talking to and deafen you by screaming down the phone about drinks and dinner and various well-wishes as if they didn’t see you yesterday, though you remind everyone of how busy you will be this evening. You tried to escape it with no success.

Because you love your girlfriend, you agree to take over the task of picking your guests up from the airport. Millie laughs as you explain the situation, setting up a driver who she knows plays music seeing as there most definitely will not be much conversation. Flo instructs you to take lots of pictures of Billie and to be polite to Zach. You’re always polite. Etiquette classes cost hundreds of pounds, and your parents were prepared to pay that.

She gives you his number and forces you to send him a text so he knows it’s you. The same number tells you his plane has landed, so you set off in the car with an extremely scary scowl (the driver almost retracts his hand from the door when you look at him) and tell him you’ll be there in twenty minutes.

The first thing you notice about Zach is the dog beside him.

Billie is excited, tail wagging, mouth open and panting. She bounces at your feet, ignoring Zach’s command to calm down, unrelenting in her attempt to tackle you to the floor. You suppose you stink of her mum.

Zach inwardly cringes as he takes in your outfit when Billie’s paws begin to crease your clothes. Most days you opt for business-casual, but today happens to also be the day you met with the hotel management for Budapest, and you’re not complaining about completely outdressing him. While he is in tired jeans and a t-shirt, you are in a very expensive suit and stilettos. So what if it’s a little childish?

“I’m Y/n.” You smile. He can tell it’s phony.

“Zach, and,” he nods to Billie, who has finished her assault and is now rubbing against you, “this is Billie.”

You gesture to the driver, who is by your side at once, taking Zach’s bags from him. The two of you follow him to the car, Billie pulling hard on her leash in excitement. “Floss is still filming,” you explain because his disappointment that it’s you who’s picked him up is very evident. “We’ll go to the flat and hang there until she’s done.”

“Is there a place I can get something to eat?” His accent amuses you, but you keep a straight face.

You glance at Billie settled in the boot, before getting into the car. Zach sits, and you leave the airport.

“There’s a café next door?” You and Flo often pop into it to get coffee when neither of you can be bothered to make it.

He nods, “sounds good.”

When you get to the apartment, Zach lets Billie off her leash with your approval. She sniffs around, tail thumping against walls and cabinets and doors as she sweeps the place thoroughly. Zach, on the other hand, is very contained in the square metre of space he takes up, standing still. You remove your heels, shrinking a few inches, and Zach follows suit, sliding off his trainers and placing them neatly beside the door. The driver (whose name you didn’t catch) doesn’t ask where he should put the bags, instead using his initiative and scary knowledge of the floor plan to drop them in the guest room and slip out unnoticed.

Zach is unnerved by how used to staff you are. He won’t yet admit he’s intimidated, but the emotion is creeping up on him.

“So we’re sort of in the heart of Budapest, which is really good,” you begin, talking to him because you’ll have to eventually. Billie trots back to you having completed her independent tour. You pat her bum, and ask if Zach would like a tour. He says yes. You smile at him.

You take him round the rooms. It’s nothing special, really; two bedrooms, a bathroom and an en-suite, the living area. You like repeating ‘our bedroom’ to see him tense, and he likes how non-threatening the place is. He expected, when his ex-girlfriend insisted he stay with her, to be housed in your hotel in the basement somewhere.

After an excruciating few hours, Billie alerts you of Flo’s arrival, scratching at that door and barking loudly. Zach holds in the urge to down the beer he’s been nursing, and so do you. You found common ground in not wanting to talk to each other, instead staring at the football match on TV.

Flo’s too focused on Billie to notice how far apart you’re sitting, but when she does she laughs. Zach gets up to greet her, and to everyone’s surprise she pulls him into a hug. “Thank you for bringing my baby,” she says. “Did Y/n show you everything? Have you eaten?”

“Yeah, yeah, she did,” Zach replies. Flo looks surprised and very pleased. You’re slightly offended that she doubted your maturity that much.

“I thought we could eat at my hotel tonight,” you tell them. “We can bring Billie to the apartments and I’ll get one of the chefs to make something. It would save the hassle of going to get ingredients.”

It’s a power play. Your hotel.

Your girlfriend isn’t too ecstatic, but there’s a price to pay for the situation she has put you in and she knows that.

Before she can reply, Zach asks, “so are they actually your hotels?” And you smirk.

“They are. Hence why Billie can come. She could even get a spa treatment if I asked.”

“Don’t brag,” Flo warns, only half serious.

“I’m joking! I’d let Billie stay even if I wasn’t sleeping with her mum.” Billie sits at your feet to prove your point. Your phone rings, and you find yourself disappointed that this conversation has to end. “Shit, I can’t ignore this,” you apologise, excusing yourself and shutting the door to your bedroom behind you.

“Have you heard from Mummy?” your brother’s worried voice sounds out, uncharacteristically caring.

“No, why would I have—”

“Dad’s done it.” There are millions of things he could have done, but the tone narrows it down to two. He’s either gotten your stepmother pregnant or killed your mother. The former is the worst case scenario.

- - -

“I think he’s terrified of you.” Flo climbs into your bed, instinctively cuddling you when she feels your warmth. You’ve been answering emails for a while, letting her and Zach have a private conversation. Somehow, she thinks through bribery, Billie is adamant to sleep near you, meaning if you’re not in her bed neither is Billie. She can’t sleep without at least one of the things she loves most in the world.

“Mission successful,” you whisper, turning onto your side to face her. She frowns. “He’s nice. I don’t hate him.”

“You’re very mature,” she teases. “What was that super important call about? It didn’t seem very professional.”

God.

“Unnecessary family drama. I’m going to be an older sister.” Your girlfriend gasps, amused and shocked and every other emotion she can think of.

“Really?!” Billie raises her head at the noise.

“Shh,” you scold. “Yes, really. It’s awful news; the only baby I want in my life is my nephew.”

“Our nephew.”

“He likes me way more than he likes you!”

“Shh,” Flo copies. Billie growls half-heartedly, her collar jangling as she adjusts her position. “What has your stepmother said?” You laugh. As if she or your father were going to tell you until the thing popped out and in the crib. “Wait, so how did you find out…?”

“Mum’s gone astray because of the news, my brother called me asking if I knew where she was and had to provide me with some context.” He says he thought something was up at his gala, because he swears he never saw your stepmother drink a drop of alcohol. “I spoke to her when she finally picked up. She finds it hilarious, says she feels sorry for me for being related to her ‘goat of an ex-husband’.” Your mother has no intention of being near this baby. “I might swoop in and save the poor kid when it’s older, but I’m too busy for a baby that’s not my own.”

“What about Bella’s?”

“I’m not her go-to babysitter,” you dismiss quickly. “Our schedules are packed, Flossie. It’s a wonder we make time for each other.” Flo’s work is intense and short-term considering she isn’t on a series like Grey’s Anatomy, but yours is constant; a low hum that never leaves the background noise. You have the power to postpone to your heart’s content, but that catches up to you, so no matter how many times you tell them you’re following your girlfriend across the globe and can’t possibly be there in person, they capture you eventually. And when they do they’ll tie you down with something unbreakable, like a little sister whose favourite is you.

Flo feels selfish for forgetting your job. Surprisingly, it’s not the third member of your relationship down to the fact that you are one and the same with being CEO. You don’t usually tell her that you’ve left a meeting early to catch her before she sleeps in her time zone, or taken the day off to visit her on set, but sometimes she goes on your phone to change the song or take a picture and is hit full-force by your notifications. “You can go back to—”

“I own hotels, Flo. It’s not law, I’m not fixed in place.” You’ve never been like that. Holidays when you were little, boarding school, travelling, work; nothing was ever holding you down.

“What about our flat?”

“Your flat.”

“No, I want it to be ours,” she corrects your correction. “I want to set up a joint account just for bills, and I want you to pay some of them — an equal share. I want you to have a say on what bedding we have, or what colour our rug is, and for you to have your own pictures in our picture frames. And, one day, I want to lug everything out of the flat to a house we’ve bought to have those two babies in.”

“Preferably near family,” you add, playing along with her fantasy. “In Oxford, but if Toby’s moved somewhere snazzy then we’re following him. No way am I going to be the one with a boring address.”

“In Florence?”

You smirk. “I do love being in Florence.” She rolls her eyes and shuffles threateningly, as if she’ll turn over and face the wall instead of your beautiful, beautiful face. “You walked right into that one,” you defend, giggling. “This dream might take a while to materialise, Floss. I can’t give you most of it.”

“Y/n, I thought I was going to marry Zach.” The sudden change of tone draws your eyes right to hers, showing her you’re listening. “I loved him.” Her face begins to flush. A tear falls onto the pillow, colouring the sheets a darker shade of itself. “I… I was so angry at myself for ruining everything, because, you know, I thought he was it for me. And then,” she laughs, “and then you were at Toby’s stupid after party. No one had fucking told me you’d be there, but Mum knew Zach and I were fighting. They all knew.” You were there and she had said she wasn’t sure if she was single. “Zach had told me he couldn’t do it anymore. He’d spat it like it was sour milk in his mouth, like the thought of being near me was so despicable, so disgusting that he couldn’t bear it. But when you left the next day, I called him and I… I agreed. We talked it over, decided we wanted it quiet and private and, obviously, we talked about Billie.

“I had a dream that Zach and I would have a big wedding with all of our friends, and that the press would fawn over every detail. I had a dream that I’d marry him and it would be like marrying Leonardo DiCaprio. Y/n, I don’t care if you think you can’t have anything nice for yourself and have it be permanent at the same time. I’ve changed my dream before, okay? And if you… If you can’t give me all of it, I’ll change my dream again. This,” she brings her hand up between the two of you, “is enough for me.” You offer her a fleeting smile, and then your expression changes. Her brows furrow, and she mutters, “don’t.”

“I’m not going to—”

“Don’t propose.” You so were. “You can’t do it again, I mean, that much rejection can’t be good for the soul.”

“No, it’s not,” you gripe, teasing her. “Women throw themselves at me but you won’t say yes.” She wipes the rest of the tears that pooled during her monologue.

“I did say yes.”

You shake your head. “You said, essentially, ‘in a bit’.” It’s not the same. You pause. The apartment is quiet; Zach must be asleep, Billie’s snoring is muffled by her nose buried in the blanket you used to keep her warm. “Do you want to have—” Billie whines in her sleep, waking up. She stands, back arching, until she eventually leaps off the bed with a soft thud. The dog settles in the dog bed you bought earlier, yawning with a high-pitched howl before grunting and falling back asleep. “Hey, Billie’s basically just given us her blessing.”

Flo chuckles, her displeased frown not staying for long, replaced by a smile as you crawl on top of her. “Once. And quietly.” Her instruction goes right over your head as you brush your lips against her neck. It’s a startled noise, the one that she lets out, but you raise your eyebrows all the same. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

She’s about to disagree, but you lean down to kiss her before she can. Billie pretends not to hear her mum and this strange new woman (whom she actually likes very much, to Zach’s disappointment and Flo’s surprise), and Zach decides not to ask what you were doing in the morning.

His ephemeral visit comes and goes, and soon you are attempting to soothe your girlfriend as she frets about her impending movie premiere, for while she’s unbothered to the public, she’s quite worried in front of you.

Flo doesn’t care to recognise that the movie is what has her on edge, instead focusing on the small triggers of each burst of anger or sadness or any other emotion really. Three hours before her flight, she is leaning over her suitcase, wheezing, in the midst of an increasingly common panic attack. If Billie were here, she’d immediately alert you of your girlfriend’s state, but both Billie and you are strolling around the local park on a dog walk (though neither of you are walking; you’re on an important call with an investor, and Billie is chasing ducks). Seeing as she is very alone at the moment, she has no choice but to resort to deep breaths and get on with her last minute packing.

You come home to the apartment being overturned: Flo is trying to find her favourite pair of sunglasses. She won’t need them, you assume, because her stylist will have meticulously chosen each and every accessory, but you say nothing more than a tip-off that they might be on the dresser.

“Do you think I haven’t looked there?” she snaps, and Billie thinks she’s just been barked at and begins to respond. You stand still, taken aback. Flo would like to apologise, but you’ve walked away before she can, leaving her just as confused as you were moments before.

Not a second later, you return to your girlfriend, holding the sunglasses out to her. “I think you should get some alcohol in you.” It’s not responsible advice at all, but it’s good. She needs to hear honesty, not kind words or reassurance that everything will be fine. It probably won’t be fine, and there’s nothing you can really do about that.

You never fail to stun her, Flo thinks, blinking at your command dressed in an opinion’s clothes. “We have beer left over from when Zach was here.” She begins to make her way to the fridge, but you stop her with two hands on her arms. “Got something else in mind?”

“Want a shot of tequila? Sit.” Flo laughs. You’re such a bad influence. A couple of months ago, she wouldn’t believe her childhood idol would be getting her drunk instead of asking her to talk her feelings out, nor would she believe that said idol confessed to spiking board members’ coffees with rum at big board meetings. In your defence, how else is work supposed to be fun?

As instructed, Flo takes a seat at the dining table, absently running her hand up and down Billie’s back as the dog waits for scraps of food. You’ve got to hand it to Billie, she does have Flo wrapped around her paw.

“Two shots of tequila coming right up.” You grin as you set them down on the table, forgoing the use of the mandatory coaster just this once. Flo raises the shot glass to toast, then wonders why you’re not doing the same. “Both are yours, I’m working.” She smiles, toasts to you and Billie, and knocks back both shots with ease. It would have been an insult to set out salt and a wedge of lime for her.

“What have you got planned while I’m suffering in Venice?” Flo asks once you’ve taken the shot glasses back to the kitchen and put the bottle of tequila away.

You shrug and look at Billie. “We’re probably going to sit in the park again tomorrow. My friends asked if I’d like to join them on their holiday, but I don’t think Billie would appreciate being on a yacht for three days.”

“I’m sorry that I’m making you babysit.” You don’t mind dogs. You had two cocker spaniels growing up, and, of course, your mum has Rupert. “You’re the best step-mum a dog could ask for. Even if you convinced me to have sex while the dog was present.”

“Billie was asleep,” you defend, fighting to keep the (little) dignity you have left. Dogs don’t care, surely. “You’re hardly gone for long. Not much will change. Maybe you’ll sleep on the sofa because Billie’s taken your spot, but that’s all I can think of.” Flo scoffs and says you need to let that go. “I shall take no other to my bed aside from Billie and you.”

“Unless Hailee Steinfeld pops round. I give you permission to finish what you started centuries ago.”

“I’m not that old!” You think about what she’s said. “And you’ve just reminded me to text her about who I’m dating.”

Flo raises her eyebrows. “Who are you dating?”

“This really, really annoying sister of a friend.” She grabs your t-shirt and pulls you into her, ignoring your groan about stretching the fabric. “I never thought I’d like her, but I made a bad decision after too many drinks and slept with her in her childhood bed.”

Her lips taste of tequila, but they’re comfortingly soft (how are they soft, she complains they’re chapped all the time?!) and you’ve got to hand it to her that she’s good at kissing. “Bad decision, huh?”

You shrug, “bad decision that led to many very satisfactory orgasms.”

“You’re so lucky I love you, because I’m sure all eight million of my fans would jump at the chance to date this bad decision.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I fucking will!”

While you laugh at the determination in her voice, she finally notices the buzzing of her phone. There have been a lot of texts she’s missed for your short-lived bartender career, stuff like flight details and the fact that there’s a car waiting outside for her this very minute.

Knowing her well, you recognise the regretful smile. “I’ve got another call in half an hour. I’m sorry I can’t see you off.” Flo nods, she understands. “Bye, Flossie.”

“See you later,” she replies, because she will, won’t she? It’s two nights at most. “I’ll be sure to send you lots of pictures, and it’s not like the family group chat will be quiet.” The family group chat has most of the Pughs you can think of, you, and Scarlett. “I packed Raffie’s present from you, so don’t worry about it, and there’s lots of food in the fridge so you’re not going to starve. I turned the place into ready-meal central for you.”

“You stress-cooked,” you state.

“Doesn’t matter. You know how to feed Billie, and she’ll be—”

“I know, I love you, get your bum to Venice.”

- - -

Billie grunts when your phone buzzes in the late afternoon.

It has finally stopped being used seeing as you’ve crept onto the sofa and are half-watching reruns of Friends, but you wonder whose contact has surpassed your Do Not Disturb.

“It’s probably Mama,” you tell your girlfriend’s dog, questioning your life decisions when you hear your own tone and phrasing.

Reni: Date cancelled and now I have a spare ticket for tonight’s opera. Best seats in the house. Come?

Well, that can’t be good.

Irén (you desperately need to change her name in your phone) is your ex-girlfriend. Things crashed and burnt, but you were twenty-one; young and stupid. You’re both so much more mature than you were then.

Billie tilts her head to the side, puzzled as to why you suddenly reek of fear.

You: Be prepared for how sexy I will look.

She’s still a friend, she has to be. A year together shouldn’t be worth throwing away memories with a girl you’ve known since you were eleven. Boarding school is supposed to make friends for life, not exes who hold grudges.

“I’m not trying to convince myself of anything,” you respond to Billie’s silent criticism. “The opera is fun, I have nothing to do, and she’ll have spent hundreds on the tickets knowing what she’s like.” Her father owns an oil company. Like you, she attended your school because it was known to house heiresses like the London underground houses rats, and, like you, she will one day fully inherit the family business. Though she’s never had to compete with a sibling for that.

Reni: Come to mine in two hours. Chef is here, I shall dine you privately where you will not be papped.

So she knows about Flo. That’s good. That means she’s not allowed to wine and dine you properly, nor turn on her almost irresistible charm and convince you to sleep with her. Which you wouldn’t do. Because you love Flo.

Reni: Can’t wait to see if you’ve aged nicely.

She’s funny. Irén has always been funny.

“Bills, you’ll be fine here on your own?” You ask her as if she can respond. “Flo would be okay with that,” you state, unsure but assuming she would be.

You proceed to walk Billie for half an hour, spend another hour getting ready, and the remaining time in a car to her flat in the heart of Old Town. It’s small and cramped, but Irén likes it that way.

She greets you with a hug, to your surprise, but when she pulls away it becomes clear that she didn’t expect herself to do that. You hold up the bottle of champagne you decided to bring her, and she grins. “You haven’t changed,” says Irén, with a glint in her eye.

It isn’t long before you take in the details of her apartment. It’s messy and unorganised, with cupboards that groan at the chaos inside of them and side tables stacked with Vogues. Every month, Irén gets all of them —from every corner of the world, you’re not joking — and she has always sprawled out on the floor to thumb through the pages. Ever since you were eleven.

“Neither have you,” you reply, sitting down on her velvet sofa. The apartment looks shoddy, but the furniture is ornately carved or stitched, not matching each other but never clashing. “Antique sales?” She nods. “You’re a collector.” It’s not thrown out as an insult, but she jokingly takes it as one.

“I’m going to go into fashion, finally,” Irén squeaks. “He’s fucking let me! I told him I’d sell the oil for a penny and run away if he made me be… Sorry, Y/n. Hotels are cooler. It’s different.”

“I had a choice, you didn’t.” Your consolation is received curiously. “I like where I am in my life, Irén.”

You like that you have a girlfriend, and a best friend, and a job. What more could a person ask for?

“Bleh,” Irén says loudly, above the buzzing of a light that is in need of fixing. “Irén is so formal, babe. You never used to call me Irén.”

“Ten years ago.”

“Things change, but you can still call me Reni.” She’s being nice. “Baby, you can’t be so uptight.”

“No, no, no, I’m not uptight. Flo left for Venice today, and I’ve been swamped with work. Drinks?” Irén nods with a smile, and you expertly open the bottle. She sets down two crystal champagne flutes. “What time are we going? I’ve left the dog alone.”

“There is no way you have a fucking dog,” she snorts. Before you dated, you lived together, sharing a house with a few other girls at university. Irén spearheaded the movement for a dog, but you, the one paying the most rent (they all went to your school, you all knew whose parents were paying and whose weren’t), vetoed her motion every time they so much as tried to bring it up.

You like dogs. You don’t want one.

“Flo’s dog.”

“Ah, I see.” What does that mean? “You really love her enough to house her dog?”

It isn’t possible for her to miss the way your eyes shine. “She’s… incredible,” you answer, “and I think it’s worth it. The dog’s not too bad.”

Irén pauses, trying the champagne in her glass. “We leave in an hour. I’d drive us but…” She finishes her drink and you smile proudly, glad that she likes your choice. “Let’s just get a taxi. Keep your driver posted because there are unlimited drinks from the bar, and I don’t like throwing up in taxis.” You shudder at the memory of too-many-shots Irén in a black cab, keeling over and ruining your shoes.

After a bit of a catch up, she excuses herself to finish getting ready, claiming she has to now match your level of attractiveness, if not beat it. You smirk at her before she leaves, and when she’s gone you settle on her sofa to read the hundred-and-one messages from the Pughs’ group chat.

It mostly consists of Raffie asking where they all are, and Flo sending little videos of her getting ready.

Privately, she sends you a video of her dress. A first look. A secret one, just for you.

You tell her that she should wear ball gowns more. And that you are really skilled at taking them off. And a few other borderline dirty sentences. Your texts eventually cease, and she responds only with a picture of her on a boat. Her looking divine on a boat. Never have you wanted to be a boat before.

“It’s beyond me how Flossie is her.” Irén makes you jump, almost so that your phone clatters onto the floor, but it lands on a pile of August Vogues which cushion the fall. “How is Toby taking it?”

“Better than expected.” Much better.

You’re proud of him.

- - -

The opera is almost too casual when you get there, but someone guides both you and Irén to a cordoned off area that is clearly something to do with the amount Irén paid for the tickets. You haven’t yet asked about the date that cancelled, but if she wants to talk she will.

You sit in your seats while the house lights are still on, enjoying the view of everybody filtering in. “This reminds me of when we’d sit on the main stairs and watch people run to their lessons,” Irén says quietly, not disturbing the tranquility of being lost in a sea of other people. You wonder what they’re talking about.

“I missed you,” you confess. “We need to do this more.” A waiter clears his throat and hands you the glass of prosecco you requested earlier. Flo said she was having the same one, you thought it would be nice to drink somewhat together in celebration of her getting through Venice.

“It’s hard to track you down, you know. I was tapping through fucking DeuxMoi and you popped up. You little celebrity.”

“They scrolled to the bottom of my instagram, what can I say.” She chuckles. She’s in a lot of those posts. “Why aren’t you staying with your parents?”

“Why weren’t you at your father’s wedding?” You were inconspicuous. No one should have noticed. “We all have family problems, baby, but why should we dwell?”

“No, I’m not dwelling, I—” but before you can finish, the lights leave you in darkness and applause ripples through the building.

Irén leans her head on your shoulder. “You were right. We should do this more.”

She takes your hand in hers, and keeps it like that until the interval, only letting go to use the bathroom and then order some more drinks. Irén knows you well, so she orders some salted pretzels too, which are promptly delivered by a waiter who eyes the two of you suspiciously. The staff have been weary of your private booth.

When it finally finishes, you find that you’re almost asleep in her lap. She giggles quietly, not wanting to attract attention now that everybody can see you. “Are you going to use me as your bed while your girlfriend’s away?” You let out a drowsy groan, not quite hearing her as your head is nestled into the jumper she took off half an hour in. A hand cups your cheek, turns it so that you’re looking up at her. She lowers her head, lips hovering above yours, and you’re certain she isn’t going to do it. There’s no way. She’s your friend, and she knows it didn’t work out, and she knows you don’t want her. Irén isn’t stupid, but Irén is kissing you.

In front of lots of people.

You shake your head and tell her to stop. “Reni, we’re not… We don’t…”

“I regret making you choose. They’re your family, in a way, aren’t they? Flossie must be like a younger sister.”

tags: @pewpughpew @ridleypugh @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take @delfiore @yelenabelovasbxtch @sophie-xox @slut4milfs69 @sunshadesnrainbowz

#florence pugh fanfiction #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh #floss got hot #florence pugh x you #florence pugh one shot #black widow #fanfiction #florence pugh imagine #marvel #mcu #florence pugh x y/n #florence pugh fluff #florence pugh smut #florence pugh angst

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jinxhallows · 3 years ago

Text

Method Writing (Lucifer x Fem!Reader Explicit One Shot)

-x-x-x-x-x-

HAHAHAHA I wrote this on a whim after exchanging some DM’s with the incomparable @scarlettriot (if you haven't checked out her Red Riot shit its incredible!) so shout out to you for the idea queen LOL. Dis just a lil snackie yall aint nothing too crazy LOL as far as I’m concerned in my head this is as subby as im gon get from daddy LUC lmao

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ᴍᴇᴛʜᴏᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ (ʟᴜᴄɪꜰᴇʀ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

ᴄᴡ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴅᴏᴍ, ʜᴜᴍɪʟɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱQᴜɪɴᴛ ʟᴏʟ, ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴀʟ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

ʟᴇɴɢᴛʜ: ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛ

ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ: ✩⋆ 🎀 𝟤.𝟣k 🎀 ⋆✩

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

You sigh in frustration as you lean back in your computer chair, staring hard at the few lines of text you had written.

“Hit another wall?” Lucifer asks, peering over his glasses from across the room where he sat, reading a tattered old book.

“Yes.” You frown, adjusting the display settings on the screen. Maybe if you made the page black and the text a soft peach color, it would help shock your vision enough to reset your creative juices into flowing again.

Lucifer sets his book into his lap and takes off his glasses. “What’s causing it this time?”

“I just…” You’re frowned up at the screen, trying to click around and make unnecessary adjustments. “I’m not used to this kind of sexual dynamic. When I write, its sounding too...fifty shades of grey-ish.” You settle on a brown page with an orange text instead.

But now you’re bothered by the font style.

As if anyone reading the manuscript would give a shit! You were supposed to use 12 point Times New Roman on the final copy anyway! Damn it. You were beginning to overthink and it was affecting the entire writing process that you used to enjoy.

“Isn’t that book wildly popular amongst human suburban wives? I’d perhaps argue it should sound like that if you intend for people to have an interest in purchasing it.”

You drag your hands down your face, pausing over your mouth, carefully trying to choose your next wording.

“I’m not just doing this for money. I’m trying to become a better writer, love.” You add the term of endearment at the end of your sentence, trying to sound less annoyed than you actually were.

“You are a marvelous writer, Y/N. Your thought pattern is girded at the moment, no doubt; but that doesn’t negate the quality of your penmanship.” Lucifer stands up, gently placing his book on the small table next to him as he crosses the room to hover over your shoulder, looking at your screen.

“What a dreadful eyesore, why have you edited the screen like this?” His arm crosses over you to stabilize himself as he leans in front of you, clicking around on the screen to return it to normal.

“Because I was trying to inspire myself, Luc, wait—” You reach underneath him and place your hand over his on the mouse. He glances down over his shoulder at you. “Maybe you could help me?”

“That’s why I’m fixing the screen.”

“No, you have to let me write it Lucifer.” You use a stern tone, “You could write this entire book in minutes, I want to be able to do it myself. I need you to help me in a different way…”

He stands up and raises a brow, “This is an erotic novel. Do you want me to fuck you?”

You’re briefly taken aback when he drops out of his tightly constructed pattern of speech to say a brazen phrase like ‘Do you want me to fuck you’.

“How do I explain this…I need you to be…submissive for me.” Your eyes darken, “Allow me to dominate you. Just a little bit, so I can get a feel for it.”

“My sweetheart, I would love to help you, but submission is not a part of my framework.” He chuckles, “I would have no idea where to start.”

“Exactly. You wouldn’t start, I would.” You lean back in the chair, folding your arms across your chest as you challenge him. “I have no idea how to be dominant but if we try together, maybe we can figure it out. At the very least, it’ll give me a break from all this.” You tilt your head at the screen.

Lucifer runs his thumb over his lower lip, considering your proposition. “Let’s say I agree to this arrangement, for tonight only...” his eyes meet yours, “You never breathe a word of this to anyone.”

You bite back your shit-eating grin. “I promise.”

“I’m very serious my love…” He’s towering over you, placing both his hands on the arms of your chair, leaning you back as his scarlet eyes burn through you. HIs lips ghost your cheek and rest right next to your ear and you nearly shiver as he whispers,

“If I hear that anyone knows about this, I will devour you.” he pulls back to look you in your eyes once more.

“Am I understood?”

Wide-eyed, you give a slow nod. His gaze flits over your face for a moment before he’s satisfied and stands back up.

“Alright then,” he starts to pull his shirt over his head, “What would you like for me to do for you?”

You watch him, your thoughts racing and your adrenaline causing you to get a little too excited about this experiment. Suddenly, this powerful man was going to be at your mercy. Well, Lucifer wasn’t someone who would go down willingly of course. All the better, you had to work for it.

Talk about method writing.

You arch your foot, dragging your painted toes up his leg until you were over his groin. You never take your eyes off of his as you press the sole of your foot slowly into him, taking the time to feel the outline of his cock through his silk pajama pants.

“First thing I need you to do is get on your knees.” You push in a little harder, feeling the slow firmness in his building erection. “I’m not going to be looking up at my pet.”

His stare remains intense as he slowly drops down onto one knee, followed by the other. “Like this?” He asks, now at eye level with you.

“Much better.” You praise and reach out to push a few stray wavy black locks behind his ear, “Good boy.” You study his expression and although he remains stolid, his fair skin betrays him as the redness rises in his cheeks. He claims he doesn’t know what to do, but he listened well; and he was enjoying it to some small degree. You stand up and push the chair away, beginning to circle around him, contemplating what you were going to do.

Damn it, he was so much better at this than you were. He seemed to take command of you quickly and confidently, and here you were, overthinking again.

Still, it was turning you on to see him on his knees like this, waiting for your next move. You suddenly have a strange idea, so you stop directly in front of him and he looks up at you from the ground.

“Release your horns for me.”

Lucifer silently obeys, two curled black rigid horns merging and curling from atop his scalp. His hooded gaze makes you intoxicated with power and arousal. It’s like he’s still the one in control, and is only allowing you the brief fantasy of believing you’re the one in charge.

This kind of irritates you, as you want him to fully submit to you. You curl your fingers around his right horn and give it a tug, “Come.” You command. He’s down on his hands and knees, crawling across the hard wooden floor as you guide him with your tight grip over to the bar cart. You let go of him and he’s now staring at the floor.

Good.

Maybe he’s beginning to learn some humility.

His obedience is making you want to just sit on his cock already, but you want to truly focus on the feeling of being dominant more than just the act of intercourse. You two knew how to fuck, that much was very clear; but you didn’t understand how this dynamic worked. So you extended the slow burn just how you liked.

You sit upon his back, knowing the limits of his strength. Of course, he doesn’t waver, and you grab a glass and pour yourself up some of his aged scotch. You take a sip of it before spattering it back out.

“This is disgusting.” You look down at him and dump the remaining expensive scotch over his head without a thought.

At first you gasp.

You went too far.

That was mean.

But he shakes his head to clear the liquid from his hair; reminding you of some kind of....goat-dog hybrid, what with his horns exposed and everything. You notice his hands curling into fists on the ground but he doesn’t look up. It makes you smile. Good thing he can’t see that.

“What a good boy you’re being for me Lucifer. Do you want me to reward you for your behavior?” You run your hands over his head several times, peeling back the wet, soaked locks from sticking to his brow and temple.

He exhales through his nostrils. “Yes.” He mutters. You can tell he wants to say so much more.

“Aht aht.” You give a tight yank of his horn, “Yes, what?”

He swallows, “Yes...M...” he’s struggling to say it. You yank again, harder, forcing his head back at a painfully unnatural angle.

“You better not make this fucking difficult Lucifer, I can get real fucking nasty with you and you’re pissing me off.”

“Yes Mistress.” He finally mumbles, nearly inaudibly.

You stand up and walk in front of him, kneeling down and grasping his chin with your hand as you force him to look you in the face. “I don’t think you understand what it means to be submissive, Lucifer. You are not in control right now, I am. So all this useless pride can go in the garbage. I am your Mistress and you will address me as such or I’m going to fuck—you—up–” You squeeze his face tightly, digging your nails into his skin as your teeth clench together; before you finally let go.

You shake your hand from the pain of squeezing. The deep, reddened nail marks you’ve imprinted into his skin begin to slowly fade as he watches you with an angry glower but doesn’t dare to object.

“Massage my hand you fucking worthless demon.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

You place your hand out and he sits up onto his knees again, taking your hand in his own and running his fingers over your skin, kneading into the muscle. It feels so good, you almost forget the intention you had behind him doing it for you.

“That’s enough.” You snatch you hand away, “Good boy.” You look him up and down before your tone eases by a hair. “I don’t want to have to be mean and nasty to you Lucifer, but please understand that your ego will be checked accordingly. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Mistress. Crystal.” He replies tersely.

“I’m not a fan of that tone; but we can work on it...” You begin to undo your robe, the satin fabric falling around your body as you sit in his reading chair, your leg hanging over the arm. His eyes scan over your naked body hungrily.

“You should allow me to clean you up.” The lust building in his loins was getting overwhelmingly frenetic; but if there was one thing that Lucifer was going to do, it was maintain his composure. He cleared his throat before asking again, more appropriately,

“Mistress, may I please clean you up?”

Your eyes lit up, “My sweet handsome pet, of course you may.” You watch as he crawls over to you and obediently makes quick work of the wet arousal you’ve leaked over your thighs from the start. Your flavor dances over his tongue as he swipes your inner thigh, over your folds, and slowly spreads them apart his lips closing over your pulsing bundle of nerves. He’s sucking and licking and you are coming undone with how good it feels.

“Oh god that feels so good–” Your head falls back against the chair as the breathy words tumble from your lips. He stops so abruptly, your head darts up again to look down at his beautiful face between your legs.

“Ah, there’s my pretty Mistress. I just wanted to see your face.” He kisses your mound, “I love watching it twist up, when I make you feel this good.” His warm tongue flattens over your slit before slipping in between and caressing your clit. You struggle to keep your eyes on him, feeling your chest huffing with your quickened, irregular breathing pattern. He drops you off the edge of a splintering orgasm that makes your back arch out of the chair, hand tangling in the hair between his horns, your grip tight as you ride out your release with a few bucks of your hips. You come down with a pleasant sigh, relaxing into the chair.

“I think I have enough now…for the scene at least...” You giggle softly.

Lucifer stands up, and you are at eye level with the prominent stiffness in the front of his pants. He then leans down to you with a malevolent smile.

“Oh but we’ve only just begun.” He places his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up. “This was a fun little game; but now you’ve made me so hard, it hurts. You wasted a very expensive glass of scotch being such a little brat.” He uses his thumb to pull down your lip, pressing the tip into your bottom teeth, hard. You stare up at him, hooked onto his every word.

“I’m going to have to punish you for that.” His voice becomes impossibly quieter, almost a demonic whisper, “You’ll have to forgive me, Mistress, but I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk tomorrow.”

#obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me smut #obey me luci x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer x mc #lucifer x reader smut #obey me mammon #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me solmon #lucifer fanfic #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer story

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takenbyheartstrings · 4 years ago

Text

Yes, I’m Changing | Corpse x reader

pairing: Corpse x fem!reader

summary: as y/n infiltrates Corpse’s life and his life, he seems to be happier and more alive.

warnings: mentions of anxiety and depression, crying, fluff, angst and more fluff.

request: hello can i please request a corpse x reader where the reader and corpse meet and instantly become best friends and he starts to get happier around her and get a little less anxious - maybe like she’s his saviour? idk, also could you please make her voice the complete opposite of corpse himself? tysm 🤍🤍

a/n: tysm for requesting! i hope this lives upto your expectations ^-^ OBVIOUSLY most of this is made up - and i’m talking about the Leslie and Corpse storyline - so please don’t come @ me S,JDFNKJSDNF

alSO KINDA SHORT IM SORRY

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You sighed as you logged onto discord ready for your stream, your setup was your favourite colour, so you clicked on your webcam with a smile and clicked to start the stream. People soon started to flood in.

“Hey guys!” You smiled taking a drink of water, “Welcome to the stream, we’re playing Among Us today with Rae and Sykkuno and a few more new friends! I think Corpse is coming to play with us, I’m excited to meet him!”

You quickly joined the discord call, Ludwig, Rae, Sykunno, Toast, Leslie, Poki, Felix and Sean had already joined, so as soon as I joined that was 9/10 of the lobby.

“Hey guys!” You giggled happily.

“Hey Y/n!” They all greet you happily, as you adjust your headphones on your head, pulling your mic a tad bit closer.

Soon one more person joined the discord call, “Hey,” a deep yet soothing voice speaks up.

“Woah.” You mutter quickly realising your mic discord isn’t muted.

Corpse laughs, you two were the only one’s in the lobby who didn’t know each other, “I’m Corpse, and you must be y/n.” You can hear his smile through the screen, “Big fan.”

Your face flushes red and chat takes notice, “Yes, that is me, I am y/n, and I, personally am very excited to meet you!” You cheer, trying to keep your cool.

“Holy shit guys.” Rae chuckles, “Their voices are complete opposite - it’s like the angel and the devil.”

“Hmmm maybe,” You perk up, “I guess I’d be the devil then.”

Corpse chuckles at your comment as the round starts as you smile because of his laugh, proud of yourself that you made the man, the myth, the legend, Corpse Husband laugh.

That was a year and a half ago.

You knocked on the door tugging on your grey sweater as he opened the door quickly, letting you in, before pulling off his mask as soon as the door had closed behind you. Corpse smiled at you as you hurried inside placing Grocery bags on the kitchen counter.

The two of you decided to rent a place together in LA to be closer to your friends and open up a new line of opportunities. Well, that’s how you pitched it to your best friend.

Anyway, it was game night at the Corpse x Y/n residence, last week was at Sykkuno’s house where you all played What Do You Meme, now it was yours and Corpse’s turn. Playing Cards Against Humanity because they all knew you guys had the largest collection of cards. You quickly set out everything on the table as Corpse just admired you from the couch.

“You could help, y’know.” You glared at him as he sat there watching you.

Corpse pretended to think about it, “Well, if I try to help you’re just gonna push me away and do everything yourself anyway.” He smirks - he’s right. You know he is. He knows he is. Everyone know’s he is. You’re a control freak.

You huff, “So what?”

“So what?” Corpse lets out the loudest laugh he can, “Last time you almost broke my finger!!”

You pause, before leaving it at that, Corpse just chuckles as he sits there, you finish in no less than ten minutes, “It’s gonna be fine.”

“Never said I wasn’t.” You retort.

Corpse looks at you, “I know you better than anyone, y/n.” It’s gonna be okay.

And he was right, the night went great. Everyone was smiling and laughing and having fun. It was a night to remember, mostly because Rae almost got blackout drunk and Toast and Sykkuno had to take her home early. But she’d just laugh it off in the morning after you call her and make sure she’s okay.

Corpse stands up, “Anyone need a drink?” He questions, as everyone shake’s their heads. Leslie actually changes her mind and follows him around the corner to a small kitchen.

A lot of people wouldn’t have known this, but Lesilie and Corpse met way before he met Felix or anyone current. She looks at him with a soft smile as she watches him get her a drink from the fancy fridge they have in their house.

“What?” Corpse questions noticing Leslie’s look.

Leslie chuckles, “You love her, dude,” She sighs before he can protest it, “Don’t try to say that I’m wrong either. She’s changed you, you’re slightly happier now, you’re making your way up there, she lifts your spirits every single day and you should see the way you fucking look at her, because I know you don’t know. You love her dude and she loves you too, think about it.”

Leslie leaves the kitchen as her and Edison are the only ones left in the house, it was kinda sad to see it without people in it but you smiled regardless. “That was really fun tonight, thanks Corpse!”

Corpse smiles as you do, “Always. But I’m super beat, gonna try and get some sleep.” In reality, he wasn’t. He was just gonna think about what Leslie said all night.

She was right. You loved him. But you couldn’t tell him that because 99.9% of the time they didn’t reciprocate those feelings back. She had learned not to try with love anymore. So you were sitting in bed that night thinking about a life where you had something good. You had love and comfort. Though you felt it was never going to happen.

Corpse was doing the same - he didn’t take the shots because he was scared. He thinks about her. All the fuckin’ time. How he’s so glad she joined that lobby. Leslie was right she made him happier. She made his life better. Way fucking better. He thought about a life with her, that it would be so good to call her his girlfriend. Never have to see her with another guy again - because yes. He was jealous of all the one’s she’d bring home after a night out with her friends. But she didn’t know they would come out and he’d scare them off.

He didn’t know he was doing that - not intentionally.

Your music fades out of your head as you try to fall asleep to it, but it fails coming back into earshot. You turn to the opposite side of the music. You tossed and turned before standing up out of bed. You had to do it. You had to tell him how you feel and you had to do it now. Something made you compelled to do it. Something made you need to do it.

You opened your bedroom door stepping out of it quickly walking down the hall over to Corpse’s room.

Your anxiety started to spike, you could feel tears on the brims of your eyes - you were starting to overthink.

“What if he doesn’t love me back”

“What if he’s in love with someone else”

Corpse was having the same spike of anxiety, as he started to overthink feeling his stomach - his gut churn. He knew he had to tell you. No matter how anxious he was, he was willing to take that 50/50 chance. You were practically speed walking, and so was he. The two of you ran into each other, falling onto the floor opposite of each other, your hands catching you, breaking your fall. You yelped before you both chuckled and Corpse helped you up. The two of you hadn’t realise how close you were until Corpse spoke and you could feel the warmth of his breath and minty toothpaste on your face.

“Corpse I- I need to tell you something.” He stopped you.

“No- I do.”

“Corpse I have to tell you!”

“Y/N I LOVE YOU!” Corpse yells pulling away from you as he starts to pace, “I can’t go a day without missing you - I can’t go a day without you here. I crumble, I fall apart. You make me happier, nobody’s done that before. You are a light to my life, you are my sun, you are everything to me and I don’t know how to live without you - how to function. You went to VidCon for three days and I fell apart completely. I. Love. You.”

At this point Corpse didn’t know what he was saying. He was just going with his gut. You sat there shocked. You just smiled at him after a while. You ran towards him and jumped into his arms pressing a kiss to his lips and then pressing them all over the rest of his face.

He was relieved to say the least - probably guessing this is what you were going to tell him and he loved that - he could finally love you.

He carried you to his bedroom, which would soon be the two of yours as it was larger in size and fell asleep comfortably in each others arms as the warmth of Corpse’s body radiated onto yours. His arms around you, holding you to never let you go. To never get hurt. To protect you from all the bad in the world.

The two of your feelings were finally at peace. It was a beautiful masterpiece called love. You changed Corpse for the better and he changed you for it too. You both lived in perfect harmony with each other. It was a comfort you had never truely felt before - same to him. Something that the both of you never wanted to let go of. Let alone each other.

#corpse #corpse husband #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband x reader angst #corpse husband x reader fluff #corpse husband fanfic #corpse husband fanfiction #corpse husband fluff

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aliwritesfic · 3 years ago

Text

The Night Shift Part 4 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

Chapter summary: Cute work things (sorry im very hungover and i can't remember what i actually wrote)

Warnings: maybe a bit of second-hand embarrassment, masturbation

W/C: 1.5K

Part 1 Part 5

Monday night, Frankie arrived before you. The day cook, a grizzled old woman named Annette, gave him a toothy grin.

“Evenin’ hotshot,” she said. “You here to make all my dreams come true?”

“Only for a night, darlin’,” Frankie said.

“All you men are the same,” Annette laughed and handed Frankie the spatula. She gave him a to-do list, which was significantly shorter than the one on Friday night had been, bid him goodnight and hightailed it out of there, saying something about dinner with her husband.

Frankie watched the window out of the corner of his eye, waiting for you to arrive. There weren’t many orders up, so he could manage the task of cooking and having his head whip up every time he heard the tinkle of the chimes above the door.

It was almost forty-five minutes after he arrived before you came in, red faced and breathing heavily.

“I’m-I’m so sorry, Riss,” you panted. Marissa shrugged and patted you on the cheek.

“Don’t worry about it, sweet, I had some good company,” she winked at Frankie. “Have a good night, guys, don’t get into too much trouble!”

Frankie watched as you leant over the counter and caught your breath. “Do you want some water?”

You nodded wordlessly, straightening up. Frankie handed you a glass, a shock of electricity surging through him as your fingers briefly touched.

Fuck. He had it bad.

“I had to run here,” you said when you had your breath back. Frankie nodded, waiting for you to continue. “I found a kitten behind a dumpster, all wet and shivering and crying, so I had to take her to the vet.”

“What kind of kitten?” Frankie asked, having a soft spot for cats. He had had one, until he and Portia broke up and she took the cat with her. He didn’t hold it against her: Anthony the Great was technically hers.

“A black one. I’m not good with breeds,” you said.

The conversation was broken up by a pair of old men calling out your name. Your genuine smile was back as you greeted them. Frankie adjusted his cap and smiled to himself.

Occasionally he would glance up at you while he worked, catching the occasional glimpse of your side profile or the back of your head. You seemed a little lighter today, like you weren’t carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. It was nearing 1 in the morning before he decided to attempt a conversation with you.

“So, how was your weekend?” He kept his tone light, nonchalant. You shrugged, pouring him a cup of coffee.

“It was okay, nothing special.” You stirred in the sugar as you spoke, avoiding his gaze. “My boyfriend has his stupid friends over so I spent most of my Sunday cleaning up after them.” Frankie deflated just a bit. Of course you had a boyfriend. Of course. Someone as beautiful as you . . . he’d be more surprised if you were single.

“But uh, I saw Manny on Sunday,” you continued, oblivious to Frankie’s disappointment. “You remember Manny, right? He was the night cook before you, you met him I think.”

“Yeah, I did. Nice guy.”

“Uh, yeah, so I saw Manny for lunch on Sunday and he suggested making a night shift lunch group.” You wiped down menus, deftly avoiding Frankie’s gaze. “And um, well, if you wanted to come this coming Sunday, that’d be cool.”

“You’re inviting me to lunch?” Frankie asked.

“Yeah,” you said, finally looking up at him. You flushed slightly. “If you’re interested, that is. You don’t have to, obviously, but Manny and I thought it would be nice. We could all get to know each other outside of this place. Make friends, you know?”

Frankie smiled, happy at least with the prospect of a friendship with you. “That sounds great. What time?”

“Midday, if you want you can give me your number later and I’ll text you the place?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“Oh, and it’s just us three. So don’t invite the weekend crew, or your wife or anything.”

“I’m not married, so no problem there,” Frankie grinned at you. You nodded quickly, turning away before you could see the smile you were trying so desperately to fight off.

~*~

You didn’t know why it excited you so much that Frankie had said yes to Sunday lunch. Maybe it was because he wasn’t married, not that it made a difference.

Still, it gave you a slight thrill that Frankie had said yes.

You worked with a renewed vigor for the rest of the night. You weren’t sure any amount of rude customers or spilled drinks or broken plates that could bring you down. At one point you found yourself humming along to the radio, some song you hadn’t heard in years by an artist you couldn’t place. You knew it would bug you until you figured it out

“You like Prince?” Frankie asked, making you blush furiously at being caught with your guard down.

“I-uh-I-yeah. Yeah a bit,” you said, “actually, I haven’t listened to him in years. But I like a few of his songs.”

Frankie grinned and began to sing along in a terrible falsetto, making you snort with laughter. You danced along, allowing yourself this moment of freeing yourself of any embarrassment. After all, if Frankie was willing to put on the falsetto, it wouldn’t kill you to dance. The entire thing was ridiculous, but you were having a better time than you had had in months.

Frankie ended the song with a kick and a flourish, taking off his cap to bow dramatically.

“Have you ever thought of auditioning for one of those talent shows?” You grinned at him, wiping the sweat off your brow.

“Actually, I’ve won several of them,” Frankie winked, “I just work jobs like this when I’m not on sold out world tours.” You laughed again at his joke, almost shocked at how easy it was to laugh with someone. How freeing it was to dance like a fool and not feel embarrassed or like you were in on the joke and not the butt of it.

The rest of the shift passed quickly, the night peppered with jokes between you and Frankie. At the end of the night, instead of rushing out the door as soon as your relief was there, you waited around a few minutes.

Your phone was mercifully free of messages from Kurt, pushing your mood even higher.

Frankie met you outside by the back door, and looked shocked to see you still there. You held up your phone as a way of explanation. “I still gotta get your number.” You handed your phone to Frankie, already open to the new contact screen. Frankie punched it in quickly and handed it back to you.

“What’s with the emojis?” you asked, squinting at them.

“It’s my nickname, Catfish. My buddies and I all had callsigns in the military and that was mine. Except for Benny. He was just Benny.”

“Catfish,” you repeated. “Well, I’ll see you tonight, Catfish.”

“Yeah, see you tonight.”

~*~

You couldn’t sleep. You were too busy thinking. About him. Frankie. His dark, warm eyes that when you looked into them you felt like you could melt. The way his soft looking curls stuck out under his ever present cap. His smile that felt like safety. His hooked nose that led to lips you could only imagine kissing. His hands. You felt yourself warm as you imagined what you wanted his hands to do to you. You let yourself imagine what the rest of his body might look like.

Before you could overthink it and stop yourself, your fingers slipped between your folds and began to rub. You were wetter than you could remember yourself being. You moaned softly as you thought about him doing things to you that you didn’t even realise you wanted. Within minutes you were to your climax, legs stiffening and back arching. Sweat dotted your brow and your heart slammed into your ribcage. You hadn’t orgasmed in almost a year, always too exhausted to masturbate, and it wasn’t like Kurt gave a shit about you finishing when he fucked you.

The thought of Kurt immediately turned you sour. The burning feeling of betrayal knotted itself in your stomach. Kurt didn’t even let you have a vibrator. He had huffed and become scornful when you tentatively brought up the subject a few years back. He didn’t want anyone or anything but him to make you cum. It was a man's job to keep his woman satisfied, even if he struggled with the whole keeping you satisfied part.. You knew Kurt would practically have an aneurysm if he knew you were touching yourself to the thought of another man. But the thought of Frankie touching you gave you a thrill you hadn’t felt in years. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel truly guilty for it. Surely that was some kind of sign.

Eventually, you fell asleep a few hours before your alarm was supposed to go off. Normally, you dreamt of being in your own private space station, as far away from the apartment as possible. That night, you dreamt of Frankie.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 let me know if you'd like to be added <3

#the night shift #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #triple frontier

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jostepherjoestar · 4 years ago

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Hey ✨queen✨ I was wondering if it’s alright if I ask what would happen to La Squadra if the child member’s future self got sent to the past and their child self got sent to the future. Their future self who’s a teen is wearing grunge clothing and is kinda going through the ‘screw off im a teen who wants privacy to do my own things’ type attitude.

La Squadra kid/Pomo as a teenager 😤

sfw // Pomo/LS kid

note: i changed the idea anon, so sorry to do it. It felt like a more suitable course for Pomo’s story to adjust it, I do still hope you’ll enjoy it without the time travel!

Absolutely adore the idea of Pomo-rino being a grungy/goth teen!! They’d 100% have a septum piercing and denounce capitalism (as they should) and just be all broody. I do think that the relationships they’ve built with La Squadra have become so strong and close that even though they enjoy their privacy, Pomo would still know they could count on all of the guys 😊 enjoy!! 💖✨

As extravagant as the rest of La Squadra is, Pomo’s approach to life and fashion changed after turning 16. Before, they loved indulging in more experimental outfits, stranger styles and colours that seemed to make them fit among the rest of the lavish men. But now, after discovering the amazingness that is thrift-shopping and the angsty, introspective style of grunge and goth -that by the time Pomo reached age 17 had already come and gone out of style- there was no turning back.

Along with the style came the attitude: communication went a bit rougher and replies seemed shorter. Going out without letting anyone know when they’d be back or even with who they’d be going with. After some stern talks with a couple of eye rolls Pomo promised to text them whenever they went out.

Pomo had already finished their high-school diploma with little help and extremely high marks at age 14 so there was no need to even think about the highs and lows that came along with it anymore. That certain melancholy and emotional openness of the grunge and goth (music) genres brought Pomo some comfort; it felt a bit lonely, a former child assassin- now teen assassin- doesn’t make new friends that easily. Especially since that silent streak never quite left Pomo, preferring a quieter demeanour. They had become a little more vocal over time, offering the occasional opinion on serious work related matters.

God they were so well spoken too. A voice so soft- almost trained, letting out brilliant things like a calm stream manoeuvring a rocky valley, knowing just where to go and what places to avoid.

Being quiet had many upsides, most of them learned from Risotto who loved to spend time with Pomo, just observing the calamity that was their squad. That way no social queue was left unnoticed, navigating every situation with grace, often times coming to aid others in their reserved manner. Pomo will often bring warm drinks or snacks to their tired teammates who thoroughly appreciate the small gestures. Do not be fooled though, that dry wit also carried through with age. The comments often so unexpected which made them all the more hilarious, the squad is sure not to linger on sipping their drinks around Pomo. (lotsa spit takes lol)

Prosciutto and Ghiaccio have the most issues with Pomo’s new style and attitude. (they seemed more a bit more broody and open to talking back every once in a while) Zio Ghiaccio and papa Prosci especially hated the thrifting part! “Why would you buy worn clothes AND rip them even further? Pomo what’s the point?” Prosciutto just does not get it. Why pay any money for those strange clothes that smelled like mothballs?! “It’s not like like you don’t make enough money to buy clothes that aren’t ripped.” Ghiaccio prefers not to think about it too much, knowing just how much it riles him up. At some point he just has to let these damn teens be, no matter how much they annoy him with their “emo attitude”. These two will try anything, even gifting Pomo clothes they think would fit way better. Only for them to end up in a thrift-shop, Pomo likes being able to donate to the cycle of clothes, much to the two’s chagrin.

Formaggio and Risotto are WAY too lenient in letting Pomo do whatever they please. Attitude or not, they think it’s kind of funny to see them grow into such an open minded young adult with a headstrong attitude. Both are fans of experimenting with style and overall expression to find one that works in the end. The men both know Pomo well enough, they’ve already proved to be wise and capable of making well thought through decisions so they trust Pomo with this just as much. Although Risotto is not a fan of their choice in tight crop-tops. HAH! The irony! After some grumbling and Pomo assuring them that their jacket covers it up anyway, Risotto doesn’t have much ground to stand on (not that he ever had, the man’s tits are out at work). Formaggio truly couldn’t care less, showing a little skin never hurt him so why refuse them the expression? They look cool in those dark threads!

Who do you think drives Pomo to the thrift-shop? MELONE: eager father figure and fashion enabler! (with a cool motorcycle!!) He loves sticking it to the man just as much as Pomo right now. He’s really into the whole fashion aspect, picking out piles upon piles of possible pieces to try out. The thrift shop workers are less than pleased with the mess they leave but Pomo is sure to leave a sizeable donation after checking out! Melone is one of the few to voice their concern for Pomo’s change in behaviour. He just wants them to be alright and feel somewhat ok with their strange life, keeping in mind to frequently ask if they still want this lifestyle. Melone wouldn’t restrict them from doing more rebellious stuff, he’d just prefer to know what was going on so he doesn’t need to overthink or worry every time Pomo’s out.

Illuso LOVES encouraging ‘bad’ behaviour! Want to stay out past bedtime? Sure why not, come back by sun-up and just act like you woke up early to watch the sun rise. Snap back at Prosciutto or Risotto? Go for it, see what happens! Over the years he’s grown more fond of the kid but never really took up a big role in offering them any parental care. He cares of course, but just from a distance. Maybe he’s a bit intimidated by their smarts and those eyes that never really changed, still so intruding when they meet his, seeming to search his very soul. For once Illuso’s pride knows better than to get in Pomo’s way.

Pesci is so easy to convince to join the movement! He’s warmed up a lot more to Pomo, gone from thinking they’re some weird scary kid to an admirable and still somewhat scary teen. When Pomo starts becoming more goth/grungy he’ll be impressed with their style change, wondering if he should get a cool leather jacket too. Pomo still likes to prank him from time to time. Telling all sort of wild theories to impress Pesci and let him babble on about them to Prosciutto and the rest of the gang who already caught onto the whole charade. Strangely Pesci looks up to Pomo, admiring them for trying out new things and not being afraid to ruffle a few feathers in their team.

#cozy ask #jjba x reader #la squadra x reader #jjba headcanons #risotto x reader #formaggio x reader #illuso x reader #prosciutto x reader #pesci x reader #melone x reader #ghiaccio x reader #jojo x reader #la squadra kid #jojo's bizarre adventure #la squadra #pomo

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ailowvyu · 3 years ago

Note

hi i was wondering if you could give me a haikyuu matchup ! (preferably a male character) i’m 19 and i go by she/her pronouns, i have gold-brown hair and i’m about 5’5. i’m a taurus sun, libra moon and aqua rising, and im a enfp/7w6. i’d say my top kins are rapunzel, kaori (from ylia) oikawa and sugawara.

a lot of people would describe me as bright and friendly, but also academically and emotionally intelligent. i value honesty and communication but often overthink and strongly worry about how others view me. i’ve always been told i’ve been mature for my age, growing up i was an only child with a single mom so i had to adjust being around adults all the time. i often think about philosophy (specifically ethics) and i’m the first one to give advice. i’d say i give much thought about my actions and im the opposite of impulsive. sometimes this causes me to play it safe and i think i need to work on taking risks every once and a while. i think my biggest fear is not living up to people’s expectations for me. i was always known as the advanced kid in my grade, often getting awards for my achievements, but eventually after getting to high school i was just the same as everyone else. my report card always was excellent but if i was recognized publicly, i felt like a failure. my family and friends all expected me to be outstanding as before but i couldn’t do that and it made me feel lost. on the other hand i think competition motivates me, i’m thankful to have had a few friends i would always compete with on test scores because that’s what drove me to be better. i’m definitely the extrovert in my group of friends, as well as the mom figure (always ordering for them and the only one who will make plans) if i’m not the one who is making plans for large get together or anything of that kind, i often get anxious and i feel out of control (i think that’s also one of my weaknesses; my need to be in control) usually though, since im pretty responsible, my friends don’t mind and it goes smoothly.

overall i look for stability and brightness in a friendship/relationship. i don’t usually get along with people who are impulsive and those who will blindly call people out (i’m the one to look at multiple perspectives, even if that means disagreeing with those close to me) i think financial and communicational (?) stability is extremely important and i will constantly need reassurance, due to my frequent overthinking. i also think that i need someone who is open minded and willing to go on small little adventures all the time (even if that just means going on a walk or going on food runs) i think excitement is necessary to keep a relationship alive and need someone who understands my humor/sarcasm. my love languages are quality time and physical touch and i think fun date ideas to me would include something like going to an amusement park or a picnic, even just staying inside and baking would be a dream. i’m also an ex-theatre kid and i like painting and baking :) anywyas thank you !!

Match Up ->

first of all, thank you for requesting. i'm trying my best, but sorry if this match up is not up with your expectation. enjoy :D

Akaashi Keiji :

I thought about Akaashi when you said that your love languange is quality time and physical touch. Akaashi will always be there if you need quality time, deep talks. you will definitely calm when Akaashi is beside you. when you deep talking with him, he will pull you into his chest and hug so that you can feel save and warm.

i think he will understand your feeling, he also think before doing something (because i think he is open minded). since you said that your biggest fear was not living up to people’s expectations, i think that Akaashi will understand your feeling about that. so he will support you, cheer you up, always there for you, and maybe you will study/practice together. he will trust all your decisions and your plan, because he understand that you believed in yourself.

and i think you guys will spend time with baking, picnics, relaxing at the amusement park. I think it's really exciting and fun, so i'm sure that your relationship will live happily and brightly . he will make sure the finances and communication between you are stable so you don't overthink too much. and i think Akaashi is compatible with a person who has a motherly nature like you.

i think extrovert like you will suit introverts like Akaashi, you will complement each other. and when you feel you are a failure, he will come for a deep talk so you don't lose hope in yourself.

i think thats all for your match up, thank you and keep fighting :D

#akaashi headcanons #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!!#hq incorrect quotes #hq headcanons #match up requests #haikyuu quote #haikyuu meme #anime headcanons

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artsninspo · 4 years ago

Text

Butterflies - IV

MASTERLIST

“So, you’re never home, anymore” your bestie comments as you fluff your curls out.

“You know I’m busy and when I’m not I’m here talking with you” you laugh.

“And your swear that’s it? Are you still dating Gabriel?”

“Ummm hmm?”

“Seeing him tonight?” She pries.

“No not night brunch” you correct.

“Date number?”

“I don’t know?”

“Dang! So many you’ve lost count? How many times a week to you see him”

“Three” you admit and she screams. Your cheeks burn with a serious blush. These are the things you like to keep to the chest.

“So you like him”

“I don’t know…” Thats a lie you think to yourself "Yes” you admit. “But he has to be too good to be true” you groan closing your eyes.

“Have you had sex yet?”

“No”

“Maybe he’s small” she jests but that isn’t funny.

“Maybe, something to keep me grounded. It’s an icky but addictive feeling” you admit. “I feel like I’m losing brain cells cause all I want to do is be a giddy fool” you swallow and she laughs.

“Don’t overthink it, you deserve to be happy. Just enjoy your Prince Charming while it lasts”.

“Good advice” you agree finishing your eyeshadow and spraying your perfume. You’re out of the house and G is sitting outside on the hood of his car like a GQ model.

“Hey handsome” you smile and he pulls you to him pecking your lips.

“Hey babe” he smiles letting you go and opening the door. The sun is bright and you cover your face.

“I forgot my shades” he takes his off instantly.

“You’re driving, I’ll be fine” you smile kissing his cheek and you end up at the brunch place. The food is amazing and G is attentive as always. He smiles as the waitress flirts with him amusing you.

“You have the whole staff a giggly teenage mess” you smile having another piece of fruit.

“We’re you like that?”

“I’ve always had pretty good self control. But I had my time to embarrass myself on behalf of a good time” you smile.

“You don’t have a jealous bone in your body do you?” He asks and it’s relief on his face.

“Us wanting to spend time with each other is our choice if that changes it changes I’m not good at coercion”

“Yeah right, you have the soft power” he says dropping twice the amount of breakfast on the table in cash. “Come on” he says and you end up in Saks. The sunglasses section he buys you everything you want without flinching at the completely indecent price tag.

“Why are you trying to butter me up?” You ask suspiciously sitting on his lap at the park where you spend time together on nice days.

“I’m going away for a week, so I’m trying to make up for lost time”

“Court for the kid?” You ask getting comfortable and he holds your hips adjusting your position with his big hands.

“Yeah, her mom wants to take her globetrotting” He’s annoyed. “Just to spite me, she knows work is busy so she’s testing what I care about more” he vents.

“Nothing to worry about. You don’t seem like you’re easy to pull the run around on” you smile.

“But, Izzy… social services said she needed a shrink and if you heard what the shrink says. Apparently she’s sad, she has emotional delays, trust issues. Babe, she’s only four” his words resonate and you rub his back before giving him a hug.

“Everything will be fine” you assure and he nods.

“Here’s my keys while I’m gone and some cash in case you need anything” he says reaching into his pockets.

“I don’t need your money”

“Take it, please” he urges.

“Fine” you put it in your purse and he smothers you in kisses.

“We’re official now, right?” He asks.

“What do you mean”

“Exclusive, you’re only seeing me. I’ve always only been seeing you.”

“I guess so” you shrug.

“I’ve been telling people I’m not single anymore” he admits.

“Interesting” you tease making him laugh.

“I’m not a coward or a cheater. You don’t have to worry. It’s getting hot out let’s go to your place” you stand and he follows taking your hand.

“I’m not a cheater or a coward either” he asserts. The ride home is full of casual conversation. And he has his fridge stocked with your fav wine when you arrive pouring you a glass before the two of you sit on the couch.

“I have a question” he says a little nervous.

“Go” you shrug putting the glass down. He swallows putting your legs across his.

“Are you a virgin or celibate and waiting for marriage?” He asks.

“How do you get there”

“Well, I know you’re attracted to me. But you don’t react like women have previously when I touch them or kiss them. I’m not comparing what I’ve done. Shit this is coming out all wrong. I guess you have a lot of self control and I was thinking it’s because you’ve never had sex” he swallows making you laugh.

“And if Im celibate is that a problem?” His face says how he feels about it instantly. Stressed.

“I need sex, I just do” he shrugs. “I’m not pressuring you I have my hand and respect your wishes. I’d rather it be with you than looking at a screen and jacking off but I guess I gotta do what I gotta do” he shrugs making you laugh.

“I’m not abstinent but I am a virgin” you admit and he looks stunned. “It’s really not tat deep. I’ve always just been focused on other things. I’d rather it not be terrible and with someone who can at least make it pleasurable, and take care of me. Everyone our age plays games and I take relationships more seriously” you shrug. He smiles.

“So you’ve just been breaking balls huh” he asks looking at the ceiling and chuckling a bit. Like he’s hit the jackpot. “I hope you know I can take care of you”.

“Are you experienced in that field?” You ask feeling oddly comfortable for the first time

“I’ve never slept with a virgin, having dated mostly older women” he explains. “But I’m a quick learner and you have nothing to worry about. Once it happens you’ll be all in and in love with me” he smiles.

“Don’t ruin your chances with that” you tease getting comfortable as he cuts on a movie.

“It’s a warning, I guarantee it” he asserts.

“Then I gotta be careful” you smile and he pulls your in closer. There’s no shortage of fireworks when he kisses you soft and then harder. But you can feel his heart beating just as fast. He pulls you in in closer kissing down your neck. His hands drift up your sides.

“Now I’m terrified” you pull away breathlessly.

“Just be ready when I get back, I’ll take care of you”

“Thanks for the presents today” you smile pecking his lips more harmlessly.

“A way to show you how I feel” he smiles kissing your cheek. “Stay the night, drive me to the airport in the morning”

“I don’t have nightclothes, my toiletries nothing” you remind.

“Take the keys get what you need and come back. I’ll keep my hands to myself, promise” he crosses his heart.

“Drop me home I like my car better” you smile.

“What’s wrong with mine?” He asks.

“It’s you but it’s not me” you comment as he stands behind you already ready to go.

“Why don’t we just go get you some things you need then pick up your car so you don’t need to remember to bring things back and forth”

“You’re strange” you comment as he heads to the mall.

“I know what I want” he reminds.

He walks into the lingerie and sleepwear shop cool as a cucumber.

“What size?” He asks looking at an underwear display.

“XL” you comment looking for soaps and lotions. He rings everything up paying and holding your bag as you shop around getting necessities.

“You’re buying so much stuff, I’m Not Moving in”

“Well start with weekends” he ignores making

You laugh.

“I didn’t agree to any of that, just to tonight” you remind.

“One Step At a time” he reasons kissing your hand. His eyes are taken with a lingerie display in a boutique window.

“Like that?” You ask.

“Is it your style?” He asks. You smile taking his hand as you keep walking.

“So is that your thing? Dress up, shopping, you know?” You ask.

“It’s been over three months of dating. I figure unless I make a move I’ll be waiting forever”

“Well if it counts for anything I like that you aren’t rushing.”

“It’s Nice to be wanted for something other than my body for a change” he teases playfully.

_______

Tags:

@keiva1000 @damnitaa @ju5tp34chy @ljstraightnochaser @soufcakmistress @corajanejordonnn @soulfulbeauty19 @twistedcharismaaa @l-auteuse @chaneajoyyy @cyntgefel01 @itsjustyazz @damienwitcher @thotyana-in-this-hoe @aanairb @cocotheclown

#gabriel maddox imagine #gabriel maddox #rome flynn x reader #rome flynn #htgawm

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inkykeiji · 3 years ago

Note

Hi clari im sorry for ur loss, ik its hard nd im sending lots of love and hugs. i hope u dont mind im asking a question i feel so selfish asking bc ik ur having a rough time :/ but im struggling with my anxiety and overthinking lately. the guy i like isnt a big texter; he txts me 1-2 times during the day and at night when he gets home just to say hes home (he is very busy) but i need more reassurance nd im trying to be cool bc ik he likes me too. how do i not be bothered? how do i not overthink?

hello sweetpea, thank you so much, i appreciate that and you a lot <333 that’s alright, i enjoy helping you guys and i also need the distraction!! i wrote u a novel below the cut, but keep in mind that this is just my personal opinion and you, of course, do not need to take my advice at all! <3

okay SO. in my opinion, trust, honesty, communication and compromise are four of the most important things in a healthy relationship—ANY relationship (romantic or platonic etc). if you need more reassurance, you need to vocalize that. he isn’t a mindreader, and he isn’t going to know it’s bothering you if you don’t tell him, right? i know that this can be very scary, and i also know that it’s a delicate subject that must be approached with caution and care. you don’t have to flat out say “i need you to communicate more with me” if you don’t want to, if you feel that’s too blunt or too forward, but (in my opinion) you need to clearly and honestly articulate your needs. and it’s better to do this early on in a relationship as well!! you build habits together, you adjust certain bits and pieces together to make it work—relationships ARE a lot of hard work, and they’re a two-way street; both parties must put in the work to build and maintain it, right??

it’s hard for me to say how you should go about articulating or expressing your needs, because i don’t know this guy. i don’t know if he’s someone who will pick up a more subtle suggestion or if you need to literally spell it out for him—in either case though, be as clear as you can in your communication. tell him honestly that you want to interact more. please, my sweet anon, don’t hold back because you’re worried about coming off a certain way. if this is bothering you, you need to address it—your needs are valid, too. if he truly cares, he will compromise as well. it’s not like you’re out here asking him to text you every minute of every day—you understand that he’s busy, and that’s great!! that is already you compromising in a way, you know? you aren’t expecting too much of him or asking for something impossible here. communication is important!!

so, my advice would be to either (depending on the type of person he is) suggest or overtly bring to his attention that you’d like to talk to him more. think of some ways he can interact with you more without it detracting too much time from his busy schedule—because, in all honesty anon, you deserve someone who will make time for you. you deserve someone who will put in an equal amount of effort into the relationship, even if they’re very busy. my boyfriend and i are currently drowning in work, but we still manage to make time for one another, because we are important to each other.

an example of a suggestion you could make could be a phone call/facetime call a few times a week for like, i dunno, half an hour? 45 minutes? the time is up to you, really. but calling, for example, is a lot more personal than texting, and i think you’ll find the reassurance and satisfaction you’re looking for if you can speak to him like that a few times a week or whatever works best for your current situation. but that’s just one example!!! maybe, instead, you can somehow work out seeing each other more often than you already are. either way, you’ll need to come up with scenarios that work for your specific situation, you know??? maybe you can even come up with them together!! you could say to him ‘i’d really love to talk to you more’ and then even suggest that the two of you brainstorm some potential solutions together. if his commute home from work takes up a substantial amount of time, suggest that he call you on the way home! things like that, you know? if it’s possible, things you can already work into your daily routines. compromise!

i think the biggest and most important point here, though, is that you should clearly voice your feelings. he deserves to know that you’re struggling, and you deserve to remedy this situation and be happy in your relationship. trust that he will understand and trust that the two of you can work together to find accommodations. be honest with him about what’s bothering you—or just that you’d really love to speak to him more.

i know anxiety makes us very scared and often times will plant seeds of insecurity and doubt (and then nurture, feed and water those seeds until they grow into weeds) but ultimately you are in control here; dig those yucky little seeds out before they can start growing and taking root. your anxiety is only one part of you, and you are so much more than that (i tell myself this frequently when it comes to my mental illness as well!! i’m not sure if it’ll help you, because we all deal and cope differently, but sometimes when my anxiety or my illness is really pissing me off i kinda tell it to shut the fuck up and remind myself that i’m in charge of my mind. sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t! but it’s the truth). the point i’m trying to make here, though, is that while overthinking is of course not good or healthy, asking ‘how do i not be bothered/overthink’ is just putting a bandaid on an issue that you should work out sooner rather than later in your relationship. honestly sweetpea your guy probably thinks everything is fine and dandy!!! and he will continue to think so until you voice your thoughts, right? he would want you to be upfront about things that are bothering you, just as i’d think YOU would want HIM to be upfront about something bothering him, that way you can work through it together early on and find a solution that works!!

aaah i hope this advice helps you a little <3 i love u and i am rooting for you!!!

#i also think that like—let’s say you go with the calling idea: knowing that you have a call with him coming up will make you that more #excited to speak to him yk????? it would be nice to have a call with him a few times a week; to talk about your life and his and what’s #been happening etc etc etc #but ultimately it’s your choice of course!!!!#my boyfriend and i did this a lot in university because we went to school about an hour away from each other and only got to see each other #once a week. so he would often call me on his drive home (which was also an hour) and i always looked forward to putting aside that time to #talk to him <3 #but you will find a solution that works for you bb <3 #i am sending u love n luck!!!#please have a lovely day n stay safe out there <333 #inky.bb #clari gets mail

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uwuch9n · 4 years ago

Text

hey !!! today i’m gonna be trying to write some fluff to calm myself down and also try out something new in the process ! hope whoever reads this enjoys it :)

characters: kenma, nb y/n (self insert or oc) and a bit of kuroo :D

warnings or possible triggers: ear biting, neck kissing, wrists/arms being touched, stressed/overworked/anxious reader, and a thunderstorm/heavy rain ! please do not continue reading if any of these things could trigger any unwanted reactions ! maybe the next time i write some fluff or sfw fanfics you’ll be able to read ‘em !

a nice welcome home.

after a long day at your new job, a manga artist, you decided to end your shift for the night and head back home. you wiped the sweat off your forehead but the stress wasn’t easy to get rid of. the office wanted the manga to be done as soon as possible and you couldn’t get the last few pages right. it was very obviously a hard week for you. luckily it was a friday so you’d get saturday off, but sunday you had to go back.

after getting yourself together you stuffed your things into your bag and walked out to get in your car.

“hey there y/n! lookin great huh, i see you’re ready to go home to lil kenken right?? how you doing?” said kuroo as he ran into you right outside the establishment. he worked near that area and decided to stop by, luckily he walked into you at the right time.

“im doing well,, i guess.. i just was overthinking a bit but i’m sure tomorrow, or even tonight, i’ll be able to refresh myself and relax..” you said almost trying to avoid contact for the time being. kuroo noticed you didn’t seem to excited about things and so he decided to give you some words of encouragement.

“i’m sure whenever you get to relax you’ll be ready for work again! and besides you got a lil pal waiting for you at home, don’t you look forward to that?? he’s pretty good at comforting,, and i should know”- he chuckled. you gave him a smile and nodded in agreement. you let out a sigh and walked off to your car right before kuroo grasped your left shoulder and pulled you in for a hug. he patted your head with his hand and reassured you. you got a little flustered,, but kept it in.

“you’re doing amazing, really. i know you work really hard, so make sure to cool off, ‘kay? you got this in the bag!” he said, you clearly being able to sense his smile through his decently raspy voice. he let you go and gave you a little push to get you back together after the short hug, and you both waved goodbye.

well that was quite an experience. you knew that kuroo wasn’t a homewrecker, especially when it came to kenma’s s/o, but he was getting much more comfortable and supportive with you. that made you happy, but after thinking about what had just happened, you refocused and started your car.

you drove through the freeway and noticed all the billboards promoting businesses that you knew you’d rather be working at. you meet a stop sign and let out a sigh while other cars drive by. when it’s time to go, you go, as one would normally do, but you noticed that some water droplets were gently hitting the windshield of your car. it started getting a bit rougher and even more water droplets starting hitting your windshield, only this time they got louder.

you could hear all the other cars driving by thanks to the water that was slightly flooding the streets. you make a swift turn into your apartment complex and slowed down as you arrived at your apartment. you park at your designated spot and turn off your car. you adjust your bag straps that had fallen off your shoulder without you realizing, and reached into the back side of your car to get your umbrella. unfortunately it wasn’t there so you’d have to get wet, and it was raining pretty heavily. you sighed and reached into your cup holder for your apartment keys and got the right key ready in your hand for when you got to the door.

you slam your car door and lock it.

“goddamit” you let out as you start feeling your clothes getting humid. your shoes were hitting the floor inundated by the rain. you started running towards your door which fortunately was on the first floor. you inserted the key into the keyhole and turned your wrist gently as you peeked into the window. you could see the flashing lights of the tv. kenma was probably playing games again.

you closed the door and brushed yourself off as you glanced at kenma who had turned to see what that noise was. he knew it was you but he still wanted to see your pretty tired face. you gently took of your shoes and put your jacket and bag on the racks on the wall next to the door. you pushed your shoes with your foot and went to put on your favorite slippers.

“hey love, how did today go..?” asked kenma in a soft gentle voice, as to not startle you while you still were trying to shake off the water that had been absorbed by your clothes. you look up at kenma with an exhausted expression. “today was very stressful,, my manager told me to hurry up,, the artwork is due literally wednesday of next week and i can’t even get the stuff i’m working on now finished and-” kenma stopped your rambling by gesturing a hug and making gentle movements to come here with his small hands. you looked at him with a surprised expression, and then quickly changed it to a pleasant smile.

by then you realized that he had paused his game and the music of the game was still playing in the background, only a little quieter then when it’s actually on. you head to his little pile of blankets and pillows, and saw your favorite stuffed animal and a few snacks already set up for you for when you came home. that made you feel a lot better than before. “hey kenken, what’s all this stuff?” you asked acting clueless, but also trying to hear what he had to say about the setup. “it’s just a few things for you to pick out from,, i even brought you your little frog plushie; i know you like it..” he said while grabbing it and handing it to you. he blushed a little as you took it from his hands, gently caressing his as you did.

you took a look at a frog plushie but before you could get a full 360° look of it you saw kenma’s slender hands covering the two small black eyes of the plush. he set the plush down on your lap and grabbed your wrists. he knew your wrists were probably tired and sore after all that nonstop sketching at work, so he started gently rubbing them with his thumbs. he looked at your hands as he did, and then looked up at you. you had a cute shocked expression which he loved to paint on your face. he giggled and then went in for a kiss on the cheek.

after his soft tender lips were lifted from your cheek, you felt a bit of rustling and then a little blow on your ear which made you squirm. he bit it gently and kissed the side of your neck, while you sat there a bit flustered. kenma was usually the type to just give you a kiss on the cheek and continue playing his game, but recently you were getting much more attention from him. you didn’t mind it though, you kinda enjoyed it rather.

“you don’t have to give me neck kisses y’know..” you said hoping that he wouldn’t listen and just continue for a good minute. he of course didn’t stop and completely brushed off what you had just said. he moved to your shoulder and started kissing it, and then he pulled away. he look at you and gave you a smile, leaning in for a kiss afterwards. you kissed back and then grabbed him by the shoulders. both of you were blushing intensely, his blush just a little more calmed down, but it was there nonetheless.

“let’s eat some snacks, shall we?” you say after pulling away from the kiss and sitting there being a hot mess. you could hear the rain only getting rougher and rougher, and at one point you heard thunder. it was gonna be a loooong night. “let’s do that then” he said smiling as he reached over to the bowl full of strawberry pocky and small chocolate chip cookies. he fed you a stick of the strawberry coated biscuit and you nommed down on it happily, while he pulled away the excess pocky stick and brushed crumbs off of your lips with his thumb. his hand grasped the side of your face and he went to kiss your cheek once again before feeding you the rest of the pocky.

kenma turned to face the tv and then slowly got up to grab another controller for you to play with, since he was already playing a game and he wanted you to play along as well. you watched his flimsy self get up and come back to the floor in front of the couch. he sat down criss cross apple sauce style and handed you the controller, all while the thunder was still alive and the rain was still pouring.

“do you want to keep playing this game or... another game i have in our room...?” asked kenma in hopes that you’d say you wanted to continue playing the game he was already playing. he didn’t want to get up when he was right next to you. “this game seems fun, i’d love to play it with you” you said happily as you took the controller he had handed you and held it correctly so that he could get the multiplayer setting on and you’d be ready when he did.

you heard silly sound effects from when he switched the setting to multiplayer, and it filled you up with motivation for some reason. the thunderstorm and heavy raining didn’t bother you anymore because you knew you’d be safe with kenma. the music of the game got louder and kenma slowly lowered it a bit as to not disturb the apartment building. “you have to jump over the brown mushrooms and then jump into the green tubes and-” “..super mario bros..? don’t worry baby i know how to play this one” you winked at him and he let out a giggle.

he layed his head on your left shoulder which made you blush, and you followed it with a wide-eyed expression. he didn’t look too into it though, he was just focused in the game, and for him it was only nature. you rested your head on top of his and continued to play. time passed and it was around 2 AM. you and kenma had played for hours, and kenma was seemingly getting pretty tired, just as you were. “hey bub do you want to maybe go to bed now?” you suddenly paused the game and asked. “bed..?” he looked confused. he directed his eyes to the couch behind you two and you followed, quickly looking back at him.

“do you want to sleep on the couch tonight?” you put the puzzle pieces together. he nodded his head. “you don’t have work tomorrow so i figured you wouldn’t mind sleeping with me on the couch....” he said quietly in hopes that you would. you grabbed his face with your warm hands and kissed his forehead. “yeah of course i do!” you said trying to be enthusiastic, although your tired face barely allowed it. you both got up and he laid on the couch. you tried getting the bowl of snacks from off the floor and bring them to the kitchen but kenma quickly pulled you into his arms.

“tomorrow.. tomorrow we can clean up...” he said exhausted as you now were covering his body with yours. you adjusted yourself as did kenma and you both got into ‘cuddle mode.’

his arms wrapped around your body and you slowly started to kiss him all over. he laid his head back onto the arm of the couch. you relaxed your stiffened body, and closed your eyes as the music from the video game slowly faded away into nothing. kenma’s arms rubbed your back and moved to your head and shoulders. he gave you a final kiss on your head before drifting off to sleep.

that’s all ! i hope you enjoyed this self insert x kenma fluff fanfic ! if this does any good i’ll consider writing more fluff in the future :))

#hq fluff #fluff #haikyuu fluff #fluff fanfic #fanfic #sfw fanfic #kozume kenma #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #kenma haikyuu #haikyuu kozume #kenma fluff #kozume fluff #sfw #sfw writing #writing

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honsoolie · 4 years ago

Text

don’t rush | 02

pairing: Yoongi/reader

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, eventual smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings (for this chapter only): mentions of stage fright/performance anxiety, swearing, sexual references, slight angst, dad jokes :|

words: 6k

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: didn’t plan to take this long for an update, life gets in the way, you know the drill. read 01 here and as always, this is crossposted to ao3 :)

When you get inside, the warmth welcomes you in. You’re not quite sure if it’s from the heating in the hallway or how Yoongi’s eyes had shone in the moonlight. You lean against the inner door frame, a happy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, legs a little weak in the knee. You feel light-headed, maybe from being up late, maybe from your exhausting day, maybe from the lingering remnants of Yoongi’s cologne.

Did that really just happen? Did he really just ask for your number? Was this all a dream?

The euphoria is short-lasting, however. You still have some assignments waiting for you, and only a couple hours left until your morning classes. The tiredness never lets up, and your limbs heavy again as you make your way inside the lobby of your dorm.

Unknown number (2:47am): hi this is yoongi

Unknown number (2:47am): did you get inside ok?

You (2:48am): yeah

You (2:48am): did u?

Yoongi (2:50am): im walking back now

Yoongi (2:50am): you should sleep soon ://

You (2:51am): I still have hw :(

You (2:51am): text me when ur back inside too

Yoongi (2:53am): lmaoo is it counterpoint hw

Yoongi (2:54am): it’s so sweet that you care for my safety ;(

You (2:54am): yes sadly

You (2:55am): ofc I care, we can’t have our amazing star pianist get hurt

Yoongi (2:55am): im home now

Yoongi (2:58am): you have a thing for praise, don’t you

Even though you can’t see him, you splutter alone in your room, roommate fast asleep. There is no way that means what you think it means.

You (3:00am): idk where u got that from

You (3:03am): maybe i do, you’ll have to find out

Yoongi (3:04am): I would, but you have to finish your analysis worksheet :/

You (3:15am): ugh, fuck it

You (3:15am): im going to sleep

You (3:15am): ill just wake up early tomorrow to finish it before class

Yoongi (3:16am): what? No goodnight? >:(

Yoongi (3:17am): some manners you have

Yoongi (3:17am): what a rude girl

You (3:18am): aw have i been bad?

You (3:18am): I’m sooooo sorry

You (3:19am): gn

The minutes tick by, and you grow more indignant than you should. Is he serious?

Who doesn’t say goodnight back? Maybe you scared him off. Maybe all this “flirtatious” banter was just how Yoongi talked to his friends. How would you know? You don’t know anything about him.

The same insidious doubt creeps back in. Maybe this is all a game to him. Maybe he just wanted to introduce himself to another music student in the department, you all were supposed to know each other anyway. Maybe, worst of all, he had really only meant to wake you up in the music building as a simple courtesy, no intent behind it. You groan as you sink into your bed, cradling your head in your hands.

You (3:27am): some hypocrite you are

Yoongi (3:30am): I was in the showerrr relax

Yoongi (3:31am): hm you have been bad

Yoongi (3:33am): maybe I should punish you

You (3:29am): u wish

You (3:30am): but goodnight for real, we have class in five hours :”(

Yoongi (3:31am): goodnight

Yoongi (3:31am): save me a spot next to you

You were in the world’s smallest big crisis.

Was Yoongi actually serious when he asked you to save a seat? Or were you just indulging in wishful thinking? Was he flirting with you last night? And if he was, what are you supposed to do now?

Whatever he meant, you would have to face him now.

The endless litany of maybes and what-ifs grows louder in your head, even louder than last night during your text correspondence with him.You elect to use your backpack to save the seat next to you as class time draws nearer, chiding yourself for overthinking something so casual, but it does nothing to soothe your existential anxiety.

“Thanks for saving me a spot, I’m so glad you remembered.” A voice brings you out of your reverie. It takes a moment to register who it is at first. Your eyes meet the traditional college garb first, sweatpants and an overwashed fundraising t-shirt, then the half-tamed cowlick, that ever-present cup of coffee. Your breath catches in your throat, breathtaking despite the casual circumstances. It’s just another class lecture, you chastise yourself, but your gut twists nonetheless.

Seeing Yoongi in such close quarters is still an adjustment for you, his presence (or even the thought of being close to him) a shock to your body. You had spent so much time languishing after him that even now, it still feels like waking up into a dream.

You clear your throat, stalling, “Yeah, putting my backpack in the seat next to mine was sooo hard. You should compensate me for my labor.”

You try to put on the flirty smile that you were wearing last night, but it feels like a grimace. God, you are way too nervous for this.

You realize you’ll never get tired of the way he laughs at your shitty jokes, the way his shoulders shake and eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Yeah, I will, don’t you worry about that.” He sinks into the seat next to you and doesn’t spare you a second glance.

Dr. Won walks in, the picture of put-togetherness, killing whatever flirty response you had formulated.

You thought you had enjoyed having a crush before, but admiring someone and imagining a life together from afar was worlds away from talking and sitting next to said object of affection. This shouldn’t be that big of a deal. You shouldn’t be tripping all over yourself when Yoongi sits next to you in lecture.

Whatever Dr. Won is saying is drowned out by Yoongi sitting next to you. It feels deeply unfair how he affects you, when he gets to sit next to you like nothing important is happening. It’s just another day in lecture, preparing for the midterms coming up.

He’s not even doing anything, minding his own business. You shouldn’t be swooning when he is just sitting there, again bouncing his leg, taking diligent notes. From the furtive glances you steal, even his handwriting is attractive. Endearing, even if it was a little messy and looping over the printed lines.

True fact: the only reason why Yoongi fidgets so much is because of the effect you had on him. It drives him up the wall, the way you keep tucking your hair behind your ear. He envies your unfaltering concentration, the look in your eye when you see something on the Powerpoint slides that you have to jot down.

Yoongi can’t stand to silently sit next to you without doing anything anymore. Taking his pen, he scrawls on the corner of your neat notes. He knows it’ll piss you off, but that’s the reaction that he wants.

do you have any idea what is going on

He watches carefully for your reaction. Satisfaction creeps into his neutral expression when you notice, confusion turning into what could only be a lovestruck smile, and then into an irritated grimace. Fuck, even the curve of your wrist was enough to drive him crazy. You pick up your pen, writing back.

No, stop writing on my stuff

Okay, new plan, Yoongi concedes. He settles for writing on the corner of his own notes, tearing off the corner. He slips the paper into your lap, fingertips skimming the top of your thigh. He doesn’t notice, but he leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

don’t you think dr. won dresses like an old hag

You write back on the scrap of paper:

actually you could learn a thing or two from her

Yoongi smirks, in classic Yoongi fashion.

You know I would rock a long skirt like her

Yoongi watches you read his message, smile, and then tuck the note into your notebook.

After class, Dr. Won reminds everyone of the midterm coming up two weeks from now, and that’s when Yoongi senses an opportunity. The two of you walk out of class together, forced to walk side by side because of the student foot traffic.

“Do you like, want to study together sometime?” Yoongi blurts out, louder than he needs to be, even among the hum of the other students.

He clears his throat. “I mean, we’ve shared a lot of classes, so.”

You can’t help but laugh in surprise, or maybe incredulousness. You resist the urge to let the satisfaction show on your face. “I didn’t know you ever noticed.”

“Of course I did. You’re like, the biggest nerd on the planet.” Even when Yoongi is teasing you, he can’t help but sound bashful.

You gasp in mock offense. “There’s nothing wrong with being a nerd.” You both stop, standing at the mouth of the lecture hall.

“Of course not.” He’s awfully close to you, close enough that you can see the mole on the tip of his nose. “That’s why I’m asking you to be my study buddy.”

It’s not necessary to be standing this close. Sure, the hallway is busy, but not that busy.

“Study buddy? That sounds lame.” You scoff, playing hard to get. Both you and Yoongi know you’re going to say yes anyway.

“What else do you want me to call you? My homework homie?”

“Uh, yeah . That sounds way better than study buddy. ” You’re more proud of your humor than anything else, even if it earns a deserved eye-roll from Yoongi.

“And midterms are coming up. So you know, mutually beneficial.” Yoongi takes a sip from his coffee, peering at you from behind the rim.

“Like… friends with benefits?” You can’t help yourself. It’s just too easy to flirt with him.

Yoongi tongues his cheek, he grins. “Only if you want it to be.” He’s having way too much fun with this.

You try to hide your reaction, but Yoongi notices anyway. (He notices a lot of things you don’t realize.) Your wide-eyed shock, the blush that’s flushing down your neck, the way you open your mouth as if to say something equally as flirtatious back, your laugh, like this is actually way more casual than it is.

“So I’ll take that as a yes,” He says. You could get used to the playful lilt in his voice.

“Only if you promise you won’t just copy my work.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, suddenly very aware of how tall he is.

“I live and die by the honor code, y/n. Of course I won’t,” Yoongi says, leaning ever closer to you in the cramped hallway.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Does a man of honor text me like you did last night?”

“Oh come on. If you’re going to be friends with me you’re going to have to learn to laugh at dirty humor.” Friends? It’s a start, at least.

“Who said that I didn’t like dirty humor?”

“Hmm, I did.” There’s a glint in his eyes that wasn't there before. “You’d have to be a woman of your word and show me.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” You flash an innocent smile, like you don’t see the implication of what he’s saying.

Tuesdays have always been the most bittersweet day of the week for you. It’s lesson day, but oh, it’s lesson day. It feels like the day of judgement, every single week. It’s a culmination of all the blood and tears that you’ve poured into your music in the past week, another chance at evaluation. You’ve known your violin teacher longer than you’ve been in college, and it still shouldn’t scare you this much.

The nervousness spins and dips in your chest as you make your way up the winding stairs that lead to the music building. You usually soothe the apprehension by reminding yourself of all the things you’ve done to prepare, just like you usually do before you go out on stage. This week you were supposed to get the rest of the Bach partita memorized and cleaned up, but it still resides in your memory as disjointed bits and pieces of what it’s actually supposed to sound like. You try to run through the parts that you were stuck on last night, but you draw a blank. You usually don’t take this long to commit pieces to memory, but when you open up your score, all you can think about is the unmoving stare of the audience. Seeing your life flash before your eyes every time you stare at your pencil markings isn’t exactly conducive to productive practice sessions.

As you retrieve your violin from your locker and make your way to the practice room, you feel like you’re preparing yourself for your own undoing—every scale, every tick of the metronome—another step towards your demise.

It shouldn’t be this serious, but the pitter-pattering of your heart says otherwise. You glance at the clock. It’s time. You pack up now, so you have a couple extra minutes to wait solemnly outside of her office, staring at the posters that advertise the professionals who come to perform concerts at your college. Next week, a pianist and violinist duo is coming. In the picture, they’re smiling proudly next to a Steinway piano. They look proud of themselves. They probably don’t feel like they’re allergic to the stage, probably live for the audience’s applause. That’s probably how they ended up there on the poster, after all.

Your violin teacher isn’t scary. She’s a homey, lovely old woman whose wrinkles come from a lifetime of smiling. She’s the type to bring you sweet, homemade pastries that are almost as warm as her hugs during the toughest parts of the semester. Which makes the moments when she’s unhappy all the more painful. It’s not her fear that plagues you, but disappointment.

The door clicks open, and you have no more time to ponder your failures as a musician. You gather your things and head inside. Nothing inside her office has changed since the previous week. The same teetering stack of well-loved method books sits on her chair, the same humidifier whirring steadily in the corner, the same Dr. Kim Hyung-Seo sitting on the piano bench.

“Good afternoon, y/n! How’s the Bach coming along?” She asks, like you haven’t spent the past week treating this piece like your mortal enemy. She takes a sip of her warm chamomile tea, from the same snowman-shaped mug that she’s used every week, because she is that endearing. In another life, she would probably be your grandmother.

“Good morning. Ah, you know…” You trail off and gesture into the air, trying to hide your grimace. How could you possibly describe the unease and unsureness around performing without crossing some kind of professional boundary?

“Let’s hear it, it’s okay. Are you all warmed up?” You nod as you unpack your things again. As you move to put the Bach score on the music stand, she tuts.

“Didn’t we agree that this would be memorized last week?” Dr. Kim flips through her lesson notes, inky blue scrawling over the pages. “Yeah, it should be memorized. Close the score, darling.” Usually, when Dr. Kim calls you darling, warmth unfurls in your chest and you beam. You’re not feeling particularly warm right now.

“Ah, okay…” With slow reluctance, you close the score, the plain paper cover mocking you. You lift your bow to your violin, and shut your eyes. You don’t want to watch this.

Yoongi (4:38pm): Hey

Yoongi (4:38pm): wanna study tonight :]

If there’s anything Yoongi is good at, it’s having perfect timing. You half-walk, half-run out of the music building, sucking frigid air into your lungs. The cold weather seems to force the tears back into your eyes. If there was ever a worst-case scenario for how a lesson could go, then that was what just played out in the music room.

Shutting your eyes won’t stop the barrage of images, playing the world’s cruelest slideshow behind your eyelids. Your teacher’s pursed lips, the still fingers clasped over her mug, the pinched brow.

“y/n, we don’t have much more time to clean it up…” Her words echo in your head. “We’ll try again next week…” The disappointment was the worst thing, the downward tone in her voice. “I expected better…”

You (5:15pm): maybe

You (5:15pm): what time?

Yoongi (5:20pm): like now

Yoongi (5:23pm): are you busy?

You (5:25pm): no I just finished up a lesson

You (5:26pm): i’m about to study in the library if you want to join me

Yoongi (5:30pm): I don’t want to go to the library :(

You (5:31pm): why not

Yoongi (5:32pm): if I feed you dinner will you come to my apartment

Yoongi (5:33pm): I really don’t want to walk to the library it’s too damn cold

After all, the best way to a woman's heart is through her stomach.

You (5:35pm): fine

You (5:35pm): it better be a hell of a dinner

Yoongi (5:36pm): of course it will

Yoongi sends you his location, and you’re walking as fast as you can through the campus to make it to his apartment before you can freeze your fingers off.

Yoongi’s expression is nothing short of scandalized when you show up at his door. It’s a typical mouse hole apartment, his front door identical to all the other ones that you’d passed to get here.

“You’re not wearing gloves? In this weather?”

“I don’t have any…” You rasp out. You’re tired. Your throat hurts from trying to hold tears back during your entire lesson, and you have no spirit left to give Yoongi an innuendo-laced comeback.

I expected better.

“Oh my god, you’ve been playing violin for how many years and nobody ever told you to wear gloves when it’s cold?” He leads you inside, the warmth abating the cold that’s wormed its way underneath your clothes and into your bones.

“For God’s sake, y/n, hasn’t anyone ever told you about the importance of blood circulation?” Yoongi clasps your hands between his, rubbing and blowing air on them to warm them up. He doesn’t notice your surprise amid his chastising, muttering something about common sense. You don’t try to keep your guard up this time, just trying to bite tears back at the mention of musicianship. The firm press of his hands grounds you.

“There.” He smiles, proud of himself. “Warm now?”

Oh yeah, you’re definitely warm. In every dimension of the word. But you don’t tell him that, so you settle for a weak nod.

“You can put your stuff there. I’m hungry now, let’s eat first?” You hum in affirmation as you settle your heavy backpack on his cramped couch.

It turns out that Min Yoongi’s idea of gourmet cooking is heating up two freezer-burnt Hot Pockets while you watch him putter around the tiny kitchenette. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him without his glasses, and this is when you finally internalize that Yoongi will always look good no matter what he does or wears or says.

“You made it seem like you were cooking,” You say, just to fill the silence.

“Uhhhh, I don’t know who told you I was capable of cooking, but they were wrong. I can show you a good time in other ways, no?”

You snort.

In hopes of saving time, he microwaves both of Hot Pockets at the same time. You silently bristle at the fact that even your dinner is getting more action than you are these days.

You and Yoongi eat together in his tiny living room, sitting on mismatched stools.

“How did your lesson go?” Yoongi says, more focused on eating than on you.

“Oh…” You set your Hot Pocket down, sighing in defeat. The image of Dr. Kim sitting behind the piano bench, her dissatisfaction like a noxious cloud. “I… I… got ripped apart. I’m a little behind with preparing for the Bach festival, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing I do or prepare will make me less stressed about it.” You slump onto the counter, recounting all the things you did wrong in your lesson today. I expected better.

“What’s the stress about? We still have over a month, right?” You’re suddenly jealous of Yoongi. His nonchalance, his seemingly constant reassurance that everything is going to be okay.

“I’m not worried about that… just, no matter how much I practice, I’m gonna fuck it up on stage.” Your forehead pinches in frustration.

“Are you that nervous?”

“I’ve always been this nervous. For any performance. I haven’t performed alone in a while… and you know. It’s Bach, and everyone expects me to do some amazing job, and it’s like, I don’t know if I can deliver that and-” Yoongi eases his hand on your shoulder, calm, reassuring. He looks concerned. Like he cares. Like a friend.

“When was the last time you played something just for the fun of it?”

“I don’t know, maybe my freshman year? I used to arrange themes from movies.”

“We should work on something together, just for fun. We’re such a perfect instrument combo, there’s so much repertoire for violin and piano.”

“What did you have in mind? Do you even have enough time for that?” (You know you don’t have enough time for that.)

“It doesn’t even have to be a difficult piece. It could be something easy or hard, I don’t care.” Yoongi ponders his next words over a bite of his food. “I… I... just want to see you less stressed out. And music should always be fun, not just for a grade. What kind of music would you be making if you weren’t happy?”

“I don’t know…”

“I know this one Brahms piece that I think you’d like. Totally fits your vibe. We can just work on it slowly, you know? Or we could arrange the Anpanman theme song, I don’t care.”

“I think I’m mostly good for the midterm, except for the composer dates,” Yoongi spins around in his office chair, dragging his feet on the ground.

“Me too,” You say, as you drink in the sight of his room. For someone who claims to abhor studying and all things academic, Yoongi appears to be quite the organized student. Despite the constant claim that his education is merely a necessary evil, he keeps his notes organized in uniform binders on a well-cared for bookshelf. The bookshelf is adjacent to the extremely detailed wall calendar, marked full with due dates and deadlines in pens of various colors.

He runs his fingers over the binders to locate the binder allocated to the species counterpoint class you’re taking together.

“I already have flashcards for everything before the Romantic Era, but I’m so fucked for everything else.”

“Why not just use Quizlet like everyone else?” You say. You eye his neatly made bed and the Kumamon stuffed animal shoved hastily underneath it.

“Back in my day, we used flashcards like cavemen,” Yoongi reasons, despite the fact that your birthdays are months within each other. “And besides, they feel better in your hand.” Of course, they’re indexed by color and musical era.

“Ugh, I hate sitting at my desk. My back is starting to hurt,” Yoongi says, despite having worked for about ten minutes. “Do you want to lay down?” He pats the fluffy comforter adjacent to him. Yoongi doesn’t wait for your response however, plopping down on the bed with an audible thump.

“Okay, old man,” You jibe, but you’ve also been sitting for a majority of the day. Your back is aching too, but you’ll never admit it to him.

Sometimes, at times like these, you wish you could just muster up the courage and stop playing this game of cat and mouse with him. When you lay on his sheets that smell like him, quizzing each other, you wonder what would happen if you confessed your feelings for him, right then and there.

Or outlined exactly how exactly you would take his cock in your mouth, given the chance. Other times, you consider the fact that he might like to play with his food before diving in. Whatever it was, it scared you, the unease climbing up your spine and staying put.

You wonder if he understands the implication of you so casually lounging on his bed, but then you realize that you likely don’t exist in the realm of romantic possibilities for him. He likely sees you as the nerdy, sexless violinist that spends all her time slaving away in the practice room or the library. That’s why you’re here, after all. To help study for the midterms coming up. “Being friends with him is better than nothing,” you tell yourself, but you can’t really bring yourself to believe it.

You don’t remember, or at least don’t care to, when Yoongi started touching every aspect of your life. It’s really only been a couple of weeks since the two of you started studying together. You don’t dare to imagine how much of your thoughts he would occupy if you continue your friendship into the coming months. If your crush of massive proportions was bad before, it’s truly out of hand now. It certainly didn’t help that he actually knew you existed now. He spammed you gifs of baby animals while he was on the way to class, texted you links to performances of pieces that he was working on. He even began to send you teasing texts on the mornings that he made it to the practice rooms before you.

Every experience you have is colored by thoughts of him. The coffee that you drink like ambrosia conjures up images of him sitting across from you in some far-off sunlit cafe, laughing at all your jokes. On the nights when sleep escapes you, you lay awake rehashing over and over what you had said to him on the previous day. You even fall into reveries when he’s sitting there right next to you.

It’s inescapable, especially with the Bach Festival looming over your head. The more time you spend in the practice room, the more you go back to that one fateful night. You can still see the image of him now, sitting before the piano, playing Chopsticks.

You both make your way through the fat deck of flashcards, Yoongi quizzing you first.

“J.S. Bach?” You note to yourself even the upswing in his voice was cute. How did you ever let yourself get so whipped?

“1685 to…” You falter, still stuck on his voice. Even his voice drives you crazy.

“Come on, you should know this.” He drives his point home by poking you in the side, and he likes the gasp that you make.

“1750.” Of course you know Bach’s birth and death dates by heart. You see it every time you open up your score. Even the scant prod he gave you in the side, over your clothes, is enough to make your skin heat up.

“And if you ever tickle me again, you won’t live long enough for midterms,” You threaten, but your harsh tone of voice doesn’t reach the light in your eyes.

“Brahms?”

“Ugh, fuck, I don’t know. 1832 to?”

“Wrong.” He sets the cards down next to him, looking at you in mock disappointment. In an instant, he attacks you with tickles, and your efforts to bat him away are fruitless.

“This-this is what you get for not knowing when Brahms was born! Learn through punishment! 1833 to 1897, remember that next time!!” He collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck, unrelenting. Yoongi sounds almost gleeful in your torture.

You writhe under his touch, and for all the wrong reasons.

For the first time in your life, you’re almost glad you’re ticklish. Your eyes roll back into your head, not of your own accord. It’s too much, the soft skin of his cheek pressed up against your neck, the warm weight of his body against yours, the way his legs cage you in. A moan slips in between your helpless giggles, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it.

“Uhhh, what was that?” He doesn’t stop, merciless in his advance. “I didn’t know you liked tickling… like that.” He’s teasing you, now. He can’t hide his pleased grin.

Between gasps, you manage to pant, “I… don’t…”

“Then what? Tell me.” That’s when Yoongi relents, leaning back. He continues to straddle you, because he’s cruel like that. (And because he likes it too.)

“You’re just… ugh, I don’t know… so close.” In Yoongi’s eyes, you’re a study in debauchery. From your struggle, your hair is mussed, the hem of your shirt awry. Your cheeks are flushed, from embarrassment or from the tickling, you don’t know. Your chest frantically rises and falls, trying to regain your breath.

You, on the other hand, feel fucking ridiculous. Contrary to popular belief, being on the recieving end of tickling is fucking physically exhausting.

Yoongi is stuck on the hot and bothered look on your face, except for the hard look in your eye. You despise being tickled, even if it is Min Yoongi doing the tickling. He wonders what you’d look like if you were underneath him in… different circumstances.

Would it compare?

“I… I… I just…” You avert your gaze now, hiding your face behind your hands. You can’t stand to look at him right now.

“Spill it, or I’ll go back to tickling you until you break.” He grabs your hands away from your face, pinning them next to your head.

He really isn’t going to make this easy for you, is he.

This is overwhelming. The eye contact is too much. The weight of his hands on your wrists, holding you down, is too much. The way his panting breath tickles the skin beneath your collar is too much. You’ve had a bad day, the voice in the back of your head whispers. He makes you forget how awful this semester has been. He makes you feel better. Make this day easier on yourself. Just give in.

There’s no hiding it now, you concede.

You shut your eyes, unable to face him. “It’s just… been a while.”

“Uh-huh. Continue?” He places his hands back on your stomach, as if in warning.

“Since uhhhh… I’ve done… anything… with anyone…” Your words hang heavy in the air. Your secret is out.

He laughs. He really has the audacity to laugh.

“Shut up! I’m just like, touch starved, okay?” You’re definitely just blushing out of embarrassment, at this point.

Yoongi starts to ponder if he crossed too far of a line, but you continue anyway. You huff, indignant and desperate to cover your ass. This is not how you ever imagined telling Yoongi you were ever interested in him, sexual or not.

“Not everyone is like, the campus pussy magnet and gets to fuck whenever they want,” You say.

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’m not the campus pussy magnet. We’re... not so different. I haven’t been with anyone, um, in a while.” Now Yoongi takes his turn to blush and stutter. He does that thing he always does when he’s nervous, runs a hand through his hair and lets it rest on the nape of his neck.

“I find that hard to believe. No need to lie out of pity. Like, come on. Look at you. You’re all…” You gesture down his body, “And you have that whole vibe going on, and you’re tall, and you have good taste in cologne, and-and-and you play the piano , and ugh. You should know that by now.” You babble on. You’re not that good at keeping secrets, anyway. Might as well let the cat out of the bag while you’re at it.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but you’re not fazed. By now, you’re used to the long silences that elapse when you’re with him. You wait for him to talk first, just so you can discreetly enjoy the feeling of him straddling you for a little longer. You try to pass off the silence as you quietly fuming at him for calling out your lackluster sex life, but you’re really just trying get yourself together.

Then he starts laughing. Again.

“What are you laughing for now?” Your brow furrows in frustration.

“Nothing, nothing, don’t be mad. I just didn’t think that tickling would be a turn on for you.”

“It’s not!”

“To be completely honest with you, you look like one of those really innocent soft girls on the outside but you’re actually like, into choking and have a secret sex dungeon.” He doesn’t seem to care that you’ve all but revealed your massive, terminal crush on him.

You sigh, but you’re just glad he gave you something to fire back with.

“You and I both know that the university dorms are too small for a sex dungeon, Yoongi. I can’t even have candles in my room. What sex dungeon is complete without candles?”

“Oh, a devil in the details. The ambiance is important, I see…” That devious smile of his makes a comeback.

“Oh, shut up. Give me the flashcards, four-eyes.” He relinquishes the flashcards, but he still continues to straddle you.

“Woah, there’s no need to insult my glasses.”

You ignore him, desperate to move on from your momentary lapse in judgement. “Haydn?”

“1732 to 1809. What about music? Music must be important if you care about the ambiance. Answer my question.”

You laugh to cover up how worked up you are. “Maybe you can find out after we finish reviewing. Scarlatti?”

“1660 to 1725. What kind of music do you listen to? R&B, something sexy?” He sits up now, spurred on by your refusal to answer his questions.

“Or do you listen to classical music then, too? Does Chopin get your blood flowing?” He’s being insufferable now.

You groan into the pillow. “Yoongiii, let’s focus.”

“If it’s something like Liszt, I’m sure I have a couple recommendations.”

Yoongi sits up straighter, waggles his eyebrows in a way you definitely shouldn’t find endearing. “Or, I could record something for you…”

You snap. “Just, I don’t know, sometimes I listen to music?” Your attempts to stop the blushing are in vain, heat blooming across your cheeks and down your neck. It’s even harder to stop when it’s your embarrassingly short sexual history on the line.

“I prefer dirty talk anyways…” You murmur under your breath, wishing he could just get the fuck off your case. The more he keeps talking about things like this, in that tone of voice, the harder it’s going to get to keep your ever-growing crush a secret.

Still, some small part (let’s be honest, the monkey brain part of you) of you, the part of you that aches for him, wants to spur him on.

“What was that?”

“Nothing! Nothing.”

“Hmm… something about dirty talk?” Fuck, does Yoongi have a good ear. He smiles. He knows he’s gotten you now.

Okay, you should probably admit to yourself that he’s flirting with you now. The touches, the holding you down, the insistence on pushing this tiny matter, it all adds up. And the math says that Min Yoongi is flirting with you.

“Mmm, nothing.” You snuggle a little deeper into his bedsheets, playing coy.

“You know, like during sex? Don’t make me tickle you again, because I will stoop that low.”

“I don’t remember saying that…” You mock-pretend to ponder his question, catch your bottom lip between your teeth. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his gaze fall downward. You know you’ve gotten him now.

“Can you refresh my memory?”

“Like… you know.” He shrugs.

“I’m an auditory learner. Do you have an example?”

“Hmm, let me think… I’ll tease you until you’re begging for me to touch you properly? Does that ring a bell for you?”

“No…” You bring your hands to your face to cover up your blush, and because you can’t stand to look at him. Not when he’s talking to you like that, with that look in his eye, his hands on your body. “It doesn’t…” You laugh, even beneath his weight.

He laughs. “I’m just teasing. You’re so cute when I get a rise out of you.”

Oh.

#armywriterssupport #btsgoldnet #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi scenarios #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts #bts x reader

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mulletcal · 5 years ago

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when did you first know? -- a calum hood one shot

a/n: okay so i was hit with inspo for this like 8 hours ago and here we are. it’s the origin story for cal & mama from my twin universe, but you don’t need to have read those to know what’s going on here!! pls enjoy

words: 3.9k

warnings: cavity inducing fluff mb???

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Soulmate was always a word that Calum heard, and while he believed that they existed, he was never certain that a soulmate would be something he’d find in his lifetime. He saw his friends pair off with their respective partners, and it warmed his heart to see the people he loved so happy. Calum grew content with the fact that he was meant for platonic soulmates, already having found those in his best friends.

The fans never let the idea go that Calum was preparing for his soulmate though - citing his quitting smoking, and in general cleaning up his act as the source. That was never consciously what Calum was doing though, rather just choosing to better himself for himself.

It was a Tuesday when he first met her - the sky was clear and the moon full, the air was warm, and he was surrounded by his best friends as they shared stories from their past. Why Michael had decided to have a party on a Tuesday, he’d never know; but he knew that he would one day need to thank the man.

Andy had brought her along, saying how she was an old friend from his hometown who just moved to L.A. and had zero friends there other than him. Maybe it would be Andy he’d need to thank - in all the years he’d been alive, he had never met someone so beautiful. The night carried on in similar fashion to previous nights, most of them crashing in various rooms in Michael’s house rather than heading home. She went home, though, without Calum being able to say goodbye, or get her number - she was gone.

For days thoughts of her clouded his mind; the sound of her voice, her laugh, how she danced with his friends as if she’d known them for years. It tugged at his heart how well she fit in with them, and he wished he knew her well enough to invite her along to things they had plans for.

In a vague attempt to rid his mind of her, he thought he’d distract himself with the one thing that always seemed to cheer him up - dogs. Duke enjoyed wandering the dog park, even if he didn’t interact much with other dogs, Calum was always there to toss a ball or two for his old baby.

Pressing a kiss to the side of Duke’s head, he set him down onto the grass and took his leash in his hand, at least till they got away from the busy parking lot. Letting him begin to sniff around, Calum’s eyes scanned around the park - it wasn’t a particular busy day for a Friday, they may be able to have a wider range for Duke to roam.

He froze, though, when he saw an oddly familiar face underneath a nearby tree - it was her. This had to be some form of serendipity, right? There was no way she knew he would be there, at that time, on that day, so maybe this was his chance.

Calum’s feet took over before he got much of a chance to overthink it, stopping when he and Duke reached a few feet away, “Hey, didn’t expect to see you here!” Oof, lame line. He could’ve done better than that, truly.

She looked up, lifting the sunglasses off of her head as she met his eyes, a bright smile spreading across her lips, “Calum, hey! How are yo- Is this your dog?” Her eyes were wide as she looked at Duke, whose head was cocked to the side as his dad interacted with this woman he never met.

“It is, his name’s Duke. He’s wary of people, so maybe just approach with caution. It’s not his fault, he’s old and grumpy. I feel as though he should be back at home readin’ the dailies.” Calum was rambling, and he knew it - but his comment made her laugh, so it counted as a win to him.

“Me too man, you have no idea,” She shook her head as she spoke to Duke, as if he could understand her. She held out her hand and Calum waited with baited breath while his dog gave it a sniff, usually Duke would huff and walk away from the offending person - but after what felt like an eternity, Duke’s tail began to wag as he looked at her expectantly.

“That absolutely never happens,” Calum stated, stunned; and the responding smile that he got was brighter than the sun that was high in the sky that day. “D’you wanna come toss a ball for ‘im? He seems to like you,” While Calum had been deep in his own thoughts, Duke had taken to putting his front paws on her legs so she could have better access to behind his ears.

“Really? Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude on a quiet day at the dog park.”

“It seems as though if anything, we’re intruding on you,” Calum motioned to the tablet and pen beside her and she responded with a wave of her hand, standing up to dust off her pants.

“Thinkin’ bout it now, I was very likely sitting in dog pee, wasn’t I?” She pouted, continuing to brush off the back of her pants. Gathering her things, she slid them into her bag before turning to the pair, “We ready boys?”

The rest of Calum’s afternoon was spent exchanging stories of their pasts, and how they came to be where they were today. He found out that she was a graphic designer, working on animation as well, and she moved to L.A. because she was offered an amazing job she couldn’t turn down. The more he learned about her, the more infatuated he became; and when his phone went off to remind him of a time slot they had at the studio.

If Calum didn’t act now, he knew he’d miss his chance - he could sense it deep down that the universe had given him the perfect opportunity and he couldn’t waste it.

“Hey, d’you have plans for tomorrow night?” Tomorrow night? What an incredible way to sound desperate.

“I don’t actually, I was supposed to go for coffee with Andy but something came up!” She grinned, adjusting the bag on her shoulder, “Why what’s up?”

“Would you want to go out tomorrow? On a date, maybe?” Calum swallowed thickly, running his fingers through his hair, avoiding any and all eye contact with her.

“I’d love to, actually.”

Calum’s heart soared, breaking into a toothy grin that brought out the crinkles by his eyes. She said yes, and it wasn’t just him imagining things. He tried to prevent his hands from shaking while they exchanged phones and phone numbers, the promise of the next day hanging from their lips when they departed.

***

Calum had been pacing through his house for the last hour, the anticipation leading him to sweat through the first shirt he had picked for the night. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so nervous for something, even crowds of people watching them perform.

He could be vulnerable, he could be himself, but what if she rejected him? What if he opened a door as an insight to himself, and once he did he couldn’t close it again?

The drive to her apartment was shorter than he would have liked. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t have been left alone with his thoughts for too much longer or he may have backed out.

Calum wanted to be a gentleman, but the whole process of buzzing up to her apartment and her waiting at her door to be picked up seemed a little awkward - so instead he waited by the passenger side door of his car, a small bouquet of wildflowers in hand. He almost started to pace again while he waited, but then his eyes landed on her.

Her silk, navy blue dress swayed as she walked towards him, tucking her keys and phone into her purse but her eyes never left Calum’s. He couldn’t help to notice that the dress hugged her upper half in all the best ways, flaring out to stop just above her knees.

“Hi,” She breathed, standing up on her tippy toes to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

A spark radiated from Calum’s cheek, causing goosebumps to raise on his skin, “You look absolutely stunning,” he spoke softly, extending the flowers to her. “These are for you.”

The expression on her face softened ever so slightly when she saw the flowers, a smile present on her lips while she thanked him with another kiss to his cheek. Calum opened the car door for her, assuring she was in before rounding to the other side.

Conversation flowed easily between the two, and Calum’s cheeks were beginning to ache from the amount he was smiling- he genuinely couldn’t remember the last time he ached because he was so happy. It continued well through dinner, her even offering up a forkful to him of her meal.

Once dinner was finished, Calum paid and escorted her again out to his car, grabbing the door even though she insisted she was fine before they headed to the second part of their date. This part was met with confusion from her, a teasing smile quirking at her lips.

“Ah, I see. The infamous Calum Hood shows a gal a good time, and then takes her out to the beach late at night to kill her, is it?” She asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

It wasn’t an entirely unfair assumption - the only light illuminating the road ahead was his own headlights, and those of the occasional car that would pass by. She had guessed right about the beach, though, and Calum faked an incredulous gasp.

“How could you think I’m a murderer? I know we’ve been driving down a dark road for half an hour, but that’s irrelevant to the matter.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve sent Andy my location, in case you do choose to kill me. At the very least he could come locate my body.” She was biting her tongue to keep from laughing, but ultimately failed and she squeezed Calum’s hand in an attempt to let him know she was kidding - but also possibly a poorly veiled attempt at wanting to hold his hand.

Thankfully, Calum took the hint and laced their fingers together, bringing their joined hands up to his lips, grazing against the back of hers. He heard her breath stop, and he quickly glanced at her with a hint of a smile.

The rest of the drive was silent, only the faint sound of Louis Armstrong playing in the background. The lights of their destination came into view, and Calum chewed on his lower lip while he tried to gauge her reaction. It would be impossible to tell what it was just from a glance, but the smile that came across her face was enough for Calum.

While the sound of Louis Armstrong was now gone, the sounds of a vibrant jazz band filled her ears, and her smile went from soft to ear to ear within seconds.

“What is this, Cal?” She asked softly, reaching for his hand when he had met her at the front of the car.

The first thought at the forefront of his mind was how he could get used to the feeling of her hand in his, but the next thought he had was that he should probably answer her question. “Well…” He began, tugging her hand gently so she could follow, “There’s this jazz band I’ve come across that plays here once a month and I love to come and watch them. They’ve even let me play for them a handful of times.”

Her eyes scanned the people, wide with wonder as she did so. She saw couples of all ages milling about, and much to her delight some were dancing. You often heard about things like this, but she never could have dreamed that this beautiful man standing beside her would have taken her here.

“Wanna dance, doll?” Calum asked, looking down at her expectantly, giggling softly at how quickly her gaze snapped up to him.

He didn’t need to say anymore to her before he was dragged out to the ‘dance floor’, proceeding to sway and spin to the music.

After a few songs, they decided to take a break, sitting down at a table beside this elderly couple Calum appeared to know, excusing himself to go get you both a drink.

“You don’t see that often, do ya Ruby?” The man spoke up, clearly trying to the attention of his wife, as well as the young lady that sat beside them.

“What’s that darlin’?” The woman, Ruby, said to the man, leaning her chin onto her hand.

“Calum seems to have brought a special lady with him tonight. Don’t think he’s ever done that before.”

Now he had her attention, turning her head to look at Ruby and her husband, chewing on her lip before she asked, “He hasn’t?”

The couple shook their head practically in unison, knowing smiles on their lips, “He must really care about you.”

It took her off guard when Calum came back, setting down waters for them. Sipping it absentmindedly while their words echoed through her head. If Calum truly had never brought anyone there before her, this place must have been special to him; and what lead him to want to bring her there? Her chest was warm with the implication that she, too, could be special to Calum in the same way this place was.

Not much longer later, they made their decision to leave. She had been making her rounds, getting to know the regulars of the area, and them doing the same for her. It didn’t take her very long to be invited back by the regulars, all of them kissing her and Calum’s cheeks before they finally departed.

Arriving back at her apartment, there was a sense of hesitation in the air, neither of them wanting their night to end. It needed to though, if only to let the night continue on and they could venture into the future together.

“Walk me to my door?” She asked, glancing over at him with a hopeful expression in her eyes.

“It would be my pleasure,” He answered honestly, hopping out of the drivers side, quickly making his way to her side to offer his hand to her.

The nerves from earlier returned while they made the short trek upstairs to her apartment. Calum knew before he reached the door that he wanted to kiss her, but the thought of it being the typical awkward first date kiss hurt his chest while it constricted in panic.

He could tell she was nervous too when he saw her fumble with her keys, and it made him breathe a little easier. When they stopped in front of her door, she spun around to face him, stumbling back despite the lack of alcohol either of them drank that night.

“I had an amazing time,” She began, licking her lips when she finally met his eyes. “I’d love to do it again sometime, if you’d like.”

“Trust me, I’d like nothing more.” Oh, so he was back to desperate, that’s good.

“Good, good…” Her words died in her throat when Calum stepped closer to her, bringing his hand up to brush against her cheek. Their eyes seemed to take turns glancing from their lips, back to each others eyes - a wordless request for a kiss. It was just a matter of who would move first.

Calum couldn’t wait any longer, the anticipation enough to kill him, so he closed the gap, capturing her lips in the most breathtaking kiss she had ever received. His lips were so gentle and soft against hers, and she couldn’t help but to tangled her fingers in the front of his shirt, desperate to have him closer.

A long moment later, they pulled apart, both slightly gasping for air and sharing breathless giggles.

“Alright, so I’ll talk to you later then?” Calum teased, his fingers still dancing along her waist, enjoying the feeling of the soft silk under his touch.

“You’d fucking better honestly.”

With that half threat, they shared one more kiss before she slipped inside, pressing her back against the door with her hand against her head. The whole night had been a whirlwind, and it was difficult to believe that it was her real life - every series of events felt movie like, and it was the last thing she expected when she moved to the City of Angels.

Calum had begun the walk back to his car, waiting until he was fully inside before he rested his head against the steering wheel and laughing softly to himself. He had never felt such a strong connection to anyone before, his heart was racing at the fact that maybe he had just met his soulmate.

Taking his phone out of his pocket for the first time that night, he noticed the group chat was blowing up with questions of his date, shaking his head before he sent a simple reply:

[9:54pm]: She’s perfect. I’m gonna marry her.

Once that was sent, he silenced his phone again and headed home, proceeding to write the same words down in his journal with a date, almost as a manifestation of his future.

***

Their relationship only blossomed from there - In ways they were completely inseparable, but both knew the times when to step back, letting one another have alone time, or time with their friends.

It made the boys so happy to see their best friend completely and totally in love, excited that he had met someone who matched him on different levels. It was rare to see them argue, and when they did, it was resolved almost as quickly as an issue came up - it was almost then that everyone realized that the two really were meant to be together, knowing how much Calum despised conflict.

At the year and a half mark, Calum began to plan his proposal. Their friends demanded to be in on it, but being in on it revealed the only thing he ever kept from his friends - the one thing that was just for them.

In the end, it was worth showing them if it meant she said yes to him, and the promise of their future together was more set in stone.

When the day of the proposal finally arrived, Calum was a nervous wreck all day - he had to call Andy to help get her out of the house so he could panic in private. Ashton showed up at one point in the day so someone could force him into the shower, so he’d be ready for the night.

Calum lost count of how many times he was told to relax by his friends via text, after his shower Ashton was long since gone, not wanting to be there when she got home in an attempt to not give away the surprise - as if him being there was anything out of the ordinary.

When she arrived back home, she got ready for their typical once a month Saturday night date, still seemingly unaware about what was in store for the night. It put Calum at ease a little, to see her go through her routine of getting ready without the knowledge that he was going to ask her to spend the rest of her life with him.

“Ready baby?” She asked softly, smoothing out her skirt, cocking her head to the side while she waited for an answer.

“Yeah, love, let’s go,” Calum smiled, lacing his fingers with hers as they headed out to their destination.

The familiar lights were a welcome sight to Calum, further easing his nerves for the night. It helped knowing that everyone that was there loved them, and only wanting what was best for them. When he wrapped his arm around her waist, she shivered slightly and curled into him.

“We gonna dance, angel?” Calum whispered, his lips lingering near her ear, leading her to the dance floor regardless. His eyes scanned the room, not giving her much time to look around before he pulled her close to him.

Over her head, he saw Luke getting into position behind the mic, smiling at Calum. ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me’ by Louis Armstrong began to play, Calum continuing to move her to the music with him until Luke began singing.

‘Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"

Birds singing in the sycamore trees

Dream a little dream of me…’

The moment she recognized the familiar voice, she spun around, a bright smile on her face. She started to suspect something was up, especially considering that at any given chance, Calum would never be able to turn down playing with his best friends. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, swaying from side to side as she watched the boys play the song.

As it came to an end, Calum felt her take a deep breath before turning to face him, suspecting what was about to happen.

Calum took his arms from around her, rubbing his hands on his pants to wipe the sweat that was forming, taking the small box from his pocket. “I know you can kind of guess what I’m about to say, you’re too smart for your own good - but at least I managed to keep this a surprise this far. Anyways… Before I met you, I wasn’t quite sure that a soulmate existed out there for me. I watched my friends pair off and meet their amazing significant others, leaving just me usually. But then you came, and my world turned upside down. I didn’t know what to do with myself, but I knew I had to be near you. You simultaneously stole the air from my lungs, but breathed a new life into me I didn’t know I was capable of. I’ve become a better man because of you, and for you. So, I need to ask…” He finally got down on one knee, opening the ring box with tears in his eyes, “Will you marry me?”

She couldn’t contain the tears streaming down her cheeks any longer, nodding fervently as she dipped down to his level to kiss him, nearly knocking him over, “A million times yes. In every universe, in every lifetime, yes.”

She hadn’t realized that all their close friends and family were there, and it caused more tears to flow when she saw them. Never in her life had she felt more loved, and it was all thanks to the beautiful boy who brought her to a jazz bar on the beach.

Despite having a lot of friends and family, they kept their wedding small. They wanted it to be intimate and sweet, and everything about it spoke to who they were as people, and it represented their relationship perfectly. Growing up, she never had brothers, but as she swayed with Michael to the song playing, she couldn’t resist the urge to rest her head on his shoulder and tell him how they’re all the brothers she’s always wanted.

Later in the night, the newly wedded couple decided to exchange gifts. Hers was a set of shadow boxes, with pressed and dried flowers from their first date that she had kept for the now almost three years. His gift to her was a simple frame, but in it was the paper he wrote after their first date.

“Baby, this isn’t the day of our first date.”

“You’re absolutely right, my love, it’s the day I realized I wanted to marry you.”

tag list: @cals-wildflower @talkfastromance4 @softbabiestan @roseycal @calum-uncrowned @boyfriend-cal @wildflowerirwin @irwindoll @gosh-im-short @atlcalm @thesubtweeter @heavenisapeach @ridingcthood @loveroflrh @wokeupinjapanisabop

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fanfiction #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fanfiction #this is pure fluff

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reversecreek · 4 years ago

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clicks onto the dash wearing kitten heels n coyly holding my bang....... hi. me again. it took me so long to select a gif to use on cricket’s intro n i settled on this one bc he looks so unsure abt his smile n it’s rly his essence <3 u can find his pinterest board here n his (work in progress) spotify playlist here. hmu to plot!!!

* alex wolff, cis male + he/him | you know cricket donahue, right? they’re twenty-two, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, all of their life, on and off? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to should have known better by sufjan stevens like, a million times this year, which slipping on wet leaves to photograph a tree struck alight by lightning, delivering a tedtalk to your own reflection to hype yourself up to buy groceries, hiding your hands inside of your sleeves in case you grew an impromptu megan fox thumb overnight thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is october 1st, so they’re a libra, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nai, 24, gmt, she/her )

HISTORY:

cricket ws born to a couple tht lived in lilac ridge. their trailer was tucked closest to the woods n always fell under the shade. it was like the leaves wanted to pretend they were a perpetual hanging cloud on the family n that was kind of fitting. their only reason fr having him in the first place was a kind of shrugged like........... we’re under the income bracket we’d get child benefits so why not! may as well try it to rake in some extra cash! needless to say they didn’t rly think it thru or anticipate all of the responsibilities tht came w children n wound up seeing him as an extremely large burden n boy didn’t he know it!

(child neglect & abuse tw) i’ll try to keep this part vague n brief but things were Not Good for cricket growing up. people in lilac ridge didn’t like his parents n it was for a gd reason. he remembers foggy things. being little n wandering around combing the grass with a stick to search for wrappers to suck on bc he was hungry. feeling uneasy when the front door opened. finding out his name was cricket bc the insects used to crawl into their trailer thru the vents n his parents liked to squish them into the carpet -- his mum told him as much once. i think this says a lot. to excessively trim the fat of the story he wound up entering the system at around 8 after his latest and most serious hospital visit. his parents hd to deal w the authorities n last he heard they bounced to evade charges.

(anxiety & violence & trauma tw) cricket sustained a few lifelong injuries from his time in lilac ridge. his knee didn’t heal right which meant he had (n still has to this day) a limp n he’s partially deaf in one ear. he’s always been an incredibly insecure n anxious person so this mde him rly self conscious going into a strange n new environment tht wld b difficult fr any kid to adjust to, nvm w these added worries. he jst felt like something weird to ogle at honestly. he probably wld have felt like that no matter where he was or what he looked like. he cld be in a huge hall of 200 people all wearing the same uniform n he’d still feel like the odd one out. needless to say this didn’t rly help him make friends

cricket’s coping mechanisms were romanticising the things tht other people found ugly or embarrassing or painfully ordinary. he liked it when the rain hit clunky drops against school windows n forbid everyone from playing outside bc he could feel the vibrations through the rubber soles of his shoes n it was a little bit like hearing all of the world at once fr just a moment. he liked medieval fantasy lore about stout gnomes w crumbs in their beards n cheeks red from ale. he liked fallen nests with the remnants of hatched eggs still dirty from the branches n soil they’d hit on the way down. he liked the way the sunlight leaked thru the leaves of the trees in the woods and how, when he sat very still, he could tune into the ringing that was always in his ear n pretend it was coming from the same place, that light thru the leaves, that the angels were trying to talk to him.

he spent a lot of time in the red room at his high skl (i’m begging u this is not a 50 shades reference) (after googling i jst realised it’s called a darkroom bt i’m leaving this fr the sake of sexy bimbo authenticity) n felt quite at home in there. he borrowed a camera whenever he cld (maybe he did yearbook) n photography became his way of immortalising the world as the romanticised version he wanted it to be. his memories were bad bt his photos were beautiful. maybe if he took enough they’d paste over n bleed into each other. maybe bad cld be replaced w beautiful if he tried his very best.

he got placed into fostering w a family once bt apparently didn’t meet the vibe check of their tastes so he wound up returning to the group home he’d initially been placed in. overall this is where he grew up n he aged out the system rather than getting adopted. there was a sense of floundering/isolation/not feeling gd enough in tht bt cricket made do the best he knew how.

that said there were some gd points! (shocking i kno bc his life hs been so fking bleak so far bt please it’s ok........) (is it?) (🤔). basically he interned as an assistant at this local photography studio during high skl working under this kind of whimsical yet endearing old man. suspected wizard possibly in cricket’s eyes, as an avid fantasy genre reader. for one of his bdays said old man / his boss bought him his very own film camera n cricket cried bc he’d never been bought a bday gift. this ws rly embarrassing bc this old man didn’t know how to emote n neither did cricket so he ws jst sort of sat wiping his eyes n sniffling saying he wasn’t crying as the old man pretended to suddenly clean his lenses. when cricket graduated he offered him a full time position there. they do like. wedding photographs n family portraits n all kinds of things...... pay isn’t huge bt it’s something n he Loves taking photos so it’s sexy <3

PERSONALITY:

SUCH an anxious person it’s actually unreal. overthinks absolutely everything he’s ever said. one morning he might hv put green socks on n for the rest of the day he’s nervously looking around like omggggggg they’re all looking at my socks probably thinking im a little green sock boy thinking i’m a fool n a jester this is all everyone’s probably thinking about i hv to hide my green socks..... even tho literally no-one cares

once saw a girl eating a chicken wing n in his head was like ok she likes chicken good future gift idea..... n turned up at her house with an entire rotisserie chicken

probably thinks WAY too hard abt what to write in bday cards n googles like generic ideas that he can use.... u open a card from cricket n it always says smthn weird like “Warmest wishes and love on your birthday and always!” or “You deserve everything happy. Wishing you that all year long!” tht he got off google

nervously fiddles w things a lot. literally anything. his hair. the cuffs of his sleeves. a thread on his bag. u name it

struggles w eye contact sometimes............ it’s like. he wants to talk to ppl n make friends bt he’s honestly so bad at it. he’s fumbling thru life like a nervous headless chicken

ALWAYS has his camera on him. like always. will tke a photo of u bc he thinks u look nice then be like im so sorry im so sorry...... bowing his head shakily holding his camera bc he doesn’t even kno what possessed him he jst thought it’d be a nice photograph bt boundaries exist. probably breathes very heavily over this later in his room panicking thinking he nw seems like hannibal lecter

probably more confident online bc he has time to think abt what he says more.......... i can see him hving a group of online friends tht he’s more confident w. honestly he’s pretty witty at heart he jst has a hard time verbalising things so ppl overlook him sometimes bt once u get to know him more / he’s more comfy he can b a funny little man.....

loves photographs where he cuts something out of them. loves missing spaces n voids. thinks it’s a rly interesting concept when something that isn’t there becomes the focus of a photograph where everything else is. probably loses his mind fr a collage like a front row 1d stan. likes experimenting w light n perception. pretty artistic honestly hs probably made a stop motion film in the past bc that’s just an extended form of photography in his mind bt i doubt he showed anyone

ummm...... very sweet bt like. he reminds me a lot of this quote. “he had the awkward tenderness of someone who has never been loved and is forced to improvise.” feel like tht sums him up quite nicely

WANTED CONNECTIONS

someone he met at a wedding: cricket probably ws forced to photograph a wedding fr his boss one time n it cld b interesting as a place to meet from that....... like. i can imagine either it being rly awkward maybe he accidentally spilled a drink on ur muse n was stuttering rly apologetic n it ws just a train wreck. or mayb they took pity on him or even (in a shocking turn of events) a shine to him n invited him to drink n dance. omgggg the thought of cricket trying to dance makes me wna die n probably mkes cricket wna hyperventilate bt idk maybe he went wild n let loose. mayb they wound up damaging the camera somehow. mayb they had to scramble to get another one n ur muse covered the cost n it was a strange late night excursion tht cricket thought about a lot since. cricket probably vowed to pay them bk somehow no matter what. idk. we can work things out. lots of diff options here. doesn’t have to b a wedding either can b any event tht required a photographer

ppl he went to school w: pretty self explanatory i suppose...... maybe they were frm completely different worlds..... mayb ur muse was popular n cricket was definitely not but they got paired fr an assignment n had to work on a project together....... mayb cricket asked ur muse on a date one time n it was completely embarrassing bc he didn’t realise they had a bf n it haunts cricket at night still bc he’s rly dramatic.... mayb ur muse felt sry fr him n ate lunch w him n inducted him into their group like a lost puppy finding a home.... world’s our oyster

neighbours from his brief time at lilac ridge: not to reference taylor swift but i’m gna reference taylor swift n say we cld do a seven inspired plot here. sighs a little..... then sighs a lot. he was here ages 0-8 so idk. we cld work out childhood plots perhaps....

sickening simp: i mean.............. cricket probably gets crushes on ppl so easily like just. anyone who’s the slightest bit nice to him.................. he’s a disgrace. ok i take it back. bt also please get it together freak............... i didn’t say that. he’d probably b extra nice to this person n try n pay close attention to things they liked so he cld get them little gifts. just a bit embarrassing n lovestruck bless his heart. wldn’t expect anything back tho honestly that just isn’t something he tends to do.

let’s go gays: cricket’s bi but he probably was rly in his head abt liking boys n tried to sort of squash it internally during his younger yrs...... i think he’s more comfy w it now MAYBE idk bt back then i picture him having a friend tht ws kind of like. similarly loserish as him perhaps (no offence to ur muse potentially filling this plot or cricket bt let’s face the facts) n they’d hang out n play games a lot n one time it jst kind of happened n he was like............. *struts in looking around sharply* What going on here? except not. bc it’s cricket. more like *shambles in looking around anxiously* What’s, uh... What’s... the happenings? S--... I’m sorry. (immediate apology for saying what’s the happenings bc nobody talks like that n it was an impulsive panic bc he didn’t know what else to say)

those who grew up in the system w him: maybe at the group home or i’d also like the family that fostered him n said sayonara. honestly i imagine the parents just thought he ws a bit too much of a handful / had too much baggage which is rly quite merciless n terrible but. if u think that aligns w ur muses home situation hmu......

um. can’t think of more bt just anything honestly. jst go wild.......

#irvingintro #abuse tw #neglect tw #trauma tw #anxiety tw #violence tw #DOES A LITTLE JIG #admittedly i didnt include a formative moments section like my other intros bc idk what kind of superpowers i was inhaling the fumes of #for those intros but #i'm a mere mortal now.

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