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rememberwren · 5 months ago

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Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand her horizons, gets her first tattoo from Simon. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep.

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!”

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking.

“What guy I recommended?” she asks.

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?”

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.”

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.”

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day.

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life.

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.”

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?”

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all.

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it.

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him.

“Hello?”

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line.

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?”

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him.

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says.

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted?

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?”

“Five. Don’t be late.”

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in?

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost.

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting.

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize.

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek.

“The water is for you,” he says.

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.”

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh.

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.”

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.”

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question.

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair.

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing.

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book.

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?”

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer.

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.”

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him.

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again.

“Here.”

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean.

His thoughtfulness touches you.

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you.

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?”

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death.

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.”

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?”

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.”

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears.

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend.

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks.

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?

Masks are cute, you say.

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free.

You’re terrible.

You’re…thinking about it.

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST.

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness.

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one.

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another.

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.”

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed.

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.”

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions.

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’.

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary.

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that.

What is it?

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true.

But all he said back was: how can I help?

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working.

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better?

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better.

You bring the pasties anyway.

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass.

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs.

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free.

“Hi,” you squeak.

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t.

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more.

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.”

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing.

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years.

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length.

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas.

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you.

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way.

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.”

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.”

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face.

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.”

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax.

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass.

“Good?” He asks.

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.”

“I’m not backing out.”

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line.

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins.

“Good?” He asks.

“Good,” you squeak.

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.”

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs.

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it.

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up.

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats.

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through.

His thumb gently strokes your sternum.

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast.

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again.

He hushes you, surprisingly tender.

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain.

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.”

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again.

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again.

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow).

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length.

“Eager to be done?” you wonder.

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said.

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply.

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently.

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.”

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.”

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way.

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.”

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable.

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call.

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much?

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring.

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering.

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello.

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry.

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?”

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.”

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.”

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?”

“Twenty minutes from now?”

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye.

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop.

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow.

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes.

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.”

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands.

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation.

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks.

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit.

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.”

“Forget what?”

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.”

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one.

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?”

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.”

“Nosey.”

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out? “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.”

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt.

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off.

“Maybe you should look closer.”

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.”

“You could—if you wanted to.”

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat.

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly.

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair.

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.”

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.”

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness.

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex.

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple.

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind.

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?”

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing.

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips.

“What else do you need?” he asks.

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly.

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.”

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure.

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth.

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh.

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola.

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite.

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.”

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?”

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?”

You nod, feeling like a bobble head.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps.

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief.

“Oh my god,” you mutter.

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art.

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.”

“Good,” you breathe.

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right.

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length.

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily.

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure.

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?”

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.”

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it.

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.”

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit.

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat.

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms.

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit.

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex.

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again.

He hums behind you, a smug sound.

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.”

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead.

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you.

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you.

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat.

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?”

“Yes.”

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see.

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself.

“Regretting it already?”

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.”

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head.

He scoffs a little.

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.”

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly.

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.”

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #skin deep

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annabelle--cane · 10 months ago

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"the magnus protocol had a whole ARG beforehand? what?"

yes! it did!

"oh so I need to have participated in this whole big thing to actually understand the podcast?"

not at all! from the official post-mortem put out by RQ, "while the ARG was not something that was necessary to participate in to understand the magnus protocol, it was designed to contain a wealth of background story and context that would enrich any player's listening experience."

"a wealth of background context that would enrich my listening experience 👀👀👀 how can I learn about this?"

SO glad you asked. sadly, many of the materials made for the arg have been taken down since the game ended 😔 (ex., the official OIAR, magnus institute, and bonzoland websites. (edit ii: I found partial wayback machine captures! see below) though @strangehauntsuk is still up!), so we're a bit low on primary sources, but in terms of learning about what happened:

for a starting point, I would really recommend this video by @pinkelotjeart

youtube

it's super accessible, it was made in real time as the game progressed and follows the solving and revelation of clues as they happened, it hits all the major points of the mystery and moments of community insanity while eliding some of the nitty gritty puzzle grinding, 10/10 would recommend.

here's the official summary put out by RQ, and I'd recommend reading through this once you've already gotten a basic handle on the flow of the story and the basic connections between major clues and events. it's got some fun behind-the-scenes info and lays out the thought process behind the puzzles in simple terms

here's the full masterdoc of all puzzles and resolutions put together in the statement remains discord server. masterdoc my absolute BELOVED, masterdoc my bethrothed, masterdoc my soul mate. I'd recommend this as a second port of call after the above video as it either contains all details about the puzzles or links to other expanded docs that do.

here's the narrative summary doc that lays out all the plot and lore discovered in three pages of plain prose. if you just want to get to the good bits as fast as you can and get blasted directly in the face by contextless lore bombs, this is the doc for you. if you don't want to start with the video, I'd say this is another good entry point.

once you've got the lay of the land, some of the game materials that I found particularly interesting include:

the in-universe east germany expat usenet forum, with all content translated into english. most of it is irrelevant space filler with occasional extremely sus lore, but I still found it fun to read through. love to soak in some fictional forum drama.

chdb.xlsx, the spreadsheet of the names of all the children the protocol 'verse magnus institute was studying/experimenting on. EDIT: here is a version of the sheet without any annotations and with all of the names in their original order, kudos to @theboombutton for catching that the commonly shared copy had the order swapped around.

klaus.xls, a (very corrupted) spreadsheet with what looks like the classifications of a bunch of old OIAR cases.

EDIT: have a few more saved materials from the game that I forgot to include.

an in-universe audio ad to apply to the OIAR that ran before archives episodes and kicked off the whole game.

an in-universe video ad to apply to the OIAR, this one is an official upload that's still up from the game itself. you can subscribe to the OIAR's official youtube channel today, if you so chose.

the robo-voicemail greeting from the OIAR's phone line.

EDIT II:

here is a wayback machine capture of the OIAR's official website.

here is a wayback machine capture of the bonzoland website.

(pretty sure both of the above captures just archived the home pages, though I haven't tried clicking all of the links. I'd say they're still worth looking at, the home pages give a good window into the vibes.)

once you start poking around in these documents, you'll find a bunch of links to others with further information, the materials I've included here just contain what I feel to be the most relevant details to getting a broad feel for the whole game. once again, huge shout out to the statement remains server, I was barely in there as the ARG was in progress and only ducked my head in every so often to find links like these. true mvps of the fandom.

#gonna pin this for a bit because every day I get 2-5 asks saying 'there was an arg? how do I learn about it?'#tmagp #video #marina marvels at life

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sweetlemontart · 1 year ago

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call me by his name | yoon jeonghan [M]

summary ⇾ to you, one of jeonghan's most admirable trait is his candid nature. he's straightforward with most people—if he's angry, they'll definitely know. but with you? he'd rather swim the ocean day and night than take his anger out on you. well, that is, of course, unless you ask him to.

PAIRING // yoon jeonghan x fem!reader

GENRE // explicit smut, established relationship, some fluff, mostly smut, sub!reader, jeonghan tries to be angry hard!dom but is actually a soft!dom cause he's too in love with mc, not much plot tbh mostly just smut

WARNING // 18+, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, oral sex and fingering (f receiving), degradation, choking, hair pulling, some spanking, creampie, slight dacryphilia, orgasm denial(?) ig, mentions of mc's past relationship with ex!seungcheol

WORD COUNT // 8.6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE // me casually coming back on here and posting after almost 2 years of radio silence (ꈍᴗꈍ)♡ btw this is my very first svt fic hehe i started liking them like a month ago? watching going svt is the only thing keeping me sane during my second year of uni :') i love jeonghan and all his manipulating mind games & cheating ways, it's the most attractive thing to me !! might drop a wonwoo fic soon too bcs he's a cutie and his wip is coming along nicely. hope u guys have been doing good hehe do like and reblog if u enjoy reading this, song rec is blue foundation - eyes on fire (skeler remix)

masterlist link

Jeonghan isn't a particularly placid man. He's not excessively ill-tempered per se, but he is remarkably patient when it comes to you. You know how he is when he's angry, and you can't recall a single time when you've been on the receiving end of his wrath.

When something ticks him off, his eyes will darken and the heated stare he gives is shrouded beneath his lashes. When he is truly livid, he'll usually walk away from the situation, and there'll be no room for anyone to say something they'll end up regretting later on.

It's incredible, really, that he possesses the ability to bottle his anger up when it involves you. Anger is an emotion that can rarely be suppressed, but Jeonghan does it with remarkable ease.

On any other day, perhaps you'd appreciate his effort to control his anger, but not tonight. You've made a serious mistake, one that goes against the one thing Jeonghan had explicitly stated from the start of your relationship—keeping secrets is a recipe for a failed relationship, so if you have something important to say, just say it. Jeonghan is a great boyfriend. He gives you the freedom and privacy to do things you want to do, but this particular boundary was crystal clear, and you just crossed it.

It was your fault, really. You had broken up with Choi Seungcheol only a year prior to dating Jeonghan. The break-up had been a mutual agreement, and there were no hard feelings involved. Over time, you gradually drifted apart and had minimal to no contact until... well, two weeks ago.

It had been at a dinner party hosted by one of your acquaintances, someone who just happened to be Seungcheol's cousin. Jeonghan hadn't been able to accompany you, so you hadn't been able to introduce him to Seungcheol. Meeting Seungcheol again after more than a year hadn't been awkward. It was like meeting up with an old friend.

Tonight, however, the universe seems like it's conspiring against you. You had been preparing dinner when you heard a notification chime on your phone. You had haphazardly tossed your phone onto the living room couch before cooking, and your boyfriend just happened to be doing his Lego in the living room, so you called out to him to check the notification.

There was shuffling in the living room as he stood. When he strolled into the kitchen, his eyebrows were furrowed in confusion as he held your phone in one hand, eyes fixed on the screen. "Who's Choi Seungcheol and why is he asking to catch up over lunch?"

Fuck.

To be fair, you really weren't expecting Seungcheol to contact you after the dinner party. You had gone without contacting each other for more than a year, so what changed now? You had told him that you found someone new, so he definitely knew there was no possibility of rekindling your relationship. He was most likely trying to be friendly, but you understand why it would seem questionable to Jeonghan.

Contrary to what you expected, Jeonghan hadn't gotten angry at you. He simply listened to your explanation and nodded. He became quiet, a glazed look in his eyes that you couldn't interpret. Then, he sets your phone down on the kitchen counter and hummed. Oh, he was annoyed, that much was obvious.

"Okay, well, I trust you. Just... don't do it again," Jeonghan spoke with a slight frown, then walked out of the kitchen as though you hadn't just violated the one, single rule that you had both agreed to abide by.

Perhaps you've gone stupid, because as your boyfriend walked out of the kitchen, you found yourself trailing close behind him. A tinge of irritation slowly bubbled up in your chest as you watched him casually plop down onto the floor to continue doing the Lego set he had been doing since earlier.

"Is that it?" you asked him.

Jeonghan momentarily diverted his attention from his Lego to meet your gaze. He blinked a few times. "I'm sorry?"

"You just... you're not even getting angry at me?"

"Um, am I supposed to be angry at you?"

You were taken aback by his response because it suddenly occurred to you just how silly you sounded. Did you really want him to get angry at you?

"Yes?"

Jeonghan nodded wordlessly, seemingly mulling over something in his head.

"I made a mistake, you should be mad at me."

There was a pregnant pause before he chuckled, but there was nothing humorous about it. If anything, it sounded a little... sinister. "You want me to get mad at you, baby? Want me to show you how I'm really feeling?"

You swallowed. Suddenly, you felt small under the weight of his unyielding stare. You shouldn't have nodded, shouldn't have ever said anything about it at all, because now, Jeonghan has you on the bed, doing the one thing you had practically begged him to do—take his anger out on you.

"G-God, please..." You're not sure what it is you're begging for. It's hard to think straight when Jeonghan is between your legs, lapping at your dripping cunt with his tongue. He had warned you not to touch him, but after several attempts of burying your fingers into his silky hair, he decided to take matters into his own hand, grabbing both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them to your heaving chest.

Your fingers continuously curl and uncurl against your chest, desperately trying to grab at something to ground yourself. The pleasure coursing through you makes your head spin, your mouth feeling as dry as cotton as you continue to chant your boyfriend's name.

Jeonghan hums against you, mouth suckling at your swollen bundle of nerves. Your jaw drops open at the feeling, eyes screwing shut as you let a moan slip past your lips. He repeats the cycle a few more times—kissing, sucking, licking—until you feel the familiar knot tightening in your stomach.

To your disappointment, Jeonghan withdraws his mouth from you but is quick to replace it with his fingers. He's familiar with your body by now, knowing what gives you the most pleasure and which spots to press to have you coming undone in minutes.

He's rubbing tight circles into your clit with his thumb, middle and ring fingers ghosting over your hole, not dipping in, only lingering there to serve as a reminder of the control he has over you. "Keep your hands there," he says, squeezing at your wrists once as a warning. Then he lets go of your hands and settles his palm on the inside of your thigh, spreading you open further.

"Jeonghan..." you whimper, legs beginning to shake as the telltale sign of your climax begins to show.

"I need you to cum on my fingers once before you can have my cock," he says, voice coming out huskier than normal.

Straining your neck, you peer down at your boyfriend with half-lidded eyes, only to feel a rush of heat in your stomach when you see that he's already looking at you. In the dim light of your bedside lamp, you can just make out his blown-out pupils, almost obscured beneath the strands of dark hair falling over his forehead. His lips curl up into a wicked smirk, and your focus shifts from his eyes to the way his mouth glistens with your wetness. It feels so shameful, but the sight only makes you drip even more.

"My angel wants me to be angry at her, right?" he asks you, pressing down harder on your clit, which makes you yelp with surprise, head dropping back onto your pillow.

"Don't stop, please, I'm cumming... F-Fuck!" It's all you manage to say as you begin to writhe under Jeonghan's hold.

He clicks his teeth in disapproval when you shift your hands from your chest to your sides, fingers tightly grabbing at the bedsheet, twisting at it recklessly. He lets it slide, however, knowing you're trying your best not to touch him like he knows you so desperately want to.

His ring finger dips into your hole just slightly, and the stretch isn't much, but it makes you keen anyway, breath catching in your throat as he plunges it deeper and deeper until it reaches his knuckle. He doesn't move it after that, keeping it buried there as he continues to play with your clit.

"I've barely even started and you're already like this," he says in a mocking tone, teasingly biting down at your plush thigh. "Go ahead and cum for me, then. Show me how much you want my cock, baby..."

Your body caves to his words. The knot in your stomach snaps, and you cum with a loud moan that you don't even attempt to hide. Without warning, Jeonghan promptly replaces his thumb on your clit with his mouth, sucking hard, prolonging the pleasure. He doesn't mind the way your whole body is trembling or the way your thighs try to snap shut.

"H-Hannie, fuck... fuck..."

The way you're mumbling out incoherent words only makes the blood rush down to his cock. He's painfully hard in his pants, wanting nothing more than to sink himself right into your tight pussy. It's getting increasingly difficult to think with his head than his dick. His self-restraint is starting to fray at the edge.

"That's it, baby..." he mumbles, removing his ring finger from inside you, grinning when your hole tries to suck the digit back in.

With his index and middle finger, Jeonghan spreads your pussy lips apart, ignoring your whine of protest as he continues to stare at your soaked cunt. It's humiliating to be so exposed and vulnerable like this, but why do you enjoy it so much?

Jeonghan snickers, warm breath hitting your bare pussy. "Baby, I wish you could see yourself right now. Your cute pussy is clenching around nothing."

With a sheepish whine, you splay your hands over your face, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Hannie..." you grumble, hoping he would show you some compassion and stop teasing. But of course, Yoon Jeonghan wouldn't just stop there. You should know better by now that there is no one in the world more cunning and sly than your boyfriend.

Jeonghan pushes himself up into a sitting position, sighing when he sees the way you've covered your face. He doesn't like it when you hide from him but surprisingly doesn't say anything about it.

When you feel him shift on the bed, your curiosity gets the best of you. Peering cautiously through the gaps of your fingers, you're left dumbfounded at the sight of your boyfriend tugging his shirt over his head. The wisps of his dark hair that had been snagged by the shirt are left askew, and the view would be endearing if it wasn't for the devious look in his eyes as he looks at you.

Then he stands, and for a second, you're afraid he might leave you there. It wouldn't be unlike Jeonghan to suddenly leave. He's unpredictable, always trying to be a step ahead of everyone. This time, however, all he does is stand by the end of the bed, eyes roaming over your exposed figure as if trying to determine the next course of action that will deliver the most favourable outcome for him. Damn him and his mind games.

With slow movement, you press your legs together, concealing your most intimate part from your boyfriend. He shakes his head in disapproval, but you make no move to rectify your mistake. It's impossible not to hide from him when he's looking down at you as though he wants to devour you inch by inch—like a lion ogling at a wounded deer.

Very slowly, he begins to undo the string of his sweatpants. It aggravates you to see how composed he is, movements unhurried as if he doesn't see just how much you need him. Surely he notices how your eyes rove over his bare torso, committing to memory every little detail about his body even if you've seen it myriad times before. He's not particularly muscular; he's more lean than anything, elegant, and refined in all the right places. It only makes the waiting feel even more agonising.

"Don't tease, Hannie, please," you plead, your pulse quickening when he finally steps out of his pants.

"Don't tease? Aw, princess, you were the one getting all friendly with your ex, and now you want me to treat you like a good girl who hasn't been whoring around behind my back?" His tone is condescending, sending a surge of electricity up your spine.

You're suddenly reminded of what landed you in the current predicament in the first place. You want to explain and justify yourself, but you're rendered speechless when Jeonghan sweeps a hand down over his torso, eventually wrapping around his hard cock. He tugs once, twice, hissing slightly at the much-needed contact, smearing pre-cum all over the tip and shaft, the ring on his pinky glinting in the low light.

Sitting upright, you're about to speak and deny his previous statement, but the words die down in your throat when he suddenly climbs onto the bed, slowly crawling closer to you.

You squeak in surprise when he grabs at one of your legs, tugging you down just slightly so that your face is parallel to his. Then, he settles himself between your legs, cock pressed against your stomach. He has you right where he wants you.

Jeonghan captures your lips in a kiss, wasting no time to slip his tongue into your mouth, tangling it with yours. You sigh into his mouth, tasting the remnants of your wetness on his tongue and lips. It's a pleasant mix of bitter and sweet, a combination that makes you feel dazed despite the fact that he hasn't done anything to you yet.

Jeonghan sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, relishing the way you mewl. He starts pressing wet kisses onto your jaw, trailing down to your neck and collarbone. "You smell so good, pretty," he mumbles against your skin, licking at your sternum.

Reaching a hand down, you grab at his hard cock, wanting nothing more than for him to slip himself inside. You're sure you're dripping down onto the bedsheet by now. Jeonghan, however, has other plans. You only get to pump him twice before he slaps your hand away, pinning your wrist to the bed. "Don't act like such an impatient whore..."

Your whine of protest trails out into a moan when Jeonghan suddenly wraps his mouth around your nipple. His mouth is hot against the sensitive bud, and the light grazes of his teeth against it makes you arch your back.

Jeonghan's eyes suddenly meet yours, hooded with lust. He's suckling so noisily, hips grinding into yours. It's so obscene—the way he's looking at you, the sounds he's making, the way his balls press down on your clit whenever he grinds into you. Feeling overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensory, you turn your head to the side, burying your face into your pillow as you huff out a shaky breath.

You should've known Jeonghan wouldn't be too pleased with this. He withdraws his mouth from your chest with a lewd pop. His hand leaves your wrist in favour of grabbing at your chin. His grip is harsh, but not enough to hurt. With a sharp yank, he forces you to face forward, where you have no other choice than to meet his eyes.

He clicks his tongue disappointedly, and your eyes flick down to his lips, red and puffy from sucking. This doesn't help your case at all, because Jeonghan immediately starts vigorously shaking your face left and right, compelling you to look back into his eyes. Your head feels dizzy, but you don't miss the look in his eyes. There's irritation swirling in them now, imbued with desire and the hunger to ravage your body until you're left a broken, muddled mess. It makes you shudder, legs squeezing tight on each side of his hips.

"You know better than to hide from me, right?" His thumb caresses the skin of your jaw. The touch is so soft, a stark contrast to the way he's glaring down at you. When you take a little too long to answer, Jeonghan taps at your cheek a few times, hard enough for you to feel the sting.

"Y-Yes..."

He coos, stroking your stinging cheek. "Mhm, but you're not behaving very well tonight, are you?"

"I've been good, Hannie," you assert, trying to maintain your composed front even though you desperately need him to fill you to the brim. You're aching, and you need his cock to soothe the pain. Noticing his sceptical gaze, you decide to reword your sentence. "I'm sorry. I'll be good, I promise."

Jeonghan is thinking about something, silently plotting something in his head. Fuck, you're screwed now. The intensity of his gaze tells you he's about to do something that's unlikely to be in your favour.

"You want to hide from me that bad, hm?"

You're quick to shake your head. "No, Hannie, I want you to see me."

Jeonghan scowls, pecking your lips once before sitting up on his knees. "On your stomach."

You frown, dread washing over you. He knows how much you loathe that position. "Jeonghan, please, no..."

Jeonghan's face remains impassive. "I won't ask you twice."

"You know I take a long time to cum when I can't see your face," you grumble, feeling your stomach churn, chest tightening.

"Who said you were cumming tonight?"

The question sends you into a frenzy. "Please, I'm sorry, I won't do it again, please, please..."

When Jeonghan has his mind set on something, no amount of begging or grovelling will sway him. He's glowering at you, and three seconds pass before you relent. Having his cock inside you is better than nothing at all.

"There you go, baby," he says when you finally shift onto your stomach. He's quick to straddle your thighs. "Wasn't so hard, was it?"

You say nothing, feeling sulky now that you can't look at your boyfriend's pretty face anymore. "Angh!" you yelp when you feel a spank on your ass. Jeonghan does it a few more times, rubbing the tender skin between each hit. The touch should be soothing, but it only makes your ass burn even more, raw from his smacking.

Gritting your teeth from the tantalizing sting, you bite back an apology, knowing it's probably the last thing Jeonghan wants from you. Saying sorry would only make it worst for you. He's testing you, pushing the boundaries to see how much you can endure before you break and plead for some semblance of his kindness. The longer you hold out, the better.

You feel him dip his head down, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, taking a deep inhale to breathe in your smell. The fragrance of your perfume and natural scent is exhilarating. He wants to stay there and breathe you in all day, fill his lungs with your sweet scent so that he can still smell you even when you're miles away from him.

A groan rumbles in his chest, you can feel it on your upper back, can hear it right beside your ear. He starts pressing kisses down your shoulder blade, digging his teeth into the smooth flesh.

"Keep your head down," he warns you, as though he knows about your urge to turn and look at him. He sits up, his knees on each side of your legs, willowy fingers kneading your hips.

You whine into your pillow, eyes brimming with frustrated tears. Your whole body is trembling, yearning to see him, touch him, tug on the silken strands of his dark hair. God, just the thought of it has slick gushing out of your throbbing hole.

"I'll be good," you promise him, voice coming out breathy, desperation bleeding through. "Just, please..." you beg, quietly moaning when you feel Jeonghan's hands on your inner thighs, spreading your legs just enough for him to comfortably press the tip of his leaking cock onto your cunt.

You hear him chuckle when your whole body stiffens, anticipating the moment when he'll finally fuck you full. He sighs to himself, looking at the way your pussy is all coated in your wetness, slick gushing out onto his cockhead as he brushes it over your clit.

"Hmm, but you only behave after you're caught doing something bad, isn't that right?"

You don't answer, unsure whether you should defend yourself or agree with his question. You gasp when you feel him slide in just slightly, stretching you out, tip prodding at your gummy walls just enough to make you feel the agonizing stretch. "More, Hannie," you mutter, practically drooling at the prospect that it would only take a roll of his hips for him to fill you up.

However, the delicious stretch never comes, and you're left there feeling stupid, panting with only his tip buried inside of you. You whine once, lifting your head to look back at him. Big mistake. You've barely craned your neck before you feel his hand pushing down onto the crown of your head, fingers yanking at your mussed-up hair, shoving the side of your face back into the pillow.

With a growl, Jeonghan leans down to press his lips against your ear. "What's with you today, princess? You've always been such a good girl for me, but you keep pushing my fucking buttons today. You want me angry, hm? Is that what you want?"

His crude words shouldn't make you feel the way you do, but when he speaks, his hot breath against your ear makes your eyes roll back, pussy clenching around the tip of his cock, desperate to suck more of him in. You respond with a quiet apology, voice quivering from the arousal wracking through your body. You crave him, ache for him like a desert thirsts for rain. "Need you..."

Then, as if he senses your distress, he decides to show you some mercy. Little by little, he slides into you, slipping in easily, aided by the wetness seeping out of your pulsating hole. He ignores the way you call out his name with a shattered gasp, slowly pressing forward until his hips are flush against your ass and his cock is snug in your heat, buried to the hilt.

You can feel Jeonghan's groan rumbling in his chest, and the noise makes your pussy clamp down on him tighter. You're fisting at the bedsheet, feeling relieved, desperate, and frantic all at the same time. God, why isn't he moving? You want him to fuck you into the bed, want him to ruin you, use you until you can barely remember your name.

Perhaps this is Jeonghan's way of taking his anger out on you—tormenting you until you're reduced to nothing but a sputtering, drooling wreck. Maybe he wants to see you plead, beg. Or maybe, he wants you to curse him out, chastise him, berate him for putting you through this torture.

Afraid of further repercussions, you decide to patiently wait, clenching your teeth to bite back from begging him to move. Seconds seem to drag on endlessly, and you resort to imagining the sight you'd be met with if you were to turn around. Would you see Jeonghan's face contorted into a mixture of frustration and hunger? Would his eyes be crazed and heated? Maybe he's enjoying the excruciating wait, peering down at you with an amused grin, tongue peeking out to rest against his lower lip just slightly. You're dying to know.

Then, as if he is satisfied with your unwavering determination to remain still for him, he loosens his hold on your hair, gently brushing the dishevelled strands back. His thumb extends out to stroke at the tendrils of baby hair stuck to your temple, damp with perspiration. "You want me to move, baby?"

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you have half a mind to consider saying yes, but a nagging feeling tells you it might be a trick question. Jeonghan must've sensed your apprehension because you hear him chuckle.

Without any warning, he draws his hips back, pulling out until only his tip remains inside before plunging in again. Your jaw slackens into a silent moan. The lack of stimulation has made your body feel so attuned to his, sensitive to every little movement. You feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back, feel his breath on your neck, and the ridges of the veins on his cock against your pussy.

"It's not a trick question, you know?"

You're quick to nod your head as best as you can. "Please move," you breathe out, feeling like you're on the verge of just turning around and demanding him to fuck you the way you both need it.

His hand grapples onto the sheets by your head, delivering another thrust into your cunt. His movement is languid, as though he wants to take his time. It's driving you crazy, just how collected he seems compared to you. Your body feels as though it's burning, lit ablaze by his kisses, touches, and every single point of contact between his skin and yours.

Your eyes zero in on his hand propped up on the bed, right in front of your eyes, honing in on the way the sheets bunch between his fingers and the way his ring sits snug on his pinky. Subconsciously, you reach out for it, fingertips digging into his knuckles, nails pinching into the skin when he thrusts again. The movement is more rushed this time, jostling you up on the bed just a little, which makes you gasp.

He removes your hand from him, hurriedly pressing your palm into the bed, cradling your hand from behind, his fingers sliding through the spaces of yours to intertwine them. The gesture feels so intimate, and it leaves you feeling disoriented. "Fuck, Hannie, so good..."

Jeonghan chuckles, peppering kisses all over your bare shoulder, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake wherever his lips meet your skin. "I've barely even started, baby."

Jeonghan pushes himself up onto his knees, letting go of your hand to place both his hands on your hips. He doesn't miss the way you groan at the loss of his warmth on your back, but he dismisses it. He pushes in once, twice, his gaze fixed on the point where his cock keeps appearing and disappearing into your drenched cunt.

You barely register it when Jeonghan hauls you up onto your hands and knees, lost in the thought of him, only comprehending the situation when he once again slides into your aching pussy. You make a strangled noise in the back of your throat, elbows buckling, almost sending your face flopping back into your pillow.

Jeonghan doesn't feel the need to take it slow anymore. His thrusts are no longer feeble, and his pace is steady. The sound of skin meeting skin fills his ears, mixed with your broken moans. It sounds like an obscene euphony, a harmony that makes his head feel foggy and hazed.

"Fuck, pretty, you're enjoying this, aren't you?" Jeonghan grunts, sneaking a glance down, only for his pace to falter when he sees the way your slick is coating your inner thighs. The view is so lewd, salacious, dirty, and messy. "My messy fucking baby," he mumbles, picking up his speed, eyes fluttering when he feels your walls tightening around him.

"Jeonghan... Jeonghan..." You're chanting his name like a mantra, eyes pinched close, savouring the feeling of being pumped full.

"Yeah... that's my name, baby," Jeonghan responds, restrain starting to slip, evident in the way his voice cracks just slightly at the last syllable. "Can you cum like this?"

You promptly shake your head. "N-No." It's not entirely a lie. You hate relying on your imagination like this. You want to be able to touch him, hold him, want to be able to look into his eyes as you let your orgasm crash down on you. You want to see the way his hair frames his pretty face, want to see his flushed cheeks and the sweat gathering at the dips of his collarbones. You want to see him, or you think you'll die on the spot.

"Good. Don't cum, princess."

"W-What?" you squeak out.

Jeonghan snorts out a laugh. "I told you before—you're not cumming tonight."

You gulp, stooping down low onto your elbow, too weak to support yourself up on your hands. "I wanna cum, H-Hannie... Please let me..."

Jeonghan only snickers, ramming into you harder, letting out a content sigh when your moans seem to escalate, becoming more wanton and desperate. You're squeezing him so tight, white ring of your milky slick forming a ring at the base of his cock, causing him to groan out loud. He'd like to think that he's in full control, but everything about you is making him feel delirious—your smell, your pussy, your moans.

Ever the competitive man, Jeonghan feels like he's losing this game. He's supposed to be angry at you, but why does it feel like you have the upper hand? Feeling irked by this sudden revelation, he stretches a hand out, wrapping it around your neck. He hears the surprised gasp you let out when he pulls you upright into his chest.

Your hands immediately fly up to circle around his wrist, taken aback by the sudden change of positions. His other arm slithers around your waist, keeping you balanced as he continues to fuck you from behind. "Fuck, Hannie, your cock feels so good," you can't help but murmur, arching your hips just slightly so he can reach deeper into you.

He scoffs, burying his face into the crook of your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses on the spot underneath your ear, strands of his hair tickling your skin. As he expects, your head lolls the other way, granting him better access to your neck. "Of course it feels good, baby. I've fucked you so many times your pussy is used to me now. Wouldn't be able to take another cock without thinking of mine, would you? Wouldn't feel so good if it wasn't my cock, right?"

His fingers dig into the sides of your neck, constricting just enough for you to gradually feel the drowsiness from the lack of air. It's intoxicating, being able to surrender yourself to another person completely, knowing they have you in the palm of their hand.

You're too preoccupied with the feeling of his hand around your throat to realise his other hand sneaking down to settle between your legs, middle and ring fingers starting to draw gentle circles into your bundle of nerves. It's almost too much—the way his cock slides in and out of you, the way his lips skim over your neck, the chokehold he has on you, the breathy groans he murmurs against your skin.

"Unghh! F-Fuck, Jeonghan, 'm gonna cum..."

He chuckles, delighted at the turn of events. He doesn't stop the motion of his fingers against your clit and instead presses down harder, making your head roll back onto his shoulder, a throaty moan spilling past your lips into the open air.

"Oh?" he says in a sardonic tone. "You said you couldn't cum like this. Or were you just lying to me, baby?" His mocking shouldn't have such power over you, but it makes your heart pound with the intensity of a raging storm.

"N-No, it's because you're... your fingers—"

"Hmm, what's with my fingers, angel?"

The fingers on your clit start moving faster, motions rushed and relentless, bringing you to the verge of your climax quicker than you would ever anticipate. The sudden shift in speed makes you cry out in shock, eyes pinching shut. You're quick to bring a hand down to his wrist, tugging, trying to yank his hand away from between your legs.

He doesn't relent, slapping your hand away and briefly resuming his assault on your aching bud. "Don't try to stop me now. I thought you wanted to cum."

"You told me not to," you rush out, heat starting to swell in your stomach, ready to burst.

Jeonghan lets out a chortle. "That's right, baby. Ah, you listen so well..." Stretching his tongue out, he licks a broad path up your neck, stopping right underneath your jaw, where he proceeds to suck the skin. He wants to mark you, claim you. What better way than to bruise your pretty skin, right? To show everyone only a sliver of what goes on between you and him behind closed doors.

"Oh, god, let me cum, please, please..." You have no other option than to resort to begging. Cumming without his consent would be catastrophic now. Not being able to see his face is punishment already to you, you're terrified of just how far he'd be willing to go to take his anger out on you.

Jeonghan presses the tip of his nose into the plushness of your cheek, humming as though he's weighing his options. "I don't think so, princess," he mumbles, the snap of his hips not once faltering, maintaining its hasty rhythm. "I don't think you deserve to cum."

You don't have much time left. Simple begging won't work now. You're wracking your brain for anything, anything. Forcing him to cum before you would be close to impossible, noting just how composed he seems. He's breathing hard, gravelly groans bubbling up in his chest, but he's nowhere near how wrecked you are.

Through your haze, you suddenly grow aware of the hand still draped over your throat. He's not pressing or squeezing, simply just letting his hand rest there as a means to keep you balanced on your knees as he fucks you open from behind.

Sheer desperation makes you reach both hands up to claw at the hand on your neck. You're clinging onto the last threads of your rationality, knowing if Jeonghan puts even the slightest amount of pressure on his grip, all your sanity will go out the window, and you'd be hurled face-first into your much-awaited orgasm. You're playing with fire, you know it, but you only have one chance.

"Unghh, f-fuck, please, choke me... I've been a bad girl, H-Hannie, choke me as punishment, and let me cum..."

You feel his mouth stretch into a grin against your cheek. Your walls are clenching around him so tight, pulsing, so hot and tight. He knows he has won. It's this notion of winning that has him thinking about giving in, but one look at your face has him reeling back his words. The furrow of your eyebrows, your slack jaw, your scarlet cheeks... it makes him feel sadistic. You wanted him to be angry at you anyway, what boyfriend would he be if he didn't give you any reason to make him angry?

Then, Jeonghan watches. He tightens the hand around your neck, and continues his assault on your clit with the other, all while he continues to ram his dick into you again and again. You start to babble out incoherent words, and that's when he finally strikes.

"Don't cum."

Those are the two simple words that send you dissolving into a whirl of pleasure and euphoria. Your ears feel like they're ringing as pure, white heat consumes you whole, moaning out your boyfriend's name repeatedly as you go rigid in his embrace. It's like shockwaves, rippling through you so forcibly you have no choice but to succumb to the raging tides, riding it out until you can fully apprehend the situation again.

Gradually, you begin to notice the way Jeonghan holds you tight to him, how both his hands wrap around your waist to keep your body pressed to his, how his hips have stilled, hard cock still sheathed in your throbbing heat. He's pressing soft kisses onto your shoulder, coaxing you down from your high.

Jeonghan lets your tired figure collapse onto the bed before sitting back and propping himself up on his heels. The sight is so endearing to him—you, still huffing breathlessly, hushed whines slipping past your lips at every exhale, so spent after only one orgasm. Jeonghan feels like it's so perverse of him to reach a hand down to stroke at his still-hard cock, touching himself to the sight of your curled figure. From this angle, he can see the mess between your thighs, remnants of your juices and his pre-cum smeared all over your puffy pussy lips. Oh, he definitely isn't done with you just yet.

He hears you mumble his name groggily. Jeonghan's not sure whether you're calling out to him or just saying meaningless things in your post-orgasm haze. He doesn't waste time thinking, though, immediately swooping down to cage you between his arms, kissing along your hairline. "Tired already?"

Your eyes flutter open, looking up at your boyfriend who hovers above you with a smirk that makes your heart skip a beat. Fuck, you're really in for it.

He coos at you, but it sounds sarcastic. "I told you to hold it, didn't I?"

You puff out a breath, shifting onto your back, obediently parting your legs so Jeonghan can slot himself in between them. "But your fingers—"

"Good girls don't talk back, do they, pretty?"

"N-No..."

He nods, eyes wandering downward, not trying to hide the way they zero in on your breasts. "No, they don't... But you're not a good girl, are you?" he asks, lowering himself to blow cool air onto your nipple, earning a choked gasp from you. Without any warning, he latches his mouth onto the skin at the top of your breast, sucking earnestly, not letting up until he's finally satisfied with the reddening of the skin there. He always loved to see the reddish hue of your hickeys turn into delicate shades of blue and purple as they heal.

"I can be your good girl..."

"No, no, baby, you're a lying whore who doesn't do as they're told."

"Hannie, I asked you so many times—"

Jeonghan doesn't give you a chance to object, immediately slanting his lips over yours. He pushes his tongue past your spit-coated lips, exploring every crevice of your mouth, letting his tongue tangle with yours lasciviously. He feels you sigh against his mouth, hands coming up to curl around the nape of his neck.

Reaching a hand down, he positions his cock over your entrance, plunging himself into your sopping pussy without any notice. It's easy to sink back into you—you're still sopping wet and stretched open from before.

Shocked, you break away from the kiss to let out a sharp cry, nails digging into his shoulders, threatening to break the skin there. "God, J-Jeonghan!"

He doesn't give you any time to adjust, quickly finding a rhythm that makes you arch your chest, pebbled nipples brushing against his front. You finally have the chance to look at him, really look at him. Fuck, you wouldn't trade this sight for anything else. He's the most beautiful thing you've ever had the privilege of seeing.

He notices your lovestruck eyes, cock twitching inside you as he pounds into you. He thinks you're so pretty, all splayed out underneath him, so pliant, letting him do whatever he pleases with you. Your hair fans out over the pillow under your head, thin tendrils of it clinging onto your dewy temple and neck. He understands why you love to see his face so much whenever you fuck—he thinks he could cum earlier than anticipated if you keep looking at him with that infatuated gaze.

"Fuck, baby..." he curses, and it's the first time you've seen him lose his composure. "Fuck, you're such a pretty little thing..."

Your body sings at the compliment, shuddering, legs pressing into his sides, wanting to close shut but unable to. You're light-headed, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, but this feels too good to stop. With quivering hands, you slip your fingers through his hair, tugging and pulling carelessly. He's growing his hair out, so the length falls just shy of his shoulders, some strands curling over his neck like delicate tendrils of silk.

Jeonghan's low groan pulls you out of your dazed thoughts. "Hannie..."

"Mhm, am I fucking you good, gorgeous? No one else can fuck you like I can, hm?"

You rake your nails across the nape of his neck, whimpering when he shifts just a little, hitching one of your legs up and hooking it around his slender waist. He thrusts a few more times, and his cock brushes against a spot that has you jolting, mewling as he grazes it repeatedly.

"Oh? Right there?" Jeonghan noses at your cheekbone, listening to your gasps and whimpers, feeling his abdomen tighten at the obscene sounds you let out.

"R-Right there..."

"That's it... You think Seungcheol can get you like this?"

At the mention of your ex's name, you whine loudly. A part of you hadn't expected Jeonghan to remember the earlier incident, but you should've known better. It seems stupid to think Yoon Jeonghan wouldn't remember an incident that occurred only an hour ago.

"H-Hannie..."

"Hm, you gonna meet him for lunch? Gonna let him try to win you over? Gonna let him have what's mine?"

You shake your head, on the verge of sobbing, feeling your eyes fill with tears. "Wouldn't do that," you rasp. "I'm yours, Hannie..."

Jeonghan doesn't seem very convinced. "Yeah? You're mine?" he mutters against the apple of your cheek. His voice is low, any traces of anger or annoyance concealed. "You wanna say you're mine, with his contact still saved in your phone, baby? Don't be silly."

Your heel digs into Jeonghan's lower back, anchoring him to you as he continues to drill into you. "But I am yours—"

"Are you?"

"Y-Yes, always yours..." A hard thrust has you gasping, tears trickling down your temple, getting caught in your hair.

Jeonghan's pace stutters, distracted by the way you blink up at him through your damp lashes. Tears gather at your lash line, and he can't help but want more. It's a sick thought, but Jeonghan doesn't care much. How could he care when he's balls deep inside of you, feeling like he's about to explode from the way your heat wraps around him so well? He wants to see you cry for him, sob, snivel, all because you can't get enough of his cock. He wants you to cum so hard you see stars and forget about everything but him, him, him. Choi Seungcheol will be the last thing on your mind.

When Jeonghan lowers himself down onto his elbow, he seals his mouth to yours, kissing you fervently. It's a bruising kiss, teeth digging into lips, tongue rolling together in an alluring dance. After some time, Jeonghan reluctantly pulls back, taking a much-needed breath. He groans at the sight of your lips, all plump and damp with a mixture of his and your spit. "Fuck, baby... you're mine, aren't you?"

"Y-Yes, yes!" you babble, vision blurring as more tears fill your eyes.

"You're gonna let me fill you up? Have your pussy dripping my cum for days so you don't forget who you belong to. You like the sound of that?"

"God, yes, yes..."

Your thighs are starting to shake, Jeonghan can feel it on his hips. He brings his lips over yours again, not kissing you, just barely letting it brush over yours. He can feel every hot breath you release against his mouth. "Say his name, baby."

"Unghh... Hannie—"

He snickers. "I said his name, not mine," he says darkly, pecking your lips once.

You're confused and so goddamn frustrated. You're teetering on the precipice of your orgasm, and he wants to play mind games with you now? "No," you whine, shaking your head.

"No? Why are you so scared?"

"F-Fuck, please!"

"I won't get mad at you for saying it, princess." His voice has dropped down an octave. It feels like it's seeping into your brain, turning it into mush.

"C-Can't..." you murmur, drool gathering in your mouth the more Jeonghan splits you open.

"You can't? Why? Scared you might cum if you say his name? Scared you'll think of him when you cum?"

Your eyes grow wide in alarm. "N-No! I wouldn't do that, oh god, f-fuck..."

"Then say it or you're not cumming," he threatens, grinding harder into you, angling his pelvis just slightly so that it brushes against your clit every time he thrusts in. He watches your eyes roll back, pleasure fogging up your brain. He feels your juices coat his pelvis, splashing over his lower abdomen. Whenever his cock dips in and out, the wet sounds resound throughout the room, and it makes him hiss. "Say it," he repeats, knowing he won't last much longer.

You frantically shake your head, moans coming out stuttered. "N-No, please don't, I can't...Hannie—"

Jeonghan notes the way you're starting to sound distant. "Say it or I'm leaving you here to cum by yourself."

Your eyes meet his—frazzled, panicked, dazed. "Please, I can't!"

"You wanted me mad, right? This is it, princess. Show some gratitude and say his fucking name."

You're trying hard to read him, to possibly decipher his intentions, but it's so hard when you feel like you're on the verge of passing out from the onslaught of pleasure. You reach one hand down to rake at the skin of his lower back, earning a throaty groan from him, a sound that makes your skin prickle. Your other hand settles on his face, cupping his jaw softly, as if begging him.

Your eyes roam over his face, taking in his exquisite beauty that always leaves you short of breath. His tousled hair hangs over his forehead, dangling in front of his eyes, dark like pools of obsidian, drawing you into their depth. There's a radiant flush that colours his cheeks, drawing your attention to the contour of his cheekbones and jaw, dusted lightly with sweat, highlighting the sharp features. Then his lips—so inviting and soft, parting with each breath.

Jeonghan feels almost flattered under the weight of your affectionate stare. He briefly closes his eyes, breathing in through his nose, trying to pull himself together. He tries to push everything out of his mind—your delicious sounds, your intoxicating scent, your warm cunt around his cock. It's your sweet, quiet whine that pulls him out of his reverie. When he locks eyes with you again, he knows there's nothing he can do to delay his impending climax—not when you're looking up at him so tenderly, eyes fixated on him like a moth drawn to a mesmerizing flame.

"I c-cant... Don't make me say his name, p-please..."

Jeonghan swallows hard, one hand curving at the nape of your neck. With his grip he tilts your head up, letting your lips caress his. "Say my name, then. Say my name when you cum. Look at me and show me who you belong to..."

You cum with a shout of Jeonghan's name, your whole body shaking at the sudden explosion. You squirm in your boyfriend's hold, toes curling over the back of his thighs as the pleasure ravages your whole body, surging through every nerve and every cell. It's numbing and so overwhelming at the same time, every inch of your skin humming with electricity, and every vein feeling like they've been set ablaze. For a moment, nothing else in the world matters except you and Jeonghan, entwined in each other as you lose yourself in the whirlwind of pleasure.

"Fuck, fuck, should I fill you up, baby?" Jeonghan's voice quivers just slightly.

The question sends another flood of ecstasy through you, cunt fluttering around his cock a second time. "Yes, yes—"

Your voice is like a siren's call to him, beckoning him, tempting him. Jeonghan is only a man, and he's not immune to a force as powerful as you. He sinks his teeth into your neck as he finally empties himself inside you with a drawn-out groan. Your tight cunt is pulsing so tightly around him, milking him, forcing every drop of cum to spill into you and coat your walls. A rather high-pitched whine escapes his lips as he slumps into you, hips flushed to yours, aching balls slick with the mixture of your release and his.

You're panting heavily as you wrap your arms around Jeonghan, blinking up at the ceiling blearily, feeling filled to the brim with his cum still in you. Despite having the urge to clean yourself up and get rid of the stickiness between your legs, you lie there for another minute, feeling so content with Jeonghan's weight atop yours and his lips on your neck. Being with him is pure bliss.

"Jeonghan," you say softly after some time, not wanting to ruin the peace and quiet.

He hums, rolling over to the side to lie on his back, letting his softening cock slip out of you. He pulls you into him with one arm, allowing you to settle half of your body on top of his. He lets out a pleased sigh, one hand grazing over your bare back, fingertips gliding down the dip of your spine.

Placing a palm on his chest, you rest your chin on the back of your hand, gazing up at him tiredly. He seems to glow so prettily, eyes fluttered shut and a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Despite the heaviness of your eyelids, you gather your resolve, knowing that you still have something to clarify with him.

Without thinking too much, you mumble Jeonghan's name again and smile when his eyes flutter open to peer down at you drowsily. His free hand comes up to brush back the hair from your eyes.

"I'm sorry for not letting you know," you mutter, the weight of your guilt just now settling in your heart. If you don't apologise now, the feeling might devour you whole. "I should've told you..."

The hand on your back ceases moving, palm splaying on your upper back, warm against your skin. "Baby, I wasn't really—you know—angry about it. I was a little stumped, sure, but... I trust you. I always trust you."

You shake your head, pulling yourself up slightly to look at him better. "You deserve to be angry. Jeonghan, you should be so angry at me. I should've told you as soon as I got home from that dinner party."

Jeonghan chuckles, much to your dismay. "Okay, then why didn't you?"

"I just... didn't think it was important. I felt like it wasn't anything worth telling you. It's not a good excuse, I know."

"Is Seungcheol important to you?"

Your eyes widen in disbelief, unable to fully grasp what you just heard. "What! No, of course not!"

"Then what's there to apologise about?" Jeonghan says with a snicker. "Did you kiss him at the party? Did he try to make any move on you? Did he seem interested in you?"

"No to all of those. I... I told him I already found someone else," you admit in a quiet voice.

When Jeonghan smiles at you, it looks somewhat smug. "That's my girl... Besides, it wasn't his face that you were sitting on when you got back home from that party, was it?"

Appalled by Jeonghan's words, you bring your palm down on his chest, smacking him. "You're disgusting, Yoon Jeonghan."

He only laughs, eyes crinkling as he pulls you even closer. "Don't act like you don't love it."

You say nothing, only bringing your head down to rest it on his chest again. His heartbeat is strong against your ear, and his skin feels warm under your cheek.

"So..." Jeonghan begins. "Round two in the shower?"

He doesn't have to ask twice—you're already off the bed and sauntering towards the bathroom.

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spliffymae · 9 months ago

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rapper!onyankopon.

just some head canons i have.

in my head im imagining a blend of dave and fridayy, where he can sing as well (he got variety!). same universe as my musicproducer!connie fic but reader is not famous here, as opposed to w/ connie’s. (lol i gave her a last name too—davis.) in my mind, im picturing ony from the uk and connie from ny.

★　*　　°　　　　🛰 　°. 🌓　•　　.°•　　　🚀

rapper!ony who first pops up on the scene in a music video of his friend connie’s song. he wasn’t featured on the track, but rather just in the background getting hype with everyone else.

but y’all know how the girlies get when a fine black man/woman/person start trending.

rapper!ony who wasn’t shy about his craft, but just wasn’t big on social media. his agent hated it, he loved it. he simply released music, let people know, and then went about his business.

rapper!ony was trending and although he didn’t take this as an opportunity to get in his social media bag, his best friend, musicproducer!connie did!

rapper!ony who goes from a couple thousand people knowing what he does to over a million people screaming his lyrics at they’re phones on tiktok in ONE night.

“bro, you can’t even get mad at me gang!” connie yelled from his shower. ony was sitting outside, accosting his friend for what he did. “you said you didn’t care what happened to the project!”

“but tell me if you gon post it and make it a whole thing, nigga damn!” ony yelled back.

rapper!ony who now has to adjust to his quickly rising popularity. he has yet to know the number of artists looking for a feature; and he doesn’t know that he secretly has some of these industry boys shaking in their boots because where the hell he come from?

no, rapper!ony is too busy focusing on whyyy they’re a million fan edits of him across tiktok and instagram. clips of him from his streams, connie’s videos, and his other friend’s content.

ony groans as connie’s message banner pops up on his phone, the message being a link to a tiktok. when he clicked it, it was a fan edit of him using his song ‘when it comes to you’. “bro, who keeps sending these to you, man?!” ony exclaimed. connie heard it from his room and snickered.

rapper!ony who had to adjust to being the attention at these red carpet events. he usually just walked behind connie and his girl, along with the rest of the entourage but now he is getting stopped for photographs.

there’s nothing like listening to music live. so rapper!ony puts on a fake smile and pushes through the crowded carpet to get inside. he waves to people he’s worked with, artists, and fans who called out to him. all so he can hear some music.

he sees connie holding hands with his girlfriend, both of them making goofy faces at the cameras. he softly smiles at the couple, but before he could make way, connie somehow senses him and turns to him “ony! ven aquí!” damn!

rapper!ony who doesn’t expect much from the awards show. just to go, support connie, and go home. he was nominated,yeah, but he was also in the category with some of the most popular artists right now…so he wasn’t feeling all that confident.

rapper!ony who is shocked as shocked can be when his name is called from the podium for best new artist.

“F**CK YEAH!” connie yelled, jumping up from his seat along with his girl and the rest of the table—aran, zora, jean, armin, and mikasa.

rapper!ony who walks up on stage with connie who is still screaming from excitement.

“uhhh, i’m not gonna lie, mans weren’t expecting to win still.” ony laughed, running a hand over his fresh waves. the audience laughed with him.

“first i would like to thank God, the most high who has blessed me with this amazing opportunity. i want to thank my people for having my back; connie—this man,” ony pointed behind him to connie, who was full out filming the moment on his phone.

“who told me on a random day when we were cleaning out our college dorm room that if we made a project together we would be the new heartthrobs of the generation. connie i thank you for being you; having my back and working alongside me. my brother for life, that is.” connie screamed, and so did his girlfriend from the audience as the claps poured in.

“and finally, i want to thank my heart in human form. the woman who made all of this possible, y/n davis. she don’t like the attention so im gonna hear bout this name drop when i get home. but babes, i love you, and thank you for being my rib. i owe you the world and more. and to her parents, thank you for my better half. thank you lot again. love!” ony raised his hand with the award, smiling and waving to the crowd and cameras as he walked to the back.

meanwhile, across the country, cuddled up in her bed was y/n, who was watching the award show before going to sleep. she had expressed to ony she wasn’t too sure about going, not liking the cameras and attention. he reassured her it was okay because there wasn’t any way he would be winning with who else was in the category.

so…safe to say when you saw your boyfriend on the stage with the award in his hand, you could not contain your shock and excitement. you jumped out of bed screaming and quickly getting to your phone camera to record the tv. squeals and “yeah baby” was all you could say as he gave connie his thanks.

but then… when you heard him say your name, for everyone around the world to hear, everything just turned to shock as your phone fell from your frozen hands, still recording. you were stunned. he said your name. your government name. on national television.

“ONY!!!”

#🌞🍃spliffymae #ony x black reader #ony x y/n #rapper!ony #music producer connie #au #anime x black!reader #aot x black reader #attack on titan #onyankopon #onyankopon x black!reader #aot

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ellieswrldd · 5 months ago

Text

about you

pairing: spiderman!ellie williams x female reader

summary: ellie is living a double life, one of a college student and one of a crime fighting hero. she wants you more than anything but is scared to put you in danger.

content warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, oral sex (r!receiving), scissoring, use of alcohol and weed, ellie is kind of a nerdy loser, a little rushed! not proofread

a/n: writing this taught me that i should never try to estimate when i’ll finish something because “posting this week” quickly turned into “posting sometime this month”….sorry lmao. also this is inspired by the 1975 song!!

8:30 am

Good morning New Yorkers!

This was Ellie’s favorite part of the day. A bagel in one hand, the newest edition of Savage Starlight in her other, and her phone playing the morning newscast.

Today is April 12th and it looks like another beautiful day…

Moments like these were the only times she felt at ease. Her university classes kept her busy and when she wasn’t studying or in class, she was off protecting the city.

So, sitting on the rooftop of a building where nobody could bother her was Ellie’s idea of peace.

It was easy to lose track of time while in her spot and Ellie always tried to keep an eye on the time, but it seemed to end the same way almost every day.

We’re starting to see some traffic down by—

The reporter was cut off by Ellie’s loud ringtone. She glanced at the caller ID and sighed softly when she saw it was her best friend Jesse calling.

“Hey man, I’m kinda busy right now—” She said as she took a bite of her bagel.

“Dude where the hell are you? Class started fifteen minutes ago and we have that big lab today!” Jesse whispered-shouted into his phone.

“What are you talking about? I don’t have class on Thursday mornings,” She said.

“Ellie, it’s Friday, we have class today,” Jesse said sharply, clearly irritated by Ellie’s lack of organization. She couldn’t blame him– he always needed her help during labs, and without her, it was likely he’d get a failing grade.

“Oh shit!” Ellie groaned and began tossing her things back into her backpack. “I’m on my way right now, I swear.” She stated with her phone pressed against her ear by her shoulder. Stuffing her face with the last of her bagel, Ellie slid her backpack around her shoulders and stood up.

The streets were beginning to bustle with activity and the sky was bright, New York was awake and ready for the day. Ellie pulled her mask over her face and jumped off the roof, flying towards her class with the flick of her wrist.

—

10 pm

Going out was the last thing on your mind. You were still coping after a messy breakup, and partying didn’t sound like fun. The only reason you found yourself standing in front of a bustling frat house was because Dina had dragged you here. She had made a variety of arguments as to why you needed to come, mostly consisting of “You’ve been too sad, let’s get you laid!” or “I need you to be my wing-woman, Jesse will be there!”. Despite her nagging and desperation, you somehow ended up following her right to the party.

“Dee I don’t feel great, maybe I should just go back home,” You mumbled and tugged at the skirt you wore. It was Dina’s and it was far too short for your liking. In the past, you loved partying and going out with friends, but at the moment all you wanted to do was curl up in your bed.

“Just stay for a little bit, I promise you’ll have fun. It isn’t good for you to rot in bed every day anyways,” Dina linked her arm with yours and gave a soft smile. You sighed and nodded, she had a point.

You stood in the frat, holding a red solo cup close to you. Dina shifted nervously beside you.

“What if he changed his mind? Maybe he doesn’t want to see me,” She crossed her arms.

“Dina, he’ll show up, don’t worry.” You reassured her. “Have another drink, you need to chill out,” She shrugged and poured herself a drink.

“Hey, Dina!” A man greeted your friend loudly, a bright smile on his face. Dina grinned and gave him a quick hug.

“Jesse! I’m so glad you made it, I was starting to think you weren’t going to show,”

“Sorry, Ellie was taking forever to get ready, slowed us down,” He laughed and shifted his gaze to you. “I’m Jesse, you must be y/n,”

“Yeah, Dina’s told me a lot about you,” You glanced past him and looked at the girl standing awkwardly behind him. She was staring down at her phone, her lips pursed, clearly not excited to be there.

“Oh, this is Ellie,” He turned and nudged Ellie with his elbow.

“Hi,” She offered an awkward smile and stood a little straighter. “Sorry, I don’t come to these things very often,” Ellie looked around at the frat, drunk partygoers dancing and screaming, the floor covered in red solo cups and sticky liquids, it wasn’t really her scene.

“That’s alright, it’s nice to meet you,” You shook her hand. “I’m going to go out and get some air,” You shouted into Dina’s ear and she nodded. Waving to Jesse and Ellie, you pushed past the crowds and made your way outside.

The cool air against your skin was a relieving change. You leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. It was nice that Dina was looking out for you, but it was honestly overwhelming.

“Mind if I join you?” You turned to look at Ellie, who stood a few feet away with her hands in her pockets. You simply nodded and tipped your head to the spot next to you. Without all of the flashing lights, you could get a good look at the other girl. A red flannel hung loosely around her frame, her short hair was in a messy half-up half-down style, and her face was covered in light freckles.

Ellie’s eyes lingered on you for a moment before she spoke again. “You look stressed,”

“I guess that’s one word for it,” You chuckled. She dug her hand into her back pocket and pulled out a neatly rolled joint.

“Jesse gave me this, do you want some?” Your eyes lit up a bit at the sight of the joint and you looked back at her.

“How could I say no to such an offer?” Taking the joint, you held it between your glossy lips. “You got a lighter?”

Ellie’s eyes widened slightly as she realized she had been staring at your lips. “Ah— yeah, here,” She took the lighter from her pocket and fumbled with it a few times before she got a steady flame. You leaned in and watched as the end began to burn.

“You don’t smoke much, do you?” You giggled softly as your eyes drifted toward her. She watched you intently and shook her head.

“No, not really,” You breathed out the smoke and offered her the joint.

“Do you want to try?” Your voice was soft and sweet, Ellie couldn’t help but take the joint from your fingers. “Just breathe in slowly and then exhale,” She followed your instructions, still watching you as she took a drag. Coughing, Ellie passed it back.

The two of you passed the joint back and forth in silence, staring up at the night sky until you were able to drown out the loud noise of the party.

“Jesse and Dina are definitely hooking up right now,” You blurted and started laughing.

“Oh my god they totally are,” She shook with laughter. As your shoulders touched Ellie’s and you laughed until your cheeks grew tired, you realized that you were actually having fun. You hadn’t thought about your ex in hours.

Eventually, Ellie offered to walk you back to your dorm, and you accepted gladly.

The walk back was full of mindless giggles and seemingly innocent brushes against one another’s arms. Ellie leaned against the frame of your door as you fumbled with the key.

“Do you want to come inside?” You muttered with a smile once you managed to get the door open. Ellie’s heart pounded at the offer and she could feel heat rush to her cheeks, but she found herself shaking her head no.

“I—I’m sorry, I can’t,” She bit her lip and looked down at her sneakers. “I’ve gotta be up early tomorrow for work, but I’ll see you around, yeah?” You tried not to look disappointed but Ellie could see it on your face almost immediately.

“That’s fine, see ya,” You sighed and closed the door with a small smile.

Ellie could feel her heart sinking, and she almost regretted her words. Almost. She knew better than to get involved with someone while in her position, she could put you in a lot of danger, and it was too risky.

The next few days were rough. Ellie seemed to be actively avoiding you for some unknown reason and it felt like Dina and Jesse were too wrapped up in one another to even notice you. Every time Jesse came over to see Dina, he used the same excuse to cover for Ellie’s absence. “She’s busy studying, couldn’t make it today.”

“Hey, have you seen Ellie lately?” You asked Dina as the two of you walked to class.

“Huh? Oh, no, I haven’t, why?” Dina glanced at her phone before looking back at you.

“Well, I thought we kinda hit it off at the party, but I haven’t seen her since.” You sighed and trained your eyes on your shoes. “I invited her to come inside our dorm, but she said she had work and bolted,”

Dina looked confused. “That’s weird, she doesn’t work in the mornings,” She shrugged. “I can invite her to come with us to that bar tonight, how about that?” Dina bumped her arm against yours.

“Sure, that’s great,” You smiled, relieved to see your best friend was still looking out for you. Her words stuck with you, why would Ellie lie to you? Maybe she was avoiding you.

That night, Dina got ready with you in your shared dorm.

“Did she say she was coming?” You asked nervously as you stared at yourself in the mirror.

“She just liked the message,” Dina snorted and rolled her eyes. “What an ass.”

You sighed. “She’s definitely avoiding me,”

“I’ll have Jesse drag her ass down to the bar if she doesn’t show, don’t worry babe.” Dina pat your shoulder. “Are you ready to go? I think some of the other girls are there already.”

“Oh, yeah.” You took one more glance at yourself. You wore a sparkly fitted dress, one that had been growing dusty in your dresser. It was pretty, but a little loud for your taste. “Let’s go before I change my mind,” Dina laughed and nodded.

The bar was busy already, filled with college students and their fake IDs, overpriced drinks in their hands. Dina ordered the two of you some drinks and you stood beside her at the bar.

You couldn’t help but watch the door as Dina told some exaggerated story. You hated this, the feeling of self-doubt and disappointment that coursed through your body every time a girl let you down. It had only been a few weeks since your last girlfriend dumped you, and yet here you were repeating the same vicious cycle with another girl.

Just as you were about to make an excuse to leave, the door to the bar opened and Ellie strolled in. She was by herself, fidgeting with her hands nervously as she looked around the room.

You turned back to Dina before you could meet Ellie’s gaze. You had decided that if Ellie wanted to speak, she would have to come to you first.

“Hey,” Ellie tapped your shoulder and stood beside you at the bar.

“Hi Ellie,” You gave her a tight-lipped smile and took a sip of your drink. Ellie glanced at her shoes for a moment before speaking again.

“Can we talk?” She asked quietly. Was she nervous?

“Sure, yeah, outside?” Ellie nodded and followed you out.

“Okay, you wanted to talk so let’s talk.” You crossed your arms and faced her once you stood outside.

Ellie took a deep breath and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “I know this is kind of forward, but I like you, and I want to get to know you better, but—”

“But?”

“I’m just,” She sighed, seemingly frustrated. “I can’t, I can’t be around you,”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You scoffed.

Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose as she struggled to think of a reply.

“It’s not a good idea,” She mumbled.

“You’re still not making any sense,”

Ellie hesitated. “Can I show you something?”

“Sure,”

“You seriously can’t tell anyone about this,” Ellie glanced around. “Like anyone, not a single soul,”

“Jesus, I get it, Ellie, I’ll keep whatever secret you’re sharing.”

Ellie nodded and took one more look to make sure nobody was nearby.

“I’m, um, kind of like a superhero of sorts, like I fight criminals and protect people sometimes,” Ellie’s cheeks seemed to burn red as she spoke. “I just— I don’t want you to be put in danger because of it,”

You stared at her for a moment before you laughed. “Is this some kind of joke? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! You’re a superhero? Forget it, I’m going home, Ellie,” You turned away and began to walk toward the bar.

Ellie reached out and grabbed your arm. “No, I swear I’m not lying, I can prove it!” She said frantically.

“You can prove it?”

“I can,” She nodded.

“Okay, prove it.” Ellie nodded and offered her hand to you.

“Let’s go to my dorm, I can show you there,”

“Are you trying to get me to sleep with you?” Ellie rolled her eyes.

“Not at the moment, no. Would you just come with me?”

“Alright then, let’s go,”

The walk to Ellie’s dorm wasn’t long, but the tension between you and her made it feel insufferable.

“Here we are,” She nodded toward the building and unlocked the front door. Ellie led you up a few flights of stairs before finally arriving at her room.

Ellie’s dorm room was covered in colorful posters and pictures. A small telescope was leaned against the wall by her window, comic books were stacked high on her nightstand, and some science textbooks were left open on her desk alongside scattered papers and assignments.

“This is cute,” You muttered as you ran a hand along her navy blue bed sheets and looked around the room.

“Oh, thanks. You can just make yourself at home,” She smiled and went to open her closet.

You sat on her bed and watched her rifle through her clothes. “How do you plan on proving this?” You asked, slightly amused by this whole situation.

“Just wait and see, I don’t think you’ll find it funny in a minute.” She said, glancing over her shoulder to look at you. Ellie finally pulled out a hanger covered by a black zip-up cover.

She held the hanger up and unzipped the cover, letting it fall to the floor. Underneath the cover was a bright red and blue suit.

“What is that? Some sort of cosplay outfit?” You snorted.

Ellie narrowed her eyes at you. Without a response, Ellie slipped off her flannel and started tugging her shirt off.

“What are you doing?” You gasped and covered your eyes.

“I’m just changing, don’t cream your pants.” She said sarcastically. Ellie stepped into the suit and pulled it on.

The suit itself seemed good quality, it was a shiny, bright red with black and blue highlights, and it fit her like a second skin. With a closer look, you could see the little details of the suit were designed to resemble a spider web of sorts.

“This is what I wanted to show you,” She said and held out her hands. On each wrist was a complicated gadget that wrapped around her wrist and lay in the palm of her hand.

You reached out to touch the device but Ellie pulled her hands away.

“Don’t touch them, you’ll regret it.” She said with a small smile.

“What do they do?”

“I’ll show you,” She walked across the room to her window and pulled it open. “C’mere,”

You went and stood by her side, an anxious feeling bubbling in your stomach. Ellie reached behind her head and pulled the mask of the suit over her face.

“Do you trust me?” She asked, her arm snaking around your waist.

“Do I have a choice?” Ellie laughed and pulled you closer to her side.

“Hold onto me, and uh— don’t look down,” Before you had time to ask her what that meant, Ellie flicked her wrist and sent the two of you swinging out of her window.

As you flew through the air, all you could hear was the wind blowing past you and the sound of your screams. It was then that you started to believe that Ellie could be telling the truth.

“Ellie Williams put me down right now!” You screamed as you watched the buildings fly past you in a blur.

“Calm down, we’re almost to my spot.”

Ellie slowed down and stopped on a rooftop. She pulled her mask off. “This is my favorite spot in the city.” Ellie helped you find your feet and kept a hand on your lower back. From the rooftop, you could see the glittering lights of the city life and the usual noise seemed to be quieter.

“That’s great and all but I think I might vomit,” You let out a shaky breath and sat down. “You wanna explain what the fuck you just pulled?” You looked up at her.

Ellie grinned and sat next to you. “The nausea will pass, just take deep breaths. As for that,” Ellie showed you the gadget on her wrist. “They’re web shooters, I made them myself. They shoot something similar to spider webs, but much stronger.”

“So what, you’re like a spider-girl or something?”

“Well, when you say it like that you make it sound childish.” Ellie chuckled.

“Okay Spider-Woman, why is this stopping you from taking me out?”

“I’m scared,” She sighed. “I already put myself in so much danger by doing this, do you know how much worse it would be if I had to worry about keeping you safe as well? I can’t guarantee that you’ll be protected from everything I deal with, and I can’t even imagine what it would be like for you if I ended up hurt or worse.”

You stared at her for a moment and reached out to rest your hand on top of hers.

“You’re forgetting that I’m my own person, Ellie, I can make those decisions for myself. You don’t have to protect me, I can do that on my own.”

Ellie, careful not to touch the web-shooter on her palm, squeezed your hand gently. “I want you and I want this so bad, you have no idea,”

“Show me,” You murmured as you turned to face her. Ellie let out a shaky breath and leaned in.

Your lips tasted exactly how Ellie had imagined they would. They were sweet, presumably from the lipgloss you always used, or maybe you just always tasted like cherries, Ellie couldn’t tell, all she knew was that she wanted more.

“Let’s go back to my dorm,” She murmured as her lips chased yours.

“Okay,” You agreed, every thought in your head was focused on Ellie, and suddenly the only thing you cared about was getting that comic-book-looking costume off of her body.

The quick trip back to her dorm wasn’t as scary as the first, though you weren’t sure if you could ever get used to the way your stomach dropped every time she swung.

The moment your feet were on the floor of her dorm, Ellie had you pushed up against the door, her lips traveling down your bare neck. Your hands ran down Ellie’s back in search of a zipper or button to take off the suit, but you grumbled in frustration when you failed to find one.

“How do you take this fuckin’ thing off?” You muttered while Ellie ran her fingers along the hem of your dress. She laughed softly against your skin.

“The zipper is right here,” She whispered into your ear, taking your hand and guiding it to the side of her torso. Hidden beneath her arm and within the detailing of the suit was a tiny zipper.

Your lips met hers again, and while you slowly dragged the zipper down, you let your other hand slide around her waist.

And just before you were able to completely unzip the suit, a loud banging on Ellie’s door startled you both.

“Yo, Ellie, you in there?” It was Jesse, and he sounded very drunk. Your eyes widened as you looked at Ellie, waiting for her to say something.

Ellie held a finger up to her lips and signaled for you to keep quiet. She was sure that if Jesse assumed she wasn’t home, he’d find someone else to bother.

Jesse banged on the door a few times and groaned loudly when he realized Ellie wasn’t answering. You sighed softly once you heard him shuffle away.

“Where were we?” Ellie smiled and pulled you close to her. Finally, you were able to pull down that zipper and the suit came loose enough for Ellie to pull off.

Ellie slid her fingers under the straps of your dress and let them fall down your shoulders. “Can I take this off?” She asked.

You simply nodded.

As if trying to tease, Ellie slid one strap down at a time, then moved onto the zipper, which she pulled down as slowly as she possibly could.

After what felt like years of waiting, your dress fell to the floor, pooling at your feet.

The feeling of Ellie’s skin against your own was everything you needed. She was warm and gentle, even her calloused fingers felt like butter on your skin.

Hungry for more of her, you reached out and ran your fingers along the waistband of her black boyshorts. Everything about her drove you insane, the sight of her in the simple black sports bra and boyshorts that she wore was enough to make you go practically feral.

Ellie followed your lead and copied your moves, tracing the waistband of your panties, then going further and dipping her fingers inside. Ellie could’ve sworn that the gasp you let out when she brushed against your clit was enough to make her cum, god she was already completely soaked just by standing there with you.

“You’re so wet,” She breathed and her fingers slid against your pussy again.

“Fuck,” You whined.

Ellie pulled her fingers from your underwear and licked them clean.

“I gotta have more of you,” Ellie said desperately.

“Then stop talking and do it,” You bit your lip. Your words were the last bit of confirmation she needed. Ellie grabbed your thighs and picked you up with ease.

Just as quickly as you had said those words, Ellie had swept you off your feet and sat you right on her bed. Your legs spread and her head in between them.

She didn’t waste time taking off your panties, she couldn’t stop herself after she had that first taste. Ellie’s lips brushed against your cunt almost hesitantly but soon enough she was diving into you like she was starving. Your hips bucked up against her tongue as you searched desperately for release. Ellie’s hand snaked up around your thighs and held you down, causing you to whine out loudly.

“God, you taste so good…” She groaned against your cunt.

“I’m getting close,” You gasped as you felt Ellie swirl her tongue around your clit.

“We just started, baby,” Ellie chuckled and ran her tongue up along your slit. “Think you can wait a few more minutes? You just look so pretty like this…” She squeezed your thigh and looked up at you with a playful smirk.

You stared at her, stunned by how she could be so dirty when she was the same girl who had been nervous to talk to you at the bar. How could she look so sexy when her chin and nose were both glistening with your slick and her hair was messy from you pulling on it? Was this the same girl who had choked after taking a drag from a joint?

“Please…” You moaned loudly and let your head fall back against the mattress. Ellie pulled away and kissed the inside of your thigh.

“Fine, but only because you asked so nicely,” She smiled and stood up, pulling her underwear down and straddling your hips. “I wanna cum with you…” She mumbled as she leaned down and kissed you gently.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips once you felt Ellie position her cunt against yours. Ellie let out a whiny moan and slowly rolled her hips forward, drawing out a loud sigh from you. Your bodies moved together slowly as if you were performing some heavenly dance.

Her wet folds grinding against yours seemed to stop every thought in your head. You couldn’t recall the last person who had made you feel nearly this good– hell, you could barely form a coherent sentence. You reached out and grabbed Ellie’s hands, intertwining your fingers and squeezing her hands gently.

“God, Ellie I can’t–” You stuttered and squeezed your eyes shut.

“I know, me too…me too,” She groaned and tossed her head back. It wasn’t hard to tell by the way her thighs were beginning to shake or the loud profanities leaving her mouth that Ellie was just as close to orgasm as you were.

It only took a few more moments before you came completely undone. A hot, sudden pleasure overcame you just as Ellie climaxed. As soon as the pleasure lulled, Ellie climbed off you and settled down next to you on the bed.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” Ellie whispered and turned to look at you.

“What?” You giggled.

“This,” She said and slid her arm around your waist. “I would’ve been more…romantic. Take you out to dinner, maybe show you all my favorite rooftops, I would’ve made this special.”

You cupped her cheek and ran your thumb along her cheekbone. “I think tonight was pretty special. It was the best night I’ve ever had.”

Ellie’s cheeks flushed slightly and a stupid smile tugged at her lips. “Don’t say that, it’ll inflate my ego.”

“Alright then,”

“Hey, promise me you won’t tell anyone about my–”

“Your secret identity? Trust me, I’ll take your secret to the grave.”

“Thank you.” Ellie took your hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back. “I just want to keep you safe,”

“I know,” You sighed.

On her nightstand, Ellie’s phone buzzed. You passed her the phone without hesitation.

‘Active robbery occurring at…’ The headline flashed across her home screen.

You watched as Ellie sat up and started grabbing her clothes off the floor. It had barely been ten minutes since the two of you had finished and she was already getting ready to run off and stop crime.

“I’m so sorry, I just–”

“You have to go,” You smiled and watched her slip into the suit.

“Sorry,” She murmured, leaning down to kiss you before pulling the mask over her face.

“Good luck and be safe,” You waved as she leaped out of the window and swung into the darkness of the night.

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luna-loveboop · 4 months ago

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@kikker-oma

Happy Fan Joy July, Oma!!!

Oma, thank you so so much for making Fan Joy July and sharing it with us! Our fandom, our artists, writers, readers, etc have loved seeing or taking part in this crazy challenge.

This is our gift to thank you- from artists all around who were affected by, or got gifts from, or took part in Fan Joy July. We all love you so much- so we made letters/art for this (Zelda themed!). Many said that they had already wanted to make/write you something, and this gave an opportunity.

One of the things I've loved about this month is how community/interaction centered you made it. The challenge was for yourself to make art each day (you absolute maniac /affectionate)- but then others joined. This July we saw or made art or fics with recommendations. Every day you made art for a writer with a scene from one of their fics, and inspired others to do the same, and writers even wrote every day for an artist based off an art piece they made! This led to a month of gift giving- everyone interacting and getting love for creating.

You truly led to a month of Joy for a lot of loz/lu fans- making the name "Fan Joy July" quite accurate

Thank you, Oma

Thank you for the gifts you gave all of us and the way you inspire others

Additional ramblings and art credits below the cut :P

I'm so grateful to all my artists who stepped up so we could do this when I asked- almost 36 hours and 19 artists. The art is like patchwork, with all these different styles, both traditional and digital put together. But that's exactly what happened- we all got drawn together, just like the other month-long challenges. It's so cool how art always connects people.

The artists who participated are @zolanort @la-sera @nancyheart11 @galenfeadraws @shade-pup-cub @arecaceae175 @isasan347 @ghosthoard @smilesrobotlover @unexpectedstormy @skyloftian-nutcase @knight-of-aether @uniquevoidflowers @jinxedruby @windwakingwhale @skyward-floored @xaeorian @blarefordaglare and me Thank you to all of you- You are all so cool and I'm glad! If I accidentally missed tagging or listing someone please let me know I'm so scared of if that happened djskdjdkd

There are letters based off of the colours/theme of each of the Lu boys- it's mainly Zelda and linkeduniverse themed... but we couldn't not have frogs for Oma! I did a frog, his name is Froggy and I'm very proud.

Here's a picture with a list of who did what-

Normally I would apologise for my handwriting, but you guys would just tell me it looks good anyways and honestly it does look good. :D Sorry for the ink splotches tho, and I hope you can read it.

We did this for you, Oma, because... well you are awesome /gen. You gave us the opportunity for a great month and we wanted to say thank you for all the joy you brought us so... thank you :)

Art :D

As for everyone who said they wanted to talk to Oma or other Fan Joy July artists who they loved sharing this month with... feel free to tag and share in the reblogs. Share the joy I guess- there's enough to go around :D

Happy Fan Joy July, Oma :))

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bloodreinasbathwater · 13 days ago

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Xo Xo Gossip Girl

Pairing: Jack Hughes x Gossip Blogger! Reader

Part 1

a:n The way I find myself digging for the perfect chapter gif only to scroll for five minutes and save my favorites is so embarrassing. I'm gonna need his girlfriend to hand over that game card... anyway hope u like this chapter.

word count - 4k

Masterlist Link

GIF by wyattjohnston

...

HOCKEY HEARTBREAK: THE REAL REASON BEHIND THE HUGHES-DEGREGIO SPLIT

Posted by Y/N @ The Daily Whisper | 11:42 PM

Settle in, Whisper Warriors, because do I have some piping hot tea for you tonight.

You know those moments when the universe just hands you the story of the year? Well, last Saturday at Vibe, somewhere between my second cosmopolitan and watching Matt Rempe fail at dancing (yes, that's tea for another day), I quite literally bumped into none other than Serena DeGregio. And let me tell you, after a few shots of liquid courage, Hollywood's newest "it girl" was ready to spill everything about her recent split from hockey's favorite bad boy, Jack Hughes.

Now, we've all seen the headlines: "Hockey Heartthrob and Rising Star Call It Quits." But the real story? It's juicier than your mom's Thanksgiving turkey.

According to Serena, our beloved hockey star couldn't handle being the second name in the relationship. While she was booking Netflix specials and selling out concert venues, Jack was sidelined with a shoulder injury that kept him off the ice for three months. And apparently, watching your girlfriend's face on every billboard in Times Square does things to a man's ego.

"He's still stuck in that high school hockey star mentality," Serena told me, twirling the olive in her martini. "You know the type – peaked at eighteen, never had to grow up because everything came easy."

But here's where I have to play devil's advocate (and maybe it's because I've seen those ice-blue eyes up close at press events). Having covered Jack's career since his rookie year, there's more to him than Serena's bitter pill would have you swallow. This is the same guy who started a youth hockey program in underprivileged neighborhoods. The same player who spent his injury rehab volunteering at children's hospitals. And let's be real – anyone who's seen him handle a puck knows he definitely hasn't peaked.

Maybe it's the journalist in me, but something about this story feels... incomplete. There's always two sides to every breakup, isn't there?

Update coming soon... if I can track down Mr. Hughes for his side of the story 😉

...

Y/N stretched back in her purple velvet office chair, admiring her latest post on the screen. Her "lair," as she liked to call it, was her happy place – fairy lights twinkling across the ceiling, framed magazine covers featuring her biggest stories adorning the coral-painted walls, and her trusty mini-fridge humming softly in the corner, stocked with Diet Coke and chocolate-covered almonds.

The story was already gaining traction, comments pinging faster than she could read them. Her phone buzzed – Alyssa's face lighting up the screen. Y/N smiled, knowing her best friend had probably already devoured every word. As the head of corporate sponsorships at Manhattan's largest sports marketing firm, Alyssa always had the best insider information – and opinions to match.

"Y/N! Have you lost your mind?" Alyssa didn't even wait for a hello. "That post about Jack and Serena is everywhere! My entire office is buzzing about it. The PR team for the Rangers is having a field day."

"Good evening to you too, bestie." Y/N spun lazily in her chair, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

"Never mind pleasantries. I have information that's going to make your next post even bigger." Y/N could hear the smile in her voice. "You know that charity gala at The Plaza next weekend? The one my firm is coordinating with?"

Y/N threw her head back and groaned dramatically. The motion made her neck crack, and she absently rubbed it while whining, "Don't rub it in. I've been trying to get press credentials for weeks. Even my usual connections couldn't get me in."

"Well, guess who's not only attending but is being honored for his youth hockey program?"

Y/N shot forward so fast her chair rolled back and hit the wall, rattling her framed cover of Time Magazine. "Jack Hughes."

"Bingo. And since I'm basically running the whole event..." Alyssa paused for dramatic effect. "I happen to have an extra ticket with your name on it. Perks of being best friends with someone who has to make sure all the corporate sponsors play nice with their hockey darlings."

"Shut up!" Y/N leaped out of her chair, nearly tripping over her discarded shoes in excitement. She caught herself on the edge of her desk, sending a stack of press releases flying. "Alyssa Martinez, you beautiful genius! How did you swing that?"

"Let's just say I convinced the foundation board that having an influential blogger there would be good publicity for their youth programs." Alyssa's voice took on a more serious tone. "Though after this post, I might have some explaining to do. You better make this worth it."

Y/N's heart raced as she glanced at her blog post still glowing on the screen, her mind already spinning with possibilities. "Trust me, this is going to be the story of the year."

"I'm counting on it. My reputation is on the line here too, you know. These athletes might be my clients, but you're my best friend. Don't make me regret mixing the two."

"Have I ever let you down before?" Y/N was already opening her notes app, fingers flying across the keyboard.

"There's a first time for everything," Alyssa teased. "So, are you ready to get the other side of the story?"

...

One Week Later

Y/N stood before her full-length mirror, smoothing down the silk of her black dress. Beside her, Alyssa was applying a final coat of mascara, her own black dress a perfect complement with its off-shoulder design.

"Stop overthinking it," Alyssa said, catching Y/N's distant expression in the mirror. "I can literally see the gears turning in your head."

Y/N sighed, fiddling with her delicate silver necklace. The blog post about Jack and Serena had exploded over the past week, becoming her most viral story to date. But something about it had been nagging at her, keeping her up at night as she replayed Serena's words in her mind.

"It's just..." Y/N paused, carefully considering her words. "What if we got it wrong? What if Serena isn't the victim she's making herself out to be?"

Alyssa raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you second-guess a source?"

"Since something doesn't add up." Y/N moved to her vanity, pretending to touch up her subtle smoky eye while her thoughts raced. "I've been doing some digging. Every charity event, every hospital visit, every youth program – Jack Hughes doesn't publicize any of it. His team's PR doesn't even push it. What kind of attention-seeking bad boy does good deeds and keeps them quiet?"

"So you think Serena's lying?"

"I think..." Y/N turned to face her friend, determination settling over her features. "I think she's a scorned ex trying to control the narrative. And maybe... maybe I helped her do it."

Alyssa's lips curved into a knowing smile. "And this sudden crisis of conscience has nothing to do with those ice-blue eyes you mentioned in your post?"

"This isn't about that," Y/N protested, but she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. "This is about the truth. The real story." She grabbed her clutch, checking one last time that her phone and recorder were inside. "Every good journalist knows there are two sides to every story. It's time I found out his."

"Well then," Alyssa linked their arms together, leading them toward the door. "Let's go get your story, Lois Lane."

As they stepped into the waiting car, Y/N's mind was already racing with possibilities. She'd built her career on exposing the truth, even when it wasn't pretty. But tonight felt different. Tonight, she wasn't just chasing a story – she was chasing redemption. And maybe, just maybe, she'd find out who the real Jack Hughes was in the process.

The Plaza Hotel beckoned in the distance, its lights twinkling against the Manhattan skyline like a beacon. Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. Bad boy or misunderstood hero, she was going to find out the truth – even if it meant admitting she got it wrong the first time.

...

Jack's pov

Jack's knee wouldn't stop bouncing under the pristine white tablecloth, making the water in his parents' glasses ripple like tiny earthquakes. Luke, ever the annoying little brother, flicked his ear.

"Dude, you're making the whole table shake. What's got you so worked up?" Luke's grin was nothing short of devilish. "Could it be a certain viral blog post about your 'high school mentality'?"

Jack pinched the sensitive spot under Luke's bicep, earning a satisfying yelp. "Shut up, man. At least I didn't trip over my own skates at practice yesterday."

"Boys," Ellen Hughes' warning tone cut through their bickering. She smoothed her navy dress with one hand while giving them both the look – the one that had stopped many locker room fights in their youth. "You're at a charity gala, not the rink. Act like grown men, please?"

"Yes, Mom," they chorused in unison, sharing a quick grin that made their father Jim chuckle behind his menu.

Jack let out a heavy breath, tugging at his bow tie. It felt too tight, like everything else lately – the press, the expectations, the endless questions about Serena. His leg started bouncing again.

"That's it." He pushed back from the table, his chair scraping against the floor. "I need a drink."

"Water," his mother called after him. "You have a speech to give!"

Jack waved in acknowledgment, weaving through the sea of evening gowns and tuxedos. His shoulder twinged – phantom pain from the injury that had started this whole mess. Or maybe it was just his body's reaction to stress. The blog post had been everywhere this week, his phone blowing up with messages from teammates asking if he'd seen it.

He had. Multiple times. Each read made him want to throw his phone into the Hudson.

Reaching the bar, he slumped against the polished marble, pressing his forehead to the cool surface for just a moment. "Water, please," he groaned to the bartender. "Still, not sparkling."

"Trouble in paradise?"

The voice was unfamiliar, tinged with curiosity and something else he couldn't quite place. Jack lifted his head to find a woman in a black dress perched on the barstool next to him, stirring what looked like a cosmopolitan with delicate fingers. She wasn't looking at him directly, but he could see the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Before he could respond, a flash of red appeared in his peripheral vision, and he had to fight the urge to groan out loud.

"Jackie!" The voice was unmistakable – Rebekah Chen, Page Six's most persistent reporter. Her red dress matched her lipstick, both as bold as her personality. She latched onto his arm like a barnacle, fake nails digging into his jacket. "I've been trying to reach you all week!"

Jack threw his head back, closing his eyes as if that might make her disappear. "Not today, Rebekah," he muttered, feeling every muscle in his jaw tense. His hand curled around the water glass the bartender had just set down, knuckles white.

"Oh, come on!" She pressed closer, her voice dropping to what she probably thought was a seductive whisper. "Just a few questions. I can help you clear the air about that nasty blog post. Make that gossip guru eat her words." She batted her eyelashes. "All I need is a teensy exclusive about what really happened with Serena."

Jack's laugh was hollow as he extracted his arm from her grip. "Right, because that worked out so well the last time." He took a long drink of water, adam's apple bobbing as he tried to maintain his composure. "No comment, Rebekah. Same as yesterday, and the day before that, and—"

"But Jackie—"

"Not happening." Jack's voice was firm as steel. "There's nothing to say, Rebekah. Not to you, not to anyone."

Rebekah huffed, her red lips turning down into a pout. She opened her mouth to protest again, but something in Jack's expression must have finally gotten through. With a dramatic sigh and flip of her hair, she clicked away on her stilettos, no doubt in search of easier prey.

Jack's shoulders dropped as tension bled out of them. He turned back to the bar, catching the mystery woman in black watching him in the mirror behind the bottles. When their eyes met, she didn't look away.

"That happen often?" she asked, taking a slow sip of her cosmopolitan.

Jack let out a dry laugh, running a hand through his carefully styled hair. "More than I'd like. Apparently, 'no comment' is journalist-speak for 'try harder.'" He paused, studying her reflection. "Though you don't seem like the pushy type."

"Maybe I'm just better at playing the long game." The corner of her mouth quirked up, and she turned to face him properly. "Besides, the real story usually isn't found in ambushing someone at a bar."

"Exactly." He found himself leaning against the bar, angling toward her. There was something about her that made him want to keep talking. "Like this blog post that went viral this week. Everyone's got an opinion about who I am, what I did wrong, but—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Sorry, you probably haven't even seen it."

She hummed noncommittally, that almost-smile playing on her lips again. "I might have caught it. Though I tend to be more interested in the stories that don't make headlines."

"Like what?"

"Like why a professional hockey player spends his injury rehab teaching kids to skate in Harlem instead of lounging on some beach somewhere."

Jack blinked, caught off guard. He'd been careful about keeping that quiet. "How did you—"

"Just someone who pays attention," she said, gathering her clutch. "The real story isn't always the loudest one, is it?"

Before Jack could process what she meant, Luke's voice carried across the room. "Jack! Mom says get back here. Speech time!"

The woman in black slid off her barstool with practiced grace. "Sounds like you're needed elsewhere."

"Wait," Jack said, suddenly not wanting her to disappear into the crowd. "I didn't catch your name."

"Y/N," she offered, and for a moment, her smile was full and genuine. "Good luck with your speech, Jack.”

She moved past him, the subtle scent of her perfume lingering. Jack found himself watching her weave through the crowd, his mind replaying their conversation. There had been something different about her – the way she'd asked questions without really asking them, how she'd known about his volunteer work but hadn't tried to use it against him like Rebekah would have.

"Dude." Luke appeared at his elbow, poking him in the ribs. "Stop staring into space. Mom's going to kill us both if you're late for your own award."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." Jack followed his brother back to their table, but his eyes kept scanning the crowd. He spotted her finally, sliding into a seat near the back beside another woman in black. As if sensing his gaze, she glanced up, raising her cosmopolitan in a small salute.

For the first time in weeks, Jack felt himself genuinely smile.

...

"...and with your continued support, we can make sure every kid who wants to play hockey has that chance, regardless of their circumstances. Thank you."

The ballroom erupted in applause. Jack's shoulders relaxed slightly – public speaking had never been his favorite part of the job, but at least this speech was about something that mattered.

Near the back of the room, Y/N leaned toward Alyssa. "We should go," she whispered, gathering her clutch. "We're not gonna get anything else tonight."

Alyssa nodded, already standing. "At least the champagne was good."

They slipped out as the crowd continued clapping, their heels clicking against the marble floors of The Plaza's ornate lobby. Y/N's mind was already spinning with how she'd write this up – not the puff piece everyone would expect, but something different. Something true.

"Y/N!"

The call echoed through the lobby, making her freeze mid-step. That voice – she'd just been listening to it give a speech about youth hockey programs and second chances.

She turned slowly, Alyssa's hand gripping her arm in surprise. Jack Hughes was jogging toward them, bow tie slightly askew, still slightly breathless from his speech. His hair was ruffled like he'd been running his hands through it, and there was a slight flush to his cheeks that hadn't been there at the bar.

"I—" he started, then seemed to realize he was still slightly out of breath. His hand came up to rest gently on her bare arm, the touch surprisingly warm. "Hey."

Y/N's eyebrows rose. "Hey yourself. Shouldn't you be back there accepting congratulations?"

He waved his free hand dismissively, though he didn't move the one on her arm. "They'll survive without me for a few minutes." His ice-blue eyes darted between her and Alyssa, a mix of nervousness and determination crossing his features. "You should come out with us. Both of you," he added quickly, offering Alyssa a genuine smile. "My teammates are headed to this bar just down the street. Nothing fancy, just... drinks. And conversation."

The way he said 'conversation' made Y/N's pulse quicken. There was weight behind it, meaning she couldn't quite decipher.

"I don't know," she started, but Alyssa cut her off.

"We'd love to," her supposed best friend said, ignoring Y/N's sharp look. "Lead the way, Hughes."

Jack's face broke into a grin that transformed his entire appearance. Gone was the serious hockey player from the podium, replaced by something younger, lighter. "Great! I just need to grab Luke and dodge my parents." He squeezed Y/N's arm gently before letting go. "Don't leave, okay? Five minutes, tops."

He was already backing away, that grin still in place. "Wait for me," he called out, just before turning.

Y/N waited until he was out of earshot before turning to Alyssa. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you the real story," Alyssa smirked, already typing on her phone. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. She thought about Jack's smile, the warmth of his hand on her arm, the way he'd said 'conversation' like he was offering something more than just drinks and small talk.

"Five minutes," she conceded, trying not to smile at Alyssa's triumphant expression. "But if this backfires, I'm blaming you."

"Honey," Alyssa linked their arms, steering them toward the bar's entrance. "Something tells me this is going to be the best story you've ever written."

...

The bass thrummed through Y/N's bones as they approached the club, the line wrapping around the building like a snake. Jack stayed close to her side, his presence warm and solid as they bypassed the queue entirely.

"Mr. Hughes," the security guard nodded, unhooking the velvet rope without hesitation. "Welcome back."

Inside, bodies packed the dance floor, but Jack navigated them through the crowd with practiced ease. His hand ghosted over Y/N's lower back, guiding her through the maze of people until they reached a raised section cordoned off with another rope. Several men Y/N recognized from hockey highlights were sprawled across the plush booths, drinks already flowing.

"Look who finally made it!" Luke called out, now free of his bow tie and jacket. "We were starting to think Mom trapped you in conversation with the Vanderbilts again."

"Barely escaped," Jack laughed, helping Y/N up the small steps before following. "Everyone, this is Y/N and Alyssa."

The team welcomed them warmly, shuffling to make space. Y/N found herself wedged between Jack and the booth's arm, hyperaware of every point where their bodies touched. Her notebook felt like it was burning a hole in her clutch.

"I'm telling you," one of the players – Miller, according to his heated gesture at his teammate – was saying, "game seven, '94 Finals. Best hockey game ever played."

"You weren't even born yet!" Another player – Thompson – argued back. "2010 Olympics, Canada versus USA. That's peak hockey right there."

"You're both wrong," Luke interjected, leaning forward. "2018 World Juniors, outdoor game. Nothing beats playing in actual snow."

"That's because you scored the winning goal, you biased little shit," Jack laughed, his arm sliding naturally along the booth behind Y/N. The movement brought him closer, his cologne mixing with the lingering scent of his aftershave.

"What about you?" he asked, turning those blue eyes on her. "You follow hockey long?"

"My dad used to play," she found herself saying truthfully. "Nothing professional, just beer league, but he loved it. Taught me to skate before I could walk."

Something in Jack's expression softened. "Mine too. Well, him and my mom..." He shifted, angling toward her more fully. "It's different now though, isn't it? The pressure. Everyone watching, waiting for you to mess up. Luke and Quinn, they get it, but we're barely home at the same time anymore. Summer's all we got, really. And even then..." He trailed off, vulnerability flickering across his features in the dim light.

Y/N's chest tightened. This wasn't the cocky player from the tabloids or the bitter ex-boyfriend from Serena's story. This was just... Jack. Raw and real and trusting her with pieces of himself she had no right to.

"I need a drink," she blurted, already sliding out of the booth. "Excuse me."

She practically fled to the bar, gripping the edge of it when she reached it. "Whiskey sour," she managed when the bartender looked her way. "Strong."

"Oh my god, Y/N!"

She turned to find Rebekah Chen stumbling slightly, clearly several drinks in. Her red dress was slightly askew, her lipstick smudged at one corner.

"Is Jack here?!" Rebekah's voice pitched high with excitement.

"No," Y/N said firmly, accepting her drink from the bartender. "He's not."

"Ugh." Rebekah deflated, then perked up again almost instantly. "But oh my god, you'll never believe what Serena told me about him." She leaned in conspiratorially, alcohol heavy on her breath. "He's a total player. Like, major cheater. She said he was always sliding into girls' DMs when they were together, coming to places like this..." She gestured around the club. "Getting with random girls behind her back."

Y/N's eyes widened despite herself. The Jack she'd just left didn't seem capable of that kind of betrayal, but...

"Yeah!" Rebekah pressed on, encouraged by Y/N's reaction. "Serena has receipts too. Screenshots, dates, everything. She's just waiting for the right moment to release them." She swayed slightly. "Guess the golden boy isn't so golden after all, right?"

Y/N's drink suddenly felt heavy in her hand. Behind her, she could hear Jack's laugh carrying over the music, warm and genuine. She thought about how carefully he'd helped her through the crowd, how softly he'd spoken about his brothers.

How absolutely screwed she was if she was starting to believe in him.

...

Tag List <3

message me to be added!

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lvnleah · 7 months ago

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Passing Shadows | Leah Williamson

Summary: You’re a nurse and your job gets a little too much so your fiancé, Leah, helps you do a different career.

Notes: this isn’t my favourite one-shot but it was too cute not to post. I also put a lot of work into it to scrap it <33

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Your footsteps echoed through the dimly lit hospital corridor. The night shift had been gruelling, and your eyes drooped with exhaustion. You longed for the warmth of your bed, the soft embrace of your pillow and Leah’s arms. As you pushed open the heavy exit door, you knew that Leah’s day was just beginning whilst yours was ending.

You were a nurse down at the local hospital in the emergency room. You mostly worked night shifts, they began at 8pm and ended at 8am. You were always rushed off your feet, you never knew what each day was going to be like.

Whilst you were running around, sorting medicines and scans out for patients, Leah was at home sleeping. Your life’s were far from the same.

You’d been with Leah for six years now, engaged for one and were soon hoping to start the IVF process at some point in the following year. You met Leah when you were a student nurse, you were twenty and Leah was twenty-one when you met.

You and your friends from university had decided to go out one night and that's how you’d met Leah. You were both tipsy and ended up hooking up that night, the next morning you woke up tangled together in the sheets. Ever since then you’d been inseparable. Things happened quickly and before you knew it you were dating and moved in together, you’d never looked back.

You got into your car and placed your bag on the passenger seat, you linked your phone to the car and played your music. You listened to your playlist, one Leah had made for you, as the sun rose above the road ahead of you.

When you arrived at your and Leah’s apartment you set your bag in the hallway, Leah’s football boots and bag were still there so you knew she was still at home.

Leah stood at the over, making you and her some breakfast. "Hey love," Leah smiled, leaving the oven and waking over to you. "Long night?"

You nodded, melting into Leah’s embrace as she pulled you into her chest. "The ER was chaotic, I’m so tired."

Leah's eyes softened. "You did so well, love. I missed you," she confessed, her fingers brushing against your side.

"I miss you too," you whispered. "More than I can say. I feel like we’re spending no time together at the moment.”

Leah's lips curved into a half-smile. "Maybe it’s time we do something about it," she suggested. “You’re burning yourself out, love.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You’d never expected Leah to say it out loud. You’d been dancing around your feelings for months. You knew deep down Leah was right and maybe it was time to do something about it.

You’d been a nurse for four years now and things were getting too much, you didn’t enjoy your job as much anymore. It was time for you to do something else.

Leah let go of you and walked over to the oven, she turned it off before coming back over and picking you up. As she lifted you effortlessly, you clung to her, your heart racing. The warmth of her body pressed against yours, you buried your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her familiar scent—a mix of vanilla and other scents.

"Where are we going?" you asked, your voice muffled against her skin.

"To the couch," Leah replied softly. "We need to talk. Jonas has let me skip training today, I explained what’s happening, so don’t worry.”

She carried you across the small kitchen and settled you down on the worn-out cushions. The morning light streamed through the window, casting a soft glow on Leah's face. Her expression was serious, yet there was tenderness in her eyes.

"Love," she began, sitting beside you, "I've watched you pour your heart and soul into your work. You're an incredible nurse, but you're drowning. The long hours, the emotional toll, it’s taking a toll on you."

You nodded, tears threatening to spill. Leah understood you better than anyone. She'd been there during your late-night shifts, holding you when you came home exhausted, listening to your stories of life and death in the ER.

"I can't keep doing this," you admitted. "I need a change."

Leah's fingers traced patterns on your thigh. "What do you want, then? What would make you happy?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with possibility. You thought about the dreams you'd buried—the baking classes you'd abandoned, the travel plans postponed indefinitely. The desire to create, explore, and live beyond the hospital walls.

"I don’t know," you shrugged as Leah drew patterns on your knee, “I just want to be with you. I want us to go back to how we were.”

Leah's smile was soft and understanding. "You loved to bake when I met you, your cookies were out of this world.”

A soft laugh escaped past your lips, “I always dreamed of owning a bakery like my Nanna.

Growing up your Nanna Olive owned her very own bakery, it was called Olive’s Bakery and you used to spend your weekend there up until the age of sixteen. She passed a few months after you turned sixteen and even though you begged your parents to keep the bakery, they sold it. Your heart broke and since then your baking slowly stopped.

“You should open a bakery," She leaned in, brushing her lips against yours. "I’ll help you and I’m sure Beth, Viv, Katie, Jen and the other girls will too."

Her kiss was a promise—a promise of change, of love, of a future beyond the ER. And as you melted into her, you knew that this was the beginning of something beautiful.

You nodded, a smile written over your face now replacing the frown, “Owning a bakery would be better for when we start our own family.”

Leah giggled, “It would be,” she agreed, “wouldn’t have to worry about you and our baby all night long.”

“You’re such a stress-head, Mrs Williamson.” You laughed, cupping Leah’s face and pulling her closer to you.

She pecked your lips, “Can’t help it that I’m so in love with my wife, Mrs Williamson. Now let’s get you to bed, get you some rest.”

You didn’t protest when Leah scooped you up from the couch and carried you into your bedroom, instead you melted into her arms and let her take care of you. You let her pull back the sheets and tuck you in before crawling into bed beside you.

Just over a year later you were living your dream. A few days after that conversation with Leah you handed in your two week notice and left nursing behind you for good. After that you took a few months off and spent some well needed time with Leah and your families, you began to find yourself again.

You began the starting process to open your own bakery after you and Leah returned from your trip to Rome to celebrate your seven year anniversary together, one that wasn’t spent working for the first time in over four years. You viewed a couple buildings with Leah but nothing felt right until one night you were laid in bed and made a discovery.

“Leah!” You screamed, despite the blonde being sat beside you.

Leah jumped out of her own skin, “Jesus woman!” She laughed, “No need to shout, love. What's wrong?”

“I can’t believe this!” You grinned, staring down at your phone, “Nanna Olive’s old bakery building has come up for sale and I’ve just been asked if I want to buy it!”

Happy tears formed in your eyes as you flipped your phone round to Leah’s view, “This is literally perfect, Le!”

Leah leaned over and kissed you lips before wrapping her arm around your stomach, “Love that’s amazing! Are you going to buy it?”

You nodded, “Yeah I am, it’s fate.”

You placed an offer and less than 24 hours later it was accepted, you cried your eyes out when you found out. A week later you’d already started renovating the building, you tried your hardest to get it as close as possible to what it was like when you were a teenager with the help of Leah and the Arsenal girls.

Two months later and the bakery was finished, it looked and felt exactly like it did when you were sixteen despite it being ten years later. You began to figure out recipes and after many failed attempts you finally sorted a menu out, most of the baked goods came from the book of recipes your Nanna Olive had passed down from to you.

A month later and it was opening day. Opening day was a nerve racking experience for you, you just wanted to make everyone proud and you did just that. Leah and all of the Arsenal girls turned up for your opening day as well as all of your family and friends. Customers hurried in and out and six months later you were the go to bakery in town.

As you began to close down the bakery for the evening, the bell chimed above the door. You stopped wiping the counters and turned around to see Leah standing there. She had her football bag in her hand and a soft smile written over her face.

You rounded the counter and walked over to Leah, putting your arms around her neck. You brought her in for a kiss, “Hi my love, how was training?”

“It was good,” she pecked your lips as her hands trailed down your hips before finding your bump. “How are my girls?”

You were currently twenty three weeks pregnant with Leah and yours first child. A daughter to be precise.

“Our girl is doing just fine,” you whispered, your voice filled with love and anticipation. “She’s strong, hasn’t stopped kicking all day, reckon she’s going to be a footballer just like her Mumma.”

She chuckled, her breath warm against your cheek. “I can’t wait to meet her,” Leah smiled as she felt your daughter kick against her hand. “God, they are strong kicks!”

With the help of Leah, you finished closing down the bakery. You both ended up snacking on some leftover cookies and lemonade before making your way home.

As you laid in bed that night, Leah’s arms wrapped around you, she kissed your forehead, “I’m so proud of you y’know? What you’ve done over the past year is amazing.”

You smiled at her, “Thank you, love. I couldn’t have done it without you and everyone around us. If it wasn’t for that night I'd probably be stuck nursing still.”

And there, in the quiet darkness, you both drifted off to sleep. You fell asleep in Leah’s arms, something a year ago you would’ve yearned for all night long. Now you didn’t need to because you had the life you’d always dreamed of.

#leah williamson fluff #leah williamson x reader #awfc x reader #leah williamson imagine #woso x reader #awfc imagine #woso imagine

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infiniteglitterfall · 21 days ago

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friggin faux-Palestinian history, istg

I'm in the middle of writing a post about the difficulties of pinning down details and dates in Palestinian history. This one is just me stopping to vent for a sec.

I came across the Wikipedia page for GUPS, the General Union of Palestinian Students. This is an organization with groups at colleges all over the world. Ish. It's shrunk over the decades.

The page made a bold claim: that GUPS was officially founded in Cairo in 1959, but had really started in the 1920s.

I called bullshit. The only source cited was a dead link to the 2010 version of the SFSU GUPS page, which said the same thing -- no context, no source, and especially, no explanation of how Palestinian student organizing could have started before there were colleges or universities in Palestine.

There were two. They were tiny. And they both taught in Hebrew.

Certainly, there could have been Arab Palestinian students there, who learned Hebrew there, or already knew it.

But were there so many that they started a student group that apparently lasted 35+ years before getting a name??

I could not find one other source for this.

So I deleted it and called bullshit.

Within a day, someone who wasn't even logged in reverted my edit. They told me that I hadn't proven that it was wrong, I'd just said it was illogical.

I started looking up sources and putting together a more detailed edit. In the meantime, I started a topic on the totally empty talk page, politely calling bullshit.

I said that I hadn't been able to find any sources in English OR Arabic that confirmed this claim, and that I thought it was an error made on a dead page.

The same person, now logged in, replied:

"you still haven't refuted the claim. the claim is still on their web page."

BRUH.

IT'S AN ARCHIVE OF A DEAD PAGE. BY DEFINITION, IT DOESN'T CHANGE.

This is exactly how it feels to research any of this stuff.

Every single time, it turns out that people's unsourced online bullshit is absolutely wrong.

Every single time, people just respond by insisting on believing whatever claim some rando made on the internet.

The problem is not that Palestinian history doesn't exist, hasn't been written down, or hasn't been researched. Of fucking course it has!!

(I have literally seen people claiming the contrary in the most wild-ass fucking ways. Supposedly-pro-Palestinian people, acting like Palestinians are wooby powerless fuzzy babbies whose books were all stolen by the cruel Jews 80 years ago, who had no way to replace that historic knowledge, and who have just been standing around ever since. It is the most Western Paternalism shit ever, and it absolutely drives me up the wall.)

The problem is that this is a topic that a lot of people are passionate about. And unfortunately, a whole lot of people are unwilling to back down on literally anything that "feels" pro-Palestinian to them, whether it's true or not.

It's purely going on Vibes, but the Vibes themselves are based on how something compares to the Vibes they get from social media and stuff.

And those vibes are so extreme and vehement that any kind of pushback sounds like You Love Genocide And Kill Babies For Fun.

It's just a fucking vicious spiral.

It's like playing tennis against the tennis-ball-throwing machine. It's not a real game. Nobody is engaging with you. It's just the same shit over and over.

(I was trying to type "shot." But apparently I swear so much that instead of autocorrecting me to "ducking hell," my phone now INSISTS I meant to cuss.)

I ended up getting Google to give me the Arabic for GUPS, and then digging for sources about its actual origin.

It turns out Yasser Arafat formed the Palestinian Students League in Cairo in 1949, and that became GUPS in 1956. This is entirely fucking unsurprising in any way if you know anything at all about actual Palestinian history. Of fucking course he did. This also explains why the first search result I found about GUPS was from the PLO. Of fucking course it was.

#Israeli history #Palestinian history #jumblr #I'm too autistic for this #wall of words

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roosterforme · 4 months ago

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Covering the Classics Part 19 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: When Bob is away, Anna can feel his absence everywhere. But nothing beats a perfect reunion.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, adult language, mentions of smut, 18+

Length: 2000 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

Months later....

Sitting in the coffee shop alone after visiting so many times with Bob truly made Anna sad. She was so used to sipping her coffee while he drank his hot tea, and somehow the scent always clung to his hair for hours afterwards. She'd bury her nose against him when they got home, and he would laugh when she told him he always smelled good.

But now he was gone, and she couldn't do anything about it. She accidentally burned her mouth on her coffee, and after that it tasted disgusting. She got herself a croissant, but they were better when shared. Tears stung her eyes, and she had to take a deep breath and convince herself that it would be over soon. Then she focused her attention on her computer as she worked through some more of the changes she wanted to make to her manuscript.

After three more paragraphs, it was no use. It wasn't even ten o'clock in the morning yet, but she gave up and switched to the notes app on her phone where she had been adding ideas for Jessica's bridal shower and bachelorette party. Physics jokes about the laws of attraction? Designer lingerie shop in LA? Can you make a math equation that looks like a penis?

She would defer to Advanced Calculus for that last item. With a sigh, she was about to close her computer, buy another croissant for Suzanne, and then head out when she saw a new email notification.

"No way," she gasped as she tapped on it and stared at her computer screen.

Sky Writing has posted a new, original work! Click the link below to check out the subscriber that you follow!

Anna's heart started pounding erratically, and her fingertips felt numb. Anticipation and confusion mingled together as she opened the link. It was difficult to read as she tried to take a deep breath, but she wanted to consume Bob's words as quickly as possible.

I can see the dusky outline on the horizon,

But the California coastline isn't enough.

I need to be at home.

I need my bookshelf.

I need my books.

I need your books.

I need my Anna.

I need to see you in the next two minutes,

Because twelve weeks is way too long.

"The next two minutes?" Anna mumbled to herself as she read the last lines over again. "Two minutes?" She was out of her seat immediately, neck craning around the crowded coffee shop, looking in every direction. And that's when she saw him stroll inside in his khaki uniform and silver glasses with the most handsome smile on his face.

"Bob!" she cried out, nearly tripping over her chair as she left her stuff behind to get to him as quickly as she could. He was home. He was home early from his deployment. Communication had been a little spotty, and there was so much she wanted to tell him, but he was finally home.

"Anna," he murmured as she threw herself at him, knocking the wind out of her own lungs. His arms were wrapped around her as soon as her lips met his, and she didn't care if there was a whole shop of people watching them. He was finally home. Somehow he still tasted like tea, and he smelled so good, she buried her nose against his neck as he chuckled.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked, kissing him just above his shirt collar.

"Jess told me," he replied easily.

She kissed her way up to his ear as he started to slowly walk her backwards to the small table where she'd been sitting. "Why didn't you call me? I could have picked you up. I missed you so much."

"I just wanted to surprise you," he whispered, claiming her lips again as they stood next to the table.

She looked up at his pretty eyes and said, "This is a wonderful surprise. And I have one of my own."

"What is it?" he asked softly, his fingers tracing the freckles along her cheek and chin as she grinned up at him.

"I'm divorced."

His eyes went wide, and a sound of pure excitement escaped him as he scooped her up into his arms. "You're divorced?"

Anna laughed as she told him, "Finalized ten days ago. Fuck Kevin."

"You drove my truck here? Let's go," Bob said, immediately carrying her toward the exit.

"Wait, I need my stuff!"

"Oh. Right," he replied, suddenly very flustered as he helped her shove her computer and phone into her bag.

"I was planning to get a croissant or something to take to Suzanne," she said as he practically dragged her outside and down the street to his truck.

"Well, I was planning on taking you back to the bookstore to pick out something we could read together tonight, but this is even more important."

Anna ended up with her back pressed against the side of the truck while he unlocked the door, and she pressed her lips to his Adam's apple while she tried to hold onto her bag. She wanted to taste him everywhere. "Going right home actually sounds like a pretty good idea."

"That's exactly where we're going," he promised, tossing her stuff onto the seat before helping her in as well. The six seconds when he was walking around the truck and she couldn't touch him were miserable, but soon enough, he was kissing her while he started the engine. Then she had her fingers wrapped up with his while he started to drive. "I love you, Anna." He kept his eyes on the road as he made his way through Coronado, and she felt warmer than she had in twelve weeks. "I love you, and I would never pressure you to do anything you didn't want to do."

She turned to look at his handsome profile. "I know you wouldn't. That's why I love you so much."

She watched as he swallowed hard before saying, "I know we talked about our future, but it was always kind of ambiguous while we waited for your divorce decree."

"It's not ambiguous anymore!" Anna cheered as they neared his house where she had been living for months. "I'm ready for the future. The future is here. The future is now."

She was all smiles as he parked the truck with an anxious look in his eyes. "You told me you wanted me forever," he whispered, and Anna couldn't figure out why he looked so nervous.

"Of course I want you forever," she told him once again. She'd made it as clear as she could that she was done running. Kevin and New Jersey and everything that could have broken her but didn't were all left in the past. She was moving on a little bit more every day with Bob and her best friends and her tenure track teaching position at San Diego State. She was unashamedly taking excellent care of herself, and she never stopped Bob when he told her she needed to take a break and that he'd handle something for her. She wasn't going anywhere ever again.

"I want you forever, too. And we can go slow, or we can go fast. Or you can tell me you don't want what I have to give you, and that's okay too."

"What?" she asked, her heart sinking in her chest as he parked and climbed out. She wanted everything Bob had to give, and she wanted to give him everything, too. They even talked about getting married someday after he initially got over his nerves enough to bring up the topic. She had assured him that he was exactly the only person she would do that with after her disastrous first marriage. Why would he think she didn't want what he had to give?

"Bob?" she asked as she climbed out as well and met him on the sidewalk. "Why do you look so concerned?" He didn't respond. He only led her up to the porch and unlocked the door. "Bob!" she complained when he scooped her up and carried her up the stairs, going two at a time until his breath was coming in shorter gasps. Instead of turning toward their bedroom like she expected, he went into the guest room and dropped her onto the futon.

She rarely came in here. It was almost funny that Bob planned on sleeping in this room when he insisted Anna come home with him after Kevin figured out where she lived. And now he was on his hands and knees, crawling under the futon as she asked, "What in the world are you doing?"

He hit his head and grunted in response, but a second later, he emerged with his hair all messed up and something in his hand. "I got you a ring."

"A ring?" she asked, realizing he was holding a small box. A jewelry box. She looked at him where he was kneeling in front of her, cheeks turning pink. "What kind of ring?" she whispered, hopeful yet needing to be sure.

Bob snapped the box open, and all Anna could see was a beautiful diamond. "An engagement ring. But only if you want it. I know you probably need more time. I don't even need an answer right now, I promise," he told her earnestly as she scooted a little closer to him. "You were still married two weeks ago, but I wanted to give it to you now anyway. You can wear it or not wear it. We can wait a while if you want. I just... wanted you to know it's all yours. I'm all yours."

She hadn't worn the rings from Kevin in over a year and a half. She pawned them with no remorse before she left for California. "It has been a very long time since I was really married, Bob." She took the box from his hand and looked at the ring. She couldn't stop smiling, and the tears in her eyes made the diamond look all blurry as she asked, "Do you really want to marry me? I'm a mess."

He grinned at her. "You're really not, Baby. You're smart and beautiful and funny and kind. You're a fighter. Of course I want to marry you."

Without another word, Anna took the ring from the box and slid it onto her finger. She'd known Bob long enough to be sure that his words were honest. She was willing to throw it all in on Sky Writing. "We can take our time," she whispered, leaning down to kiss him. "There's no need to rush. But I definitely want to wear this ring."

They made a long, luxurious stop in their bed where Anna almost lost her voice from the number of times she called out Bob's name, and then he made her lunch before the two of them made their way to the living room bookshelf.

"We didn't make it to the bookstore to pick out anything new to read," she mused, brushing all of the colorful spines with her fingers.

"Maybe we could read the first book you ever recommended for me. Together this time," he replied, his hands settling on her hips as his chin rested on her shoulder.

Anna smiled as she reached for A Room With a View, remembering so well the day she started to fall in love with Bob Floyd. The book still looked practically brand new even though he'd already read it, and she grinned as she said, "I can't wait to dog ear all your pages."

"I will gladly let you."

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

The End! Thank you for reading another adventure in the Sugarverse! I hope you learned that even when you're a mess and barely holding it together, you're still worthy of friendship and love. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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#bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd #robert floyd fic #robert floyd fanfiction #bob floyd #robert floyd x oc #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #covering the classics

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