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matt-murdockk · 26 days ago

Text

Sweet Nothing

pairing: matt murdock x reader

words: 5.1k

warnings: cussing, slow-burn, angst if you really squint but it's just fluff mostly, lack of proofreading (rip), pretty descriptive making out

summary: This is the story of how Matt Murdock met the love of his life one fateful day at the NYPD precinct.

a/n: guess who finally learned out how to make emdashes on Mac— hehehehe. some fluffy slow-burn for you <3 (i tried not to use pronouns for the reader but I'm so sorry if i accidentally used she/her anywhere)

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While Matt was charming, romantic, and thoughtful, historically— he hasn't been the best at relationships. Flings were okay, short-term was fine, but a proper relationship? Matt didn't think he deserved to be in one until he met you.

To him, you were a breath of fresh air from all his previous exploits. Elektra was a rush of adrenaline, a thrill, certainly an experience, but he knew he didn't like the side of him that she brought out. Karen was too close a friend to lose over a relationship and Claire, well, he had way too much respect for her, he wouldn't do that to her.

You, on the other hand, were what he swore was the right person at the right time. The right amount of calm and the right amount of chaos. He didn’t go looking for you. But you found each other anyway— almost by accident, almost like it was fate.

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

A regular phone call from Brett Mahoney about a possible case for Nelson & Murdock brought Foggy and Matt to the precinct one day. From outside, Matt quietly observed you before going in. You were in the holding cell, handcuffed, busted lip, and bruised knuckles. For all that you looked like you'd been through, Matt noticed that you were oddly calm.

Brett opened the door to let Matt and Foggy inside, the confusion in your face did not go unnoticed by the people in the room. "10 minutes, Foggy." The door shut behind him as he left, giving them a knowing look.

"You know it, Brett." Foggy helped Matt into his seat and took the empty seat beside him.

"Miss (Y/l/n), my name is Matt Murdock, this is my associate Foggy Nelson." Foggy gave you a half wave and smiled.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Before we begin, have you been assaulted while in custody?"

"No, I have not. Listen, I didn't ask for a lawyer."

"We understand that you have been accused of assaulting a police officer. You have opted not to seek legal representation, is that right?"

"First of all, there has been a huge misunderstanding. Secondly, I still don't know why you're here, Mr..."

"Murdock," he reminded you.

"Right. Murdock. Sorry."

"We run a practice at Hell's Kitchen. Our firm is interested in representing you. And please, call me Matt," he clarified, presenting a warm, genuine smile.

"Well, Matt, while I am certainly thankful for your interest in representing me, I'm sorry to disappoint you, I don't need a lawyer."

"Trust me, you're going to," he said, amused at your confidence that you'll be fine.

"Oh, I know, I just already have one."

"Well, our job here's done. No cigars for Bess next time," Foggy retorted, as he got up, ready to leave.

"Foggy, sit down. Miss (Y/l/n)—"

"(Y/n), please."

"Very well. (Y/n), I understand that you already have representation. Probably from a big-time firm with 5 times the number of defense attorneys than we do. But here’s the thing. Those firms? They see cases. Numbers. Profiles. Headlines. They’re already calculating how your situation fits into their win column. I don’t work like that. My firm doesn’t work like that. We don’t take every case. We don’t chase the press. What we do is show up— completely. We sit down, we listen, and we fight like hell for the people who trust us. No fluff. No posturing. Just the work, and the truth, and someone in your corner who actually gives a damn about what happens to you next. So if you want the machine— fine. But if you want someone who’s going to look past the charges, past the headlines, and actually see you? Then you want Nelson and Murdock."

"Wow, okay, so, great sales pitch, love the energy, I really do. There's just one problem."

"What is it?"

"My boss is already on his way to represent me."

"I'm sorry— Boss?" " Yeah, what is it you do, exactly?" enquired Foggy.

"I'm a senior associate at Pearson Hardman."

"Well, that crashed and burned splendidly. Happy now, Matthew? We're poaching clients now. Oh and not just from any firm. No, sir. From Pearson fucking Hardman, Unbelievable."

"Foggy, it's okay. So, (Y/n), is your boss any good? Or..."

"I work for Harvey Specter."

"And that's our cue to leave."

Matt finally admitted defeat and got up to leave, following Foggy who was already at the door. While he was certainly ambitious, he knew he couldn't compete with that.

"Thank you for your time, (Y/n)."

As Matt turned toward the door, he caught the subtle quickening of your heartbeat— hesitant, uncertain, like you were rethinking your decision. His hand was just about on the doorknob, ready to leave but not quite gone, when your voice stopped him.

“Wait.”

Out of your line of sight, he let the faintest smirk curl at his lips. He just loved being right.

“What is it?” Matt asked, turning back to face you.

You hesitated for a beat, eyes flicking between him and Foggy, then down to your bruised hands in your lap. “I... I want you guys to represent me.”

Foggy blinked, taken off guard. “Really? Just like that?”

You exhaled slowly, the edge of defiance in your tone softening into something a little more tired. “Let’s just say… I’ve worked long enough at firms that care more about damage control than people. I don’t want a firm that’s already prepping their PR statement. I want someone who’ll actually give a shit.”

Matt nodded once, quietly. His expression didn’t change, but there was something solid behind it. Something settled.

Foggy let out a low whistle, then grinned. “Well… welcome to Nelson & Murdock.”

Cut to a little while later— Nelson & Murdock office. You, Matt, and Foggy sat around the table, the arrest report open in front of you. The air buzzed faintly from the overhead light, the hum of late-night tension settling over the room.

Foggy skimmed through the statement again, frowning. “Okay. Walk us through it. From the top.”

You leaned forward, elbows on the table, tone clipped but calm. “I was on the subway platform. Late. Waiting on the C train. There were maybe three other people around, none of them close.”

Matt tilted his head slightly, tuning in. Not just to what you were saying, but how you said it— measured, unflinching. No panic. No dramatics. Just facts.

“This guy comes over, starts making small talk. I make it clear I’m not interested. He doesn’t take the hint. Gets closer. I step back, tell him to stop. He grabs my wrist.”

“Forcefully?” Matt asked.

“Firm enough that I couldn’t just shake him off,” you replied. “So I pulled away. He grabbed me again. That time, I reacted. Hit him once, hard, in the face.”

The rhythm of your pulse didn’t spike when you said it. No guilt. Just certainty.

Foggy nodded slowly. “And then?”

“He goes down, pulls out a badge. Says he’s NYPD. I get cuffed.”

“He never identified himself before that?” Matt asked.

“No. Not verbally, not visually. No badge, no warning. He was in plainclothes, no backup, no indication he was on duty.”

Matt exchanged a look with Foggy, then turned his attention back to her. That steady confidence. The way you answered questions like you were already anticipating the next three.

“That’s a serious problem for their case,” Matt said, flipping through the paperwork. “Use of force in response to a perceived threat is protected— especially when there’s no identification of authority.”

You shrugged. “It won’t stop the department from backing him, though.”

Matt’s brows lifted just slightly. YOu knew exactly how this would play out— too many steps ahead for someone just hoping to walk out clean. You were smart. He liked that. Maybe more than he should.

“No,” Foggy agreed. “But it gives us a strong narrative, especially if we can get security footage or eyewitness statements from the other people on the platform.”

There was a beat as Matt closed the folder and set it aside.

“You’re sharp,” he said, more thoughtful now. “You know the statute, you know your rights, and you’re quoting case law off the top of your head.”

You looked at him, just a little amused. “That’s because I’ve spent years doing the same thing you do.”

A flicker of something moved across Matt’s face. He leaned forward just slightly.

“Why exactly are you not representing yourself?”

You smirked. “Because representing yourself while you’re the one in custody is a logistical nightmare. And because even good lawyers know when to bring in reinforcements.”

Foggy shook his head, amused. “Okay. That was... a good answer.”

You smiled, leaning back in your chair. “Now let’s go win my case.”

Matt smiled slightly. “Glad you picked us.”

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

They won.

Not easily, and not without a few uphill battles, but the charges didn’t stick. Between the platform security footage, two credible eyewitness statements, and some rather unflattering internal complaints about the arresting officer, the case quietly unravelled in court. Matt made his arguments clean and precise. Foggy handled the media brushback with that classic Nelson charm. You? You sat through the whole trial stone-faced and unshakable— until the verdict came in, and Matt swore he could hear the way your shoulders finally loosened.

You kept in touch after that.

Not constantly, no regular meetings or phone calls— just the occasional email. A few sarcastic text exchanges. One time, you sent Matt a voicemail of you laughing because Foggy had apparently called you "the one that got away." Matt saved it. He never said that part out loud.

It was about six months later when Foggy floated the idea.

“We could use another good lawyer,” he told Matt, over a plate of lukewarm takeout. “She’s smart, she’s sharp, and she gets us.”

Matt didn’t disagree. He didn’t say much at all, really. But the next morning, you got a call from him— short, polite, a little too formal— inviting you to "grab a coffee and talk opportunities."

You left Pearson Hardman three weeks later.

Karen was the first to greet you when you walked through the door on your first official day. She had already cleared space on the shared bookshelf, left a fresh legal pad on your desk, and warned you not to get caught in any of Foggy’s snack traps. You settled in like you were always meant to be there.

The four of you fell into rhythm faster than expected— late nights, tight wins, inside jokes. Karen became one of your closest friends before your second week was out. Matt had a habit of lingering in your doorway on the days he claimed he "wasn’t eavesdropping," but his smile always gave him away. You pretended not to notice. He pretended not to care."

The firm did better that year than anyone had predicted.

And you? You’d finally stopped feeling like just another cog in someone else’s machine. You felt like you were home.

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

It was late.

Most of the lights in the office were off except for the one at Matt’s desk, and the faint glow of your screen across from him. Karen had bailed with a yawn and a pointed “Don’t stay too long, you two.” Foggy left not long after with a granola bar and a salute.

Now, just you and Matt.

A few open case files, cold takeout, empty coffee cups.

“Your typing slows down when you’re annoyed,” Matt said, breaking the silence without looking up.

You didn’t even pause. “Your voice gets smug when you’re fishing for attention.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Because it’s not flattering?”

“Because I don’t need to fish for attention,” he said. “Not when you give it up so easily.”

You looked up, unimpressed. “Oh no. You have caught me.”

“Seriously, that's how you respond to my flirting?”

You closed your file and leaned your elbows on the desk. “I didn’t realize ‘mild workplace bullying’ counted as flirting now.”

Matt tilted his head, listening closely. “That wasn’t a no.”

You smiled. “Murdock, if I were flirting, you’d know.”

“Oh?” he leaned forward, just slightly. “Go on, then.”

You mirrored the movement. “You sure you want to start something you can’t finish?”

His smile flickered into something smaller, quieter. “I’m not worried.”

“You should be.”

The banter fizzled for a second into silence, but it wasn’t awkward. Just... full. Like both of you were waiting to see who would blink first. Then you reached for the leftover fries between you.

“See, this is where you should’ve swooped in and offered to share,” you said, picking one up.

“I was being polite.”

“You’re full of it.”

Matt chuckled, leaning back in his chair again. “You make work a lot harder than it should be.”

You smirked. “If you’re blaming me for your lack of focus, I feel like that’s a you problem.”

He tapped a knuckle against the folder in front of him. “Pretty sure you’re a walking conflict of interest.”

“Oh, I am,” you said, popping a fry into your mouth. “But you already knew that.”

Matt bit back a smile, quiet again. Listening. After a moment, he said, “You know you could’ve gone back to a hundred bigger firms. Why stay?”

You glanced at him, surprised by the shift in tone. “Because this place feels like... me. Like it's mine, you know?”

Matt nodded slowly. “Feels like mine, too.”

There was something honest in his voice when he said it. Something unguarded. And for a beat— just a beat— you weren’t just two coworkers trading late-night barbs. You were something else. Something that lived in the space between laughter and hesitation. He broke the silence first.

“If you keep looking at me like that, Karen’s going to start planning our engagement party.”

“She already has,” you said. “She’s terrifying.”

He laughed, bright and real. You laughed too, leaning forward again, close without touching. And that was it. Just a moment. Not a confession. Not a move. But later, walking home, you’d think about it again— about how easy it felt, how his voice softened just for you, how neither of you pulled away.

Matt sat at his desk long after you left.

The city hummed outside the windows, faint and familiar— footsteps, traffic, a distant siren splitting the air somewhere on the west side. The kind of night New York never ran out of. But his attention was still in the office. Still in that moment.

You’d laughed. That real kind of laugh that started in the chest and softened everything around it. And for a second, he wasn’t Daredevil or Matt Murdock, the guy with a double life and a thousand reasons to keep people at arm’s length. He was just a man sitting across from someone who made him forget about all of it.

He hadn’t expected you. Not just the sharpness, or the way you fit in so seamlessly, or how you never once treated him like he needed to be handled. It was the way you challenged him. Matched him. Made the air feel lighter, even when the work was heavy.

And tonight— he’d heard it in your heartbeat. That shift. That hesitation. The quiet hope. It mirrored something in his chest he didn’t want to name. Because if he named it, it would be real. And real things could break.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. He’d been careful. Always careful. With you, maybe too careful. Always toeing the line between professional and personal, between harmless teasing and something far messier.

But tonight? Tonight, the line blurred. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way you said this place felt like yours. Like you’d claimed it. Like you belonged here— next to Karen, Foggy... and him.

Matt had spent most of his life believing that the things he loved either left or got hurt. And yet, here you were. And he was terrified. Because the thought of you staying scared him more than the thought of you leaving.

Because for the first time in a long time, he wanted something he couldn’t fight for in court. Couldn’t earn by bleeding for it.

He just... wanted you.

And wanting had never ended well.

He leaned back in his chair and turned his head toward where you’d been sitting hours ago, the ghost of your laughter still echoing softly in the corners of the room.

He didn’t know what came next. But for the first time in a very long time, he hoped. And that was dangerous.

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

Matt had been trained to keep things close to the chest. To be quiet. Composed. Measured. He’d made a whole life out of it— knowing exactly how much to say, how much to feel, and how much to hide. But lately? He was starting to slip.

It started with small things. Lingering a second too long outside your office. Finding reasons to walk the long way around the building just so he wouldn’t pass you in the hallway. Not looking up when you said his name. Not teasing you like he used to. It was subtle. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But Foggy? Foggy clocked it immediately.

“Are you avoiding (Y/n),” he asked one day, without even looking up from his sandwich, “or just trying to die alone with dignity?”

Matt didn’t dignify that with a response. Which, of course, was the response.

He tried to get a handle on it. He really did. But every time you walked into the room, something short-circuited in his chest. It wasn’t just the way your laugh stuck with him hours later, or the way you challenged him in court, or how you always saved the last of the coffee for him without saying a word. It was everything.

It was the way being near you made him feel like maybe he was allowed to want more. And that terrified him. So he did what Matt Murdock always did when he felt too much— he shut down. Smiled less. Talked less. Pulled back.

From your side, it made no sense. One minute, Matt was your closest friend at the firm— bantering with you over contracts and flirting shamelessly during late nights at the office. And then suddenly, he was stiff. Cautious. Civil, but distant. Like someone had flipped a switch and now you were radioactive.

You asked Karen once if you’d done something. She blinked, confused, then immediately said no. Foggy just smirked and shook his head like he knew something he wasn’t telling.

It wasn’t until the case came in that everything started to unravel.

A mugging gone wrong. Client said Daredevil saved her. That wasn’t unusual, not in Hell’s Kitchen. But Matt had disappeared halfway through the intake. No explanation, no warning.

When he came back, he looked… off.

There was a stiffness in his step. His jacket was damp. You noticed a bruise blooming along the edge of his jaw, half-hidden beneath his collar. And the excuse he gave? It was nothing. Too easy. Too rehearsed.

That was the first moment you really looked at him. And from that moment on, it didn’t stop. You started noticing everything.

It started small. A scrape on Matt’s knuckles one morning when he swore he just "bumped into a railing." A bruise along his jaw two days later that hadn’t been there the night before. The fact that he always knew when sirens were about to pass. That he sometimes winced at conversations happening across the street and flinched when someone behind him opened a soda can too loud.

The way his hands sometimes trembled when he thought no one was watching. The bruises that never quite added up. The way his hearing— his attention— seemed to stretch too far, too focused. His absences. His silences.

You weren’t stupid. You were a lawyer, after all-- your entire job revolved around reading people, noticing what others missed. So you paid attention. Not obsessively. Not yet. But enough. Enough to clock that he disappeared some nights without explanation, always coming back the next day with a carefully worded excuse and that same “don’t ask” look in his eye.

And then came the clincher.

A client— a woman being threatened by her landlord— was suddenly protected. Completely. No restraining order had gone through. No legal intervention. But the man stopped showing up. Cold turkey. When you asked, she just said, “That guy in the mask. The Devil. He said I’d be okay.”

You stared at her.

Later that night, while Matt was in his office pretending not to eavesdrop, you walked in and dropped the case file on his desk.

“She said ‘the Devil.’ Not a devil. The one. Hell’s Kitchen’s own.”

Matt didn’t look up. “Lot of people throw that name around.”

“She also said he was calm. Polite. Knew her name. Said she had nothing to be afraid of anymore.”

He was quiet.

You folded your arms. “She said he didn’t sound scary. Said his voice was warm.”

That made him pause.

“You’re not even going to deny it?”

Matt finally leaned back in his chair and sighed. “...hi?”

You blinked. “Hi?”

He shrugged. “It’s concise.”

You just stared at him.

“Matthew,” you said flatly. “What the fuck.”

“I was going to tell you.”

“When? When I saw you parkour off a fire escape in a three-piece suit?”

“I— look, I didn’t want this to change anything. I didn’t want you to change how you looked at me.”

“Look, I’ve been working beside you for over a year. And you didn’t think, at any point, to maybe mention that you moonlight as a one-man SWAT team?”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Well, good job, Matt. Really nailed it.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then leaned forward slightly, voice lower. “Listen, I know you're upset. I would be too. I didn’t tell you only because I care about you. Because this thing, what I do— it’s brutal. And if anyone ever found out how much you mean to me...”

You blinked. That shut you up. For a second.

“Oh, so I mean something to you now?”

“I think that’s been fairly obvious.”

Matt noticed the way your heartbeat changed when he said you meant something to him. He figured this was a bad time to bring it up, although he smiled to himself at what that meant.

“I’m not mad that you’re Daredevil.”

That made him pause.

You went on. “I’m mad that you didn’t tell me. That you didn’t trust me enough to know. But... I get it. I really do.”

Matt didn’t say anything. Just listened. Really listened.

“You protect people. That’s who you are. And I don’t mean the mask or the fists or any of that— I mean you. The guy who goes to court for tenants getting pushed out of rent-stabilized apartments. The guy who sits through paperwork and trials and still somehow finds time to help people when the system doesn’t. So yeah, I get why you kept it quiet. I would’ve done the same.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t this.

You stepped a little closer. “Would it have been easier to hear it from you directly? Sure. But I also understand why you didn’t. You’re trying to keep people safe. That’s kind of your whole thing.”

“I didn’t want to put you in danger.”

You gave him a look. “Matt. I’m a defence attorney in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m already in danger.”

He huffed a laugh, tension slipping just slightly.

“And besides,” you added, “it’s not like you told everybody.”

Matt winced. “Karen and Foggy know.”

“Splendid,” you muttered. “I’m last to know. That feels great.”

He opened his mouth to explain, but you waved him off.

“It’s okay. Really. I get it. You didn’t think I could handle it, or maybe you were just scared of what it would mean. Either way, I want you to know I still look at you the same way. Hell, I think I respect you more now."

His expression softened— like something in him untangled all at once.

“And Matt?” you said, quieter now. “I'm still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

That undid him more than any kiss could have. Matt Murdock was already in love with you.

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

Weeks passed. Then months.

You slipped into the parts of his life he never thought he'd share with you— quiet nights on the couch with cold tea and warmer glances, half-finished cases strewn between your desks, your voice low and steady on the phone as you helped him stitch up a gash at 2AM because Claire was out of town. You didn’t flinch at the bruises anymore. You stopped asking where they came from. Not because you didn’t care— because you knew he’d tell you if he could.

You joked that you were his unofficial dispatcher. He joked that you were the only one keeping him alive. It was good. Better than good, most nights. You were steady, sharp, present in a way that grounded him even on the worst days. You kept him tethered.

But even the strongest anchor can’t keep something from drifting if the pull is strong enough. It had been building.

After a particularly brutal stretch— three back-to-back nights of Daredevil coming home bleeding and bruised, a botched sting, a kid who didn’t make it— Matt changed.

He got quieter. Tense. He stopped calling when he was out late. Stopped dropping by your place after patrols. Stopped letting you patch him up. When you showed up with food one night and found his apartment dark, he didn’t even text to say thanks. You let it go. Once. Twice. Then you stopped letting it go.

It was almost midnight. The city was soft and silver around you, the streetlamps humming like old secrets. You’d waited for him— on the pavement outside the office, case files abandoned inside, takeout cold and forgotten. When he finally turned the corner, hoodie up, bruised along the cheekbone, your blood was already simmering.

You stood before he could say anything.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Matt paused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit,” you said. “You’ve been dodging me for weeks. You come back barely stitched together, and suddenly I’m a stranger? What, I only exist when you need to be sewn back together?”

“You knew what you were getting into.”

That hit harder than it should’ve.

You crossed your arms. “I told you I could handle this. That I was here because I wanted to be. You don’t get to push me out every time things get hard.”

Matt’s jaw tightened. “I never asked for your help.”

You stared at him. “Wow.”

“I didn’t,” he said, voice lower now. “You inserted yourself. You wanted this. You stayed.”

“Because I care about you, you idiot,” you said incredulously.

He looked away. “If this isn’t working for you—”

“Don’t,” you warned. “Don’t turn this around on me.”

“You don’t have to stay.”

You flinched. “So that’s it? You’re just giving me an out?”

“I’m saying,” he said, sharp now, “if you don’t want to keep doing this, you can stop. I’m not going to hold you here.”

Your chest burned. “Right. Got it. Loud and clear, Murdock.”

“Good. Glad we're on the same page.”

"Fine."

“Fine.”

You turned. He turned. The silence between your retreating footsteps felt louder than anything either of you had said.

You made it maybe ten steps before you turned on your heel. At the same time, Matt doubled back from the other end of the block. You both stopped mid-step.

“This is stupid,” you said.

“I know,” he echoed.

You walked back to each other like it hurt to be apart even for that long. Stopped just a few feet shy of touching.

Matt ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. Then, after a second— calmer now, but still visibly unraveling— he said, “You do realize what’s going on, right?”

You tilted your head. “You mean us shouting at each other in the middle of the street like deranged theatre kids?”

He gave you that small, crooked smile, the one he only let slip when it was just you. “I mean this,” he said, gesturing to the space in between you.

A beat. Then you laughed, soft and breathless. “Oh yeah. For two Ivy-educated lawyers, we are extremely oblivious people.”

“Painfully,” Matt said, taking one slow step closer. “Embarrassingly.”

You looked up at him, heart thudding. “Do we keep pretending? Or...”

“I don’t want to.”

“Oh, thank god,” you whispered.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t hesitant. Wasn’t cautious. It was months of built-up tension, late nights, shared space, quiet devotion, and almosts finally snapping into something real. His hands cupped your face. Yours gripped the front of his jacket. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for permission— and now that he had it, he wasn’t wasting time.

Before you could breathe, your back hit the wall. The brick was cool, sharp against your spine— nothing compared to the heat of him. His mouth crashed into yours, rough and hungry, all the restraint he’d held onto suddenly gone.

You gasped, and that was all he needed. His body pressed flush against yours, arm braced beside your head. One hand slid down, catching your waist and holding you there like he wasn’t letting go anytime soon. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging. That made him groan— low and quiet and right against your lips.

The kiss deepened— messier, more desperate. He was everywhere. Warm mouth, steady grip, chest rising hard against yours. You barely registered the moment your hand slipped beneath his jacket, over the fabric of his shirt, just needing to feel something more. When you finally pulled back— barely— your forehead rested against his.

“That was…” you started, still catching your breath.

Matt laughed, voice rough and low. “Yeah. That was.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “We are going to be so annoying now.”

He grinned, thumb brushing along your jaw. “We already were.”

548 notes · View notes

wchswift · 3 months ago

Note

hii hii HEHEHEH this is so brain rot but i need a story where logan is a big time cuddler (i know he gives the best hug ever 😭) maybe he keeps that only to reader!!

ଓ IN HIS ARMS

pairing: logan howlett x reader

summary: logan is a big time cuddler, but he saves all his tender, comforting affection just for you.

word count: 1.3k

content: fluff, established relationship, implied sex, post-sex cuddles.

a/n: hiii, sorry it took me so long to write it 😭 I may have changed a little from what you asked, but I hope you like it <3

── english isn't my first language :)

Everyone around the mansion was well aware of Logan's grumpy reputation. He was the gruff one, all hard edges, and sharp looks, the not-friendly and indifferent expression to keep people not so close. To most, he's the Wolverine—reserved, intimidating, and always prefers little interaction. But of course, he had his exceptions, like you. You knew better.

Because behind closed doors, Logan was yours, and he’s the most touch-hungry man you've ever met. You know the man beneath the scowl who would hold you close until the rest of the world disappeared if he could. Deep down, he was the type who wouldn’t readily admit it, but he absolutely adored cuddling.

No one would believe it if you told them, but Logan is the best cuddler in the world. There’s something about the way he wraps his arms around you, how his broad chest and strong shoulders make you feel so small and completely safe. It’s like being surrounded by pure strength, and yet it’s soft, too—his touch careful, deliberate, filled with a tenderness that only you get to see. God this man knew how to hug.

Right now, his arms are wrapped around you as you settle against his chest, his warmth seeping into you like the coziest blanket. The room is quiet except for the soft hum of life outside and the sound of his steady breathing. Nights like this—peaceful, undisturbed—are your favorite.

You let out a contented sigh, your head resting against the solid strength of his chest. His heartbeat thumps steadily beneath your ear, soothing and grounding in a way only Logan can manage.

“You comfy, princess?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum softly, snuggling closer.

Logan’s hand drifts lazily up and down your back, tracing slow, soothing circles. He’s always touching you like this, his hands finding you almost instinctively, whether it’s to ground himself or to comfort you. Maybe it’s both.

“You’ve got the best hugs,” you murmur, your voice muffled against his chest.

Logan chuckles softly, the sound a deep, rumbling vibration against your cheek. “Yeah? Don’t tell anyone. Gotta keep my image intact.”

You laugh lightly, shifting to look up at him. His lips quirked in a rare smile, the kind only you ever see. Before you can say anything else, he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there like he’s savoring the moment.

Logan doesn’t say it, but you know this side of him—the warmth, the tenderness, the way he holds you like you’re the most important thing in the world—is something he reserves only for you. Around the others, he’s all scowls and clipped words, but in private, he’s the kind of man who craves touch like it’s air.

He didn’t always show it, though. Logan wasn’t the kind of man to give away pieces of himself so easily. It took a while to get that part of him. You vividly remember the first time he hugged you like this, back when he still had walls up, back when you weren’t sure what you meant to him.

You’d been having a rough day—a hard mission that made you doubt yourself, leaving you shaken and overwhelmed. You tried to hide it from everyone, retreating to the quiet safety of your room. But Logan noticed. He always noticed.

Without a word, he appeared in your doorway, his expression softer than usual but still guarded.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and gravelly.

At first, you nodded, trying to brush it off, but when he stepped closer and gently touched your arm, the dam broke. You let out a shaky breath, your eyes stinging, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him.

For a second, you thought he’d pull away—this was Logan, after all. But instead, his arms came around you, steady and sure, pulling you against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That was the first time you felt the magic of the Wolverine hug. His hold was strong but not overwhelming like he was shielding you from everything bad in the world. His hand ran soothingly up and down your back, his chin resting lightly on top of your head.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “I’ve got you.”

And he did. From that moment on, you realized that Logan wasn’t just a good hugger—he was the best. There was something about the way he held you like he could take all your worries and crush them with his strength. He didn’t need to say much; his arms said it all.

Now, it’s second nature. He doesn’t wait for an excuse to hold you—he pulls you into his lap while you’re reading, tangles himself around you when you’re in bed, and presses his face into your hair after a long day. His hands are always on you, whether it’s a comforting palm against your back, his fingers laced with yours, or his arm slung around your waist like he needs to keep you close. And you dare to say he loves it more than you.

After the sex, he’s especially clingy—not that you mind. Pulling you into his arms as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear, he will wrap himself around you completely. His lips leave lazy, soft, lingering open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, hair, collarbone, cheek—anywhere he can reach. Each one feels like a promise, a reminder that you’re his. He let his hands roam lazily, tracing patterns on your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You feel so damn good, princess” he’ll whisper, his voice rough but tender. And the way he holds you in those moments like he never wants to let go, makes you feel like you’re the center of his universe.

And the way he looks at you in those moments? It’s enough to make your heart stop. His usual sharp, guarded gaze softens, filled with a quiet devotion he doesn’t show to anyone else.

Around the others, he’s all grumbles and scowls, pretending he’s not the same man who just kissed you senselessly an hour ago. He keeps his distance—at least, as much as he can.

Even in public, though, there are cracks in his armor. His hand will brush yours under the table or he’ll rest his palm on your thigh. Sometimes, when he thinks no one’s paying attention, you’ll catch him watching you with an intensity that makes your heart race.

The others might tease him for being overprotective, for always keeping an eye on you, but they don’t see the real Logan. They don’t see how he softens when he holds you or how he presses his forehead against yours like you’re the thing that saved him.

“Love you,” he murmurs now, his lips brushing against your hair. His voice is quiet like he’s not ready to say it too loudly, but the words hit you like a warm rush all the same.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, those dark, stormy eyes soft in the dim light. “Love you too,” you whisper, brushing a kiss against his jaw before settling back into his arms.

Logan presses another kiss to the top of your head, his hand slipping under the blanket to pull you closer. He holds you like you’re his anchor, his steady presence in a chaotic world.

And as you drift off in his arms, surrounded by his warmth and strength, the rest of the world feels small and far away—because with Logan, you’re home.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

#꣖ ີ ꣓ writes.#logan howlett x reader #logan wolverine #logan howlett #logan howlett fluff #logan x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #hugh jackman x reader #wolverine fanfiction #the wolverine #x men fanfiction #logan howlett 🪽#logan howlett x you

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i-cant-sing · 11 months ago

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Yandere Batfam x reader who cant feel pain

HEhehehe i just remembered a disease and I just had to write about a reader with it x yandere batfam.

Have you guys heard of CIPA? Its "Congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis" which is basically a genetic condition when a patient cant feel pain to any noxious stimulus and can also not sweat, and yall are probably like "but SNoWWW, that doesnt like a diSEase. More like a superpower!!!" um no. You need to be able to feel pain or else you wont know what part of your body has been injured and get help before its too late. You could have thumbtack plunged in your foot and u wouldnt know unless it got infected and u probably saw ur foot changing color.

And now yall are like "but SNoWw, the anhidrosis part, where u cant sweat, sounds nice! who would to look like a sweaty pig in this age????" NO! Sweating is a necessary physiologic phenomenon because it lets your body cool down as it releases heat. If you dont sweat, you'd overheat and DIE!

Okay now that we've covered the basic info, lets get into it:

So, Batfam finds out about reader when she's just running into danger with little to no care for self preservation, and they dismiss it as you being just another dumb teen wanting to be hero and "change the world". Time passes by and Bruce is impressed by your passion and decides to take you under his wing.

It isnt until months later that Bruce discovers something odd about your behaviour. You were standing in the kitchen with the rest of the batkids, laughing and having a good time when he saw Dick had pulled out a hot pan of cookies from the oven and placed it on the aisle. The pan slipped, and without thinking, you had grabbed the hot pan with your bare hands very calmly and placed it back on the aisle, without so much as a hiss of pain or even a sweat.

And now that he thinks about it, Bruce has never seen you sweat. Not during training, not during summer, not even when after you ran laps around the mansion.

With a quick search on the Internet, he finds out about the disease and of course its Dick who he confides in first about his suspicions. Soon, the rest of the batfam has heard the rumours and now they're all watching you keenly to see if its true.

But Jason is the one who tests out the theory quickly by spilling some hot tea on your hand when you were busy talking to Tim about the importance of sleep. The room goes dead silent as they watch your hand turn red, yet you fail to react. It took you a few seconds to realise that they're all looking at you, and when you follow their gaze, it takes you a few seconds to react.

Or fake a reaction.

You shriek, pulling your reddening hand as you run to the sink and run it under cold water, your mind trying to come up with an excuse. But you know its too late when Bruce's hand comes to clasp your shoulder, pulling you away from the sink as his eyes examine your injured hand and... you.

"Bruce I-"

"I know, Y/n." He gives you assuring nod, carefully bandaging your hand as you sat in his office. "You have CIPA, hm?"

You looked down. Why bother lying? He's Batman, he'll find out anyways.

Bruce lifted your head and smiled gently at you. "Its okay. I'm not disappointed in you. I just... you could've told me." You shook your head. "If I did, you would've treated me differently... like a freak."

He sighed. "You are different, but I would've never treated you like a freak. You're not a freak. If anything, between us, I'm more of a freak than you." He was talking about being a hero, but you giggled at the thought of him referring to being a rich dude who cosplays in spandex.

Bruce cupped your cheek and smiled. "I promise, no one will treat you like a freak. But we will have to take some precautions for your safety."

He lied. You've never felt more like a freak than you do now.

Every single day would start off with Dick waking you up and sticking a thermometer in your mouth because he needs to make sure that you're not overheating, even though Bruce has set a thermostat in your room that he controls and he's programmed it to turn your room temperature change by the hour.

Then Dick would start checking you all over for any bruises or injuries, even a scratch, that you may have caused yourself in your sleep. Originally, Damian was the one who had a whole checklist as he examined your body, but that all ended the moment you smacked him when he asked you to lift your shirt. Dick would just have you go and check yourself in the bathroom and trust you when you said you're all good. Also, you're much nicer to Dick than you are to the rest of the brothers (its his puppy dog eyes and that sweet voice that compels you to do as he asks. He's just too nice.)

Dick would then lead you to down for breakfast with the family, where Alfred already has your glucometer out because of course, they must check your blood sugar level every day, lest they find out you're diabetic or something. Only then would you be served your meal, which is a highly nutritous, perfeclty seasoned, balanced dish because they want to make sure you dont have any vitamin deficiencies (because how would they know???? you dont feel pain). But you cant eat just yet. No no, whichever brother is closer, most often Jason, will first taste your food to make sure its not too hot to consume (because you dont realise you've burned the roof of your mouth that one time when Tim ate a slice of pizza that was fresh out of the oven and huppahhuffpuhh the morsel out). Jason would then give you the go to eat and you finally do. You make sure to finish the whole plate (because otherwise Bruce will make note of it and then interrogate you "medically" why you didnt feel like eating all of it?)

After breakfast, while the rest of the batkids get to go to school and work, you dont (because Bruce thinks that your immune system could be weak and he cant risk you catching any diseases from the outside.) No, you get a special trip to the infirmary where Bruce and Alfred do a more thorough medical check up, taking your vitals, JOTTING IT DOWN, while Alfred hooks you up to an IV drip of vitamins. And even though they go to such extents to ensure that you're healthy, they still take you to a skilled doctor once a week for regular check ups. Bruce wanted to keep the doctor in the house to do daily check ups, but you talked him out of it that you dont want to feel like a lab rat who has her blood taken every day. Once a week is fine, Bruce.

Once the medical check up is done, Bruce would then take you with him, either to Wayne enterprises where you sit in his office as he imparts you "business education that no school can teach you." which you believe because... well he has managed to triple the Wayne wealth even after his parents death. If he's working from home, then he'll let you accompany him in his home office where you can either read a book he chose for you (because Bruce prefers to homseschool you himself) or do a puzzle/case he created specifically for you. If he's working in the batcave, then he'll let you tag along but you can only work here by brainstorming or doing some computer research, but in no way are you allowed to ever go on field and fight. No, not since your last incident.

Just 2 months ago, you were patrolling with Jason (because Bruce refused to let you go alone now. He just wont risk it) and you encountered some bad guys who were a little more well equipped than you two had expected. A fight broke out, and in the process you got hurt badly. Of course, you didnt realise it because you didnt feel any of the punches or the bone fracturing. Jason could only look at you in dread as you smashed your head against the villain's head until the guy passed out, all while your nose bled, you were covered in bruises from top to bottom, AND you had a bone sticking out of your arm.

"Jay? I think I'm hurt?" You asked as blood coated your teeth.

After that, Bruce forbid you from going out on the field altogether because you just dont know when to stop. If it werent for bones sticking out or blood dripping down your face, you wouldnt know that you've been injured.

Anyways, at lunch, almost everyone has returned from work/school and you get yet another balanced meal (temperature tested by another brother). You're now scheduled for some exercises, usually conducted by Damian (under Dick's supervision because otherwise, you'd just be smacking that devil's spawn.) You guys use the gym in the basement, where Damian makes you run on the treadmill for some time, during which he does not take his eyes off you once because he needs to know when he should stop you, especially since you dont sweat or are even huff. If he didnt keep time, you could probably run for a long time and not realise that your legs or lungs are begging you to stop and take a break. As you hop off the machine, he's immediately taking your temperature. He does it after every exercise he makes you do.

After that is done, you spend time with Tim who likes to have you try on little gadgets that should "help you feel pain", but so far, he hasnt had any luck (but he doesn seem to be doing good in disguising trackers in your daily wear things). Oh and Damian loves to join in because he gets to sneak up on you and prick you with needles to help Tim see if your sensory pathways work. They dont, but you dont need your pain receptors to detect Damian coming up behind you as you smack him when he tries to prick you.

Then dinner is served, and then you're ushered straight to bed where Dick, or more often- Bruce has you do a self check like the one Dick does in the morning, but Bruce also makes sure to check your eyes to see if you "accidentally scratched your cornea" or whatever, tucks you in, tells you that he's so proud of you for how youre handling this and that you can come to him anytime, for anything. He kisses your forehead, wishes you goodnight, and leaves.

Half an hour later, Jason sneaks into your room with the goodies- junk food and video games. You two have the strongest bond because Jason is the one who treats you the most normal, and Jason does it partly to piss off Bruce but partly because he cares about your mental health. He knows it cant be good for you to be cooped up in the mansion under supervision like a bird in a gilded cage.

So sometimes, he sneaks you out of the mansion and takes you out on late night rides on his bike. You can even watch him fight villains, but you're sat far away and can never interferre.

Unfortunately for you two, this sneaking out will have to end because Bruce had recently decided to set up some cameras in your room because he wanted to make sure you slept well without any abnormal breathing patterns. Bruce hopes he doesnt have to use restraints on you, because he's not blind. He knows you're uncomfortable with this intricate routine and knowing your impulsive self, you'd probably break your own bones to get out of these restraints. And then he'll be forced to use sedatives and he really doesnt wanna rely on drugs... he likes your company when you're not droopy.

And as Bruce had anticipated, you broke down. You finally tried to leave, and he could see the color draining your face as you realised that there is no leaving.

"Why isnt the door opening?" You asked Bruce, as his four sons slowly surrounded you.

"You dont have to run away, Y/n-" He tried to calm you down but you flinched away, eyes wide as you looked at him like he was going to harm you.

"Bruce, why isnt the fucking door opening?" Your voice trembled, shooting him teary glare before focusing your eyes back on the boys who were closing in on you.

"You're meant to stay here, inside, where its safe." He answered, heart aching at the alarmed stance you took, your fight-or-flight was going to kick in. He took another step towards you, hands raised in surrender. "We can keep you safe-" thats all it took for you to bolt as the boys began chasing you. Realistically, you knew you couldnt escape them but something about their intensely concerned calls for your name had you jumping out of the window.

Glass shattered and sharp shards embedded themselves in your skin and feet, but you didnt react to them. No, your brain wasnt screaming in pain, it was screaming for you to get out!

Adrenaline pumped you to run into the dark woods surrounding the mansion, but you were soon knocked to the ground by Dick, who cushioned your fall by placing you on top of him as his hands wrapped around your form like a cage. "Y/n, calm down and listen-"

You began thrashing in his arms, screaming in agony. "Let ME GO! YOU'RE HURTING ME-!" Dick's arms loosened instinctively and you took that as a chance to elbow him in the throat and run, thanking some deity for letting Dick forget that you cant feel pain.

But your relief is short lived as Damian catches you and pushes you to the ground harshly. "Damian! Be careful! She could break a bone-"

"Bones can heal, Drake." Damian barked back, pulling you up before he pushed you against tree. "Let me go, you maniac-" Damian's hand clamped around your throat, making you shut up. "You're the one who's a maniac. Look at you! You've fucking hurt yourself because if your astounding stupidity!"

You whimpered, clawing at his hand wrapped around your throat. "Dami- p-please let go- you're hurting me!" You cried out, but your eyes went wide as he squeezed your throat and bared his teeth at you. "Not falling for it, dumbass." So... fooling Damian wasnt as easy a feat as it was fooling Dick.

You stopped the act and looked at him dead serious. "Let me go, Damian, or-"

"Or what?"

Or what? Or what? Did he think you were out of options? Out of escape plans?

You dont know why, but that triggered something inside you.

Damian and Tim could only watch as you suddenly slammed the back of your head against the tree. "Y/n-" He gasped in horror as you leaned your head forward before slamming it back against the hard rough surface. This time, Damian's hand that was wrapped around your neck felt your blood around his fingers.

"Its my life and I get to decide how I should live it." You sneered before raising your head again to bash it, but Damian's hand quickly slipped from your neck to the back of your head, cushioning it when you smacked it back, the skin on the back of his hand breaking as it made contact with the bark.

You pushed him away and tried to make a run for it, but Tim grabbed your wrist. You tried to pull away, but he had a death grip on it. "Y/n, stop! You need to listen-"

"Oh is that so? I think I need this." You used your other hand to punch yourself in the face (because Tim would've dodged it if you punched him), making your nose bleed. But you didnt feel any pain, and now you were acting like a super soldier zombie that has no concept of self preservation who is going through fucked up lengths to prove her point.

Your eyes caught the sight of a glass shard poking out of your thigh. "Wanna see something cool?" You pulled out the shard, not paying mind to the blood oozing out. "Y/n, stop-" Tim begged, and you saw Damian froze in the back as you raised the shard.

They didnt know what your next target was- slashing your wrists, slitting your throat, or stabbing your stomach, but fortunately, they didnt have to find out as Jason came up behind you and injected you with a tranquilliser.

Sadly, you never felt the prick or sensed the hero sneaking up behind you.

thoughts? also, what other diseases would u guys like me to write for. i just adore these cool medical abnormalities lol

#yandere batfam #yandere batman #yandere batboys #yandere bruce wayne #yandere jason todd x reader #yandere jason todd #yandere dick grayson #yandere damian wayne #yandere damian x reader #yandere tim drake #yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere family

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oceantornadoo · 1 month ago

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the ex-wife chronicles pt.4 (ex husband!john price x f!reader)

masterlist | next

follow and turn on notifications: @tornadoowarning

tw: smut. heheheh. also drunk actions also unedited

The rest of the week passes in a blur.

The men meet their mandated therapists. Sure, they’ve had psych evals and required sessions before, but these are new ones, therapizing with what happened to Soap in mind. It’s where another part of your job comes out: nanny. You have to build them up after sessions break them down. Learning what makes them tick: Ghost’s tea, Gaz’s candies, John’s cigars. Soap visits in the afternoons, going straight from physical to mental therapy. The routine is grueling and quiet a change from their normal activities when they aren’t on a mission. That’s why Friday becomes a mandatory pub night.

“Now, I’m not saying to solve your problems with alcohol,” you preach to Gaz, your third glass of white wine in hand. So what if you’re taking advantage of their Frisky Friday deals? “But sometimes, you need to get drunk with your team.” The word ‘your’ is hard and heavy in your mouth. “The people you work with. Coworkers.” You correct yourself. He nods slowly, clearly also impacted by his third drink of the night (tequila and lime).

You scored the last booth in the extremely packed pub. Gaz sits in the middle, with Ghost and Soap on his left and you and John on his right. You restrained yourself from stumbling when John waited for you to get in, instead of sitting near his sergeant, but you were too drained from the week to question it. The booth’s only meant for four, and with how much muscle this group has, you’re all thigh-to-thigh under the table.

“‘Ve got an idea.” Soap pipes up from across the way. He’s been nursing a beer while Ghost occasionally sipped on his scotch. Doctor’s orders are no alcohol, but you told him he owed one drink for his troubles. “Was tha’?” Gaz replies. “Never have I ever.” Everyone groans, even Ghost and John. That you find comical, sending you snickering and leaning on your shoulder towards Gaz until John tugs at the belt of your jeans. It’s under the table but somehow sends the whole group stock-still, watching. You send a glare towards John, and he sends you an unimpressed stare back.

Gaz starts asking Soap about his favorite drinking games, giving you enough cover to reprimand your ex-husband. “Don’t do that.” You whisper sharply. He leans forward into your airspace until his lips meet your ear, soft stubble rasping against your cheek. “Y’ were about to fall into Gaz’s lap.” It’s pissed you off, this handsyness of his that’s been suddenly acquired in the past week.

His hands on your stomach during the ATV ride. His thumb swiping under your eye as he murmured ‘eyelash’ under his breath. A guiding pat on the back as he moved behind you in the kitchen, completely unnecessary with how much space there was. A squeeze to your shoulder after his therapy session before he shut himself in his room for hours.

“What if I wanted to?” You snip. A lie, but cutting all the same. John Price is too practiced to show his emotions on his face, but you are were his wife. You can see how he grinds his jaw under his beard, how his eyes flicker with darkness. That same disregard for compromise that shows up in his file, time and time again. Except in the military, he’s done enough good deeds to earn it. With you, he has years to make up.

“Let’s play!” You turn back to the group, aiming a smile at Soap. He cheers, nudging Ghost who gives him a mellow look underneath his black balaclava. Soap completely ignores it.

“Aye, hen. Never have I ever shot at hostiles while hangin’ from a heli.” Gaz grumbles and takes a swig from his drink. Ghost’s eyes seem to sparkle at the memory. Soap gestures at Gaz to ask the next question, to which he rolls his eyes. “Never have I ever fucked a coworker.” You can tell he meant it to call out Soap, who makes a production out of guzzling his beer while Ghost takes a slow sip, but they all freeze when you and John drink at the same time.

You didn’t expect him to admit it. You wonder if there were others, if you were the start of a pattern.

Then you wonder why you care.

“Cap’n!” Even though he seems more laidback than the others, you’ve never seen Soap so…loose. He’s only had half a drink too, but there seems to be a weight off his shoulders. John doesn’t respond to his taunts, simply raising an eyebrow. After a second, he shrugs and gives a non-answer. “A man’s got to have his secrets.” Soap shrugs, then turns to you. “Doc?” You shrug as well, fighting the urge to tuck your chin under the heat of four pairs of eyes. You haven’t worked your way up and invented a whole new occupation just to fold after a few drinks of wine, but you do like to stir the pot. “Don’t know why you’re singling me out, Soap. Seems here everyone does it.” He snorts, satisfied that you won’t given in. “Righ’ ye are, hen.”

The game gets fiery as Soap delivers another round of drinks (and a ginger beer for himself). You learn new things about the team: Gaz has a sister that loves to prank him, Soap’s nickname does not mean what you think it does, Ghost likes to tell bad dad jokes. John seems to be more restrained, commenting on the others while refusing to acknowledge his own answers.

As Gaz starts his fifth drink, there’s a twinkle in his eye that puts you on guard. “My turn. Never have I ever been married.” Underneath the table, your thigh goes rigid. John can feel it, you know, which means Gaz can as well. It’s a giveaway you’ll allow only due to the new glass in your hand. You sip slowly.

John does too.

He could have lied and no one would’ve known. He’s not drunk, on his second glass of whiskey when you know he practically has a tolerance.

Ghost doesn’t seem surprised, so you wonder if he sniffed it out. On the other hand, Gaz and Soap are frozen, like someone dumped a bucket of water over their heads. Their eyes are on him but Ghost’s are on you. You feel akin to a mouse caught in a trap.

“Cap?” It’s Gaz, questioning something he never knew about his mentor. Like a son discovering his father’s lie. John swallows slowly, then cocks his head with that disarming close-lipped smile of his. “A few years ago. Not married anymore.” Gaz makes a noise in the back of his throat. You take an extra sip of wine for good measure.

“Doc?” Ghost asks. The sergeants turn their gazes to you, no less interested. The bare skin on your left hand vibrates under their attention. “Mine was a while ago. We were young and…”, you trail off, shrugging.

“Ain’t tha’ funny.” Ghost grunts. You cock your head at him. “What’s that?” His eyes flick to John, then back to you. “Both were married awhile ago. Might’ve crossed paths at th’ license office.” Soap and Gaz laugh; forced, choked sounds. You smile slightly, then look down into your glass of wine. You don’t look at John.

“Makin’ it sound like I’m a hundred years old, Ghost.” John shoots back. With his approval, or more lack of disapproval, the game continues on. You nod at certain intervals, drinking when necessary. When Gaz asks if you’re okay, you mutter that the wine got to your head.

“C’mon, sweetheart.”

“You’re insane, Lieutenant Price.”

He snorts into your hair, tucked under his chin as you cuddle in the early Sunday light. A rare weekend of leave, hunkered down in the flat you share in London. Six months ago, he reasoned it was easier to split one rent instead of paying for two, since you were both barely home. Things are still in boxes and there’s no art on the walls. No bedframe either, a full mattress on the floor covered in floral sheets you insisted on.

“Two Lieutenant Prices. That’ll fuck with the Captain.” Your Captain is a piece of work, but not enough to the point where you’d get married just to fuck with his head. “You really know how to propose to a girl, John. I’m near fainting over here.” He snorts, the bare skin of his chin brushing your forehead as he nuzzles him. Last night, you told him he’d look good with a beard. He said he’d look like a bear, which made you growl at him until he bent you over the couch (the singular piece of furniture you own) and fucked you into its cushy fabric.

“Stay here.” You whine as he gets up, a terribly ugly roll out of the bed because of its proximity to the floor. There’s scratch marks on his bed, new ones on top of those that had barely healed. You’d been sent on a training mission, separated for a month, and couldn’t wait to get your hands on him. Lover. Boyfriend. John.

“Close your eyes.” You closed them, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around your bare body. He never got you gifts, and neither could you, too busy being grunt workers to the captains you both got tossed around to. It was a miracle you were granted leave together. Something that had never happened before.

“Open.” He was sitting, no, kneeling in front of the bed in a fresh pair of boxers. You squinted at his face, confused. His eyes flicked over somewhere to your left and you followed them and –

Oh.

“John.” The ring is beautiful. Older than the minimalistic styles now, which means he didn’t go out and buy it. “Baby.” His face is open and calm, always self-assured. A second look reveals a twitch in his jaw, a tell. “It’s a ring.” You point out stupidly. He laughs, something that’s become deeper recently, which you blame on his newly acquired cigar habit. “Found it in the bin an’ thought ya might like it.” He jokes. “John.” You plead.

“Marry me, sweetheart. Become the better Lieutenant Price. Yell at me when I get you pregnant and your back aches. Pick out the grey hairs in my beard.” There’s something in your eye. It’s the only explanation for the tear that trickles down your cheek, the one he swipes at with his thumb and brings to his mouth. “I can’t be a housewife, John. I mix my colors with my whites in the wash and I’m more comfortable with a gun in my hands than kids and I can’t plan a wedding.” He captures your lips in a kiss, then pulls back smiling. “Let’s elope and I’ll get a vasectomy. What’dya say?” You think. You think about how you don’t even need to think. Then you nod.

“Let’s get married.”

Soap calls it a night an hour later, muttering how he needs to take his meds. There’s an ache in his voice when he says it, mourning his past life. Ghost follows him out with a hand hovering at his shoulders. Gaz sticks around longer, talking footie with John and making eyes with a woman across the bar. He’s gone half an hour later, his arm around her waist and his mouth at her jaw.

“Forgot how easy it is.” You mutter, eyes on the sway of her hips as they exit the bar, Gaz turning back and winking. It makes you feel like a bitter hag, mourning the fun you used to have. John nudges your knee with his own, compelling you to look up. “What’s easy?” You nod in the direction of the doors. “Pickin’ up someone for the night. Not thinkin’ ‘bout the next day.” He grunts in agreement. John signals a waiter, mutters something to him, and then turns back to you. “You sayin’ you haven’t fucked anyone in a decade.” You scoff and roll your eyes. “I have, in fact. Used to be just like Gaz, pickin’ up someone new everytime I got stationed somewhere. Fun for a few nights and then gone.” John takes a sip of his drink, his jaw straining with effort.

“Gets tirin’ after a while.” He grunts. You blink, then nod. “Playin’ coy about the dog tags, the scars an’ the bullet wounds. Wakin’ up in the middle of the night an’ not bein’ about to explain a nightmare.” Though you haven’t been in combat in a while, you can relate. There’s a new layer of horror when you’re trying to heal soldiers and you get a glimpse inside their head, the bloody carcass of the beaten thing they call a brain, warped by gunpowder and bomb residue.

“Why’d you tell them you were married?” You wonder aloud. He shrugs, shifting the hand that’s been laying on his knee. Because of the movement, it slides between the two of you, the tips of his outer fingers grazing your thigh. You should pull back. The wine argues you shouldn’t. It wins.

“You’d rather I lie?” This time it’s you shrugging, your leg pressing closer to his. He doesn’t pull away. “I wouldn’t have cared. You don’t owe me anything.” His other hand leaves its position on his drink and finds your wine glass. You watch, enraptured, as he brings it to his mouth and swallows. You thought he hated wine.

“I think about it.” He murmurs. You know the answer, but you ask anyway. “Think about what?” He turns to look at you, blue eyes searing into you. “Our marriage. ‘Fore you came, still thought about it.” Before you can answer, a paper container of fried food pops out of thin air. The smell wafts over and you perk up immediately.

“Are those cheese curds?” You became obsessed after your first trip to America when you were stationed in the Midwest. “C’mere.” He wraps an arm around you and pulls. You decide not to question it and stay silent.

“Open.” There’s a cheese curd in front of you. Obediently, you open. He hums as he places it in your mouth, your lips wrapping around his fingers and tasting the grease on them before letting go. As you chew, he pops one into his mouth, licking at his thumb. You whine at the loss of fried goodness. “Still a vulture with food, hm?” Instead of answering, you reach for another one, but he pins your hand to the table with the hand that isn’t around your waist. That’s when you register your position on his lap, propped on his leg as he feeds you a treat you didn’t think he knew existed. (You were divorced by then, no contact for a few weeks.) The way you’re sitting is unprofessional and comfortable and so delicious when he feeds you another bite. And then another. It continues until the container is empty and your belly is full and your head is slightly clearer.

You look up and he’s there. Bearded and wrinkled and hardened. The bright blue of his eyes has dulled into a stormy ocean grey. His hat is stupid and you want to curse whoever bought it for him. There’s no ring on his finger and by the sound of it, no one waiting in his bed. And you, his ex-wife, are here in his lap, your thigh pressed against the hardness that strains the denim of his jeans.

There’s crumbs on your face. He’s seen you pimply on your period and heaving after a bad hangover and squatting in a dark forest after a spoiled MRE (who knew they could go bad). Yet, he still yanked you onto his lap and now his face is tucked into the crook of your neck, sniffing. His nose brushes the skin behind your ear and trails around it until your earlobe is between his teeth.

“John.” Your hands curl into the khaki fabric of the black button-up he wears. He groans into your neck, shifting you further into his lap. “John, you’re drunk.” He licks at the skin above your shirt and you gasp, the feeling so alien. You’ve been celibate for a year now and this much physical contact, all-consuming with the man you once loved and made vows to, is overwhelming. John doesn’t answer, tongue occupied with licking the salt on your skin. Your view is blocked by his stupid, stupid hat so you rectify the situation by taking it off him and plopping it on your own head. He pulls up immediately.

“You’re drunk too, sweetheart.” He hasn’t called you that in years. Something inside you clenches, too difficult to tell if it’s your heart or your core or the space in between. “C’mon.” He pushes you off his lap and out of the booth, hands at your hips to help you stand. John crowds your back as he guides you to the one-room bathroom. Are you really doing this, with him? The monsters of your marriage turn out to be just trees when you think back, blurred by the pressure of him behind you.

“We’re not fucking.” The bathroom door opens, and shuts closed with a click. “Tha’s fine.” You’re pressed against the wall. “And I’m not getting on my knees in this filthy bathroom, John.” A knee slots between your thighs. “I ain’t either.” You scoff. “Then what-”

“Y’gonna let me kiss my wife now?” He shuts you up with a kiss. Lips you haven’t felt in ten years, five months, and three days. Not that you remember that last fuck, the night before you agreed to sign the papers.

His hands pull you forward, your clothed cunt sliding against his denim-clad thigh, and you whine with understanding. It was your favorite way to get off (still is, but no one else can do it correctly) when you were together. Grinding against him, the seam of your jeans hitting your clit as you pant into his mouth. Strong hands guide you up and down and wetness pools in your underwear, simple cotton ones you didn’t think anyone would see. You bite down hard on his lips, wanting him to feel your frustration at how well he still knows your body. All he does is smile against your lips.

“Now y’r quiet, pet. Ten years an’ so fuckin’ predictable.” You whimper at the new nickname. His presence has changed from upstanding to all consuming, his words from sweetheart to pet. Lips trail down your cheek, your jaw, your neck. That godforsaken hat is still on your head and almost slips off, but the strap catches on your chin. The pressure in your core is unbearable, encouraged by the firm muscle under you that hits every angle. Your hands curl around the nape of his neck, nails digging into the skin there, wanting to make him hurt a little. To feel the same bodily betrayal that seeps into your veins, murmuring all the reasons this is wrong. Except all it does is urge him on, those paws tugging you up and down.

“Probably soakin’ through your jeans, huh?” He murmurs in between bites to your jaw. “Not possible, would have to be wet for that.” You attempt. He growls, bearlike. “Can fuckin’ hear the sound of you, pet. Don’t play dumb now, I know you’re close.” You give up on being coy and tuck your head into the nape of his neck, losing steam as your thighs burn. He makes up for it, maintaining the rhythm that has something coiling deep in your core.

“John, John, I’m right there, will you-” He bites the juncture of your neck, a vampire in another life. You squeak at the thrill it sends down your spine, at how you tip over and into your orgasm as your cunt clenches and spasms. He helps you through it until you beat at his back and plead for him to stop, your voice almost gone from all your whines. John gently places you on your feet, your head against his chest as you catch your breath. And he just stands there patiently, hands at your waist until your breathing evens out.

“Feel ok?” You nod, then shake your head. “That can’t happen again. It’s not- this isn’t professional and I’m going to be here a while.” His hand sneaks under your shirt and presses into your stomach, like he’s checking for something. “Yeah, baby. Whatever you say.” You tug on his shirt until he meets your eyes, choosing to not acknowledge the hold he has on you. “I’m serious, John.” He kisses a spot near your lips and you mourn that he ignored them. “I’m serious, too. Let’s get you back now.”

It’s a short walk back to base, time passing by as fast as the stars overhead. When you reach the barracks, you shoo him away and tell him to go through the back entrance. All he does is pat your ass before walking away. When you walk through the entrance, smoothing down your shirt, you stop at the light in the kitchen. Ghost sits statue-still, nursing a steaming mug of tea. Eerie, since you thought he and Soap weren’t sleeping here. That thought floats away when he opens his mouth.

“Nice hat, Doc.”

Fuck.

comment if you spot the t swift lyric! it's not from this decade (2020s) if that helps...

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aramynx · 4 months ago

Note

hello! i really LOOOVEE your writings especially shouto’s if it’s alright with you could you please write about shouto being such a gentleman as a boyfriend that the reader can depend entirely on him? like the reader is sooo independent until she’s with shouto, she could ‘turn her brain off’ bcs she knows shouto would take care of everything for her hehehehe. THANK YOU IN ADVANCEE ILYYY

YES 🫶 ABSOLUTELY ‼️🫶 I HOPE YOU ENJOYYYYY

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

DEPENDABLE…

SHOTO TODOROKI X READER

summary: shoto is so eager to help you in any way he can, he’s happy to do whatever it takes to make your days even just a little bit easier

a/n: i love this so much actually, it’s more of a ramble than a coherent story but i hope you enjoy! thank you so much for your request! xoxo

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

It was hard for you to learn to depend on others. Until you started dating Shoto, you were absolutely determined to do everything yourself- that’s what you were already used to and it was never really a problem. When Shoto came along, it was like you never had to do anything for yourself again when he was with you.

With Shoto around, you didn’t need to worry about if you’d be able to pay your part of the shared rent that month; if you needed to depend on Shoto a little then you could. He already thinks that you should let him cover the rent since his income is much higher, but understands that you feel the need to contribute. If you chose to stop working at any point, you’d be able to live comfortably with Shoto.

The dynamic of his parents’ marriage isn’t something Shoto wants to recreate in your relationship. Around the house, his mother was always taking care of things; she was constantly exhausted since her workload was infinite. Shoto thinks of it as unfair, since he also lives in your shared home, he should take on some chores when he’s able to.

Usually, you’re very insistent on doing the majority of the work since Shoto is the main breadwinner for you both, so he decides he’ll do his part in the early hours of the morning before you have a chance to wake up and protest.

You wake up tucked into bed comfortably, Shoto’s pillow fluffed up neatly beside you in the empty space. The air is cold as you walk downstairs slowly, making your way towards the pile of laundry you had been avoiding for the last couple of days. As you approched the laundry room, a gentle hum could be heard from the other side of the door. Upon opening if, you were greeted by the pleasant sight of the laundry washed, dried, and folded on top of the machine, separated into yours and Shoto’s respective clothing. Beside it, a small yellow sticky note:

“Good morning, my love. I hope this makes your day a bit easier. Love, Shoto.”

Shoto was always happy to help you- he didn’t think of it as a chore, it was his responsibility. Carrying groceries inside was something he had learnt to master doing in one trip from the car to the kitchen, and of course, your hands were always empty. Whenever you’d go shopping together, Shoto would carry all of the bags, no matter how many. He’d try and fit as many as he could in one hand to make sure you could still hold his other if you wanted to.

Despite having his hands full 90% of the time, Shoto makes sure he opens doors for you, smiling as you walk though and wait for him on the other side. He tends to move himself to the outside of the pavement when you walk together, keeping you close to him in more crowded areas of the city. His hands seem to always stop you from mindlessly walking over crossings without looking; something that he’s grown used to you doing when he’s beside you. Shoto doesn’t really understand why you seem to enter a complete trance around him- he thinks that you get lost in your own little world sometimes, and the starry expression on your face only convinces him more.

He knows how you were before he came along- you’d do everything by yourself, no matter how difficult. He knows you’re capable, but he doesn’t want you to feel as if you need to do everything alone- he wants to look after you to the best of his ability, and he expects nothing from you in return.

Cooking definitely isn’t Shoto’s strongest skill. He can manage the basics, just barely. He’s definitely gotten better by watching you cook for him in the evenings, a starstruck look in his eyes as he does. Nothing tastes better than the meals you cook for him. You’re happy to give something back to the man who does almost everything for you, especially when he smiles so warmly every time you place his plate in front of him. You stay at the table together until you both finish, then Shoto thanks you for the food, and takes your plates over to the sink to start washing up. It’s a little routine you’ve developed over time.

While Shoto’s busy doing dishes, you tidy up the table and wipe it down before heading into the living room and picking a new movie for you to watch together, gathering blankets and cushions to create the perfect cuddle nest. After a few minutes, Shoto comes in to see you flicking through your options. He sets two drinks down on the table in front of you and presses a kiss to your forehead before asking what you were going to watch that night. If you needed anything at all, he’d be the one getting up, no matter how comfortable he was.

When you inevitable fall asleep on the couch, Shoto turns off the movie and scoops you up to carry you to bed, placing you down as gently as he can and tucking you in, his lips lightly pressing against your forehead before he whispers,

“Sweet dreams, my dear…”

Being around Shoto meant that you could float around doing little tasks without worrying about so many things at once- after all, your dependable boyfriend had already managed to get them done before you could object.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

#bnha #mha x reader #my hero academia #shoto <3 #shoto my love #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki

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emotionoitme · 8 months ago

Text

trouble

trouble - coldplay

part 3 of don’t call my name

warnings: angst, hurt + arguing but it’s steamy, drinking and clubbing, some violence (she gets grabbed and threatened but nothing happens), guard dog carmy bark bark, carmy throws hands & brief mention of blood. comfort sex, sappy and sweet but hot, it’s unprotected what else did you expect from me, dirty talk, some drama with claire i’m sorry

wc: 9.0k

a/n: so…i told everyone this was going to be 3 parts when it actually needs 4. i fear i am just too much of a yapper. i love these two and think i needed to do the story justice. so stay tuned for ch4. hehehehe. hope u enjoy!!! (it is going to get angsty)

playlist

carmen berzatto is a shitty communicator.

this we know to be a fact.

it’s just, sometimes when there are a thousand thoughts swarming around his head, it’s easier to not say anything at all. that makes sense, right?

the girl wakes up the next morning to find herself alone. the plush king sized bed almost mocks her with emptiness.

she knows that carmy is a hard worker. a michelin star kitchen doesn’t just run itself. still, it might be nice to get a note, or text, or anything that would reassure her last night wasn’t just some fluke to to him.

the silence of the apartment is almost deafening. she trudges down the stairs and walks to the kitchen, pouring herself what was left in the coffee pot from carmy’s early morning.

she feels lethargic, sore, and a little stung from waking up alone. no text or anything, she thinks.

but there was still time. maybe he was just really busy today. she pushes away the negative thoughts and slaps both of her cheeks lightly, trying to wake herself up. it would be a good day. he would text her or call her when he got a break. and they would talk about it. she puts a smile on her face at the delusion and hops back up the stairs to get dressed for work.

the girl tries to busy herself when she gets there, picking up extra slack from coworkers and bustling around to finish projects. trying to not check her phone.

she goes on lunch break with no text from him.

gets off work at 5 with no text from him.

throws his sheets in the wash and remakes his bed with no text from him.

eats dinner with no text from him.

watches a movie at 9:30 with, you guessed it.

she throws her phone back onto the bed angrily, the false wall of positivity built in her mind beginning to crumble. she’s tired and annoyed, so she shuts off the movie and buries herself in bed, trying to push thoughts of him out of mind so she could sleep.

she tells herself that they can talk tomorrow. but then, tomorrow comes and it’s the same nothing, almost like she didn’t even have a roommate.

three silent days go by until the girl decides she’s had enough, and plans to wait up for him and have a talk. maybe he just wasn’t a texting type of guy, she tries to comfort herself.

she grabs her book and a throw blanket and camps out on the couch, waiting for him to get home.

it’s close to midnight before she hears keys jingling and the lock turning. her heart drops inexplicably but she remains nonchalant and continues reading her book until she hears him take a few steps inside.

she turns her head, watching him talk on the phone as he slides his shoes off. he doesn’t notice her in the dim light of the living room, and his brows are furrowed, hand running through his messy curls.

“yeah. yeah, i’m- i know….sorry again,” a pause, “okay. i’ll see you saturday. bye, claire.”

her eyebrows shoot up at the name, the sinking feeling with in her stomach increasing tenfold. this motherfucker.

carmen makes it halfway into the living room before he notices her on the couch, slightly startling at her presence, mumbling a “shit”

her face feels hot, but not in the good way she had grown accustomed to the past few weeks.

“hey,” he greets softly, eyes looking tired, shoulders slumped.

she just glares at him and goes back to reading her book.

he says her name. she ignores him.

the man lets out a small scoff, stepping closer to the couch, hand on his hip.

“what, you, uh, ignoring me?”

she glances up at him and there’s a small smirk on his face, like he thinks it’s joke or something.

she opens her mouth to say something mean, but stops herself. takes a deep breath. recenters.

she slams her book shut and turns to face him.

“i’m going to bed.”

the man’s small smirk drops, watching as she shoots up from the couch and starts heading towards the stairs. he grabs her wrist to stop her.

“hey,” he says, firmer this time.

she whips around and pulls her arm back.

“what?” she snaps.

his brows furrow at her tone of voice. he pauses for a second, eyes raking down her face, taking in her expression.

“why are you acting like that?” he asks.

the question does nothing but make her feel angrier.

“because you’re being fucking confusing,” the girl exclaims, her throat growing tight.

“how am i confusing?” carmen replies with a surge of annoyance, “you woke me up the other night with…” his eyes dart down her frame, “half your fuckin’ clothes on.” he tries to sound angry, but his voice betrays him a bit. truthfully, it was like his prayers had come true when he opened his eyes to find her straddling him in underwear and a tiny little top that barely kept her chest contained.

“yeah cause i thought you were into me,” she frustratedly sighs, “but you’re just…using me to get over claire.”

the allegation wasn’t rooted in fact. but that’s how the girl felt, and she confuses the two in the moment.

“don’t say that.” he snaps, “that’s not fuckin’ true in the slightest.” carmen had been done with claire for months at this point. if anything, he had been trying to use claire to get over his roommate.

“it’s been three days since we-… and you haven’t said anything,” she sighs, rubbing her forehead, feeling a headache come on.

he knows his, and feels guiltier than she could even imagine. but he also knows she’s leaving in a few short weeks, and doesn’t want to fall any deeper than he already has for her.

“i got busy at work.” he defends. it’s a shitty excuse, but as usual, it’s the first to come to mind.

her eyes brows crease further.

“you have a phone.” she chides.

“i just…i didn’t think about it,” he lies, “i’m sorry.”

she scoffs and shakes her head.

“god, you’re so-,” another sigh, “you know, whatever, carm.” she turns from him and begins to walk up the stairs.

he hates how his eyes glance down to her ass, peaking out from beneath a pair of short shorts.

god he’s a fucking loser, he tells himself.

carmy calls her name again. she ignores him.

the girl slams her bedroom door behind her and throws herself onto her bed. she tries to fight the hot, angry tears that stream down her face, telling herself it doesn’t really bother her. telling herself that he’s just another stupid guy, and she can find better. this does nothing to ease the burning feeling in her chest, though, a pair of soft blue eyes flashing in her mind. thinking of the way he was rough with her while still being gentle, kissing her face and calling her sweet names. thinking of how he held her and wiped her tears and assured her that things would work out.

fucking asshole!

she grabs her duvet and pulls it over her head, wrapping herself tightly and burrowing into the pillow. she tells herself that she won’t make the mistake of giving into him again. wouldn’t ever grace him with her lips or fingers or sweet moans again.

she tells herself that she doesn’t need him. she could easily find someone else that would satisfy that same feral craving she had for carmen.

in fact, tomorrow would be friday, and she hadn’t gone out in a long time. she decides on calling up a friend and making a friday night plan to go out. drink, dance, and prove to herself that there’s better for her out there than carmy.

the girl aggressively rubs her face of tears and shoots up out of bed, grabbing her phone to send the invitation to a girlfriend. her phone pings with a quick response, and the girl confirms her plan for the following night, already envisioning what to wear. the thought of seeing carmy tomorrow night before she goes out makes her stomach churn. the thought of seeing him at all makes it churn, actually.

she tells herself that she only has to stick it out for another month or so. then she would go back to california and things would be normal. no more stupid boys. no more heated touches. no more whimpers being greedily devoured by hungry kisses.

she tells herself that’s what she wants.

it doesn’t feel genuine in the slightest.

the following morning she rummages through her closet and picks out a couple of skimpy options. she studies herself in the mirror, holding up the various items up in front of her nude body, wondering what carmy would think of the outfits. she quickly tries to push the thought out of mind. she doesn’t care what he thinks, she reminds herself. her eyes fixate on the finger-shaped bruises scattered about her hips. she thinks of how they got there.

her day at work seems to go impossibly slow. the girl finds herself thinking of carmen constantly, caught between hoping there would be a text from him when she would check her phone and hoping she would never hear from him again.

her mind frequently flashes to the way he handled her a few nights ago. how he kissed her obsessively. how he held her up once her legs had given out. how he relentlessly plowed into her and called her a pretty girl and told her she was made for him.

the thought simultaneously makes her horny and angry, something that she had never experienced so vividly until now. she wanted to slap his face, but at the same time she wanted to kiss him and grind against him and beg for him again.

it’s entirely confusing.

by the time 10 o clock rolls around, she begins to get ready, meticulously styling her hair and applying her makeup. she opts for a sultry, smokey look, accentuating her eyes with dark shadow and liner, glossing her pouty lips with a clear lacquer. the girl tries to hurry the routine, anxious to make it out the door before carmen gets back.

she strips her clothes off and slips into her club apparel, then decorates her look with rings, bracelets, earrings, and a necklace. as she slides her thigh high boots on, she hears the front door open, then slam closed.

“fuck,” she harshly exhales. looks like she would have to see him after all.

carmy racks his keys onto the hook and steps out of his shoes, taking a deep breath at the relief of being home. it’s not until he notices the light coming from upstairs that the relief is replaced with a sense of anxiety.

he knows he needs to fix things between him and his roommate, if he could even refer to her as just that anymore. he had felt like a jackass all week, but apologies were never really his strong suit. he didn’t even know where to start.

the man empties his pockets out onto the credenza, then begins to make his way into the living room. he stops in his tracks when he hears the click of heels descending the stairs.

as he turns his head and catches sight of her, he fights to stifle a groan.

she comes down clad in a tight top and mini skirt, length of her legs emphasized by black thigh high boots. his eyes rake down her body, admiring the curve of her figure and the appealing fit of the clothes. he wishes that she would dress like that all the time, but he doesn’t tell her that, instead just opting for a casual, albeit slightly strained “hey.”

she looks at him, but doesn’t reply, instead sauntering over to their bar cart and pouring herself a shot. he realizes the top is backless, and clenches his jaw a bit, trying to recenter with a deep breath.

“you, uh…you look nice,” he clears his throat.

she throws back the shot and shivers.

“thanks,” her response comes dryly, walking over to grab her purse, “i’ll be back in a few hours.”

carmen feels his brain stutter, processing what she said, his eyebrows furrowing.

“wait you, uh, you’re going out dressed like that?” he can’t help but feel a bit protective, even if she is pissed off at him. the girl scoffs.

“i can’t really go to the club in sweatpants, carm.”

he rubs a hand over his face, trying to keep calm.

“you could, uh….at least put a fuckin’ jacket on or something though?” he tries to suggest kindly. his tone betrays him.

“yeah?” she turns towards him, “why the fuck do you care?” bite in her tone.

his eyes fall over the multiple hickeys that litter her neck, then flicker over her face, realizing how striking her features look accentuated by dark makeup. she looks angry. a little hurt. he wants to say something soothing.

“cause i-fuck,” hand threading through his hair messily, “because i know how guys think.”

nice. real soothing.

“yeah? n’what do they think?” she challenges.

that anyone would want you. that you look fucking hot wearing those tight little clothes.

carmy opts to not respond so directly, and walks closer to her.

“i just don’t want you to get… hurt.” his tone is firm, jaw set tightly. she lets out a sardonic laugh at this. at the fact that he’s her biggest source of hurt at the moment.

“what, you think it’s funny?” he barks, “you could get fuckin’…picked up or drugged or something.”

she rolls her eyes.

“that’s not gonna happen. i’m going with a friend.” she snatches her purse off the credenza, fumbling through it to make sure she has her id. he takes a few steps closer. until he can smell her sweet perfume.

“well, let me drive you guys then.”

she shakes her head.

“no. we’re getting a cab.” zipping up her purse and hanging it over her shoulder.

“fuck, then call me when you get there. and when you’re leaving.” he snaps a bit, becoming a bit fed up with her attitude.

“not gonna fuckin’ call you, carmy,” her face scrunches up in anger, “i’ll probably end up going home with someone, anyways,” she fibs, locking eyes with him, unintentionally leaning in a bit.

“you what?” he angers, moving even closer to her, their faces mere inches apart.

she can feel the shot she took now, eyes darting down to his lips. fuck his deodorant. the smell of it makes her want to give in.

“‘mgonna find someone tonight,” her tone lower now, lids low, “‘n they’re gonna fuck me better than you ever will.”

he scoffs, blood boiling at her words, shaking his head, eyebrow twitching.

“yeah, uh, that’s not gonna fuckin’ happen.” his hand comes to wrap around her hip, squeezing. his face comes closer, lips nearly ghosting hers.

“yeah?” she challenges, actively fighting to keep from diving in, eyes locked on his lips.

“yeah,” tone firm, “tell your friend you’re staying in tonight.”

she doesn’t know why she feels so turned on. still pissed off, yes, but mostly aroused.

she rolls her eyes and lets out a laugh to hide this, but he can tell. he can always tell by the slight flutter of her eyelids and the way she’ll part her lips. he knows that she likes when he talks to her like that.

the girl channels all of her strength and steps away from him, opening the front door.

“see you tomorrow,” she chimes, walking out. he calls her name as she walks away, but she ignores him. he tells himself he’s too proud to chase after her, but really he wants to do nothing more.

as she makes her way down the hall, his eyes rake down her exposed back, settling on her shapely ass.

this girl was going to drive him fucking crazy.

carmy berzatto (2hrs): you make it there?

missed call from carmy berzatto (1hr)

carmy berzatto (30min): call me if you need a ride home.

the girl shuts off her phone, shoving it back in her purse and strutting to the bar counter. sure, now he cared enough to send a text.

jealous motherfucker.

it had been a girls night out until her friend went home with an ex boyfriend, leaving her all alone at the club. she leans over the counter, pushing her hair over her shoulder. her feet are sore from the boots she had picked out, coupled with an hour or so of nonstop dancing.

the girl had planned to leave as soon as her friend did, but made the mistake of passing through the main room where they were playing 2000s music. she couldn’t just not dance to 2000s.

the bartender works quickly to accommodate the numerous orders. she feels the drink she had been sipping on affecting her, comfortably bathing in the multicolored lights of the club. it was packed with people, and she had been noticing eyes on her all night.

the girl feels a hand on her lower back, and she turns to meet the eyes of a tall man.

“hi,” he says.

“hey,” she softly replies.

he was admittedly handsome, and his muscular stature didn’t hurt to look at either.

“can i buy you a drink?” the man asks.

the girl softly smiles and nods. he raises his hand to flag the bartender. she was planning on getting a water, but since she wasn’t paying for it…

the stranger makes small talk with her, the two having to practically yell into each other’s ear to hear over the bass of the music. jobs, what part of town they live, compliments. not that she really cares about any of it, though she tries to.

as he leans in to ask if she’ll dance with him, he places his hand on her waist. she tries to ignore how it doesn’t feel right.

he’s cute, she tells herself, and i needs to stop thinking about carmy.

the girl takes a long sip of her drink and nods softly, taking his hand and leading him to the dance floor. they squeeze through the crowd of bodies, and she turns to face him, hand on his chest. he places a hand on her lower back, and they begin to move to the beat. she takes another long sip of her drink, closing her eyes, coming closer to the man, swaying her hips. his deodorant doesn’t smell as good as carmen’s does. doesn’t comfort her like his does.

she takes another sip, and she circles around, moving her hips, facing away from the man. the music resonates through the whole building, lights flash and change color, making her movements feel dreamlike. he places his hands on her hips.

she wishes that she liked how it felt.

the man presses his hips into her backside. she imagines it’s carmen, and the thought makes her bite down onto her lip. her head falls back against his chest. she thinks of her roommate’s strong arms. his tattoos. the way his face scrunched up when he fully engulfed himself in her. the girl lets out a breath. her skin feels hot and sticky in the muggy club air. she takes another long sip of alcohol, feeling lips on her neck. they feel strange and unfamiliar. it doesn’t set off that tingling sensation in her lower stomach. she groans out of frustration.

“mmm you like that don’t you, pretty girl?” the man slurs into her ear.

the name makes her heart drop, and all of the sudden she feels like she needs to throw up. she shoves the stranger’s hands away and stumbles forward, pushing her way out of the crowd. the floor feels like it’s tilting on an axis as she cringes at the feeling of other sweaty bodies touching her. she gets shoved into by a big group and loses her drink.

it’s suddenly hard to breathe. the girl feels her throat tighten, her chest burning, wiping hot tears away. she fights and pushes and weaves through the crowd until she finally breaks free, making a beeline for the glowing red exit sign. the girl shoves the door open, almost tripping over the frame, and stumbles out into the cold night.

the frigid air helps alleviate some of her nausea, skin rising in goosebumps. she trudges along the brick wall and leans her back against it, focusing on taking deep breaths. her hands run through her messy hair, pushing it out of her face, closing her eyes, trying to stop the steady flow of tears.

this night was supposed to be fun, but all she wanted to do was go home and sleep this booze off. all she wanted was carmen.

her hands fumble through her purse, grabbing her phone. she drops it, muttering a “shit,” and crouches down to pick it up. she squints her eyes at the light of the display, struggling to navigate to the uber app. she enters her address, cursing internally when she sees the friday night surge prices. instead, she exits uber and finds her contacts, hovering over the number of a cab company. her eyes glance towards carmen's contact, right below.

she doesn’t want to call him. he was being an asshole, and she hates how easily he was able to get under her skin. so she dials the contact for the cab, listening to the line ring. and ring. and ring. almost infinitely, then a automated voice of “your call cannot be completed.”

“fuck,” she curses, terminating the call.

her eyes fixate on his name, pausing and contemplating.

she rolls her eyes and dials it. the line rings twice and gets picked up with a raspy greeting and a “y’okay?”

she stays silent for a second, not sure what to say. he says her name.

“did you know that you are-” she hiccups, “s-so mean?” it’s the only thing that comes to mind.

“are you drunk?” he asks.

“no. m’not” she argues, wiping a stray tear.

“you sound drunk,” he retorts, “where are you? i’m coming to get you.”

“you’re so fucking…rude. ‘nyou think you can just do whatever you want because you’re so-” hiccup, “hot… and big…you irritate me, carm,” she slurs into the line. she opens her mouth to say more, but he cuts her off by saying her name sternly.

“you at prysm? tunnel?”

“yeah. that one.” she hiccups again.

“tunnel? okay, stay right there. i’m getting in my car now.”

“ok but i’m still mad at you,” she murmurs, leaning against the cool brick. he scoffs, and starts saying something about her bad attitude, but she cuts him off by hanging up, harshly exhaling and closing her eyes tightly. the tears continue falling, so she just tries to focus on her breathing.

a cool breeze causes her to stiffen, wrapping her arms around herself, shivering. it’s uncomfortable, but grounding. her head stops spinning so much as she begins to breathe deeply. the tears come to a steady stop, but the aching in her chest doesn’t. she wishes carmen would hold her and kiss her head.

around fifteen minutes pass before she hears the back door of the club open. the girl keeps her eyes shut, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t bother her. though it seems she’s not so lucky tonight, unfortunately.

“hey, you,” a deep voice says. she snaps her eyes open to find the same tall man she was dancing with earlier standing in front of her.

she just stares at him silently, crossing her arms in front of her to help provide some modesty.

“listen, i think we get along well. and you’re really hot,” he explains drunkenly, “why don’t i help you get home?”

she feels icked out, trying to refrain from rolling her eyes.

“m’not interested, sorry. i have someone coming to pick me up.”

the man scoffs.

“you were plenty interested earlier when i bought you a drink,” taking a step closer to her, “c’mon. don’t be a tease.” he has a smirk on his face. she feels her heart begin to pound against her chest.

carmy was right, it was a mistake to come out. she tries to take a step away from him, blocked by the hard brick wall.

“seriously, i’m not interested,” she tries to sound assertive, “my boyfriend will be here any second so just leave me alone.” she hopes he can’t read through her lie.

“your boyfriend?” he asks, smirk turning into a grin, “you’re a naughty girl, aren’t you? someone should fucking straighten you out.”

her heart drops to her stomach, and she feels sick all over again. she steps forward to shove past him, and he grabs her waist, slamming her back into the wall.

“don’t fucking touch me!” she yells, grabbing his wrists and digging her nails in. he doesn’t let go. tears begin to stream down her face, heart hammering against her ribcage. she sees headlights from down the street and prays that it’s carmen, continuing to struggle against the man.

the car speeds up to the curb and jerks to a stop, door flying open. she shuts her eyes tightly and digs her nails in hard enough to draw blood, giving a final attempt at trying to get his hands off of her.

the girl is suddenly released as the man is jerked backwards by his shoulder. her eyes snap open and graciously land on the person she’s been wanting to see the most.

everything happens so fast—watching in a haze as carmen practically decks the guy in the face, sending the stranger stumbling back, gripping a bloody nose.

“you muverfuckr!” he slurs, words muffled by a dripping hand, lunging forward again. carmy shuffles back, then throws another jab square in the face. the man falls backwards onto the ground, sitting on the concrete, looking entirely disoriented. the girl gasps, feeling partially sobered by the scene.

she watches as the stranger’s blood drips onto the pavement, then darts her gaze over to carmen. his eyes look crazed, jaw tightly locked. he begins to stalk towards the man, clenching his fists that were spotted with red.

the girl reaches out and grabs his arm. he turns to look at her and his features immediately soften, taking in her tear-soaked cheeks and swollen lips. without thinking, he grabs her arm and pulls her into a tight embrace, arms wrapping around her in a protective bear hug. she clings to his shirt, and cries. he kisses the top of her head.

he smells so good. smells so safe.

“s’okay. i got you,” he soothes, “you’re okay.” the man says this as a reassurance to himself as well, rubbing her back, feeling his throat tighten and eyes water a bit.

the stranger lay flat on his back now, clutching his bleeding nose, mumbling incoherently.

carmen pulls back from the embrace, but keeps an arm wrapped tightly around her, ushering her to the car. she stumbles a bit, holding onto him securely. she wishes the tears would stop, but they don’t. she feels so scared. so relieved. so fucking grateful.

he gets her into the car, shutting the door and walking around to the driver’s side. she doesn’t want to look at him when he gets in, so she hides her face in her hand, elbow leaning on the arm rest. he doesn’t say anything for the duration of the drive home either.

she feels embarrassed, tired, and still a little mad at carmy. the whole reason she had wanted to go out and meet guys in the first place was because of his stupid situationship with claire. it was like it made her go into defense mode.

they had been driving for about 5 minutes, before she feels a dull throbbing in her head, stomach growling, alcohol in her system making her crave greasy nasty salty food.

she raises her head from her hand, looking at carmen. his eyebrows were knit together tightly, jaw clenched. she leans her head against the headrest as she stares at him lovingly. she loves how protective he gets over her. how strong he is. how blindingly handsome.

but she’s still mad, of course.

he catches her gazing at him in his periphery. he looks over, features softening as he catches her eyes momentarily.

“what’s up?” he asks, voice low.

she just looks at him. her lip pouts a bit.

“you hungry?” comes his question, perfectly timed.

she allows a soft smile to grace her lips at the accuracy of his guess.

“mmhm,” she nods, “a burger sounds really good right now. and french fries.”

he lets out a quiet chuckle, nodding his head, glancing at her again.

“let’s get you a burger and french fries, then.”

he turns his signal on and moves to make a quick left, pulling into a drive-thru after a few minutes.

they sit in line waiting for the order to be cooked. she glances over at his face. she wants to kiss him, a little.

“d’yknow what the ultimate hangover food is?” she asks softly.

he turns to face her, eyebrows raised in question, a look of amusement on his face.

“an all american breakfast,” she murmurs with a smile.

“yeah?” he asks, “like…pancakes?”

she nods, biting her lip with a smile. he lets out a soft laugh at this.

“and bacon and eggs. and hash browns. fuck,” her eyes are closed, like she’s imagining it in front of her. this makes the man laugh a bit harder, hand coming to smooth over his face.

“good answer,” he tells her once he stops smiling as much.

“what’s yours?” she asks, gazing at him a bit longingly.

“my what?”

“your hangover cure food.”

“uh, probably…saltines?”.

the girl lets out a laugh.

“the alcohol upsets my stomach,” he admits.

she laughs harder, burying her face in her hands.

“you are so cute,” she amuses.

he fights the heat that rushes to his face when she says this, and they pull forward to the pick up window.

the girl takes her first bite into the greasy burger that carmen insists on paying for, and it makes her feel more human than she has all night.

carmy parks the car in his assigned lot, then gets out to assist his roommate out of the car. the food helped her feel much more grounded, but she still has to cling onto his arm to be able to walk straight through the building.

neither of them say anything. this lasts until they get back to their unit, and carmy locks the door behind them. he watches as the girl stumbles out of her shoes and crashes onto the couch. she throws an arm over her eyes and tries to push away the nausea that comes with laying down.

“thank you,” she murmurs into her arm after a moment.

“mhm,” he responds, “told you to call me when you needed a ride, though,” shrugging off his jacket.

“i did,” she argues.

“no, you called me… way after you needed one. and you stood outside waiting for me,” his tone grows harsher.

if she wasn’t so nauseous, she’d roll her eyes.

“i was trying to get away from all the guys that were trying to take me home,” she retorts. she means it to be teasing, but it’s clear he doesn’t take it that way by the peak she steals through her arms.

“y’know, you-,” he scoffs, “i’m glad you think it’s fuckin’ funny because i-fuck…i was worried about you” he throws his keys onto the table, feeling angry, feeling scared.

she throws her other arm over her face. her cheeks are hot with embarrassment. her throat suddenly feels tight at his words, like she’s going to cry again. she doesn’t say anything out of fear of her voice breaking.

carmy chides her name, stalking over to the couch. he stands over her, expectantly waiting for a response, jaw clenching with annoyance. he nudges her arm. she moves it, revealing her tired bloodshot eyes.

“can we not do this tonight?” she begs hoarsely, “m’so drunk.”

“you fucking scared me,” he exclaims, grabbing his hair, “what would’ve happened if i didn’t get there in time, huh?”

“i know,” she sobs, tears now freely flowing, hiding her face in her arms again.

his heart breaks a bit, watching her cry like that. but he feels so angry that she put herself at risk like that.

“you-” he stops. takes a deep breath to recenter. “you’re right. let’s not do this tonight.”

she peaks at him through her arms, feeling completely pathetic. she watches him turn on the small lamp by the couch. he drapes a throw blanket over her before turning to walk upstairs.

tears continue inexplicably trailing down her cheeks, as her deep breathing begins to lul her into sleep.

an hour passes.

she shifts to try and get comfy to no avail.

30 more minutes.

everything was so uncomfortable.

she sits up quickly and shoots off the couch, beelining for the stairs, desperate to get the crunchy makeup and scratchy clothes off.

she falls up the stairs in her sleepy scramble, knocking against the wall loudly. slowly stands up, holds onto the rail, and exhales before continuing to ascend much more carefully.

as she walks down the hallway, she unashamedly begins to strip out of her clothing, leaving a trail that leads to the bathroom, telling herself she would take care of it later. she feels sick and lethargic, needing a shower immediately.

the girl leaves the bathroom light off as she draws a cold shower and steps in right away, drenching herself in the frigid water. she tenses, letting out a sharp exhale, feeling almost immediately soothed.

it’s as if the water washes away everything bad from the night. she meditatively goes through her routine, cleaning herself. cleaning away everything that happened tonight. cleaning away the man who touched her on the dancefloor, outside of the club.

the shame and embarrassment that begins to seep in as the alcohol wears off doesn’t wash away as easily. she needs to apologize, she knows that.

the girl dries herself off and wraps her hair in a towel as she walks back to her room, feeling more of a pep in her step following the refreshing shower. she bends down to pick up the strung out clothing she left behind, feeling like she was going crazy because her underwear was nowhere to be found. it would just have to wait until tomorrow, she supposes.

she’s moisturized and laying in bed, trying to fall asleep. tossing and turning. taking a deep breath. softening her face, muscles. thinking of nice things.

drifting off. mind flashing back to the man grabbing her and slamming her against the brick wall. thinking of what would’ve happened had carmy not come to her rescue.

her eyes snap open. she sharply inhales and sits up, hanging her legs over the side of the bed. it was going to be impossible to get sleep like this, heart beating way too fast to try and relax.

she just wants to feel safe.

without a second thought, she stands and begins walking to carmy’s room.

she knows he’s pissed off at her. knows he’ll probably tell her to get out. even so, she’s so desperate to get some sleep. so desperate to ease the anxiety that had been festering inside of her all night.

his door is closed, and she hesitates for a moment before twisting the knob and slipping inside.

it’s dark—the curtains drawn when they usually aren’t. he lay shirtless on his side, facing away from the door, clutching a pillow in his arms.

the girl peels back his sheets and slowly slips into bed, resting her head on the soft pillow. she stays there for a moment before scooting closer and laying her face against his back. he’s so warm, and his skin smells safe. her eyes fall shut. she feels him shift.

carmen wakes up unexpectedly to the feeling of warmth behind him. he knows it’s her without having to look. when she had noisily stumbled upstairs and into the shower, he went to go check on her—almost knocked on the bathroom door, but refrained once he heard soft cries from within.

he feels her face nuzzle into his back, and he reaches his arm back behind him, wanting to feel where she lay. he touches her hip.

“hi,” she greets softly.

“hey,” he returns, voice raspy, “y’can’t sleep?”

she scoots closer to him, hand splaying over his back.

“just a little… freaked out still…” she whispers. her tone wobbles.

he shifts at this, and turns around to face her silently. in the low light she can make out the worried furrow of his brows.

she feels guilty for being the subject of his worry.

“i’m sorry,” the girl confesses, biting back tears.

carmen’s brows crease further at her apology, immediately wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into his chest. she tucks her face into his neck, shutting her eyes tightly, smelling his skin.

“y’got nothing to be sorry for,” he plants a kiss atop her head, “wasn’t your fault.”

“it was my fault,” her voice breaks, “should’ve listened to you,” her arms come around his neck, and she presses her body flush with his.

“it wasn’t,” he asserts, “that guy was a fuckin’ creep.” his tone is hushed. his arms wrap around her as if he’s scared of losing her.

“are you still mad at me?” she asks. her breath tickles his neck.

“i wasn’t mad,” he admits, “just scared.”

“me too,” matching his hushed tone. “thank you carm,” she whispers, pressing a kiss below his ear, “feel so safe with you.” she shuffles closer, pelvis pressing against his.

“you are,” he buries his nose in her hair, “always.” hiking her leg over his hip to bring her closer.

the girl kisses his neck again. and again. pulls him in closer. his smell is completely addicting, and with the angle of her leg she can feel his erection growing against her core. she hopes he can’t feel the wetness that begins to form beneath her shorts.

his big palm spreads over her ass and squeezes, desperate to hold every inch of her.

the girl deeply exhales, bothered by how easily he’s able to rouse her.

the man harshly exhales at the repeated feeling of her bites and licks and kisses, holding onto her with an urgent desperation. trying to wrap around her as if he were keeping her from the world.

the room becomes hot, and the two shuffle the duvet off.

carmen calls her name, trying to break her attention. he wants to apologize. wants to confess his shortcomings. wants to look in her big eyes and tell her he’s not enough and never will be. but she ignores his beckon and continues enthusiastically biting and sucking and kissing, hand pressing against his chest.

he forces his eyes to stay open, weight of his bottled apology heavy on his tongue.

“hey,” he tries again, voice strained from the pleasure.

“can you put it in?” she breathes into his neck.

“fuck,” he groans, surprised by her forward request, feeling himself pulse against her wetness.

“please,” she whines, hiking her leg further up onto his hip, trailing her kisses along his jaw, up to his cheek.

he squeezes her ass again, fingers slipping under the fabric of her tiny shorts. her skin was so soft. so hot with arousal.

“let me play with you,” he strains, “get you ready f’me.”

the girl makes a sound of protest, kissing his face more, hand coming to his neck.

“m’ready,” she whispers earnestly “wanna feel you so bad,” another kiss, “please, carm.”

he lets out a strained breath and removes his hand from her ass, shoving his boxers down just enough to free his erection. she moves her thigh higher up his hip, and carmen slips his fingers beneath the fabric covering her core, hastily pulling it to the side.

“yeah,” she exhales desperately, edge of her lips touching his, trying to watch him press his cock into her opening.

carmen pushes forward, sinking into her tightness. he lets out a groan at the way her wet heat engulfs him. the girl releases a sound of appreciation, her nails indenting the skin of his shoulder.

he takes a deep breath and begins slowly rocking his hips, turning his face to catch her lips in a hungry kiss. he greedily swallows her sweet noises, catching the edge of her shirt and bunching it up over her chest, exposing her breasts.

“please,” she breaks the kiss to plead, not really even knowing what she was asking for.

“i know, baby” he groans in between kisses, “gonna take care of you.” rolling his hips, hiking her leg further up his hip to bury himself to the hilt.

she wants to cry at how good it feels, eyes scrunched shut and mouth falling open in pleasure, releasing her first breathy moan.

carmy swears he could cum at the sound of it, hand grabbing her ass again, pulling her impossibly closer. his forehead comes to hers and he begins slowly thrusting into her, completely drunk off of her. her smell, her wetness, her whimpers.

“y’so fuckin’ cute,” he growls, “can’t get enough of you.” his admission sends a fluttering sensation throughout her chest, arching further into his touch, beginning to hungrily rock her hips to try and match his thrusts.

the man grabs her hip, holding her still.

“slow down,” he commands softly, catching her lips in a deep kiss, continuing to gently thrust into her.

she complies, savoring the sweet, lazy rocking motion as he holds her tightly. it feels far more intimate than what she’s ever experienced with him, even though the two weren’t even fully naked. it was needy and frenetic, yet slow and gentle.

carmen buries himself deeper, beginning to thrust up into her at an angle. he kisses her with frenzy, tongue swirling around hers, swallowing each and every noise she makes. the room grows incredibly hot, their skin sticky, each trying to apologize to the other using their bodies.

carmy snaps his hips forward, and the girl releases from his lips with a loud cry. her nails dig into his shoulder. it’s so good she feels like crying again.

“y’such a pretty fuckin’ girl,” he growls, “love how you feel, y’know that?”

her droopy eyes meet his. she loves the way it sounds from his mouth. loves everything he does.

“i’m all yours carm,” she gasps, savoring the deep, satiating feeling of his thick cock.

“yeah?” he asks breathily, “all mine?” grabbing her ass, pulling her in time with his thrusts.

“y-yeah,” she cries, eyes tightly shut, “yours. i love-ah,” she’s interrupted by a punctuated thrust, losing her words, head falling back, breathing heavily. he feels so good.

“what d’you love?” he asks, leaning forward to kiss her exposed neck, “huh?”

“love y-how you make me feel,” she cries.

his chest flutters. he bites and kisses the skin of her neck. he wishes she would’ve said something different.

“what else, hm?” a kiss, thrusts speeding up, “what else d’you love?”

“love-fuck, right there,” she whimpers, “i love-ah,” trailing off as if she can’t even think straight.

carmy smiles into her neck, giving her skin a final bruise before pulling away to catch her lips.

“tell me,” he growls, grabbing the side of her thigh and continuing to upwards.

her eyes fill with tears. she’s scared to say it.

“i-,” an gasp, “i love you, carm.” she catches his gaze as she says it, and watches how his expression softens. how deeply he looks at her. the man dives into her lips again, kissing her with a ferocity she had yet to ever receive, groaning into her mouth.

“fuckin’ made for me,” he growls in between kisses, “love everything about you,” pulling her leg further up, “perfect fuckin’ girl.”

he rolls over her and lifts her hips up, continuing to thrust into her.

the girl wraps her legs around his back accommodatingly, dizzy from his words and the pleasure. she slips her fingers down to circle her swollen clit, feeling as if she teters right on the edge of climax, overcome with a white hot pleasure.

“love you,” she cries, nails scratching down his back, “iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou m’gonna cum” she babbles. he smiles down at her, almost overwhelmed by a feral need to claim her.

the man deliberates throwing caution to the wind and cumming inside of her. he knows she wouldn’t mind. he rationalizes the logistics of making her a mom in his frenetic state, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks, her wet eyes, her open mouth. he decides he’s in love with her. decides he wants her to be his forever. he watches her cum. watches her eyes roll back and her body start shaking. listens to the sweet harmonic moans that spill from her lips.

“there y’go,” he coaxes, “such a good girl,” kissing her swollen lips, “fuckin’ in love with you,” heightening the pace of his thrusts, feeling himself approach the brink of orgasm. he seriously considers cumming inside of her, telling himself he would if she asked. he looks at the girl for confirmation, but she’s too far gone. he begrudgingly pulls out, shooting thick ropes of cum onto her stomach with a groan, missing her warmth as soon as he leaves.

carmy rolls off of her, grabbing her face and pressing a firm kiss onto her cheek, collapsing on the bed for a moment. he feels spent.

the girl pants, trying to catch her breath. carmen nuzzles into her neck, wrapping around her tightly, kissing her tenderly. they bask in the afterglow, cherishing the presence of each other, an encompassing silence following the heavy words exchanged.

she’s the first to speak. well, complain.

“there’s….cum all over my stomach.” she rasps. he smiles into her neck.

“shower?”

quiet, for a moment.

“i can’t move.”

he kisses her bruised skin with a lazy smirk and sits up to grab her a washcloth.

when the girl wakes up alone the next morning, her heart drops a bit, finding the bed next to her empty once again. she shuts her eyes immediately, hoping to be swept away by sleep so she could postpone the disappointment.

that is, until she hears noises from the kitchen downstairs. and smells the bacon.

the girl groggily pushes herself up out of bed, stalking down the hallway. she gets halfway to the stairs before realizing she’s completely naked, stopping in her tracks, turning to carmy’s open door, eyes falling on a t-shirt on the ground. she quickly grabs it and slips it over her head, then continues to curiously make her way downstairs. soft music comes from the speaker in the kitchen, and she slowly descends the stairs to find carmy deftly working over the stove. the whole house smells incredible.

she slips behind him to get to the coffee pot, sliding her hand along his back as she passes.

the man turns his head.

“hey,” he watches as she retrieves a mug from the cabinet, graciously taking in the sight of her wearing his shirt.

“good morning,” she smiles, “smells so good in here.”

as she stretches to get the mug, the hem of the shirt lifts ever so slightly over the curve of her ass. he clears his throat.

“nice shirt,” carmy says, turning back to tend to the bacon.

she lets out a soft giggle, pouring her coffee.

“yeah?” taking a sip and leaning against the counter, “figured it would be better than coming down naked.”

his brain stutters for a moment. he turns to catch the smirk on her face.

“i, uh…. i dunno about that,” he responds, small smile on his face. she shoves his arm playfully and he breaks into a grin.

“no work this morning?” she asks, grateful for the unusual saturday morning presence.

“no, i, uh…m’taking a personal day,” he replies, turning the heat of the stove off, “had some stuff i needed to get done.”

“good,” she replies with a nod, “you deserve a day off. i didn’t take you for much of a breakfast guy, though” she comments, tilting her head slightly.

“i’m not, really,” he plates the bacon over a paper towel, “but i, uh…thought some all american might help with your hangover.”

she feels a pang in her chest, eyes glancing over the assortment of pancakes, eggs, hash browns, and bacon. everything she had told him last night.

“carm,” she whines, “that is so kind. you didn’t have to all of this for me.”

the food looked delectable, plated beautifully and piping hot.

“i wanted to.” he begins to pick up the plates.

she puts her coffee down and helps him set the table.

when she takes the first bite of her bacon and eggs she practically moans at the taste.

“fuck,” she locks eyes with him.

“yeah?” he watches her with amusement.

“yeah,” she breathes, nodding, “that’s…wow.”

he can’t help but grin, hand coming to rub over his face.

“good?”

“yeah.” she nods, “really fucking good.”

he feels his skin heat at the way she says it, having no idea why watching her enjoy his food was so deeply satisfying (and maybe just a little arousing).

“try the pancakes,” he tells her, pushing the syrup closer to her. she nods enthusiastically, slathering the pancakes the maple syrup and taking a big bite.

the girl groans, and her head falls into her hand, savoring the taste. she doesn’t think she’s ever had pancakes so good.

“i could kiss you right now,” she looks back up at him. he lets out a breath of amusement and his cheeks warm with her praise.

“i’m glad you like it.”

“no, seriously, i’m…going to kiss you.” she tells him, putting a hand on the table and leaning over it. she grabs his shirt and pulls him in, kissing him firmly.

the man lets out a soft groan of surprise, enthusiastically reciprocating. she tastes like maple syrup.

when the girl pulls back, he grabs her face and pulls her back in, wanting another sweet taste. it’s better than any pancakes he’s ever made.

carmen loosens his grip on her face and she slowly pulls away, pressing a last kiss to his lips before sitting back down. she gives him a mischievous smile and continues eating her breakfast.

“go sit down,” she tells him, taking the pan from him, “you already cooked, let me clean up.”

“we can do it together,” he compromises, “it’ll be faster.”

she shakes her head, making a pile of dishes in the sink and turning on the hot water.

“no. go sit down and relax,” she demands, beginning to scrub.

she feels arms wrap around her waist, feels lips on her neck.

“so bossy,” he chides in between kisses, pressing his hips against her backside. she lets out a slow breath, leaning into his touch. her eyes flutter as she feels his hand creep under her shirt, splaying over her stomach. she’s not wearing anything besides his oversized shirt, and her skin suddenly feels hot from his touch. she arches into him slightly, and he bites her neck.

it feels very domestic, fighting over who would clean up the kitchen. it feels domestic wearing his shirt and being pressed up against the counter by him, skin littered with his bruises, lips intertwined with his name.

carmy begins to lift the borrowed shirt up, kisses trailing up to her ear, hand coming to squeeze her breast.

the girl releases a soft noise, completely distracted by her task of washing dishes. her head falls back against his shoulder, and she leans into his touch.

carmen thinks of telling her to strip the shirt off. thinks of hoisting her up onto the counter and eating her out until she cums. touching her until she cries.

he pushes the shirt up further.

knock knock knock

they both startle and look to the front door. carmen checks the time, and his heart drops a bit.

he pulls away from the girl and runs a hand through his curls.

“who is it?” she asks him, observing his look of stress.

“it’s, uh….fuck. just wait right here, okay?” his hands fall from his hips and he stalks to the closet by the front door, pulling out a scarf she doesn’t recognize.

he opens the door halfway, and she hears a familiar woman’s voice greeting him.

her face gets hot. her chest feels tight.

“claire,” he greets quietly, thrusting the scarf forward, “here.”

“ugh, thank you, carmy. i’m so forgetful sometimes.”

“no problem. i should, uh-”

“it smells good in there,” claire comments, peaking in.

carmen steps back, eyes darting over to his roommate. she stands with her arms crossed, leaning against the counter, staring at him.

“i’m uh…cooking breakfast,” he turns back to claire, “so i should probably get back to that. i’ll see yo-”

“-i was thinking we could talk?” she cuts him off, “can i come in?”

“i don’t know if that’s…,” carmen hesitates. he glances to his roommate to find her walking behind him towards the stairs.

claire’s eyes follow the girl, taking in her attire. carmy watches her expression slightly falter.

his roommate stalks up the stairs. was walking behind him in plain sight a little petty? maybe. but she’s sick of carmy never saying exactly what he means. she undoes the hair tie holding together her messy updo, walking to her room.

she quickly grabs a change of clothes and rushes into to the bathroom to shower, feeling the overwhelming need to leave the apartment.

the front door slams shut, and she hears his steps ascend the stairs.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagine #the bear imagine

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melonsodypop · 6 months ago

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H-hi! I hope It's ok if my first request is not a smutty one? Yakuza men and what makes them feel loved? Thank you in advance!

yakuza men and the things that make them feel loved !

❀ pairing - kazuma kiryu, goro majima, taiga saejima, shun akiyama, y0!akira nishikiyama, daigo dojima, ryuji goda/reader (all seperate)

❀ tags - fluff, angst, gender neutral reader, probably sloppy character analysis, these men all really need therapy, love languages, alcohol/smoking mentions

❀ a/n - of course non-smut requests are welcome!! stares at my college degree on the wall that focused almost entirely on how people's experiences, relationships and environments affect them and their inner wounds/ways they want to be loved... i am so ready to break these down hehehehe (also i learned how to use gradient text are u guys proud of me)

kazuma kiryu ❀ spending time with him

deceptively simple, kiryu feels the most loved when you decide to just exist near him

oftentimes he feels like he's undeserving of company or that his mere presence is a danger to his loved ones, so frankly your insistence on being close to him is going to freak him out at first

he might even start avoiding you in the early stages of a relationship - don't take it personally, it's just that he loves you so much that he's anxious about hurting you

the more and more you stick by him, the more he realizes that he doesn't have to do everything on his own

in fact, he likes not doing everything on his own, a wave of relief every time he remembers that he has someone he trusts and admires deeply at his side

it slowly heals that deep emotional wound he carries that for someone to love him means for them to be hurt

the reason i hesitate to use the word 'quality time' with him is that he doesn't even really need you to be doing something with him

just being in the same room as him, focusing on whatever you both are working on separately

he's never been one to be comfortable expressing himself in words, the silence between the two of you like a warm blanket instead of awkward

i could get into my hc that he's autistic so it's a form of parallel play to him, but i digress

if you look over at him, you'll see that there's a rare soft smile on his lips

wordlessly will walk over to you and pull you flush to his side gently, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead

"i like when you're here," he'll grumble softly to you - which in kiryu-isms, really means 'please stay by my side like this forever'

goro majima ❀ letting him vent/talk about his feelings

oh boy i have so many thoughts about majima and how hard of a time he has accepting love

he's a master at self-sabotage - he doesn't know how to process feelings of love or affection, nor does he really feel that a piece of shit like him deserves it (see: how often he tells others that they'd be better off without him)

so he often chooses to bury his feelings instead of doing something about it

it was much the same when it came to you - he loves you so much, painfully so, but there was always that annoying voice in his head that told him that that you had better things to do than spend time on a mongrel like him

he'll keep his conversations surface-level with you at first, but ask him how he feels about everything and validate what he says

it'll catch him off-guard at first, and he might even try to put up a front and say he doesn't like talking about that sappy shit

but he'll eventually start giving in, going on long rants about all the crap he had to deal with that day or his 'tragic fuckin' backstory' while you listen intently

the more you wrench his ribcage open and force him to expose his real heart to you, the more he starts falling helplessly for you

not only are you letting him acknowledge and let out the emotions he keeps bottled up close to his chest, but you're seeing every ugly, rotten part of him and you still love him

now, that doesn't mean don't hold him accountable when he's kinda being a dick

praising everything he does will just make him feel like you're putting him on a pedestal or seeing some idealized version of himself you made up in your head

which will give his brain an excuse to run out on you before he eventually disappoints you

so don't let him run - from his feelings, from accountability, from you

the mad dog doesn't like to be collared, but for the person who looks past every facade he puts up and lets him just be goro majima - he'll happily put himself on a leash if it's you who's holding it

taiga saejima ❀ giving him physical affection

for most of his life, saejima was treated like a dangerous beast due to his size and that perpetual scowl on his face

it only got worse after the ueno seiwa hit - shackled like a circus tiger as he was dragged from jail to jail, never able to escape whispers of 'the man who slayed eighteen' and 'the stone-cold hitman' that make him sound more like an urban legend monster than a man

saejima has his own pride in his strength, and for the longest time he just accepted that he was the untouchable, scary beast that everyone made him out to be

it's not until you come into his life and start to subjecting him to little casual touches of affection that he realizes how touch-starved he is

grab his hand, cuddle him, catch him off-guard with kisses to his weary face - it makes his chest tighten in a way he doesn't understand just yet

he feels silly that such small, soft things are affecting him this much at first, but every casual little touch you give him makes him feel less like the boogeyman and more like a person

the fact that you trust him enough and feel safe enough to him to attach yourself to him... he feels like he could cry

it takes a while for him to start returning your touches, but when he does he suddenly turns into the biggest teddy bear

every time he holds your cute little face or holds you protectively against his chest at night, he's taught that his hands can do more than just inflicting pain

he'll never, ever admit it out loud but he loves it the most when you hug him, your arms barely able to wrap around his thick torso but trying your best regardless

he can't help but chuckle as he feels your body meld against his, patting your head and wrapping his arm protectively around your shoulders

he knows people would gawk if they saw how cuddly he gets with you, but he can't really bring himself to care

he's not a monster, a beast, stone-cold, or a killer when he's in your arms - just a big, soft tiger

shun akiyama ❀ taking care of his physical needs

akiyama SUCKS at taking care of himself, often relying on other people (i.e. hana-chan's scoldings) to remind him to eat or get his work done

it's not like he's completely helpless, he insists - he at least keeps himself clean and well-groomed

but being homeless for as long as he was, he eventually just forgot how to attend to his needs

even now, with all the money in the world, he's still unlearning how he had to just suppress his hunger pangs when food was an uncertainty and sleeping on a regular schedule when shelter wasn't always guaranteed

his body does it unconsciously now, often attending to his paperwork for hours on end without even noticing that he's hungry or tired

he feels embarrassed when you start slipping him bentos here and there when he's so wrapped up in his work, often giving you an apologetic smile and profuse thank you's

but the fact that you cared enough to notice, and cared even more to go out and get him something to eat makes him remember why he fell for you in the first place

he might protest weakly when you pull him away from his work when you notice his eyes are getting sunken and his body's lagging behind

or roll his eyes with a smirk when you snatch a cigarette from between his lips and smush it in the nearby ashtray, reminding him that he was whining about needing to quit smoking just yesterday

but he's truly, genuinely thankful that you're forcing him to take care of himself, the fact that you're invested enough in his wellbeing to scold him

he'll be damned though if he becomes one of those boyfriends that treats you like his mother, though - he may call himself a bum, but he's not THAT much of a bum

expect to be taken care of in equal measure, akiyama insisting to pay for your meals and run your errands for you to show with his actions, not just his words, how cared for you make him feel

akira nishikiyama ❀ praising him

yeahhh i couldn't not talk about nishiki's inferiority complex and how damaged his self-esteem is

his cool-guy bravado very thinly covers up a mountain of insecurities

he doesn't really feel like he does much of anything right, too pathetic to be a scary yakuza and too cowardly to stand up for himself or what he believes in

so anytime you genuinely praise him and tell him he did a good job with something, the high he gets from it is strong enough that he could probably quit nicotine, he thinks

he preens when you compliment how stylish he looks or how well he styled his hair - he takes a LOT of pride in his appearance, probably one of the few things he doesn't really have insecurities about

he can't help but grin ear to ear when you cheer for him at karaoke, or clap and whoop when he gets a strike at the bowling alley

he admires you so, so much, and that verbal affirmation that you think just as highly of him soothes that little boy inside that never thinks he's good enough for anything or anybody

every time you compliment him, he gets so giddy that he'll grab you by the waist and start pressing kisses all over your face

"i did that for you, baby," he'll claim proudly, his eyes shining with affection

the first time he cried in front of you, he was shocked that you didn't call him a crybaby or told him to man up

you just held him gently and wiped away his tears, whispering that he did the best he could and that you were so proud of him

he absolutely crumbles when he hears that, hugging you close and crying even harder :(

it kills him (in a good way) that even when you see him at his most vulnerable, you don't think he's pathetic or weak, just someone who needs the reassurance and comfort he's been deprived of his whole life

i'm not saying you'll fix him, necessarily - but perhaps the entirety of 1 could have been avoided if someone just told him he was doing a good job

daigo dojima ❀ letting him be weak

from the moment daigo was born a dojima, he was expected to be as strong, proud, and cold as the rest of his family

even when he left the tojo clan after the ryuji incident to not have to carry that expectation anymore, he still had a gang of people who started to follow him and put them on a pedestal as their leader

and now, as the sixth chairman, he has even less opportunities to let his guard down, not with thirty thousand people looking to him as an example and his enemies lurking at all times

daigo's resolve is strong, having long since accepted his lot in life as a leader - but he can't deny that he just gets so exhausted sometimes

so when he can come home to you, who doesn't expect him to be the sixth chairman, a dojima, or hell, even a yakuza, just daigo, is when he feels the most loved

sometimes just lays his head on your lap when it's just the two of you on the couch in the living, the feeling of your fingers threading gently through his jet-black hair and just being able to relax making the stress in his muscles melt away almost instantly

his greatest peace is when you both lay down to sleep at night, holding him in your arms and whispering to him about how hard he works and to get all the rest he needs

he hums softly and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, not saying anything back as he revels in the feeling of your fingernails scraping against his scalp as your digits comb through the tresses of his hair

there's no expectations, no danger, nobody expecting him to make a decision on the spot or suppress his personal feelings for the good of many

just his darling lover who sees him for who he is, feelings and weaknesses and all, and still loves him

he knows that there's a long list of things he has to do tomorrow and put on a strong face again, but for now he lets himself cuddle in your grasp, letting your words and gentle touches soothe him to sleep

ryuji goda ❀ when he gets to show off for you

a very... simple method of affection for a very straightforward man

he's just got some somewhat dated ideas about what it means to be a man in a relationship, and a lot of them revolve around flexing how strong and skilled he is to you

nothing makes him more satisfied than seeing your eyes shine with awe when he helps you move an insanely heavy piece of furniture or when he shows you just how much whiskey he can knock back in one go

it's less of the showing off itself that makes him feel loved - he's confident in his strength and his skills so he needs no reassurance in that department

but your cutely surprised reactions and the fact that you're so openly proud to call him your boyfriend that you'd let him strut his stuff out in public to show the world how cool and strong he is... yeah, that's what makes him happy

he gets so determined to show off for you that he sometimes gets in way over his head about things he usually wouldn't give a shit about

for example, when he tried to get you the cute stuffed animal that you wanted from the ufo catcher

ryuji scoffed and told you to step aside, confident that he would get it first try

until he didn't. and didn't on the second, third, fourth, fifth tries-

he let out a string of colorful curses as he watched the claw uselessly pinch at the round little sparrow, his jaw tensed in concentration as he shoved another coin into the machine's slot

ignores your reassurances that he really didn't need to do this for you, retrying until he eventually gets the damn thing to drop in the hole

he feels stupid until he hands the round bun-chan toy to you, your eyes wide and a smile on your lips

as soon as you hug him with a squealed thank you, he laughs, patting your head and telling you that it wasn't a huge deal

ryuji's not one to usually lie, but your praise and admiration is, unsurprisingly, the BIGGEST deal to him

as he wraps his arms around your waist to walk the streets of sotenbori, showing off both you on his arm and the little plushie he won you, he knows he would move both heaven and earth if it meant it would make you proud to call him your lover

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etanow · 9 months ago

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Do you have any showtime monster labs headcanons? 👉🏻👈🏻☺️

OH BOY DO I HEHEHEHE

Caine was the last to realize Pomni was in his residency (He was,, otherwise preoccupied), and was absolutely flabbergasted that Jax did such a thing as raising the dead. Caine has a strict policy on not letting humans(dead or alive) that far down in the C&A facility unaccompanied considering how many monsters reside there.It was one of the few times anyone had seen him properly upset at something Jax had done. Pomni was rightfully freaked the fuck out at a giant pair of floating teeth and eyes saying he's a long-forgotten God, needless to say, their first introductions were confusing on both ends LOL

Understandably, Pomni has a LOT of issues with herself appearance-wise. She avoided mirrors for weeks, and tried her best to keep distant from the others. Caine didn't walk on eggshells around her like the others did as she adjusted and that was something she appreciated, at least provided a little sense of normalcy. He was easy to talk to and remembered EVERY little detail.

Caine can change his form at will, but Pomni prefers his big ol' toothy head because he said he was most comfortable appearing that way.

Everyone has their own unique smells; Zooble smells like brimstone, musk, and campfire, Jax always smells like hand sanitizer and chemicals that make your nose burn, Kinger like old earth and soil, Ragatha smells comforting like your favorite old plushie, and Gangle didn't have much but she liked occasionally putting perfume on her ribbons. But Pomni always has a hint of the smell of death following her. She tried Gangle's perfumes and all sorts of scented soaps but nothing could truly mask or make it go away. It was only when Caine gifted her a bouquet of flowers that the smell was almost forgotten. Hell, maybe the plague doctors with their floral and herb-filled masks were on to something. Since then, Caine often surprised Pomni with fresh flowers, herbs, and plants to the point of her shelves overflowing with vases and pots of flowers in all states. Eventually, she gets to pressing flowers between books as a memento for every flower he's given her.

Pomni sometimes needs blood transfusions as her body doesn't make blood anymore but still needs it- she hates needles. Caine and Ragatha alternate sitting with her during it since it can take a few hours at a time and distract her with books or idle chatter until it's done. Caine is an amazing storyteller, he's existed a long time as both a noncorporeal and corporeal being and has countless stories of battles and moments long lost to time. He hasn't really had anyone to share these stories with, and the only other being who was around during all of it, well he doesn't get the chance to talk with him much these days...

Ragatha and Pomni got together first, they spent a lot more time together in the beginning since Caine only popped in once or twice a week usually. He started hanging around longer after a while and I'm getting sidetracked now I'm just imagining Pomni bursting into Ragatha's room sobbing with a "I'M SO SORRY I JUST KISSED CAINE PLEASE FORGIVE ME-" And Ragatha doesn't miss a beat, totally unphased and unbothered, "Ooh nice! Was he any good?" And Pomni's just standing there like "Wait What"

They are all very bad at communication lmao but they're TRYING THEIR BEST OKAY

Caine is not used to the concept of resting, meanwhile, pretty much all Pomni does in her free time most days is nap or laze around- it took Caine a while to not see it as a waste of time and now loves it when Pomni rests her head in his lap. He likes playing with her hair and watching her sleep peacefully.

Pomni keeps her gloves on often because she doesn't like the sight of her skeletal fingers but absolutely MELTS with palm and backhand kisses.

Caine is very touchy-feely, he rubs backs when talking idly or loops arms together, floats a little closer, and matches their pace when walking together (even imitates walking itself with little bobs in time with whoever he's walking with). On some bad joint days, Pomni has a bit of a limp from her exposed bone leg and Pomni finds it absolutely hilarious when Caine unintentionally matches that movement.

Pomni misses facebook memes a lot :(

#lab asks #ask box stuff #showtime #tadc #the amazing digital circus #monster labs au #tadc monster labs au #tadc pomni #tadc Caine #caine x pomni #pomni #Caine

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woozinhos · 3 months ago

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i forgot have i send this yet or not.

but wonwoo idol and reader idol (solo artist), she was performing and wonwoo got turned on mid performance, and when she's done she fuck her so hard still wearing her stage outfit

(i'm sorry about my terrible grammar, english is my second language HEHEHEHE)

Notes: im going to be redoing my tag list as I’m gonna start to commit and tag you all will make the form later :)

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

Smut below the cut

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

The lights dimmed and the crowd erupted into cheers as you finished your performance, your body glistening with sweat. You took a bow, waving to the audience before exiting the stage and heading backstage. Wonwoo was waiting for you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

"You were amazing out there," he said, his eyes raking over your body. You walked up to him, a smile on your face as you caught your breath. "Thank you," you replied, slightly out of breath from dancing. "Did you enjoy the show?" He pushed himself off the wall and walked closer to you, his gaze darkening as he got a better look at your outfit.

"Very much," he said, his voice low and husky. "Especially the outfit." He placed his hands on your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. "You looked so sexy on stage, all those people watching you, but you're all mine." He pulled you closer to him, his body flush against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the heat radiating off of him.

"You're so possessive," you teased, knowing how much he hated it when others looked at you for too long. He growled softly, his grip on you tightening. "I have every right to be possessive when it comes to you," he said, his lips brushing against your ear. "You're mine to look at, mine to touch, mine to have."

"And that outfit isn't helping," he added, his breath hot against your skin. He began to nibble on your earlobe, his hands slowly moving up and down your body, tracing the curves of your outfit. You shivered at his touch, your body responding to him immediately. "You're driving me crazy," he whispered, his lips moving down to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along the way.

“Let's get out of here," he said, his voice filled with urgency. He took your hand and led you towards his dressing room, not caring if anyone saw the two of you together. He pushed you inside and locked the door behind him, his eyes never leaving yours. He pressed you against the wall, caging you in with his body as he continued to attack your neck with kisses and bites. You let out a soft moan, tilting your head to give him better access. He smirked against your skin, loving the sounds you were making.

"You're so sensitive," he said, his hands moving down to your thighs, slowly lifting your skirt up. He looked down at your exposed thighs, his eyes darkening even more with lust."I want to rip this outfit off of you," he groaned, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. "But I want to see you wear it while I fuck you even more." He leaned in and bit down on your shoulder, his teeth leaving a mark.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," he promised, his hands moving to your ass and squeezing it roughly. You let out a gasp as he pushed your skirt and panties aside, leaving you completely exposed. He smirked at your reaction, his fingers tracing your bare skin. "You're already so wet for me," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. He slowly ran a finger up and down your slit, teasing you and making you squirm.

"You're practically dripping," he said again, his finger now circling your clit. "So needy, so desperate for my touch."

"Do you want my cock, princess?" he asked, his finger now applying more pressure to your clit. "Tell me how badly you want it."

"Please," you whimpered, your voice shaky. "I want it so bad. I need it. I need you to fill me up and ruin me." His eyes darkened with desire at your pleading tone, his finger still rubbing circles on your clit. "Such a good girl, begging for me like that," he said, his free hand moving up to grip your chin. "You're going to get exactly what you want." He grabs the mic pack and throws it aside, not caring where it lands.

Without warning, he thrusts into you, burying himself deep inside you. You cry out as he enters you, your back arching against the wall. He holds you in place, his grip on your chin and hip tight as he starts to move, setting a rough pace from the start. "Fuck," he groans, his eyes fixated on your face as he watches your expression twist in pleasure. "You feel so tight and perfect around me." He begins to thrust harder, each thrust hitting deeper and deeper inside you.

"You were made for me," he growls, his words sending shivers down your spine. "Your body was made to take my cock and no one else's."

"Yes, baby," you moan, your words almost incoherent from the pleasure. "I'm yours, only yours." He smiles devilishly, loving how obedient you're being. "Good girl," he praises, his thrusts becoming faster and more intense. "Keep saying it. I want to hear you admit that you belong to me over and over again." You repeat his words like a mantra, unable to think of anything else but the feeling of him claiming you.

"I belong to you," you say breathlessly, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm your little plaything, your toy to use and control."

He throws his head back in pleasure, his hips snapping against yours with even more force. "That's right," he moans, his voice filled with dominance. "You're my toy, and I'm going to use you however I want." He can't stop looking at your body, admiring the way the outfit hugs your curves and accentuates your every move.

"I can't believe how good you look," he says, his eyes trailing over your chest, watching it bounce with each thrust. "I'm going to make sure this is the only thing you wear for me from now on."

"You're getting close, aren't you?" he says, his breath hot against your ear. He reaches down and starts rubbing your clit again, knowing exactly how to make you come undone. You moan loudly, your body tensing up as the pleasure builds up inside you.

"I can feel you clenching around me," he groans, his movements becoming sloppier as he nears his own climax. "You're going to cum on my cock, princess. I can feel it." You can barely speak now, your words coming out as gasps and moans. "Please, please let me cum," you beg, your nails scratching down his back. "I need to cum so badly, I can't hold it anymore." He smiles devilishly once again, satisfied with your begging.

"Cum for me then," he commands, his fingers continuing to work your clit in tight circles. "Let go and cum all over me." You let out a scream as you finally reach your climax, your body trembling with pleasure as you clench around him. He grunts as you cum, the feeling of you tightening around his cock pushing him over the edge as well. He moans loudly as he spills inside you, his hips stuttering as he rides out his orgasm. He leans his forehead against yours, panting heavily as he catches his breath.

He slowly pulls out of you, a mixture of his cum and your juices dripping down your thighs. He gently kisses your forehead before picking you up and carrying you over to the nearest couch. He looks down at the mess on your thighs, a smirk forming on his face. "Look at the mess you made," he teases, his hand trailing up your leg. "You made such a big mess, and you're going to have to clean it up." Mingyu's loud banging on the door interrupts the moment, startling both you and him.

He sighs, annoyed by the interruption.

"Damn it," he mutters under his breath. "I guess I have to go." "Hurry up!" Mingyu shouts again, his voice even louder than before. "You're taking too long, and Wonwoo's about to go on!" You laugh at Mingyu's impatience, and he chuckles along with you.

"Looks like our fun is cut short," he says, setting you down on the couch. "But I'll definitely be finishing this later." He kisses you slowly, savoring the taste of your lips against his. He holds your face in his hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks as he deepens the kiss. He pulls away from the kiss reluctantly, a soft smile on his face.

"Bye, princess," he says, looking at you one last time before turning to leave. "I'll see you after the performance."

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 5 months ago

Text

Please.

Pairing: Joel Miller x gn!reader Words count: 257, Drabble Rating: +18, MDNI Tags: GN reader (it's you!), reader has hair long enough to be tugged, no other description is given so I really hope a multitude of you can identify ❤️, that’s basically a blowjob thing, you know. Based on this gif:

And this image I found on Pinterest a while ago

I wanted to do this for a long time, finally figured out something today heheheh If anyone wants to be added or removed from the taglist, please let me know. Thanks to anyone who reads, I hope you like it ♥️

He’s yours, and you still beg.

Kneeling in front of him, his leaking shaft before your eyes

And then his husky deep voice graveling in your ears

“I like the way you still say please. While you’re looking up at me”

Please

Mouth full of his cock until your throat hurts

Please

Hair grazing the tip of your nose

Please

Him tugging at your hair to guide your pace

Please

Him praising you and talking you through it, calling you his perfect angel

Please

His red swollen tip throbbing on your tongue, sliding against your mouth’s roof

Please

His deep autumn eyes fixed on yours, a raven tone of ink intently looking down upon you

Please

His mouth agape, letting out whimpers and groans

Please

His eyebrows furrowed with that little crease you love traced right in the middle

Please

That little dimple poking out underneath his stubble beard

Please

His breathe short, heavy and hot filling the air in the room

Please

Your head bobbing up and down, your lips strained against his hot skin

Please

Obscene squelching sounds of your sucking

Please

Your hand gently cupping his heavy balls caressing softly

Please

Your knees feeling sore against the floor

Please

your saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth

Please

His cum spilling onto your tongue, musky and bitter

Please

His thumb gently brushing on your chin to clean his spent there

Please

Your body molding for him, your heart fluttering, your entire soul burning with desire and need

Please please please

Fuck me, use me, make me good

Keep me.

Love me.

A/N: I really hope it worked 😏

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @harriedandharassed @thundermartini @pedrostories ❤️

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel the last of us #joel miller brain rot #joel miller blurb #joel miller drabble #joel tlou #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x you #joel miller x gn!reader

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pepperonidk · 4 months ago

Text

i. i wish that you and i lived in the sims || to.you

↳ "... but instead we're both at some trashy halloween party downtown.''

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoox gn!Reader Summary: When your friend Chan invites (bribes) you to come watch his band play at a stupid frat party, you're surprised to see that Jeon Wonwoo from your social psychology class is the lead singer. Warnings: alcohol mentions, cursing Songs Mentioned: about last night - monsta x, sims - lauv

A/N: hehehehe I'm back for another Jeon Wonwoo autumn/winter rom-com. buckle in folks, this one was so cute to write. My last wonwoo series was for the bookworms, this one is for the keshi simps.

let me know if you'd like to be tagged! comments and rb's are appreciated :)

back to playlist || next track ⏭

“Chan, why the hell are you dragging us out to this party?” you complained to your friend as he threw himself down onto your sofa. He reached over to grab some candy from the bowl you had on your coffee table. You sent him a sharp glare and he swung his feet off the couch with a sheepish smile.

He simply shrugged in response to your question, the movement of his shoulders barely recognizable under the giant pumpkin costume he wore. “The band’s playing at some pre-Halloween party, Mingyu and Seungcheol told me to invite all my friends.”

A scoff came from the other side of the room, where Soonyoung, in his “sexy cowboy” costume, was leaning against the wall. “Do they know that you only have two of those?” You heard a laugh beside him as Chan glared at him.

“You’re here too, aren’t you?” Seungkwan raised an eyebrow at Soonyoung. “That makes four at least.” He put up each finger on one hand as he listed off everyone, besides Chan, present: himself, you, Soonyoung, and Hansol.

“I’m not his friend,” Hoshi rolled his eyes before looking away. “And Hansol is Seungcheol’s cousin, he doesn’t count. So yeah, smart-ass. Two friends.” He pointed at you and Seungkwan, who were dressed in matching pumpkin costumes with Chan. Hansol, who was dressed as three-hole-punch Jim from the Office, nodded in agreement.

Soonyoung, to some extent, was right. He sat by Chan in the psychology class you two shared (often asking if the two of you could share your notes with him) and Hansol comes to the band’s shows all the time.

“Hey,” you pointed out. “The pumpkin costumes were not my idea. I wanted to be Pitbull.” You attempted to cross your arms over the orange felt encasing your body, to no avail.

“Not fair,” Seungkwan countered. “We’ve been matching pumpkins since the fourth grade.”

“Why is Hansol exempt this year then?” You huffed.

“I told you guys I’d be a pumpkin on Halloween,” he shrugged. “It’s October 17th.”

You rolled your eyes. He had a point. And it was far too late for you to find a different costume now. Soonyoung scoffed at your playful bickering. “At least you’re a hot pumpkin,” he joked. You were used to Soonyoung’s flirtatious comments by now, but you never really took them too seriously. He didn’t either. He seemed like he only did it to get a rise out of Chan, who’d come to fill some sort of brotherly role in your life since you were kids.

“Yeah?” Chan spoke with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Glad you think I’m hot.” He and Seungkwan exchanged a laugh as Seungkwan walked to comfort a sulking Soonyoung.

“Not you,” Soonyoung turned away, swatting an arm out at Seungkwan who pat him on the back pitifully. “Ugh I don’t even know why I agreed to come along.”

“Because you needed my notes to pass class, dumbass,” Chan retorted.

Remembering your psych class, you cleared your throat before speaking. “Anyway,” you began. “The point was that we have a psych exam tomorrow and Halloween is still well over a week away.”

Chan mumbled something about the frat wanting to beat all the other frat parties happening and promising free coffee for you tomorrow in exchange for coming out tonight. You rolled your eyes in response. You couldn’t be begged to come, but you could be bribed, apparently.

With that, three pumpkins, a Jim looking for his Pam, and a sexy cowboy made their way to the local frat house. It felt pretty ridiculous really, to see the five of you (especially the pumpkins) all pile into Chan’s beat up Camry on a random Sunday in October.

The blue and white house that sat at the end of Greek row still seemed relatively untrashed, save for the (decorative?) shopping cart filled with empty cans of beers and seltzers on the front lawn. The party had yet to hit its full swing and you internally groaned at the thought of being here all night. Upon entering, the four of you followed Chan to where his band was beginning to set up. Somehow, they had managed to set up a stage in the cramped first floor of the house.

Chan’s band, No Name, consisted of him, and three other students from various departments of the school who were all also somehow academic weapons: Mingyu, a rather popular computer engineering major on lead guitar; Seungcheol, a finance major on drums; and Wonwoo, a biomedical engineering major, was their bassist and lead singer. Chan himself played rhythm guitar as well as keyboard, and was a junior in music education.

He started in the band around the end of the spring semester when Joshua, the previous guitarist for the band, and the others came up to him after one of his recitals to invite him into the band. Chan talked about his band members a lot, but this was the first time you were going to meet them in person.

The rest of the band was already on stage, tuning their instruments and messing with the amps and wires that were scattered around. They looked up at Chan as he hopped onto the platform to join them. Mingyu gave him an excited wave as he played a few test notes on his guitar. Seungcheol gave him an acknowledging nod, before turning his attention back to his drums.

The third member, Wonwoo, looked up and nodded at Chan before glancing at the rest of you. He seemed surprised to see you there because you watched his dark eyes flicker back to you. His gaze was intense, but cautious. You turned your head in confusion until you realized you’d seen him in class before. You hadn’t really spoken to him before, but you gave him a light wave anyway and he returned with the same nod he gave Chan.

“Hansol,” Mingyu greeted him with a kind of friendliness that reminded you of a puppy. “Jim from the Office?” Hansol gave him a nod, appreciating that he got the reference and gave him a high five in response. Seungcheol was not in costume, but Mingyu and Wonwoo seemed to have a matching motif – Mingyu was wearing all white with a halo headband atop their head, and Wonwoo was in all black with devil horns on his head. Mingyu turned his attention to the rest of you and hopped off the stage to meet you. “Hansol, you’ll have to introduce me to your friends.”

“Right,” Hansol started. He introduced you and Soonyoung to Mingyu and to Seungcheol and Wonwoo who were listening while finishing up. Soonyoung nodded to Wonwoo who looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Hey bro,” Soonyoung greeted. Wonwoo scoffed in return with a shake of his head.

“Not your bro,” he replied curtly. His icy stare and stoic demeanor was not the type you’d expect from the lead singer of a beloved campus band. You’d heard girls and guys in class swooning over him, but to be honest, he wasn’t what you expected. He seemed like the type to want to be far, far away from a party, let alone perform at one.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow at him in amusement. “Sorry about him, he’s not good with strangers,” he said with a laugh, as if this was something that happened often. Icy… but with a bite, it seemed.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes behind his glasses. “This is that idiot who sits in front of me and watches Fortnite streams during class.” Mingyu hummed in recognition as Wonwoo explained. You couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at Wonwoo’s dry response, earning his gaze.

“He’s right Soonyoung,” you agreed. “You are a bit of an idiot.” Wonwoo’s lips twitched at your agreement.

“And you’re the one who shares notes with the idiot so he passes,” he raised a challenging eyebrow at you. There was a glint in his eyes that you couldn’t quite read.

“Yup,” you affirmed with a grin, meeting his eyes. “His savior, if anything.”

Soonyoung opened his mouth to retort before a voice caught everyone’s attention. Jun, the president of the frat called out to Wonwoo. He was dressed as a minion. “Hey Wonwoo,” he greeted. “Are you guys ready? More people are starting to show up, so I figured I’d ask if you guys were ready to start your set.” Wonwoo nodded and Jun turned to the rest of you. “There’s snacks and drinks in the kitchen.” He leaned over and lowered his voice conspiratorially before adding, “I’d go ahead and dig into the charcuterie before Seokmin gets here and gets a whiff of the prosciutto.”

The group of you moved away from the amps by the stage and towards the kitchen where, sure enough, enough alcohol and snacks for an army were haphazardly layed out. A strum from the guitar and a tap on the mic caught your attention as Wonwoo introduced the band. “Hey everyone, we’re No Name. Enjoy, I guess.” Without any more fanfare, he turned to Seungcheol and nodded as they began their first song, a rather upbeat song about partying. The cheers from the now crowded living area spurred them on. With a fresh drink in your red cup, you made your way back towards the stage to watch the group.

Honestly they were pretty good, and you wondered why it had taken you so long to actually see one of their shows. Mingyu had an upbeat and charismatic aura on stage, constantly bouncing on his feet and even sending an occasional flirty wink to people in the crowd. Seungcheol seemed to get lost in the music and you watched as his eyes shut and he seemed to be in his own world. Even Chan, who looked focused on his instrument, nodded his head along to the music and you could recognize his voice ever so often in a harmony.

And there was Wonwoo.

Although he didn’t look it… or particularly sound like it from his cold and short manner of speaking, had a melodic tone to his low voice. He was much different on stage than what you had gleaned from him in the short interaction you had with him. Then, he felt intense and closed off, as if he had already placed himself at an emotional distance from those around him. His stage presence however, was magnetic – the way he leaned into his microphone and would turn to face the band every so often to give cues, he seemed so in command, The way he’d smirk every so often or scan around the audience, it made you want to be the object of his gaze. it was impossible not to stare.

About last night, I was undone God it feels right, being so wrong And I realized, all the blurry nights are when I feel alive.

You looked around at your friends as you began to dance. Hansol gently bobbed along to the music. Seungkwan stood beside him, taking a sip from his red cup. Soonyoung was talking animatedly to Jun and a guy whose plate was full of cheese and prosciutto – Seokmin, you remember. This was fun, you concluded.

Back on stage, Mingyu hit a high note that caught your attention and the fanfare told you the song was coming to an end. You watched mesmerized as Wonwoo stepped away from the microphone to pluck a string of notes on his bass, head nodding along to the music before returning to the mic and gripping it with both hands. “About last night…” he trailed off and ran his hands through his jet black hair. The rest of the band continued on with the last measures of the song, Mingyu’s fingers flying up and down the neck of his guitar and Seungcheol running through the end of a drum solo.

You found yourself grinning as you clapped and cheered along with the crowd. After a brief pause, Wonwoo’s bass kicked off the next song and you scurried off to the kitchen to top off your drink and grab a snack. With the light buzz of alcohol in your head, you began to realize you didn’t seem to particularly mind the growing crowd dancing alongside you. Time seemed to pass quickly as you found yourself eagerly waiting for each new song the band played. The energy on stage felt electric and contagious, and you found yourself locked in on one member in particular – Wonwoo.

There was something about how he sang each lyric with a raw rasp in his voice and the way his fingers slid down his fretboard with ease that made him so good to look at. The music they played was fun and upbeat, but when they slowed down for a final song, it surprised you enough to snap you out of your trance as Wonwoo spoke in the mic again, leaning in enough that his lips touched the cold metal.

“It’s our last song of the night,” he began with a sigh, catching his breath from the last song. He grabbed his water bottle that was by his mic stand and took a quick sip before wiping some sweat off his brow and continuing. He set his own bass down and reached for the acoustic guitar that was set between him and Chan. “Let’s chill the fuck out and slow things down. For the last time, we’re No Name.”

Wonwoo’s voice came out over a smooth melody on the keyboard. As people began to gather in pairs or move away from the dance floor, you found yourself close to the stage once again. Wonwoo seemed to catch your eye as he continued to sing and strum gently. His voice had a gentle vibrato to it and it was mesmerizing.

It wasn’t till you felt a tap on your shoulder and you saw Wonwoo’s eyes flicker to a figure beside you that you turned to see Soonyoung offering his hand out to you. “Wanna dance?” he asked casually. You shrugged as you slipped your hands around the back of his neck. His hands awkwardly found your waist, squishing your pumpkin costume in the middle so you looked a little bit more like a squash instead.

“What happened to Jun and Seokmin?” you asked Soonyoung curiously.

“Ditched them so I could dance with you,” he shrugged.

You had hung out with him a couple of times outside of class, mostly to study, but Soonyoung never seemed very interested in you past being a study buddy turned friend. You raised your eyebrow at him skeptically.

“I tried to ask another girl to dance,” he admitted with a sad chuckle. “But she was definitely more interested in other girls than she was in me,” Soonyoung chuckled quietly. “Plus you looked kinda silly, a giant pumpkin standing by itself in front of the stage.” You turned around, eyes wide, to realize that you were in fact the only person who was on the dance floor alone. Hansol had gone off to the kitchen to find Seokmin and Seungkwan was somewhere outside playing a drinking game. Soonyoung must have noticed your embarrassment because he was quick to continue speaking.

“Don’t worry,” Soonyoung continued. “I too would be transfixed if it seemed like a hot singer was singing right at me.” You felt yourself blush at his comment.

“Shut up Soonyoung,” you chastised. “Or else I’ll tell Wonwoo you think he’s hot.” “Game respects game,” Soonyoung chuckled with a shake of his head and leaned in to speak near your ear. You could hear the smirk in his voice. “Don’t believe me?” You shook your head no in response. “His eyes haven’t left you since we started dancing.”

Sure enough, Wonwoo was still watching the pair of you as you gently swayed to the melody. The song came to a close soon after and Soonyoung jokingly twirled you away from him before whispering “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

You found yourself stunned as he walked away and turned back to the stage just in time to see Wonwoo set his guitar in its case before hopping down in front of you. Without his guitar slung in front of him, you could see his outfit better. He wore a black turtleneck that clung nicely to his toned chest and arms and black slacks. Wire framed glasses sat on his face and from here you could tell how thick the lenses were. The only Halloween-y part of his outfit were the devil horns that sat on his head… which he promptly removed. Even with his hair disheveled and the glow of sweat on his skin, he looked good. He ran his hands through his dark hair and took a sip of his water, not once breaking eye contact with you. It felt a little intense, really, and even more so when you realized you couldn’t read anything from his gaze.

“You guys are really good,” you offered with a smile that you hoped didn’t come off too eager, afraid to scare him off. “I really liked that last song.”

The corner of his lip twitched upwards in a flicker that you might have missed if you weren’t studying his face so closely. It felt satisfying, in a way, and almost like a challenge. How could you get a full smile? His quiet “Thanks,” lingered in the air between the two of you. Was he this reserved around everyone else, or was there something about you that made him feel as nervous as you did?

“You’re in my psych class, right?” Did he already forget or was he just looking for a way to continue the conversation? You played along, wondering if his cold demeanor was just hiding a nervous guy.

“Yeah I am,” you confirmed, recalling the conversation from earlier. “I sit next to the idiot.” Wonwoo’s lips turned upwards in amusement as he processed your reference and he nodded.

“Cool,” he said simply. He didn’t say anything else, but he made no move to leave either, so you tried your best to continue the conversation.

“When–”

“We–”

Wonwoo finally let out an amused scoff. You figured that’s the closest you’d get to a genuine laugh, and it was enough to put your nerves at ease for the time being. “Go ahead,” you said.

“We’re playing at another party here in two weeks if you want to come,” he said cooly, but the way his fingers fidgeted around the plastic water bottle as if it was the neck of his guitar made you think he might be thinking about this conversation as hard as you.

“Sure, I–” you paused as you thought about the date. “Wouldn’t that be November already?”

A scoff escaped his lips again. “Yeah, some stupid shit about a post-Halloween soiree leading into no-nut-November. A gig is a gig, I guess.” He sounded less than amused about the theme of the party but shrugged it off.

You laughed at the stupidity of it all. “Sure, yeah, I’ll try to come by.”

You smiled at him. He smiled back at you, well, smirked more like. “Cool,” was all he said.

A buzz from your wrist caught your attention, reminding you that it was nearing 1 a.m. and that you had told yourself to go home to study for your exam. You looked back up at Wonwoo apologetically. “Sorry,” you began. “I have to get home, I want to study before tomorrow.”

Wonwoo hummed in acknowledgement and you wondered when he found time to study for his own classes. He nodded towards the door, offering to walk you out. He didn’t really say much until you were both at the front porch of the house, with the cool autumn breeze seeping through the felt of your costume. “I’ll see you around?” he asked.

You nodded in response. “See you around.”

“Cool,” he said again. You moved to begin walking home but turned back with a smile and a two finger salute when you heard him say “Nice costume, by the way.” You had a feeling he wasn’t going to say that to Seungkwan or Chan.

Sure enough, the next time you saw Wonwoo was after your psychology exam the next morning.

You had woken up at your desk after falling asleep studying with only 20 minutes until class began. With no other options, you quickly brushed your teeth and washed your face but ran out of your apartment without bothering to change out of your pajamas.

Last night after coming home from the party, you found it difficult to focus on your notes. All you could think about was Wonwoo and his piercing stare. You’d definitely seen his eyes before, but being the subject of their gaze was something else entirely. You recalled the feeling in the pit of your stomach the first time he looked at you. It wasn’t until your phone buzzed with a text from Hansol stating that he made it home safely that you snapped out of your daze enough to begin studying.

You arrived just in time for the test to begin, but too late to sit in your usual seat by Chan and Soonyoung. Panting, as you slid into the first available seat, you grumbled at the way you could feel your pajama pants awkwardly riding up your calves and the slight glimmer of sweat that seemed to now layer over your forehead. You’ve definitely seen better days.

Even now, in the middle of the exam, a question about the misattributed signs of attraction had you thinking back to Wonwoo. Talk about real life applications. Elevated heartbeat, shortness of breath… it definitely wasn’t stress or fear that had you feeling that way around him. You let out a sigh as you circled the letter C.

When the exam was finally over, you met the two of them outside of the classroom.

“No, you idiot,” Soonyoung argued. “You’re thinking of the halo effect, the answer was the reciprocal liking effect.” They were in the middle of arguing about what the correct answer on a part of the exam was and you watched Chan scramble to pull his messy notebook out of his backpack to find it in his notes. Before you could interrupt and correct them, a low voice beat you to it.

“It’s the mere exposure effect, you dumbasses,” You turned around with a chuckle, turning to see Wonwoo, standing a little too close, right behind you. You could smell the cologne he wore, something that must be out of your price range. He wore a crisp white t-shirt and black sweatpants and you felt slightly embarrassed at your own pajama pants-hoodie-bedhead combo.

“Huh?” Chan asked as he tried to skim through his notes. “But isn’t that–”

“Mere exposure suggests that the more times we encounter someone or something, the more we tend to like it,” you explained. Wonwoo nodded in agreement. Something about getting his validation made your heart skip a beat.

“Looks like the studying paid off,” he commented, turning to face you with the faintest hint of a smirk. Was he teasing you?

“Sure did,” you replied with confidence, though you found yourself blushing under his gaze.

“Take a nap,” Wonwoo suggested, looking you up and down. “You look like shit.” His deadpan tone almost made you miss the mischievous glint behind his eyes. You turned to him with a sharp eye before you realized that was his attempt at witty banter. Instead of a scowl, you rolled your eyes instead.

“What every person wants to hear at 9 in the morning,” you shot back. “I’ll nap after this one buys me a coffee.” You gestured to Chan who had now turned back to Soonyoung to argue about a different question. Wonwoo scoffed as he watched the two bicker before turning to the voice that called his name from behind. It was Mingyu and Seungcheol.

“See you around,” he said before heading in their direction. You watched as Mingyu clapped a hand on his back and Seungcheol offer him some of his pack of Oreos as they retreated down the hallway. What an interesting friend group, you thought to yourself.

You didn’t see Wonwoo much after that day. Or Chan for that matter.

For the next few classes, Chan and Wonwoo left rather promptly to have band practice in preparation for their early November gig. So those days, you found yourself walking to the library with Soonyoung.

“I haven’t seen Chan have to go to practice this often since the summer,” you had remarked to him as you walked. The party was tomorrow night, and Chan and Wonwoo skipped class altogether for rehearsal so you promised to send Chan your notes.

“Yeah,” Soonyoung agreed as he brushed a fallen leaf off the top of his hair, ruffling it in the process. “But apparently they have a new song on their setlist, so I guess that’s why.”

“A new song,” you echoed, half listening. Your mind wandered back to the image of Wonwoo on stage, the way he played, how he held onto the microphone. It must be some song if they’re practicing so hard. If he wrote a song would it be as complex and enigmatic as he seemed to be? Or would it be something completely unlike him?

“You’re doing it again,” Soonyoung’s teasing tone cut you out of your thoughts. He snapped a finger in front of your face. “You’ve been spacing out a lot lately. It was cute at first, but now it’s concerning.”

You groaned at his accusation. “I’m not spacing out,” you huffed.

“Right…” He grinned mischievously. “So who is it? Tell me so I can give you my stamp of approval.”

Something flipped in your stomach as you rolled your eyes at your friend. “Focus on your own love life, Soonyoung. Anyway, you said Chan told you about it?”

He raised a teasing eyebrow before raising his hands in defense, allowing you to change the subject. “Yeah, he did,” he confirmed. “And what about it?”

You were surprised to learn that Soonyoung had a conversation with Chan past arguing over class notes, and you noted the shade of red that dusted the tops of his ears when he saw you look at him inquisitively. “Nothing,” you replied coyly. “Just glad to see you guys are friends now.” Soonyoung rolled his eyes and you shoved him playfully. He shook his head with a soft laugh.

“I guess if I have to see him every day, we might as well be friends,” Soonyoung admitted. “Mere exposure effect or whatever.”

“Aw, you are learning, Soonyoung.”

The next evening you found yourself at yet another frat house in front of another stage. At least this time you weren’t in a pumpkin costume, but rather in an actual outfit that you felt good about (One that wasn’t picked out by any of your friends).

You managed to arrive in time to catch the band setting up, wanting to offer help, but not really knowing how. Instead you sat on the couch beside a bored looking Hansol as he fiddled with the cup in his hands.

“Most people don’t show up to parties until they’re actually parties,” Hansol sighed as he rested his chin in his hands. You watched as Chan fiddled with the tuning pegs of his guitar in front of Wonwoo who played him his pitches on the keyboard. You chuckled in agreement. There really wasn’t much going on quite yet as the party had yet to truly begin.

“We could have come by later in the evening,” you replied.

“Nah,” Hansol countered. “I’m bored, but I’d rather be bored here with you and the band than bored alone at home. Plus this way everyone knows I’m ‘with the band’ or whatever. Keeps weirdos away from my cousin.” As if to prove his point, he sent a glare towards the poor girl who walked up and offered Seungcheol a water bottle. He had a point. He at least had a loose reason to be here early, but did you?

You could say that Hansol dragged you here with him, but he didn’t really. You weren’t really “with the band” either. You looked back over at the stage and caught Wonwoo’s eye. He gave you a single wave. You’d leveled up from last week’s curt nod, you realized with a soft chuckle. You continued to watch as he returned his attention to his microphone stand. Maybe, you thought, it was reason enough that you liked seeing the band set up.

By the time No Name got to the middle of their set, you were having a great time dancing with Hansol who was more than buzzed. You also felt a little tipsy, but you were nowhere near Hansol’s level. One of you had to be sober enough to care for the other. Wonwoo cleared his throat into the mic before speaking. “This is a new song. Happy Halloween and no-nut-November.” Although his face remained passive, you could tell now that Wonwoo was poking fun at the drunk frat boys that were scattered about and cheering loudly.

Hansol leaned over to you as a keyboard melody began to play. “Chan said you’d probably like this one,” He slurred into your ear. You winced at the volume of his voice and the smell of beer. He’d regret this in the morning.

I wish that you and I lived in The Sims We could build a house and plant some flowers and have kids But we’re both at some trashy Halloween party downtown

Wonwoo let his bass hang around his neck as he wrapped both of his hands around his microphone and leaned in close, as if his proximity to the microphone could fill the room with a sense of intimacy.

I wish that we lived on a VHS I'd erase the things I said and that I'll probably say again Hit rewind on all the times I got lost in my head

Hansol was right, and you were pleased to know that your many years of knowing Chan paid off in him knowing your taste in music. You wondered if he had any influence in writing it and you made a mental note to ask him about it some other time. It was a different vibe than some of the songs the band played last time you saw them, but the crowd seemed to enjoy it and so did you.

The rest of the set was filled with songs that were familiar to you – songs you heard at the last show, and songs that you’d heard Chan practice when you came to visit him, Seungkwan, and Hansol at their apartment. Same as last time, the set closed with a slower song, but with no real interest in slow dancing with each other, you and Hansol stumbled out to the backyard instead, opting for some fresh air. In the moonlight, you could see the red glow that rose in his cheeks, a side effect of the alcohol. Knowing him, he was on the verge of falling asleep and you were thankful that Chan would be finished with his set soon and could deal with him instead. Seungkwan had cleverly avoided going to this party, leaving you and to care for their roommate instead. As much as you loved your friend, Hansol became a deadweight when he was drunk, as if all his muscles became laced with actual iron.

As if on cue, the final strum of the song rang out and soon after, Chan plopped down between you and a sleeping Hansol. He scoffed at the sight, laughing at Hansol’s soft snores. He pulled out his phone to take a photo of him in his peaceful state and you laughed softly.

“You know he’ll kill you tomorrow morning once he sees that,” you warned him. Chan chuckled and shook his head as he reached under Hansol’s back to pull him into a more comfortable sitting position and he murmured a quiet thank you. It was hard to believe that in any other square inch of this party there were frat boys throwing up on the grass when a scene as soft and gentle was playing out right in front of you.

“Eh,” Chan shrugged carefully, assessing his friend’s state. “I think I can take a hungover Hansol.” He smiled as he patted him on the crown of his head before looking back towards you. “Did you drink tonight?” Chan asked curiously.

You nodded and reached your hand up to feel how warm your cheeks had gotten from the alcohol. “Not nearly as much as Sol,” you answered.

“Do you have a ride?” Chan asked, concern lacing his voice. “I didn’t drive today.”

“I was just planning on walking back,” you shrugged your shoulders. Chan’s brows furrowed together in thought.

“If Seungkwan’s around, you should ask him to walk with you,” Chan suggested. “Or I guess that tiger-wannabe dumbass. He’s fine, I guess.” You laughed at Chan’s mention of Soonyoung.

“I didn’t even know they came,” you admitted.

“They showed up kinda late,” Chan explained. “I saw them show up towards the end of the set.” You hummed in response.

“I’ll keep an eye out then,” you promised as you turned away. “You sure you don’t need my help?” You glanced at Hansol who was now starting to tip to the side as Chan shook his head and waved you away.

“Text me when you get home!”

Back inside the house, the sounds of the band had been replaced with someone’s playlist blasting over the speakers. After doing a lap around the house, your two other friends were nowhere to be found. You knew you were hitting the end of your own social battery as you approached the kitchen in search for a water bottle to take with you before heading out. Although you didn’t drink as much as Hansol did, the warmth in your throat reminded you that it would be a smart idea to start hydrating. You immediately headed for the cooler that was propped on the counter and dug through the ice and cans of beer until you found what you needed. You wiped your hand against the fabric of your top, trying to regain feeling in your cold fingers before you heard a familiar voice call your name.

“Wonwoo,” you smiled at him in greeting. Today he wore a simple gray sweater with black jeans, and you wondered if he owned anything colorful in his closet. “You guys killed it today.”

Wonwoo’s eyes lit up ever so slightly at the compliment. “Thanks,” he began, and you wondered if that’s all he’d say. “We practiced a lot.”

“And it paid off,” you agreed, opening your water to take a sip. “I really liked that new song.”

You noted how Wonwoo’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “Really?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded enthusiastically. “It’s right up my alley, and I liked the lyrics too.”

That answer seemed to please Wonwoo who turned his head to hide a gentle blush that crept up his cheeks before clearing his throat to change the subject. “Not drinking tonight?” Wonwoo nodded at the water bottle in your hands.

“I drank plenty,” you chuckled. “It’s for my walk home.”

“You’re walking home?” Wonwoo repeated. “Where’s Chan?”

“Chan?” you echoed as Wonwoo nodded. “He’s dealing with a drunk sleeping Hansol. I told him I'd go with Seungkwan or Soonyoung, but I can’t seem to find either of them.”

Wonwoo hummed as you explained. A beat of silence fell between the two of you as he looked around, lost in his own thoughts. “I’ll help you find them,” he offered with a quieter voice before nodding towards the stairs. For a moment, you hesitated and wondered why he was offering at all. Wonwoo didn’t seem like the type to go out of his way to help someone who was effectively still a stranger. Maybe he wasn’t as cold and distant as he tried to make himself out to be.

You followed close behind him struggling to shove your way through the crowd until you realized Wonwoo had stretched his hand behind him to grab hold of your wrist. “Stay close,” he called to you. You wished you could read the stoic expression that remained fixed on his gaze, but everything about him seemed so… calculated, down to the way his fingers lightly brushed against your wrist as he guided you through the crowd.

Honestly, It was a pleasant surprise that he had offered to help you at all. Half of you expected him to just reply with a simple “cool,” as what seemed to be his default response, and be done with it. Instead, he was dragging you up the stairs and shoving people out of the way on your behalf. You blushed as you realized what this might look like to the random onlooker. The two of you must have looked like any other couple at a frat party, headed upstairs to do something unsavory.

Before you could relish the idea any longer, Wonwoo dropped your hand as he found a clearing by the railing at the upstairs landing where there was a decent view of the party going on downstairs. “It’s easier to find someone when you have a bird’s-eye view,” he explained as his eyes scanned over the sea of partygoers.

You turned your attention to where he was looking before spotting Seungkwan’s blonde hair and Soonyoung’s silvery white hair, both unmistakable from your point of view. “There they are,” you noted excitedly. Wonwoo scoffed in amusement at how a simple observation got you so excited. “It looks like Seungkwan’s… occupied,” you chuckled to yourself. Seungkwan in the middle of belting out a Whitney Houston song by a karaoke machine. You decided you’d best not bother him and sighed in relief when you saw Soonyoung was just chatting idly with Jun near the door.

Wonwoo walked with you back down the stairs until you found Soonyoung, who smiled and greeted you with a hug. “Hey, stranger.” He turned to Wonwoo with a polite, but distant wave. “Hey b-” he cleared his throat, correcting himself. “Hey Wonwoo.”

A scoff escaped Wonwoo’s lips as they formed into a smirk. “Hey, Hochi-Mochi.” Soonyoung’s face immediately fell into a frown.

“Only my mom– how do you even know about that?” Soonyoung ran a hand down his face as Jun laughed beside him.

“You leave your brightness all the way up when you text your mom from your laptop in class,” Wonwoo explained with a casual shrug, much to Soonyoung’s dismay. “And you have the default font size of a billboard ad.”

Jun put a hand on Soonyoung’s shoulder and shook his head in laughter. “I’m gonna go ahead, Hochi-Mochi. See you around.” He waved goodbye at the three of you before disappearing into the crowd.

“Et tu, Brute?” Soonyoung grumbled as he watched you laugh along. “On that note, I think I’m gonna go too,”

Wonwoo watched your hand as it flew up to grab Soonyoung’s elbow as he turned away. “Wait,” you sighed as your laughter died down. “I was gonna ask if you could walk me home, since Chan and Seungkwan are otherwise occupied.”

Soonyoung’s eyebrow shot up as his eyes moved between your hand that tugged at his sleeve and the steely dark eyes that seemed to be intensely watching his next move. He paused for a second before finally answering you. His face had slipped into an expression that you couldn’t quite read. “I don’t mind but–”

“I’m Mingyu’s designated driver, and he lives like a half hour away,” Wonwoo seemed to answer Soonyoung’s question before it even came out. Would he have offered otherwise? you thought to yourself. You turned your gaze to Wonwoo, still unreadable as ever, and wondered why he answered so quickly.

“I see,” Soonyoung replied skeptically before turning to you with a shrug. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

You nodded to Soonyoung and the three of you walked towards the door where Wonwoo hung back and leaned against the door frame as you moved past him. You weren’t sure if you were on hugging terms with Wonwoo yet (or if he even had hugging terms for that matter), so you opted to give him a wave instead.

“See you around?” you smiled at Wonwoo warmly, hoping to mask the rush of nervousness that seemed to flood through you every time you were the subject of his gaze. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer and for a brief second, they softened, in a way that seemed to melt away his icy exterior that you’d thought was unbreakable.

“See you around,” was all he said, but the three words seemed to carry more weight – a promise that something was beginning. This time, there was no mistaking it.

His eyes definitely softened.

#Wonwoo seventeen #wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo imagines #seventeen smut #wonwoo angst #jeon wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo scenarios #jeon wonwoo fluff #jeon wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo imagines #svt #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #wonwoo x yn #wonwoo x reader #seventeen wonwoo #svt wonwoo

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juyeonszn · 2 years ago

Text

BAD IDEA RIGHT?

PAIRING lee juyeon x f!reader

WORD COUNT 4.10k

GENRES … smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, literally porn with plot. like i’m so insane, enemies to “we fuckin” as reese put it 🥰, frat boy tbz again!!!, juyo is literally so irritating in the first half im not even gonna lie, he’s also a manwhore, making out, reader is a bit of a brat, juyeon has a dirty mouth, kinda dom!juyeon, vaginal fingering, oral (m! receiving), SHOWER SEX !12!1!, he’s hitting it from the back btw, unprotected sex, creampie, juyeon is actually… i don’t even know how to describe him writing his character made me want to claw at the walls lol

SUMMARY deep down you’re fully aware that you’re probably making a huge mistake by giving into juyeon just like every other girl on campus ever has. but paired with how intoxicating his mouth feels on your own and the steam filled bathroom clouding your head, you can’t seem to find a logical reason to stop.

MORE heheheh im back 🤭 oh my god this was actually the cause of a week full of sleepless nights. i genuinely drove myself crazy writing this bc NEED FRRRR like idk i’m so 😭 delusional. ANYWAYS. ANON. THIS ONE IS FOR U. U REQUESTED THIS AND I RAN WITH IT. u wanted more juyeon, i deliver more juyeon ;) also shout out to ally, moni, AND reese for beta’ing 🥺 i love u my cupcakes!! prompt used: 18 <3

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble

If there was anyone on Earth that you hated more than anything, it had to be Lee Juyeon.

To put things plainly, he was quite literally the bane of your existence. Being around him made your blood pressure skyrocket and gave you migraines that lasted for days. It was insane how one person could affect you so much by doing so little. It seemed as if he thrived off of getting under your skin.

Considering he was the captain and the pitcher of the baseball team, it wasn’t shocking. He was also a member of one of the most popular fraternities on campus. But he happened to be roommates with one of your best friends, and that made it ten times worse.

You’d known Changmin since third grade, along with Kevin and Chanhee. When he mentioned he’d be joining a fraternity in college, you were a bit apprehensive. All you knew about them was what you’d read in YA books and seen in movies. Neither gave them a good rep. Part of you wanted to talk him out of it, but you knew this was something you had to let him do, given you were adults and it was his college experience. At least you still had the other two under one roof.

The first time you met Juyeon was also the first time you attended a frat party. Changmin had just passed his initiation after waiting a year and he invited all of you to celebrate. You were excited for the most part since high school parties were more for an adrenaline rush due to the fact that your parents never let you go to them and you either snuck out or lied about going. You didn’t have to worry about the limitations of parents this go around.

The boys disappeared almost immediately upon arrival, leaving you to fend for yourself in the very crowded fraternity house. You could hardly pass through a room without bumping into somebody’s shoulder or elbow, huffing as you maneuver around the house equivalent to a sardine can. Your drink nearly spilled onto your top multiple times and you were glad you decided against the heels for the night.

You chugged the rest of the jungle juice in your cup as you stepped onto the patio, where it’s just as noisy and just as packed. You’re lucky enough to find an empty lounge chair near the house’s pool, unoccupied and calling your name. When your legs touch the plastic chair, you flinch at how hot it is, most likely from being in the sun all day.

“Woah, do you want a cushion?”

You look up at the source of the voice. You’ve seen him around campus before, and even at Changmin’s games. Lee Juyeon was just one of those people that you had to know, unless you’d been living under a rock. Just like everyone else in the world, you couldn’t deny how attractive he was. From this distance, you truly understood why girls would giggle like high schoolers over the guy.

“Uh, sure. Yeah, that would be great actually.” You nod, watching as he wanders towards the shed in the corner of the big ass backyard. He returns promptly, holding his red solo cup between his teeth and one hand on your lower back guiding you to a standing position so he could place down the cushion.

“As a thank you, can I get your name?” He gives you a cocky little smile that should’ve been a warning. And looking back on it, you should’ve seen his true personality sooner, to be completely honest. The way his lips curled at the corners, like a conniving bastard who got off on irritating others.

“It’s Y/N,” you say, messing with your empty cup. “I’d ask for yours, but I kinda already know.”

He laughs at that, scratching the back of his neck. “That’s not surprising.” It’s at this point that you’re starting to see through his sweet facade, but despite knowing better— despite always keeping your guard up— you let yourself fall for it just this once. All because you didn’t want to fuck things up for Changmin. He owed you big time.

“Well, you are a talented athlete.” You didn’t want to fuel what is probably already a massive ego, but you’d rather compliment his baseball skills than the fact that he was infamous for screwing around with half of the girls on campus. Technically, that was a feat of its own since he’d only been in school for a year.

“Oh, so you think I’m talented?” He rested a hand on your chair, leaning down to your level. Confidence oozed from every corner of his being and if you weren’t so self aware, perhaps you could’ve ended up like all those other victims of his charismatic behavior.

“I go to the games for Changmin,” you scoff, glancing away from his face to stop the heat rising up your neck. “I’ve only paid attention to you once or twice.”

“Yeah, sure. Let's go with that,” he bites his lip, blatantly checking you out. “I wouldn’t mind paying attention to you a little.”

“I’m unimpressed, Juyeon,” you snort, raising an eyebrow at him. “Does this shit really work on everyone?”

“I can drop the act if you want, baby. Just let me know when you’re ready to stop playing hard to get.” He stands upright, running a hand through his hair.

Every time you ran into Lee Juyeon after that, he was more and more insufferable. He knew his influence on you, too, if his smug fucking grin was anything to go by. You wish you could just slap it off of him. However, you stood by being the bigger person in any given situation, so that was off the table. (And half of you still felt a moral obligation to not get your friend into hot water.)

“Would it kill you to play nice every once in a while? I do live with the dude, you know.” Changmin whines, trailing you in the supermarket like a lost puppy.

“He’s got a point, N/N,” Kevin adds, humming as he tosses a boxed dinner into the cart. “I get that he’s a little bit of an overconfident douche, but rolling your eyes at him when he hasn’t even done anything just makes it worse on you. And JiChang, too, I guess.”

“Bro…”

You weren’t even sure why he decided to tag along with you and the other boys when you mentioned grocery shopping. In fact, he might as well have stayed his ass home if he was just going to gang up on you the whole time. Chanhee sighs dramatically, bringing your shopping cart to a halt.

“Can we not have a peaceful grocery trip? Is that impossible or something?” His lips form a thin line. “I swear, all we do is talk about how much Y/N hates Lee Juyeon. Can we please move on?”

“Thank you, Chanhee, I agree,” you nod along, walking backwards as you do so and ignoring the faces your friends make. “He makes me want to kill myself.”

“Who makes you want to kill yourself?”

You jump up, frightened by the sudden voice in your ear. Your friends all give you sheepish smiles, as if they’d already tried to warn you. (What shitty jobs they did.) With a hand over your heart, you turn around to meet— speak of the devil— none other than Lee Juyeon himself.

“What are you doing here?” Your eyes narrow and your arms cross over your chest. Luck could never be on your side when it came to this guy.

“Uh, last I checked, this was a public supermarket. Where I can publicly shop. I wasn’t aware that I had to run that by you. So sorry, sweetheart.” He pouts, his expression so theatrical you nearly give in to your constant urge to punch him in the face.

You feel your eye twitch, and it takes everything in you to step back and assess just how bad it would be if you committed murder right now. Changmin comes to your rescue, doing damage control as best as he can while Kevin attempts to talk you out of becoming a criminal.

The two frat brothers do their little fraternity handshake thing and then finally he’s out of sight, out of mind, allowing you to visibly relax. Chanhee purses his lips. “Okay, so maybe I do see where the anger comes from. And holy shit, Y/N, you have the patience of a saint.”

“The person you have called is unavailable! At the tone, please leave a message. When you have finished recording, you may—”

“Goddammit.” You curse, ending the unsuccessful call.

The downside of working far from campus, was working far from campus. You didn’t have your own car and usually relied on one of your roommates for a ride to and from. But now here you are, stranded at work while it’s pouring cats and dogs outside. Kevin was in class and Chanhee wasn’t picking up his phone. You could call Changmin, but you’re pretty sure he also had a class around this time.

Just as you’re about to succumb to your demise, you receive a text from Chanhee.

[2:57 pm] michael jackson: IM SO SORRY AJNSSJNW BUT SOMETHING CAME UP WITH A GROUP PROJECT

[2:57 pm] michael jackson: DONT WORRY THOUGH, IVE GOT IT COVERED UR STILL GETTING PICKED UP

“Could today get any worse?” You mutter to yourself, locking your phone and tossing it into your purse. As if your timing couldn’t be better, you spoke entirely too soon. Your eyes squint at the unfamiliar car rolling up under the carport. Your brows furrowed in confusion, because you had no idea who could be your saving grace. Chanhee was a wild card so who knew who he had on speed dial.

But then the passenger window rolls down and you wish the ground would just swallow you whole. Lee Juyeon grins that stupid fucking grin of his, beckoning you to his car as it unlocks when he shifts into park. You shake your head.

“No way. There is absolutely no way I am getting into that car.” You shout over the pelting rain.

Juyeon tsks, his eyes rolling when he reaches over the center console to open the door for you. “Is there anyone else who would drop everything they’re doing to pick you up in this weather?”

Your lips pull into a flat line. The answer was no, you didn’t have anyone else who would drop everything they were doing to pick you up in this weather. That was the reason Juyeon was here, you supposed. It didn’t mean you weren’t at least going down without a fight, though. Except, Lee Juyeon was a man who was all too comfortable with how expressive you were. Most notably towards him.

“What? Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?”

“Fuck you. I’d rather walk.” You seethe, starting straight in the direction of your apartment. Juyeon groans at first, your constant need to prove yourself getting on his nerves for once. Then his eyes widen slightly when he realizes you’re not joking.

The truth was that the rain was freezing and you’d love to be in the shelter of a warm car. In fact, you didn’t really care that Juyeon was the person driving. But you were too deep into the bit now. You couldn’t just turn around and get in the car, for you had a pride to protect at this point.

“Shit.” Juyeon swears under his breath, reaching into the backseat to grab an umbrella. Sure he loved to tease you and rile you up, but he wasn’t cruel. Your friends would have his head on a silver platter if he let anything happen to you.

You pause in your steps when you’re no longer being showered in rain water. Juyeon holds the umbrella over your head with a worried expression. You feel kind of bad for making him chase after you even though he’d already gone out of his way to pick you up. Sometimes you wish your ego wasn’t so fragile. Maybe then you could accept help when you needed it instead of making things worse.

“Can you please stop being so stubborn and just get in the damn car, Y/N? Do you have to make everything difficult all the time?” Usually, pissing you off made him over the moon, but you can tell he’s not exactly pleased at the moment. You swallow thickly, nodding quietly and following him back to his car.

The whole drive to your apartment is silent save for the song playing on his speakers. It’s not as loud in comparison to the storm outside, but you’re grateful that it’s filling the space between you. If only Lee Juyeon hadn’t done such an excellent job ticking you off like a bomb, then maybe you would’ve just hopped in the passenger seat with ease. But no, he had to goad you until you made an irrational decision and now here you are.

As he pulls up to your building, you say a little prayer that you don’t regret your next actions. He stops as close to the stairs as he can, but you turn to him before unbuckling your seatbelt. With a deep breath, you ask, “Would you like to— uh— come inside?”

He glances from you to the stairs and then shrugs, parking in the nearest empty spot. He holds the umbrella over both of you as you make your way to your unit, lightly sprinting so you don’t get anymore soaked than you already are. You figured the least you could do was invite the dude into your home and offer him some hot tea, just so he could warm up before heading back to the TBZ house. Your roommates not being here to make fun of you was also a plus.

There’s still an unspoken tension even after you’ve shed your raincoats and shoes by the front door, settling into your apartment and its coziness. Juyeon sits at the breakfast bar as you busy yourself with preparing the kettle and getting a couple tea bags. His watchful gaze is a little intimidating now that you’ve seen his serious side.

Once you’ve finished making the tea, you set his mug in front of him. You look everywhere but him when you say, “I’m gonna take a shower if you’re okay waiting out here by yourself.” He doesn’t respond verbally, so you take it as your cue to leave.

You turn on the water to let it heat up before gathering your essentials. When you’ve completed your back and forth trip from the bathroom and your bedroom, you’re finally ready to just relax in your shower and forget about today’s events. But how could you ever truly relax with Lee Juyeon in your space, permeating your peace?

As you’re shutting the bathroom door, a foot jams itself between the threshold and stops you. You glance up from the floor to meet Juyeon’s eyes. They’re darker than you’re used to, a deep shade of brown that has your stomach twisting into knots.

“You know, Y/N, this game of cat and mouse is starting to get old,” he takes a step into the steaming room, locking the door behind him and trapping you. “Just admit to yourself that you want me.”

You sputter at his bold words, because you don’t. You don’t want Lee Juyeon. Why would you want Lee Juyeon? “I’m not gonna lie to myself. I don’t want you.”

He laughs humorlessly, closing the gap between you just a little more. You don’t have it in you to back away from him. He reaches a hand up to tuck some damp hair behind your ear. You’re still wet and cold from your stupid idea to walk in the rain, but Juyeon plans to warm you up perfectly. “You sure?”

“Positive,” you breathe.

“Why don’t we test that theory?” Now he’s got you backed into the wall, his face a hair’s breadth distance from your own. “I have a feeling I can change your mind.”

You don’t know if it’s the heat of the bathroom or Juyeon’s lips being so close, but so far simultaneously that has your brain turning into static. Your head feels fuzzy, like you’re watching TV on an empty channel through a blurry lens. You lick your lips, vision trained on his. “Why don’t we?”

That’s all the confirmation he needs to press your mouths together in a searing kiss, hotter than the temperature of the room. You feel him smile against you when you make no move to push him away, instead carding your fingers through his hair. He groans when you tug a bit, twirling the longer strands around your index.

His hands slip under your top, thumbs rubbing circles into your waist. This is a terrible idea. Deep down you’re fully aware that you’re probably making a huge mistake by giving into Juyeon just like every other girl on campus ever has. But paired with how intoxicating his mouth feels on your own and the steam filled bathroom clouding your head, you can’t seem to find a logical reason to stop.

When you part for air, you both start stripping your top layers, resuming your attacks on each other’s lips once you’re left in nothing but undergarments. Juyeon trails kisses along the side of your neck, nipping and sucking wherever he feels fit. You gasp when he finds that particular spot that contributes to the butterflies fluttering about your stomach. “God, you’re so annoying.”

“Yeah?” And despite getting ready to give you the pleasure of your life, his grin against your skin still manages to irritate you. “You hate me so much, huh?”

“Mhm,” you whine as his fingers dip beneath the band of your panties, toying with your sensitive cunt. “Hate you so bad— ah…”

“You might wanna shut up soon, sweetheart,” Juyeon warns, sliding his ring finger between your lower lips. “Or else I’ll give that mouth something to do.”

“I’ll do whatever I want,” you pull his hand from your underwear, kneeling in front of him when he furrows his eyebrows in confusion. Your nails scrape lightly down his abdomen before hooking into the waistband of his briefs, freeing him from the material. It takes a lot out of you to not visibly react at the sight of his cock, hard and flushed to the tip. You couldn’t dare inflate his ginormous ego, the situation you were currently in already doing enough on its own. His size is impressive too, making you wonder just how he expects you to take him like a champ.

“What a fucking brat,” he hisses, your tongue swiping along the underside of his dick. “Always gotta have the last word, don’t you?”

“Mmmm,” you moan, mouth full with just the tip. You’d never been the type of person who cared about size. As long as they knew what they were doing and made you finish, you held no qualms with their length. In fact, you don’t think you ever even paid much attention to anyone’s dick in your life. But if there was anything to back Lee Juyeon’s cockiness, it had to be, well, his cock.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this moment,” he confesses, wrapping your hair around his hand into a makeshift ponytail. “But, fuck, this is so much better.”

The admission shoots straight to your core and you find yourself whimpering, the vibrations against his dick driving him crazy. He has to support his weight with one hand flat to the wall, the other still tightly fisting your hair. With every suck and flick of your tongue, he tugs a little more, the sting on your scalp providing you with more pleasure than pain. You pull off of him to take a breath, jerking him off as you do so.

“Am I meeting your expectations?” You bat your eyelashes up at him, drool sliding down your chin and makeup smeared under your eyes in tear streaks. He groans at the sight of you, forcing you to a standing position so he could kiss you again.

You start dragging him towards the shower, unhooking your bra and stepping out of your panties. He raises an eyebrow at you, amused. “You want me to fuck you in the shower, baby? Have you slipping all over my cock?”

“Duh,” you can’t help but roll your eyes at his question, practically pawing at his underwear to get him out of them fully. “Did you think I sucked your dick on the bathroom floor for fun?”

“That mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble one of these days.”

He kicks them off, reconnecting your lips as you step into the shower. The hot water hits your back almost like a massage, synchronously getting in your mouth as you make out with Juyeon aggressively. It’s like he can’t get enough of you, big hands kneading and groping everywhere and nowhere all at once. You feel insane, especially with how good of a kisser he is. It’s like you’re on cloud nine and nothing’s capable of bringing you down.

When he’s finally lost his patience, he spins you around, pressing you cheek first to the shower wall. You feel him against your lower back, his lips leveling with your ear. In spite of acting as if he had himself under control, you can hear the pant in his breathing, deep voice a little desperate than usual. He has a hand gripping your thigh and picking up your leg.

“No protection?” He asks, his cock already gliding between your folds in anticipation.

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head as best you can with his body sandwiching you to the tiled surface. “Wanna feel you raw.”

“Fuck, you can’t say shit like that to me,” Juyeon groans into your ear, giving no warning as he spits down your front and hikes your leg higher, thrusting into your cunt. “You’ll make me wanna stay buried in you forever.”

You moan, hand coming up to hold the side of his head as he fucks you into the shower wall. If someone were to ask about this very moment, you weren’t too sure how you’d defend yourself. A moment of weakness, perhaps? But if a moment of weakness felt this fucking good every time, you might fall into a habit of judgment lapses.

He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, nibbling and biting your shoulder and the surrounding area with each snap of his hips. The angle he drives into you at has stars forming at the back of your vision, the tip of his cock brushing that one spot deep inside of you whenever he thrusts up. You don’t even think his entire dick is in you as he does this, but you also don’t really have the mind to care, way too focused on memorizing the veins of his shaft with your walls.

You’re far too gone to consider the consequences of your actions, the horizon of your release just beyond your fingertips now. You’d never needed someone so viscerally before, so carnally. Yet here you were, sucking Lee Juyeon’s cock in with your pussy like you were a damn vacuum. The sounds you’re making bounce back and forth on the walls, no doubt louder than the shower water itself.

“I— I-I’m so— fuck,” you mewl, words wobbling. “I’m so, so close, Juyo.”

“Yeah, baby?” He sighs in your ear, nudging your sensitive clit with his thumb while raising your leg as much as he physically can. “Me too, where do you want me?”

“Inside,” you don’t think you even make sense anymore, babbling as he continues to fuck you stupid. “Please. Want you to cum inside me.”

Juyeon grits his teeth, pleased with himself that he didn’t orgasm right then and there. He uses his last ounce of strength to get the two of you off together. “C’mon, sweetheart, cum for me.”

The fogginess subsides pretty quickly after you’ve finished, your brain registering what just happened almost instantaneously. If you weren’t so hypersensitive, you would’ve pulled him out yourself and scrambled to flee the scene. (And maybe even the country.) There are many more rational thoughts running through your head now. The entire trajectory of your life has just been changed, whether you realized it or not. But the biggest issue was:

What the hell do you do now?

#the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #tbz #tbz x reader #tbz smut #the boyz juyeon #tbz juyeon #lee juyeon x reader #lee juyeon smut #juyeon x reader #juyeon smut #juyeonszn #juyeonszn.100🪩

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