#sometimes I was the only girl in the unload

[ambientbroth]

Conflict resolution isn’t something to do alone.

[junkissed]

bad neighbor

member — neighbor!dino x f reader genre — smut, college au word count— 6.3k synopsis — pros of living next door to a frat house: your neighbor is really really hot. cons of living next door to a frat house: probably everything else. smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, fingering, lots of making out, facial (cum on face), semi public sex (hooking up at a party) content warnings — slightly introverted!reader, chan is in college but reader isn't: can be interpreted as older!reader but that's up to you tbh, mentions of weed & alcohol (chan & reader are both sober), cameos from cheol & hoshi hehe notes — thanks again to @onlymingyus for helping me get my brain in order <3 please reblog or send an ask if you enjoyed reading!! it means a lot to me and it helps me continue writing :) i hope you like this fic!

it's still early in the evening when the music starts.

the sound of voices and cars honking outside your house draws your attention away from the latest episode of your favorite new show. you get up and walk over to the window, peeking out through the curtain at the bright headlights beaming at you.

with a sigh you push the curtain closed again, heading into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. if tonight is like any of the other nights, then it'll be a long time before you fall asleep. hopefully the chamomile will help—is what you tell yourself every time. and every time, it doesn't help.

living in the same neighborhood as the frat houses from the nearby state university was certainly a choice, but the rent in the area was the cheapest in town and you didn't have many options left. with the fall semester coming up fast, every other apartment complex and condo in the city was already rented out. after moving in, you'd quickly discovered why the rent was so cheap: not because the house was in bad condition or because the location was inconvenient, but because of the parties. nearly every fucking night.

you might actually be impressed at how these college kids find the energy to party so often, if you weren’t so fed up with them. every friday and saturday night, and even sometimes during the week, at least one house on your block was throwing some kind of wild party.

by now you'd seen it all: drunk girls throwing up on your lawn, shirtless guys doing keg stands in the middle of the cul-de-sac, people making out literally everywhere. and yes, including that one time on halloween when you found two playboy bunnies having sex with spider-man in your backyard. how they got back there was anybody's guess, but from then on you’d started double and triple checking that your back gate was locked every night. 

tonight, it seemed that the festivities were being hosted at the house across the street. and the man behind it all? none other than lee chan, president of the fraternity and owner of the house.

you'd only officially met him twice, once on the day you'd moved in and once the day after. his red honda had pulled into his driveway at the same time you were unloading your boxes from the u-haul, and he'd jumped out and offered to help carry your furniture inside.

at the time it had felt like this was finally your meet-cute moment, the friendly and unfairly attractive boy-next-door that sweeps you off your feet with love at first sight. but once the final box had been moved, he'd simply given you a smile and a wave and went back inside his house. no cute bonding, no exchanging phone numbers, no asking to see each other again. he just left.

of course, that had been before you found out about the parties, and the shock you were in for that same night when people had started showing up in droves had nearly led you to call the cops. so the next morning you'd put on a nice outfit and went to knock on his door, and it was then that you found out more about the neighborhood you'd found yourself living in.

with the same polite tone he'd used yesterday, he'd been friendly and apologetic for the noise, promising that he'd make sure everyone stayed on his side of the lawn and that no one disturbed you or your house. he'd explained that it wasn't a quiet neighborhood, no matter the time of year, but repeated that if anything happened he would take full responsibility for it. he said that you were welcome to come over any time, whether you needed something or you just wanted in on the fun.

you'd taken his word for it, sheepishly waving goodbye as you crossed the sidewalk between your houses, though you figured you would probably never set foot inside his house while there was a party going on. and as you’d walked away, you had tried to ignore the feeling of your heart fluttering with the beginnings of a crush on your neighbor.

tonight, however, your heart was doing anything but fluttering. music blasted outside, definitely a lot louder than usual, and the sound of car engines revving was already getting on your nerves.

you dunk your tea bag into the boiling water at the same time a loud banging on your door makes you jump, and you narrowly avoid spilling it all over yourself and the counter.

quietly you rush over to the door, looking out the peephole to see a group of people carrying cases of beer, looking around at your front porch.

before you can figure out how to react, you hear someone yell something distantly and the group turns around in the direction of the sound.

"shit, wrong house," one of the guys says loudly. "sorry, whoever lives here! have a good night!" he calls as they walk away, the others laughing over a joke you can't hear. 

with the crisis averted, you head back into the kitchen and pull the tea bag out of your mug, chucking it into the trash with a huff. full responsibility, your ass. 

and then… you have an idea. 

chan had been so insistent that you could come over if you ever needed anything, so you might as well take advantage of his offer. because tonight you did, in fact, need something. you needed the party to not be so goddamn loud that you can literally feel your living room floor vibrating beneath your feet.

you stick your mug in the microwave to reheat later and quickly change out of your pajamas and into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. presentable enough that you don’t embarrass yourself, yet comfortable enough that you don’t feel so awkward.

with a deep breath, you pull open your front door, keys tightly in hand as you lock it behind you and start making your way across the street.

you're almost at chan’s front door when a man steps in front of you out of nowhere, stopping you short. "hey, here for the party?" he asks, holding up his hand for a high-five.

"um… kinda," you say, lightly tapping his hand. you figure he must be the bouncer of some sort, from his friendly yet confident no-nonsense attitude and the way his thick biceps strain against the sleeves of his t-shirt. "i'm looking for lee chan, he owns the house?"

"gotcha," he nods. "gotta check your age before i let you in, though."

you pause, his words sinking in as you realize why he's asking. "oh, sorry, i didn't think i'd need my id," you apologize. "but i live next door, my driver's license is just in my wallet, i can go grab—"

"are you over 21?" he interrupts, and you frown at the question.

"uh, yes?"

"cool. head on in, then," he says.

you look at him suspiciously. "you're sure you don't need to see my id? what if i was lying?"

"dino will probably be downstairs, his room is the door at the end of the hallway on the left," he says, pointedly ignoring your questions. "and while you're down there, tell him cheol sent you. ask him to grab another beer for me."

he waves towards the open front door, and hesitantly you make your way inside. you have no idea who the hell dino is, and you can only hope it's just a nickname of some kind and the man you're about to go find isn't some stranger.

the second you set foot inside the doorway, it's like entering a completely different world. the air is stale and humid, clinging to your skin as you push through a crowd of what must be hundreds of people packed like sardines into every corner of the room.

the music gets louder the further inside the house you go, and you have to focus on repeating cheol's instructions in your head so you don’t get lost in the maze of hallways and doors. downstairs, end of the hallway, left. 

you soon find out where the music is coming from. unlike the normal house lights on the first floor, downstairs everything is dark except for colorful flashing led lights around the room. a man stands on top of a table between two huge speakers as people crowd around him, jumping and shouting lyrics to the song that’s playing.

there’s so many people that you have to push your way through the crowd, but most of the people around you either don’t notice or are too drunk to care. but finally, you make it to what looks like the hallway that the man outside—what was his name, cheol?—told you about.

you open the first door on your left and find four people sat quietly on the floor passing around a bong, a thick cloud of smoke hanging over the room. all four of them look over at you at the same time, glazed eyes silently asking who the hell are you?.

"sorry, wrong room," you squeak, slamming the door and retreating back into the hallway as you try your best not to step on anyone's feet.

with a deep breath you crack open the door directly beside the one you'd just opened and poke your head inside, and relief washes over you when you see chan inside.

he's sitting on a couch with a couple girls sitting next to him and a guy slumped against his shoulder, eyes closed and brows furrowed.

he looks up when the door opens, and a look of shock spreads over his face when he recognizes you. he calls your name and you step inside tentatively, saying his name in response. "chan?"

"close the door behind you," he says, and you jump to turn around and shut it with a click. he must notice you standing like a deer in headlights, because he motions you closer to him with a friendly smile. "sorry," he explains. "people will think it's an open room if you leave the door open. i don't want anybody in here without a reason to be."

you nod, but your eyes dart over at the girls sitting beside chan. he makes eye contact with them and clears his throat, and without a word they stand up, understanding the message.

he helps the man laying against him sit up, then helps him stand up and hands him off to the others. "don't let hoshi drink anything else tonight except water, okay? keep an eye on him until your driver shows up."

they nod and slip their arms around their friend, helping him stumble out of the room as he grumbles about something incoherent. "thanks, dino," one of them says with a little wave. "see you monday for that bio test."

the girls open and shut the door quickly, suddenly leaving you alone with him in the room.

"hi," you start, not knowing what else to say. it's been such an ordeal just trying to find him that you've almost forgotten why you came searching for him in the first place.

"hi," he repeats with a laugh. "honestly, i never thought i'd see you here. you don't seem like the type. so, what brings you over tonight?"

"you've only met me twice, how would you know what i seem like?" you reply defensively, thought he's spot on. this is not your usual scene at all, and you’re sure that anyone at this party who’s even a smidge sober must be able to tell how out of place you look.

he shrugs, patting the couch seat next to him. "alright, fair point. come sit down."

you carefully take a seat, purposefully avoiding eye contact with the collection of ambiguous stains on the couch cushions.

"oh, before i forget. somebody named cheol told me to tell you he wants a beer?" you say awkwardly, relaying the message.

"bastard," chan mutters, but he's smiling, and you assume the guy you met earlier is a friend of his. "fine, i'll grab him something when i go back outside." pausing, he turns his attention back to you. "but really, why are you here? i don't wanna make any assumptions, but i doubt it's for the free alcohol."

"if i was, you'd have to tell me where to find it," you say with a shrug, and he laughs but stays quiet for you to finish.

you fold your hands together nervously. "anyway, i just came over to ask—could you maybe turn the music down, like, just a tiny bit? and also… can you tell people to stop having sex in my yard?"

he winces and gives an apologetic smile. "yeah, of course. sorry about that. i told vernon to keep it down, but you know how he gets when he's…" he stops as if he’s just realized something. "nevermind. i'll go let him know right now. do you wanna come with, or you wanna stay here?"

"no offense, but i'd rather not go back out there," you laugh awkwardly. “it was bad enough just trying to find you in the first place.”

"all good," he replies with that friendly smile of his. "it's not for everyone, that's for sure. just make sure the door stays closed, and you'll be fine in here by yourself. shouldn't take too long."

he opens the door and slips out, slamming it closed behind him. you sit unmoving on the couch, finally glancing at your surroundings.

unlike the first room, the air here is fairly clean, other than the faint smell of alcohol and weed wafting in from under the door. you realize this must be chan's actual bedroom, when you see the posters that cover the walls and the bookshelf full of knick-knacks and textbooks.

you start to wonder who else lives in this house, but soon the door opens again and chan returns, the sound of voices and music flooding in while the door is open but quickly falling quieter once the door is shut again.

"alright, he'll keep it down. i'm sorry about the noise," he apologizes again, but you wave him off, suddenly feeling shy around him. with him still standing and you still sitting, he towers over you in a way that makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter back to life.

"no, it's fine. really, it's not that big of a deal," you rush, trying to ignore the growing feeling in your chest. was he always this hot? for the first time tonight you notice how his blonde hair falls in waves around his face, perfectly framing his soft features.

he shakes his head. "really, i mean it. vernon will make sure it doesn't get out of hand, he’s good at that. i can't exactly give you a quiet evening, but i can give you the best i've got."

you take a deep breath and stand up. you're already way outside of your comfort zone even just coming to this party, but maybe this experience hasn't been all that bad. after all, you got to see chan again, and you got to exchange more than a handful of words with him like you did all the other times you’d met him.

"well… what is the best you've got?" you ask him, and you almost see him raise an eyebrow.

he puts his hands in his back pockets, pausing for a second as he looks at you. "mm, best i've got? probably this room. my room. quietest in the house, and nobody will come in to bother us."

your heart races as you take a small step towards him, standing close to him but still keeping some distance between you.

"so does this mean you're not leaving?" he asks when you don’t say anything, just barely loud enough for you to hear him.

"do you want me to stay?"

he takes a step closer to you. "only if you stay with me."

"do you say that to all the people you bring in here?" your question is joking, but a part of you still worries that he thinks you're just another girl at the party looking for a one night stand. though honestly, you wouldn't even really mind if that's all this was. hell, maybe all the secondhand smoke is getting to your head and clouding your judgement, because hooking up with your neighbor seems like a pretty fantastic idea right now.

"the only time i let people in my room is to let them use my bathroom and to make sure they don't die of alcohol poisoning," he says in a low tone, a little laugh escaping him. "and now, i guess i let my hot neighbor in here, too."

"you think i'm hot?" you ask, taking another small step forward.

he matches your stride, taking one last step towards you so that you're finally standing toe to toe with him. "i'd be an idiot not to."

"but how would you know, if we've only met twice?"

he laughs. "well, you had just moved in. i wasn't gonna hit on you when you hadn't even finished unpacking your furniture yet."

"so you did want to hit on me, then," you say confidently, straightening up a little.

“did i ever say i didn't?” he rests his hands on your hips and gently pulls you towards him, closing the last of the distance between you. his eyes never leave your face, gauging your reaction and looking for any hesitation.

you wrap your arms around him and lean forward, a smile on your lips. "good to know."

he leans in the rest of the way and presses his mouth against yours, and everything else just falls into place. your hands reach up to find his hair, threading your fingers through his blond waves and tugging experimentally, and when he lets out a little noise of pleasure you kiss him harder.

the noise of the party fades into the background as his hands slide down your body to grip your ass, and you can’t help the little moan that escapes as he starts to back you up against the wall. his hands stay put, kneading your ass as you try to keep your legs from giving out already. it’s painfully obvious how bad you want him, but it’s equally obvious how he feels the same way.

“fuck, been dreaming about this since the day you moved in,” chan says, pulling away from you with a shaky breath as your fingers tug at the hem of his t-shirt. 

he pulls it off over his head before leaning over to kiss you again, his tongue tracing over your lips. he’s good at this; not like you’re surprised by it or anything, but it still catches you off guard.

he seems to be able to sense the tiny bit of lingering hesitancy, so he breaks apart from you but still keeps his arms firmly around you, loosening his grip just a little. “is this okay?” he asks in a low voice, but you can hear the concern laced in it.

you nod quickly, tugging your shirt off quickly and letting his hands settle at your hips before you pull him back closer. you never do this. maybe you really had inhaled too much secondhand smoke on the way in and you aren’t thinking straight. but deep down, you know that’s not the case. 

as much as you hate to admit it, your harmless crush on your neighbor has grown into something much, much more. you can’t say you’ve never been a little jealous when you see girls leaving his house on sunday mornings after parties. you can’t say you’ve never let your eyes linger a few seconds too long when he goes out to check the mail and he’s wearing that tight black tank and thin silver chain he never takes off.

or the fact that he works out in his garage with the door open, and you aren’t really purposefully trying to look but it’s not your fault that your window just happened to be open. and it wasn’t your fault that you just happened to look outside and see him shirtless and bench lifting a very large amount and if you were really really quiet you could almost hear him groaning—

he slides his hands down your bare skin, hesitating again at the waistband of your jeans, but you arch your back a little to push yourself closer and he takes the hint. he easily undoes the button with one hand, and you try not to think about how many times he must’ve practiced that in order to get that skilled at it. but that thought is quickly pushed out of your mind when his hand makes its way into your pants, his fingers experimentally sliding down past your underwear and brushing through your folds.

you let out a groan, rolling your hips into his hand encouragingly. you’re already hot and sweaty, standing with your back against the door in just your bra and jeans, but it’s hard to tell if the heat is from the crowded, stuffy house or from something else.

“god, you’re so wet,” he murmurs under his breath almost incredulously as he presses his fingertip against your clit, circling the swollen bud before dipping back down to collect your arousal on his fingers.

you squeeze your thighs together out of instinct, trapping his hand between your legs, and he looks up at you for confirmation. “more,” you whimper, just loud enough to be heard over the music and the noise on the other side of the door. “chan, please.”

he groans and puts more pressure on your clit, starting to rub a little faster and a little messier. he slides his middle and index fingers inside and you let out an involuntary yelp, clenching and bucking your hips in search of more friction. he starts out slow, curling his fingers in a beckoning motion as his other hand massages the bare skin of your waist.

after more of your pleading he finally concedes, sliding his fingers out and wiping them on his stomach, leaving a glistening trail of wetness on his tan skin. he glances back up at you in questioning, but he finds no hesitation in your expression as his hands start to push your pants down your legs and you kick them away, leaving you bare in front of him.

“you sure you're ready?” he pauses to ask one more time, but your quick nod has him jumping back into action in seconds.

he follows hurriedly, stripping out of his pants and shoving his boxers down to free his cock. his length springs up and slaps against his stomach, the tip looking flushed and heavy, and your mind goes blank, replaced only with the thought of him inside you. he holds himself in one hand, lining his cock up at your entrance as you adjust your position in preparation.

you groan as he finally ushes into you, your fingernails digging into the back of his shoulder blades as you struggle to balance.

“feels good?” he mumbles as he lifts your thigh, wrapping your leg securely around his hip. he doesn't move yet, his hips still as he lets you move however you need.

you barely manage to nod in return, keeping your hands firmly planted on his shoulders, slowly but surely adjusting to his size. “god, yes,” you manage, trying to keep your breathing steady. “if i'd have known you felt this good i would've come over way sooner.”

“mm, well. you're welcome over here any time.” he grins at you. his dark eyes get hazier with desire as he holds you firmly against his pelvis. “for any reason you'd like.”

the best response you can come up with is “sure”, barely listening as you start to roll your hips, but you can tell the sincerity in his statement. your attempt at movement doesn't work very well in this position, but chan quickly takes the hint, pulling back and letting his cock slip halfway out before he drives back into you.

the first thrust has you seeing stars already, and you let out a broken moan as he starts to build up his pace. your back slides against the wall as you feel the bass reverberating through your bones, and it only enhances the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls.

“if there weren’t so many people in this house, i’d have you screaming my name right now,” chan huffs against your lips, pulling your body closer and wrapping his arms around you tighter.

“mm, but the music is so loud they probably wouldn’t be able to hear it anyway,” you bite back with a brazen smile. you're feeling bold, the party atmosphere filling you with a cockiness that you don't usually possess. but something about the environment, the fact that you're fucking the hottest person here while hundreds of people rave obliviously outside the door, is a thrill you've never felt before.

he rolls his head back with a groan, and you feel his thrusts suddenly getting harder and deeper. you have to fight to stay standing, using all your energy to keep yourself upright and leaning most of your weight on him, but if he notices it he doesn't let it show. all those push-ups and bench presses that you ogle him doing in his garage must be good for something, from the way he hoists you against the wall and drives his cock into you without even barely breaking a sweat.

“say it, then,” he goads, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh as he holds your leg up. “you want to, don't you? you wouldn't have come over here tonight if you didn't.”

the worst part is that you know he's right. your own curiosity is what brought you here tonight, masked by the claims of noise complaints. the noise isn't even really that much of a bother: you could've gone to bed, turned on your fan and played some white noise, and you would've been perfectly fine. but some part of you longs to know what goes on at these parties, to see your devastatingly sexy neighbor in this setting you've never witnessed him in yet. so now that your curiosity has been satisfied, you really have nothing to lose.

“chan! fuck— mmph, yes—” you whine loudly, unintentionally clenching around him as the words fall from your lips. there's no way anyone would hear over the music, and even if they did, there's a high chance they wouldn't care either way. it's just what happens at parties.

his eyes light up at the sound, a moan of his own leaving his mouth as he thrusts into you over and over again, burying his cock as deep as he can go with every stroke. a familiar heat burns in the pit of your stomach at his movements, winding tighter and tighter with each passing second. your walls throb around his length, filling every inch of you until you can't take it anymore.

“chan…” you groan again, pulling him towards you with your leg around his waist. “please, keep going… c-close, i'm close—”

he leans in and presses his lips to yours, swallowing your moans with his eager mouth. “god, please cum for me,” he says breathlessly, pulling away but leaving just enough room for your lips to stay connected by a thin string of spit. “need to feel it, need to feel you. please, baby, fuck…”

he slams into you even harder, driving his cock right up into the spot that makes your knees nearly buckle. you manage to whimper out his name one last time before your lips go slack against his mouth, your eyes squeezing shut as you crash into your climax. the force of his steady, constant thrusts combined with the force of your orgasm leaves your body tingling, every nerve alight from the waves of pleasure pulsing through you.

his movements don't ever slow, but you can see the emotion twisting in his face in reaction as he watches you cum, squeezing around him so warm and wet and perfect that it takes every ounce of his self control not to immediately follow you over the edge.

his eyes bore into yours, watching your face until he's sure you've recovered enough to handle him. he pulls out and keeps his hand firmly wrapped around the base of his cock, jerking himself with tiny flicks of his wrist to keep the momentum going.

immediately you drop to your knees in front of him, tilting your head back to stare up at him between his thighs, your eyes wordlessly pleading with him as your tongue nearly rolls out of your mouth.

“fuck, you're so…,” he groans, keeping his fist tight around his cock with a few final motions. “you're so fucking hot, god, i'm gonna—”

he whines and his hips buck as he spills across your face, thick white ropes landing on your tongue and your cheeks. your smaller hand reaches up to replace his and you take him into your mouth, gagging only slightly as the salty taste fills your mouth. you wrap your lips around him and swallow, letting your tongue swirl around his sensitive head to collect it all until he's finished.

he pulls back and his cock slips from your mouth, leaving you gasping and licking your lips to catch the stray drops of his cum. his voice is low and strained as he reaches out his hand to help you up, his thick biceps flexing as he pulls you to your feet. despite the blissed-out look on his face you can see the guilt in eyes and it makes you pause, wondering if he didn't enjoy it the same way you just did. but it's only another moment before he speaks again, and your short-lived worries are put to rest.

“i'm sorry it was so fast,” he says almost shyly, pulling you over to sit at the edge of his bed. “i can go again if you aren't done yet. or we can do something else… or i could walk you back home. whatever you want, i'm happy to do.”

you expression softens into a grin, still a little hazy but definitely not finished. “oh, i can go again, for sure. i've got all night if you'll let me.”

his eyes crinkle with an eager smile, and you're already spreading your legs to give him space as he falls down onto the bed between them, landing on top of you. his hand cups your chin ans he pulls you into him, his lips finding yours and melting into you with a satisfied hum. his tongue finds its place once again in your mouth, prodding inside as he kisses you with a level of passion and desperation you haven't felt in a long time. 

he groans into the kiss as he tastes himself on your lips, exploring your mouth and the bitter taste he left inside. you feel the vibrations from it in your jaw and down your neck, and it only makes you kiss him harder in an effort to draw out more of those pretty sounds.

"hey, dino, didn't you say you'd bring me a beer? it's so boring standing out there—"

the door opens and you jerk away with a scream, hiding yourself under chan and using the nearest piece of clothing to cover up as someone barges into the room.

"cheol, get the fuck out!" chan shouts, wrapping his arm around you and keeping you pressed tightly against his chest, using his back to shield you from view. "fucking knock next time, dude, you know better!"

"jeez! how should i have known? i thought you said you didn't hook up at parties," cheol mutters as he turns around, slamming the door shut behind him. "i'll get the damn beer myself."

the door slams shut once again, and chan sighs and hangs his head, his forehead leaning against your chest before he reluctantly crawls off of you and crosses the room to lock the door.

“you don’t hook up at parties, huh?”

he turns around to look at you, and you pause to take him in. his hair is messier than it was when you got here, glued to his forehead with sweat and sticking up at odd angles from you tugging on it. his broad chest is tinged red with tiny scratches from your nails, and it makes you want to bite him all over, but you contain yourself for now.

your voice is teasing, but cheol’s words have honestly made you feel a million times lighter. you hadn’t expected to be anything special to chan after tonight; at the very least, you hoped that it wouldn’t be awkward when you see each other, but you’d figured you were just the next in a long line of girls waiting to have their turn with him. for once, you’d never been so happy to be proven wrong.

“i’ll make an exception for the pretty neighbor girl. just this once.”

“oh, so now i'm just pretty. i thought i remembered you saying that i was the hot neighbor girl,” you giggle, watching as he hops on one leg to put his boxers back on.

“two things can be true at once,” he says with a grin as he walks back over to you still lying on his bed. “besides, i still haven't taken you out on a date yet. would be kinda forward of me to call you hot when i haven't even bought you dinner yet.”

you smile at him, trying to fight the warmth burning in your cheeks as you reach up to ruffle your fingers through his soft hair. he lets out a satisfied groan at the feeling, and it gives you an idea.

“do…” you trail off, suddenly unsure, until you see the warmth in chan’s eyes as he lays on top of you and it fills you with confidence again. “do you wanna continue this at my house? i’ve got the quietest room, and nobody will bother us.”

“mm.” he grins at the way you repeat his words from earlier, enamored with your shy yet playful tone. “if we’re at your place, does that mean i get to give you the noise complaint this time?”

“i’ll allow it.” you roll your eyes and pull yourself to sit up. “i need a shower, and i’m sure you would like one, too. plus i have food that hasn't been spilled on the floor or soaked in alcohol.”

he picks your shirt up off the floor and hands it to you with a smile, moving around his room with a quiet confidence you find unbearably hot. “does this mean anything to you, or is this just a tonight thing?” he asks.

you bite at your lip as you shimmy back into your jeans, shaky fingers sliding the button into place as you sit back down on the bed. “it does,” you reply simply. “you did tell me you'd buy me dinner, after all. i'm gonna hold you to that.”

he leans over you, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips. “and i plan on keeping that promise.”

you stumble your way through the house, squeezing chan’s hand tightly as he pulls you up the stairs, following him towards the door. you're not worried about anyone noticing you anymore: everyone's too wrapped up in their own business to care, including you. the party seems dulled now, the music fading and the people around you becoming blank faces. all you care about is chan, your eyes roving over his broad back muscles that peek through his shirt as you trail behind him. you must look no different than every other drunk college kid here with the giddy smile on your face, but you haven't had a drop of alcohol. it's just the effect he had on you.

finally you make it outside, and the cool night air feels sharp compared to the humidity inside the house. already it seems quieter as you start to walk the distance across the street, moving away from the party and towards the comfort of your own home. chan moves up beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist while you lead the way, but you're stopped once again by the same man from earlier.

“hey,” he greets chan, only sparing half a smirk in your direction but otherwise not bothering you, despite the heat that instantly rises in your cheeks at the fact that you were caught. “did you get my beer?”

“no. you said you were getting it yourself.” he rolls his eyes, and cheol whines and gives him a look that you swear almost looks like a pout. “if anyone asks about me, tell them i'm not home. tell them i had to…” he looks over at you with a cocky grin. “…had to go take care of something. noise complaint.”

cheol groans, making a face. “god, whatever. i don't want the details. but just don't make me stand outside next time. i'm doing you a favor here. i'm supposed to be working on my thesis.”

“sure,” chan replies, but he's still stuck staring at you, barely processing his friend's complaints. “yeah. anyway, i'll catch you tomorrow.”

he tugs gently on your waist and you start walking again, leaving cheol without so much as a goodbye or even a proper introduction. you'll deal with that later, you guess. there’s a lot of things you'll have to deal with, but at least the wild parties your neighbor boyfriend throws won't be one of them anymore.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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[e-nonsense]

can i have ak!jason and a shy reader with the prompts “Off. Take it all off.” and “Keep your legs open doll, I’m still hungry.” pls plsss

warning. gun kink

“off. take it all off.”

his voice came from the corner of the room, he sat in the arm chair watching you. he didn’t do much else other than that most days, sometimes he’d hold you but it seems he’d finally ran out of patience trying to make you comfortable around him.

your cheeks flushed as you complied, nervously peeling each layer off before you’re standing in front off him bare and open to him. he just keeps watching, his breathing static behind his helmet before you hear a hiss and see him placing his helmet to the side.

“sit,” he commands, standing from his seat to let you take his place, you waste no time following his order before he’s kneeling in front of you pretty face resting against your knee.

he sighs as if this is the only time he can relax. you watch curiously — still very naked much to your embarrassment — as he hands you his gun from his holster, its unloaded, you know that. he’d never put a load weapon in the hands of someone as sweet as you.

he chuckles when you fumble on holding the piece, adjusting your fingers so you can comfortably hold it before pressing the nozzle to his head. he lets out a shaky breath as he stares up at you, icy blue eyes give away the affection he feels for you and he seems to enjoy the thought of being at your mercy.

“that’s it, pretty girl. hold it there f’me.”

his hands move to your thighs, spreading you open. “keep your legs open doll, i’m hungry.

[samodivaa]

frenzy of lust and sin 1〗

Part 2 Pairing: Instructor!Bucky x Recruit!Reader

Summary: During your training to become an agent, you've earned the moniker "Sergeant's girl" around the base—that doesn't give him the right to be possessive or jealous, but what gives you the right to be a brat? Warnings: sexual tension, age gap, sparring Words: 3.4k

Bucky knows that the body is not a thing of wild magic, but a collection of chemicals, tissues, and nerve impulses. Thoughts are no more than electrical surges in the brain. Sexual arousal is no more than a flow of chemicals to certain nerve endings. Sadness no more than a bit of acid transfixed in the cerebellum. In short, the body is a machine, subject to the same laws of electricity and mechanics as an electron or clock. As such, the body must be addressed in the language of physics. And if the body speaks, it is the speaking only of so many levers and forces. The body is a thing to be ordered, not obeyed. But the feeling is not leaving, he can’t control it. Jealousy. He is witnessing himself become daily more notable for savage sullenness and ferocity. But in the end, it’s an instinctive feeling. Your presence has flattered him from the first time you met, you are full of ambition which leads Bucky to adopt a double character without exactly intending to deceive anyone.

He keeps the acquaintance and has no temptation to show his rough side in your company, and has the sense to be ashamed of being rude towards such a young lady. You are the only recruit who gets this side of him, but it is a secret in his heart, he is guilty of such a secret, because he has to forcefully hold it. He keeps his hold on his affections towards you unalterably, not showing what he is truly feeling. With all his superiority as your hand to hand combat instructor, he finds it difficult to keep it professional as more time passes. As he falls more for you. ============================== The moment you enter the room, he discerns your soft-featured face, pensive and amiable in expression, eyes which are large and serious, your figure almost too graceful. It forms a sweet picture―and your aura. It's…intoxicating. It's shining, it always shines. 

“Good morning, Bucky” you have a sweet, low manner of speaking as you walk towards where he is sitting. “Good morning” his voice sounds ill-natured, politeness that would only be laughed at, restraining an unruly nature, wary of the secret he knows about you. He is trying to not be overcome by emotion. Emotion is the art of breaking hearts, minds, and tongues―but it is too much, even for Bucky.

You reflect for an instant, with knitted brows “Are you okay?” “Of course I am, why do you ask?” he whispers crossly.

A surprised laugh almost breaks free from your lips, because his naturally reserved disposition is exaggerated into an almost idiotic excess of moroseness today and you wonder why that is. Bucky slightly widening his eyes, parts of his lips, but there is absence of arrogance as his features become unreadable again. He rises up from the bench, but you have no time to express your worry further as you gaze at him with a troubled countenance, because it might be something deeper. ==============================

It is all because of three days ago.

As he carries his basket to the laundry room, he spots a look for a washing machine with a finished cycle. He opens the door and unloads the freshly washed clothes, placing them into the basket in front of the machine―but these clothes are familiar. Leggings, he knows them by heart. Curiosity is gluttony. It is a great temptation to look through all of them, piece by piece. And although his demeanor is calm, his eyes betray a maelstrom of emotions—his self-control is shattering. The impulse lurks. His gaze moves downwards. To his crotch. Jesus. He is hard. And sometimes, to regain sanity, he has to acknowledge and embrace the madness. Bucky wavers for a moment, and then, irresistibly impelled by the naughty spirit within him, sits on the floor and finds a red dress underneath the leggings―curiosity sparking in his eyes as his lids to twinkle, because he has never imagine you wearing such feminine clothing. Until now. He wants to see the curve of your back, the dress clinging to your chest and waist, flaring over your hips—and certainly wants to look at your tits in it.

“Fuck”  His throat gurgles slightly, looking at the cloth through his lashes like the starved man he is. It is almost impossible to express himself out loud, satisfaction speaks louder than words. He is overwhelmed by emotions, leaving him both speechless and breathless, but even then it is important to identify the correct emotion—lust, a longing that goes on a loop. He neglects his throbbing cock, but his attention remains the dress as he falls victim to countless daydreams.

There is scarcely time to experience a thrill of his arousal before he sees something else—male boxers. He stands stunned. Paralyzed. Breathless. But there is no time for inaction. His mind floods as he tries to make sense of what he is seeing.

—Men are punished by their sins, not for them.

Seeing the boxers, he speaks of lust in the past tense. The scene that plays in front of him, is perfectly adapted to a temporal phenomenon: distinct, abrupt, framed—illusions are bound to be shattered, reality finally sets in. An indescribable look flits across his face, because that sparks his anger. It is so wrong to feel like this, yet he is firmly persuaded that a great deal of his consciousness, in fact, is a disease, the more deeply it sinks into that mire and the more ready he is to sink in it altogether—Jealousy. He hates those insoluble problems and contradictions of human nature, and that he is capable of conquering his fragile inner center—only silence remains. To take back his power in any given situation, he needs to focus on the things he can control. The thoughts he chooses to think is usually the best place to begin, but by a natural impulse his mind starts to wonder—about this man kissing you, touching you, fucking you. 

==============================

That’s how his unusual behavior is fueled, expressed, plainer than words could do, the intense anguish at having made himself the instrument of opposing his own jealousy. You enter the room and he is already waiting for you and as you approach the bench where he is sitting, he is  supposing you are going to say something, looking up. The expression of his face seems disturbed and anxious as three days ago, lips are half asunder, as if he wants to speak, and draws a breath, but it escapes with a sigh instead of a normal sentence.

“You know, relationships are not allowed here” “What are you talking about?” you pursue, kneeling down by him and lifting your winsome eyes to his face with that sort of look which turns off bad temper, even when it is right in his own world to indulge it. “It is part of the rules, you sighed it” he goes on, less sulkily. “Yeah and I am not in a relationship” you respond, peevishly rising to your feet.  “You just slept with some random guy?” “It is not against the rules” you exclaim in an irritated tone, chafing your hands together and frowning.

“So how was the sex?”  he asks too casually, his countenance growing graver. Bucky has an unusual gloom in his face, that makes you dread something from which you might shape a prophecy, and foresee a fearful catastrophe. Will he expel you from the training program?

“What do you mean?” you ask, with an accent of indignation. “How was it” he asks, emphasizing each syllable “When he fucked you?” —Jealous makes tongue unconscious

You avoid aggravating his fiery temper by staying silent, not knowing what attendees his anger and the curiosity of your personal life. His behavior today provokes you exceedingly, but you lay the blame on his latest mission which was a disaster. He doesn’t have power to conceal his emotions anymore, it sets his whole complexion in a blaze. Bucky rises from the bench, scoops up his water bottle, takes a long gulp from it  and impatiently bades you to go to the training mats, terminating the conversation with a sequel of horrid imprecations in his mind. You know that It is as much a part of him as his limbs, this need to make sure that you are safe, to protect you. But this is the first time that he hasn't been so kind to you. And you remember a definition of chivalry you’d heard once: a man protecting a woman against every man but himself. Through the madness of his words, a part of his soul is revealed—a part of him that has to do with the past. Even if people around him try to forget it, the past remembers him. That void in his chest fills with anger sometimes and it is scary to witness it.

You don’t want to spar with him, but you won’t back down either—back and forth you go, shifting your feet and moving across the mat like some wild, ferocious tango. It is exhilarating to be moving like this with you, so close Bucky can see your eyebrows pinched together in concentration, little drops of sweat as they run down your face. Then it happens. You couldn’t get your arms up in time and Bucky’s next kick hit you squarely in the side. The attempt to conceal the pain doesn’t work as you feel all the strength go out of you as your back hits the ground hard. In a second he gets on top, which makes you wriggle and squirm, trying to throw him off. He grins down at you, enjoying his momentary superiority and the feeling of your smaller body underneath his. You don’t let the mental block or panic control you, ideas flow so rapidly that you have not time to decide what to do—you scowl adorably and arch up against him in a way that sends electricity through him—and that unbalances him enough for you to flip him over and straddle him.  —He is a mournful wreck ruined by his biggest weakness, you. You are on top now, pinning him, grinning down with sparkling eyes. He is exasperated, because he doesn’t know what this look means. He put it somewhere between indifference and pride. Your eyes are so intense he wants to look away—or never look away, he can’t decide, but he keeps his gaze fixed on you as if you fear that you would vanish if he is to remove it. To his shock, the heavy breathing, the rush of adrenaline and endorphins, the intense stare, the rivulets of sweat, arouses him even more. 

“It was nice” you declare, emphatically, speaking sincerely “The sex was nice” you add in a tone particularly calculated to provoke him. 

You seem to allow yourself such wide latitude with both your actions and words today, it really leaves him speechless and you laugh at his reaction as if you are inclined to make it no laughing matter to Bucky. When your eyes meet his gaze as you are staring at each other, time stops. Those eyes are piercing yours, and you can swear at this moment you sense something more. It surprises you that he doesn’t say anything in return. You are not used to seeing Bucky like that—without the attitude, without the facade. He tries to conceal his reaction from you, but his face grows cloudy at your reply, his heart grows pale with pure annoyance: a feeling that reaches its climax when you silently rise and leave the room as Bucky ponderes your reply painfully. He would not have wanted to hear of staying a second longer anyways. ============================== It is a continual nightmare. He needs several days off from all training sessions to meditate on his thoughts in solitude. He persuades his conscience that in a way it is not his fault as possessiveness is a problem, rooted in his ill-bred past―he suffers greatly, because of the brainwashing, torture, his mind struggles between disorder and order, trying to find a balance between the two extremes. 

But he can't keep on running, he needs to face one of his biggest problems―for all his time that he has spent with you, he couldn't avert that excess of emotion: mingled possessiveness and jealousy has overcome him completely lately. The nearer he gets to the facility the more agitated he becomes and on catching sight of it he trembles in every limb. You are young, beautiful and there is something contagious when you act like a brat, it takes root in him and his desire grows along with him―your presence is a moral poison that contaminates his whole mind.  —There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable. You are forbidden. Young. His best trainee.

============================== You are already sitting on the bench and turn around when the door opens. Eye contact. How can he mitigate his adoration for you when he can't concentrate half the time he is around you?

“Good morning, Bucky” 

You say with feigned playfulness and he notices a mischievous smile on your lips. As if you are on hostile terms with him, but still somehow friendly. And what amuses you is painful to him beyond expression―he doesn’t say anything in return, but sits next to you, and looks thoroughly indifferent as he takes the water bottle out of his backpack. It is normal thought, you are alarmed at his recent indiscretion, and the disclosure he had made of his behavior in a transient fit of anger. Bucky is sick with conflict, possessive emotions fester in him while this sludge, guilt, eats away at his insides and he is acutely conscious of the swift passage of time. ―He needs to say something. Finish the session and go home. It is that simple.

And he stares hard at you, watching you take a long drink from your bottle. Then he follows the flick of your tongue over your bottom lip. His heart stumbles a beat. What the actual fuck. Was that on purpose―he has come here to train you and once again, he is left speechless. Then. You lean in, your scent filling his nostrils. He is shocked to feel his throat tighten with a primal hunger, just to hear: “Don’t you like me?”

You laugh softly, utterly feminine sound that galvanizes all of his senses. You lean closer, allowing Bucky to savor the sweet, sinful energy which shimmers from you―some primitive male instinct warns him of your innocence―like a bloom on a vine, fragrant and dainty. He scowles―don’t pinch it off. His heart knows no peace, because everything is wrong with having feelings for you.   *What is she playing at? Is she trying to provoke me? It's working*

“It's not that I don’t like you, it's only that in your presence I don’t like myself”  he speaks without any anger in his voice, but with much sorrowful despondency.

Now, you are the one left speechless, but manage to preserve your external composure, in spite of his ghastly countenance and strange confession. You find childish diversion in the idea of pulling his mental strings―you struggle desperately to not smile as your mind obsessively plays and replays his words, your eyes narrow into thin slits as your gaze doesn’t leave his, because your suspicions are confirmed, he likes you. That describes his change of habitual conduct. A hideous notion strikes you, how wonderful it would be to use the satisfying exhibitions of power and control to deliberately create more desire in him―only to capriciously deny it. It is clear that he doesn’t know that you are a virgin if he accuses you of sleeping with other men. The question is―what exactly provoked him? But your abstraction is evidently so deep, and your whole aspect so misanthropical that Bucky thinks how uncomfortable you might be feeling. He reflects that all those words will be branded in his memory, and they eat him deeply, eternally, because he should have not said them. All because of his greedy jealousy. He looks astonished at the expression on your face, only assuming what you might be thinking of him―he gazes at you with mournful and questioning eagerness, clearly on the verge of madness. He endeavors to say something, but can’t manage it which makes him compress his mouth as he holds a silent combat with his inward shame, meanwhile, your mind offers a perfect plan. 

“Do you want to kiss me?”  

You whisper, anxiously, yet boldly―mesmerized by the tiny flecks of indigo in his blue eyes—you can drown in those eyes and it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. His beautiful features offer themselves to your gaze as you trail through them, annoyed at how attractive he is. You feel stuffy, there is not enough air to breathe as his eyes stare at your lips for a few moments.

“Watch that mouth” 

A wicked curve appears on his lips, because your pure innocence is a kind of insanity to his mind that sees in scattered images of varying vulgarity. Kiss you? He wants to fuck you. You are so impetuous and bold―addictive. “Or what? You will kiss it?”

You say which makes you glance up to find his eyes blazing with raw need. Innocent and virtuous, you represent the exact type of female he needs to avoid…“Or I will fuck it”―ugh, he can’t say that, but he wants to. God, he feels so naked knowing you have clearly identified his desire for you. He can’t go any further down. Rock bottom. His mind is a mess, but he has no intention of cleaning today. You lean, but before he can say anything you lean back and smile, leaving him to grapple with an absurd sense of disappointment. Teasing Bucky is part of the fun that comes before kissing—oh, you will for sure ruin him long before you touch him. It will be more satisfying to exhibit power and control than deliberately creating desire—only to capriciously deny it. His smile is faint and lopsided, his answer takes a long time, which is uncharacteristic: “Don’t do that again” Bucky’s voice is measured, his longing raw. Self control is all he has left. His face feels scattered in pieces and he can’t not keep it straight. The feeling is a whole lot worse than being hungry for any dinner, yet it is like that. All he can think about―is you. “Why? What will you do?” Your laughter sounds like music, you just  can’t miss a chance to remind him what a brat you are and that's when a sense of his folly compels him to mutter: “Why don’t you really keep your mouth shut?” You guess he utters those words, at least, though his voice is hardly intelligible. You know his voice well, bright and brittle, but now it has the thinnest layer of ice over―you know that he feels guilty about liking you. His question is an attempt to repress the intensity of your delight. He looks at you with a droll expression―half angry, half laughing at your boldness. “Why don’t you-” your exhalation carries a rasping tremor as if holding back a giggle “-give my mouth something else to do?” His mouth gaps, but no sound comes out. He stares at you, with a grin hovering about his lips, and a scowl gathering over his eyes:

“I have no words” he articulates softly. “Bucky…” you tease him  “You always have something to say” And yet, he freezes stiff, as if he has been pushed onstage in a play where he doesn't know the lines―God, you’ve broken him. You’ve managed to render him speechless―Dominance. Control. These things are the roots of Bucky’s character. And you are the first person to defy his dominance and to challenge his self control. What a languid woman, a force of gravity by which you irresistibly make him speechless—and at the same time, fuel a new side to him. Eye contact. There is more in the eyes. Longing. The naughtiness emanates from your eyes—you look at him like you own him, openly teasing him as if it’s normal. And now you know that he needs you. This scarred, broken man needs you...and you want to be there for him. There is a silent promise not to let his secret out, but there is no promise for not teasing him purposely from now on—you jolt at the knowledge that you are instilling his inner peace to such an extent. 

Part 2

[gguk-n]

Chapter 4- Heartbreak and Understanding

Unravelling Max's Mystery (Max Verstappen X Online Friend!Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Y/N decides to forgive Max. Max wins his home race. She meets Max's girlfriend who doesn't seem to like her very much. Did I tell you Y/N watched Max win his home race?

{Reader's POV}

Falling in love with your friend is a bad idea. Falling in love with your internet friend who has a girlfriend was an even worse idea. Falling in love with Max Emilian Verstappen was the worst idea. He's all over my screen after I searched him on every social media ever. I cannot escape him when I'm trying to get over him.

It's been a few months since the either of us have spoken to each other. After I asked for time, Max respected my wishes. After our call, I received a message from him saying that he would always be there for me no matter what and that he would like to clear up the misunderstanding one day. I knew I would talk to him, however I hoped that it would be when I was over him. Doesn't look like that's about to happen any time soon since this man is everywhere and anywhere I look.

Summer break was here, so I was having a girl's night with my friend Riley when I decided to ask for her opinion on this whole debacle. "Sooooo, Riley" I began. "You're about to unload some shit you did aren't you. Who fucked you up?" she interrupted me. "What?" I questioned. "I've known you for 6 years, I know you too well. Tell me who do I have to beat up." she said. I began to laugh. "No one" I said in between laughter. I wiped a tear away from the side of my eye, "I haven't laughed like this in a while." I muttered. "Go on, love" Riley prodded. "Yeah, so I have this internet friend, we've been friends since 2013. He's nice, kind, funny, handsome, blonde, blue eyes" I was talking when she cut me off; "exactly your type" I nodded along. "It's all nice and all. I didn't know what he did for a living. I recently found out that he is famous" I mumbled. She looked at me shocked. "Who?" was all she said. "Max Verstappen, Formula One driver for Redbull Racing" I said. "Damn, I mean he's like cute for a white boy. I think he's cool and shit for driving in fast cars, I appreciate him as an athlete for sure; as my bestie's potential love interest, questionable at best" she replied. "why, I mean I didn't say I was interested in him?" I asked defensively. "Bro, he is literally exactly your type, I've seen the men you date or hook up with, on the other hand, he has a girlfriend" she pointed out. "Ok, I know and you scare me sometimes" I lamented. "so, my real question is, I didn't know he was Max Verstappen. I didn't know he had a girlfriend. I was hurt when I found out and stopped talking to him, had a confrontation and then I said I need time before I am ready" I explained. "Understandable" she nodded along. "what do I do?" I asked. "what do you want to do?" she questioned back.

I love Max and I would like to be a part of his life even if it meant only as friends because I cherished the time we've had together. Also, I feel like I didn't let him explain himself the last time we spoke. I want to mend our ways. I would love to have him forever, even if only as a friend. "I want to still have him in my life even if it meant only as friends." I said cautiously. "Then there's your answer." she pointed out. "Talk to him, clear stuff out. If his explanation seems legit then continue to be friends." she suggested. "great idea. Thanks Riley" I said. "Don't mention it. Now can we un-pause the movie." she asked. "yes" I said while un-pausing the movie.

A few days after the heart to heart with Riley I texted Max. I knew he was supposed to be back next weekend for the race and was currently at home. I kind of confirmed that by watching his streams where he did SimRacing. I don't think I'll be telling this to anyone, honestly. He was on stream when my text went through, I saw him check his phone and ask to leave the stream early since he needed to do something; that something being to call me because within seconds my phone was ringing with the familiar name cropping up on the screen. I answered the call, Max staring back at me, a tentative smile played on his lips. He waited for me to start talking.

Y/N- Hi Max. Max- Hi Y/N, how've been? Y/N- Good, you? Max- Yeah, OK. Y/N- I'm sorry for lashing out the last time we spoke. Max- No, no, don't be sorry. I was at fault for hiding such important information from you. Can you ever forgive me? Y/N- Depends... Max- What do I have to do to get you to forgive me? Y/N- Why didn't you tell me? About everything; your girlfriend, your career? Max- I...When we started talking I just enjoyed being a regular teenager, where we talked about school and random stuff. I got to be Max the teenager not Max the youngest Formula One driver. I enjoyed the disconnect I got with you. I got to be myself and forget about racing for a minute. You made me feel like a regular guy. Y/N- I wish you had told me because when I found out about your championships, I felt like I missed out on celebrating such a huge and momentous occasion with you. That hurt. Max- I'm sorry for that. I didn't know how to tell you since it had been so long, I did want to tell you, I really did want to share my happiness with you; I just didn't know how to. You made me feel normal. Y/N- I'm glad I could be of some help. Max- You were of so much help. You calmed me down before many races and reading your messages or hearing your voice was like a comfortable constant. Thank you. Y/N- Fine, I get it some times famous people want to live regular lives, what about your girlfriend. Why didn't you tell me about her? Max- I....am not really sure. We started dating 2 years ago, it just happened. We'd known each other for a while. It just happened. Y/n- Hmmm....doesn't she mind that we talk so much? Max- No, she's chill about it. (He laughed awkwardly) Y/N- I hope we won't have anymore lies between us Max- No not at all. I cherish our friendship too much Y/N- me too. Max- This weekend is my home race. Y/N- I saw Max- You did? Y/N- I might like watching my best friend win... Max- That's great, then you can watch me win in person next week. Y/N- Sweetheart, Maxie, You might be a millionaire; your friend here is broke as fuck. I can't fly out so suddenly. Max- You don't have to worry about anything. I'll get you the tickets and stuff. Just say yes. Y/N- I mean, I would love to meet you in person.... Max- Then, that's final. You're coming to the Dutch GP next week. I'll pick you up at the airport. You should come early and leave a little later. I'll show you around. Max looked and sounded excited. Y/N- Ok (I couldn't help but laugh at his excitement)

As soon as I ended the call, I got plane tickets to the race. He said he would come pick me. I couldn't wait to meet him. I'm sure nothing bad will happen; from meeting my long time friend.

I thought maybe I should show Max some support and buy his merchandise or something; no one told me it was this expensive. I decided against it. The race was on the 27th; I was flying in on the 24th. The flight there was nerve wrecking. I've seen him although not in person. I got a text from Max telling me to go to a certain gate in the parking area where he would be waiting. I found him rather quickly; he had his hand sticking out of the car. I tapped on the window with a big smile plastered on my face. "Hi Maxie!" I greeted. "hey, schat. Get in, I don't wanna get caught." he said pointed at the door. "By who?" I quizzed. "I feel like you forgot what I did for a living and where we were." he chided. I laughed before walking to the opposite side and getting in.

Initially, things felt a little awkward but the atmosphere turned friendly quite quickly. We reached the hotel I would be staying at; Max had planned the entire week of my stay out. I was going to just rest today while Max attended to media stuff and then we would have dinner together tonight. He would take me along to the paddock for all the 3 days. And after the race weekend, he would take me to all his favourite place; my personal tour guide.

I crashed for the day after a shower and having food. I only woke up when Max called me to let him in. It took me a while to realise where I was. I apologised for not being ready to leave when that was the plan initially. Max didn't mind and offered to wait till I got dressed. He told me we were going somewhere fancy so I pulled out my black satin dress I kept for special occasions. This was a special occasion, right, I thought. Max was a lot more patient compared to all my exes who would start getting antsy; he even helped me decide on the jewellery and shoes I should pair with my outfit. Why are all the good men taken, God?

We had authentic dutch food in a fancy restaurant as a three course meal. I loved the Apple tart. I almost moaned as I placed a spoon of it in my mouth; "Max, this is so good" I groaned. Max smiled, "I'm happy you like it." "I love desserts Max, but this is almost up there with my favourites" I said with a mouth full of apple tart. "What are your favourites?" Max asked. "I love tres leches, tiramisu and cheese cakes" I mumbled. After finishing the food, we decided to walk around for a while; it was kind of dark and Max would probably not get recognised was the thought. "Thanks for the food. Maximilian" I said. He just nodded along. "It's an atrocious name Maxie, no offence but Emilian as a middle name; who ever named you, hates you" I said shaking my head. Max laughed it off; "I would've thought you were fucking with me, if you told me that was your middle name" I said patting his back. "I'm sorry" he said. "Don't apologise for your name, you had no control" I said now facing him. "No, I mean I'm sorry for lying and hiding things from you. I never felt good doing that. I wish I had told you sooner. I wish you had found out about it through me." he said regretfully. "It's ok Max, the past is in the past. I hope we'll be more honest in this friendship" I said enveloping him in a hug for the first time. His head found it's way in the crook of my neck, a woody scent wafted into my nose while Max clutched on to my waist. I felt warm tears drip down my shoulder. "Max, are you crying?" I asked, trying to pull away. He tightened the grip on my waist and buried his head deeper, if it was possible, "No" he replied, making my skin on the shoulder vibrate. "It's ok Maxie, let it all out. I'm always there for you." I said patting his back to console him. "I thought I lost you, I thought you'd never speak to me again, I thought you hated me." he muttered softly. "I could never hate you, I might've been angry but I knew I didn't want to lose you either. You are a very important friend to me" I said. "I don't ever want to lose you" he said, finally deciding to look at me with his tear streaked face. I wiped away the tears. "Me neither, now let's go, you have a race tomorrow" I said pulling him along.

The conversation kept me up at night. It was giving me mixed signals. I didn't know what to make of it. He has a girlfriend, granted I haven't met her yet. There was desperation in Max's eyes and his words. They felt heavy and part of me wasn't sure what I was supposed to do with this. Was I thinking too much into it? What was Max's deal?

I got to meet Max's girlfriend the next day. She didn't seem too pleased with me; I mean I don't think anyone could welcome a random women your boyfriend said was his childhood friend suddenly. I didn't hold it against her. I got to meet Max's teammate and the other drivers. All of them were very kind and welcoming. I got to learn a lot about Max while I waited for him to get done with interviews after free practise. I was talking to Lando while he waited his turn after Max. Max returned which made Lando leave. "You didn't tell me you had such cute friends. I would've asked you you set me up with him sooner" I said while we walked back to Redbull. "No" he stated. "You're patronising with the enemy" he continued. "Your enemy, my future boyfriend." I joked. "He's not your type" Max interjected. "And you know what my type is?" I asked. Before he could say anything, his girlfriend whisked him away.

I ended up talking to Checo who was surprised to know me and Max had been friends for so long. Almost everyone in the garage was shocked about our friendship. Checo told me it's because Max had never told them about me. Max and his girlfriend came back who looked visibly annoyed; I tried asking Max what was up but he brushed me off. I spent the rest of the day being dragged around by Max who couldn't stop talking about anything and everything.

I spent Saturday with a lot of the mechanics and engineers who had so much good stuff to talk about. It would probably help me in editing that author. She was almost done with the book; but a few more additions won't hurt. Max qualified pole, he was so excited. He dropped me back at my room when I told him he should rest up before the race when he offered to watch a movie with me. He couldn't care less, he promised to win the race for me even with a little sleep. We ended up watching some movie. His girlfriend's annoyed face was etched in my brain through out the movie, so I decided to ask him about that. "Max, I'm sure your girlfriend minds you spending so much time with me" I suggested. "No, I told her I'm meeting you for the first time. She shouldn't care." he said. "I'm sure she does, she doesn't look very happy to me" I commented. "Don't think about it too much" Max said handing me the can of cold drink. I wasn't very satisfied, but there's only so much I could do.

The race was crazy, it got my heart beating really fast watching all of them zip past at such a high speed. Max did so well, he finished the race in P1 just like how he started it. Everyone rejoiced and headed to where Max was. GP took me with him. Max got out of the car and took his helmet off, his eyes were scanning the area. As soon as our eyes met he strode towards me. His girlfriend was a couple of steps away, before I knew it Max hugged me. "I won, just like I told you I would" he whispered. "Congratulations Max." I said while turning my head towards his girlfriend who looked visibly annoyed and quickly turned on her heels and left. "You shouldn't have done that" I told Max while pulling away. "Done what?" he questioned. "You should've gone to your girlfriend after winning your home race." I said. "She's here for so many of my races, you're not" he stated. I face palmed myself, "Doesn't matter Max, she probably hates me" I said. Max just shrugged his shoulders and went to get weighed.

After all the formality and interviews Max was on the top step of the podium. I was very proud of him and you could see it on my face. I couldn't find his girlfriend anywhere around. Max got down from the podium drenched in champagne trying to hug me while I pushed him away. "No, you'll get me all sticky" I shouted while running away from him.

[ Winning his home race felt special to Max because Y/N was watching. He walked right up to her the moment his eyes landed on her. He couldn't help but wrap himself around her. After the race, they were going out to celebrate his win because Y/N wanted to go out with the other drivers and so he agreed. After reaching his room to quickly shower and leave, he was met with his girlfriend who was sat on the edge of the bed. She didn't look happy and after a bit of back and forth; Max said it. The words that had been floating around in his head for a while now; he didn't know why he didn't say it sooner. He broke up with his girlfriend. He wasn't sad but rather relieved. He walked into the shower while his girlfriend packed everything up to leave]

[exhaslo]

Hellooo!! I was wondering if you could do a part 2 to the Sugardaddy!Miguel story? 🫶🏻🤍

Sure thing!!!!!

Part 1

Warning: MINORS DNI, some smut, language, Sugar Daddy/Daddy kink? What would that go under??

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It had been a year since you and Miguel made that deal at the strip club.

Miguel was going to be your Sugar Daddy in exchange for a few dates.

It lasted two months before you asked him to further your relationship with him. Miguel was young, hot, kind, charming and just perfect.

The two of you were in a happy relationship. Miguel still spoiled you as if he was still your Sugar Daddy. You didn't complain as much because you had told Miguel it was all going to be used for your education.

Miguel was fine with it, but he loved to take your shopping. Buying you everything you looked at, everything you wanted, it felt too much sometimes.

Luck was truly on your side to have taken such a risk that night. Not only had you paid off all your bills, but you were finally going back to school. Miguel was so understanding and supportive of you that you couldn't help but fall more in love with him.

Miguel was amazing at everything. Once the two of you became an official couple, he was more honest with you.

The man was the son of the CEO of Alchemax.

The man was SPIDER-MAN!

The later secret was told just recently. You had found Miguel injured and grew extremely worried as you helped heal his wounds. It made sense why he was so rich, so strong and so goddamn good in bed. The stamina he had was inhumane.

Honestly, you were surprised how Miguel hasn't put a baby in you yet. There had been times where Miguel would fuck you so good that you couldn't move for the next few days.

Speaking of numb...

"Migueeeeel, I have an exam today. I told you," You said with a soft whine, laying flat on the bed.

"Aye, sorry mi amor (my love). I did restrain myself just a bit," Miguel said with a hum as he kissed your head, "I can swing you over to the building."

"But then I have to walk inside," You said with a pout, "I don't wanna be charged the missed fee."

"If that's what you're worried about..."

You squealed as Miguel flipped you over and pinned you against the bed. His smirk growing wider,

"I can handle as many missed fees as we need."

"But Daddy~" You giggled, causing Miguel to kiss you.

If there was one thing about having Miguel as a young Sugar Daddy that was good...was that Miguel LOVED being called 'Daddy'. It was a kink that you got used too as well.

"Ah~ D-Daddy! R-Right there~" You moaned, arching your back as Miguel held your hips.

"Does my good girl like that?" Miguel hummed as he thrusted into you again, "You want Daddy to take care of everything?"

"Y-Yesh! Yes! I-I'm a good girl!" You cried out, feeling your orgasm approach.

"Don't worry, I'll take....nh...good care of you." Miguel groaned as you tighten against his cock, "You want Daddy's milk that bad?"

You gripped against the bed sheets, begging for Miguel to unload inside of you. You gasped and moaned as Miguel gave you exactly what you wanted.

"Such a good girl," Miguel grunted as he kissed your neck, "My good girl,"

"Hah...hah...Miguel, I know...you're rich, but I can't keep...mhm...abusing you like this." You muttered. Miguel raised a brow as he picked you up from the bed,

"(Y/N), You know well that I don't mind. I have too much money to know what to do with. I will gladly always spend every penny on you."

"Hehe, a true sugar daddy."

"You're daddy." Miguel said with a chuckle as he carried you to the bathroom, "You've worked too hard your whole life to allow me to let you continue. I want to make sure you are always comfortable."

"You're always working hard too, Miguel. You have to live comfortably too."

You closed your eyes as Miguel gave you a deep kiss. He turned the water on and laid in the large bath with you. His arms firmly around your waist as the two of you laid in the tub. Your hands stroking his scars on his arms.

"Why don't we go on vacation? To celebrate me graduating soon. You could use the week off."

"Hm?" Miguel nuzzled his head against the crook of your neck, "How about three weeks? Any country of your choosing."

"Oh, you spoil me, Daddy."

"Anything for my good girl,"

It was a good thing Miguel was paying that fee for missing your exam...

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Hope you liked it~

[sensei-venus]

(Smut, GirlCock!Sam, Shower Sex, Almost Caught in the Act)

The idea of Sam being so pussy whipped that she begs Reader to come over all the time when her family is out.

They hook up and have sex in her room because she’s scared they are going to pass out and get caught if they do it anywhere else in the house. Sometimes it’s so bad that Sam basically has her pants half way down and just fucks the shit out of a half clothed Reader sideways on the bed. Borderline humping into the poor girl. It’s just sweaty and nasty.

The worst point in their little sexual adventure was when the two almost got caught by Amanda.

Sam was able to get Reader to come over while her mom and dad were out getting groceries while Anthony was out hanging with friends. It seemed like the best time for the two of them to hook up. She knew her parents would be out most of the day leaving a huge time gap for the two girls to have some much needed fun. Reader was happy to help her girlfriend out as soon as she got the text to come over.

They end up fucking for almost half the day until Sam finally realizes her parents should be home soon.

In a panting haze the two finally stop to get their composure. Just laying on the bed in a sweating panting mess. Sam’s hair is stuck to her face and Reader is covered in cum, inside and out. After a little while of just cuddling in each others arms they opt to get in the shower. Both of them needing to wash off, Reader needing to get clean to leave and Sam so that her parents didn’t question her unruly post sex look. They grab their clothes, dump them onto the bathroom floor.

What was supposed to be just a quick shower turns into a heavy make out session under the shower head, which then tunes into Sam bending Reader over and plowing into her form behind while she grips the tile wall. In some kind of luck being so tired makes them less prone to making to loud of sounds while going at it. The water from the shower covers up what sound they do make.

The sound that DOES end up scarring the shit out of them is the loud knock from outside the bathroom door.

“Sam are you in there? Me and your dad just got home with a truck full of groceries. Can you come down stairs and help put them away?”

Sam has the mind to shove a hand over Readers mouth just before she can squeal from the thick cock hitting the right spot inside her. She swears her eyes cross at that moment.

“U-uhh yeah mom I’ll be out as soon as I can! I just got in so it might be a minute!” Voice almost cracking in shock.

“Okay but please hurry, your dad wants to go out golfing with one of his friends at the county club later. We need the groceries away by then.”

She can’t hear over the running shower but she can only guess her mom left. She hopes she at least closed her bedroom door. In that moment she mentally sighs, thankful for the fact they brought their clothes into the bathroom.

Who knows what her mom would have done if she found Readers clothes on the bedroom floor.

She can’t think much about it because Reader is suddenly gripping down on her cock which has he gasping. The sudden adrenaline rush has both of them on a high. Almost getting caught while in the act has both girls on hyper drive. It doesn’t take much to have them cumming.

Reader ultimately ends up squirting, shaking against the wall and almost falling over. If it wasn’t for Sam holding her up she would have definitely fallen over in seconds. Her orgasm has Sam moaning out, dick sliding out from her girlfriend twitching cunt where she then unloads all over the chubby girls thick back. Thick white spurts fall over the girls fat ass and back. It’s quick to be washed away by the now lukewarm water.

Moments later the two are rushing to get out of the shower and dry off before shoving their clothes back on. When Sam cracks open the door she fines her door closed and room undisturbed. 

They kiss goodbye before Reader is shimmying out of the window, hoping down from the roof and quietly sneaking out the back gate.

Sam falls onto her bed with a groan but not before remembering the reason they almost got caught in the first place.

Stupid groceries.

[chukys-mouthguard]

The Hills

Genre: angst, smut, fluff ending

Warnings: toxic relationship, fighting, sexual conduct, 18+ minors dni, Matthew loving praise and compliments

Featuring: matthew tkachuk x female reader

Summary: you and matt fight hard…but when the fighting is hard, the making up is so much harder ;)

Note: in honor of the panthers win, i figured today would be the day i post this. Haven’t written smut in awhile so fingers crossed it’s not awful

You ran your hand through your hair as you watched Matthew skate off the ice. He’d just gotten into a bench clearing brawl that resulted in him being ejected from the game. While him being a pest and occasionally fighting was part of his game you were used to, it didn’t mean you had to like it. And sure, you obviously come to games to support the team. But it sucks having to sit in the stands while your boyfriend is hitting the showers early. 

“Y/n, you okay?” 

You looked over at Sam Reinhart’s girlfriend, trying to muster up a smile but she could see right through you. “I just hate when he does this shit. Cause now I get to deal with him at home.” Once there was a stoppage in play you threw your bag over your shoulder and stood up, “I’m going down early.” The girls not blaming you, they knew your relationship with Matthew all too well by now and when you both were in your moods, it was best to let you be. 

Things with Matthew were great 60 percent of the time, 40 percent of the time you often wondered why the hell you two were together. You’d been together 3 years now and yet the fighting only seemed to get worse. But on the flip side, so did everything else. The sex, the romance, everything seemed heightened the longer you two stuck it out. 

Making your way down to the family area you knew you’d be waiting awhile, with Matthew only having been ejected in the second period. But you wanted to be by yourself, your frustration and anger not fair to take out on the girls who were trying to enjoy the rest of the game. You helped yourself to the complimentary drinks, though you knew it probably wasn’t the best idea with you already being frustrated. Alcohol was just adding gasoline to the fire. 

buzz buzz

Picking up your phone you saw Matthew’s name flash across the screen, meaning he’d finished showering and getting any medical attention after his fight. 

“Where ya at?”

“Family area.”

Turning your attention back to the game being broadcast on the large tv’s in the area, you hadn’t noticed Matthew walking over to you. “Fucking 6 drinks? Jesus Christ, is the game that bad?” He chuckled as he grabbed your chin and pulled you in for a kiss. “Yeah, it fucking sucks when your boyfriend gets thrown out in the second period and I’m left watching anyone but him.” He rolled his eyes at you as he turned his attention to the screens. His fingers intertwining with yours as he stood with you for a bit, needing to leave in the last few minutes to be in the locker room with the boys for the post game talk from coach. 

He kissed your head before leaving, “maybe fix the attitude before I come back out huh? I’m not in the mood for the bullshit tonight.” You rolled your eyes as you flashed him a fake smile, the drinks hitting you all at once and you were also not in the mood, but you knew it was inevitable. The two of you already egging each other on. 

“Have a good night guys, see you Monday.” 

Matthew called to his teammates before meeting you at the end of the hall to head to the car. Your six drinks definitely had you a bit more than tipsy, and he could tell. Simply ignoring it as he took your hand in his, not wanting to start a fight at the rink in front of anyone. The walk to the car silent, but once the doors closed, he unloaded on you. 

“Are you fucking serious? Getting drunk, by yourself? In front of god knows who from the organization! Do you think? Sometimes I truly don’t get what goes through your head or convinces you to do this shit.” 

“You!” 

Without hesitation you spat back at him as you threw your bag into the backseat. Resting your head on your fist as you leaned against the window, not wanting to look at Matthew. 

“Me? I make you drink and make a fool of yourself? I’d love to know how the fuck I do that.” 

“Because I’m dating a guy who loves to start shit. To play dirty, take cheap shots, get in dumb ass fights for fun on the ice and he gets thrown out. I can never enjoy a game and cheer you on like all the other girls get to do.” 

His grip on the steering wheel tightening as he tried to bite his tongue. Knowing you were drunk made it hard to be truly angry with you, because you were spitting out harsh digs. But he knew this was coming from a place of hurt within you, and he knew to take some of it for what it was. 

The rest of the ride was silent, Matthew trying to cool off while you were trying to bite your tongue and not say another drunken fueled slew of harsh comments. 

As he pulled into the garage, he took the key from the ignition before looking at you frustrated. His voice coming out calm but stern as he spoke, letting you know he was upset and more importantly, he was hurt. 

“If you feel like you have no reason to be proud of me, or to cheer for me. Then, don’t fucking come! Stop coming to games. Stop wearing my jersey, or any of the custom game day shit I buy for you. Because if you’re not proud to be my girlfriend and support me, whether I’m scoring goals or getting in fights, then I don’t want you wearing any of that shit. Pretending like you support me when really you wish I was something else.” 

Before he could say anything else, you stormed off and into the house. Immediately heading to your closet in your bedroom and pulling out any of the gameday jackets and jerseys Matthew had ever gotten you. Matthew soon trailing after, only to find you halfway down the stairs with a handful of clothes. Taking them to the backyard and tossing them in the fire pit, Matthew sprinting after you to stop the drunken act from going any further. 

“You don’t want me to wear these? Fuck you! Then no one is ever gonna get to wear these again!” 

Luckily Matthew had gotten to you before you dared light the fire pit and send the clothes up in flames. You tried fighting him but his grip on your waist was too strong, pulling you away from the fire pit as you began to cry. 

The way Matthew held you could back you down from whatever cliff you were on. His embrace immediately relaxing your entire body as you cried in his arms. He just held you, not bothering to acknowledge what you were about to do in your drunken rage. Letting you have as long as you needed to calm down. 

“I hate you, so much. How could you say that you don’t want me to come?” He shushed you as he helped you back to your feet, leading you inside. “Y/n, you have no right to criticize the way I play this sport. You’re making it about you when you know this is how I play my game. I was brought here, because of how I play. I’m successful in this league, for how I play my game. And I know you don’t mean any of this shit you’re saying tonight. But I’m not going to forget it. That shit hurts feeling like my own girlfriend doesn’t even support me.” 

The tone of his voice immediately sobering you up. The last thing you ever wanted to do tonight was this, but once again, it was like the two of you fighting had become inevitable these days. You didn’t know what it was that made you two constantly get on one another’s nerves. It was like fighting had become your love language. Because the stronger the fight, the stronger you two made up. 

Matthew had left you in the kitchen as he headed up the stairs to the bedroom, then into your shared closet. Tossing his tie to the floor before discarding his suit jacket and dress shirt with a sigh. He’d be lying if he said he never questioned why you two constantly did this, the fighting like crazy. Spitting harsh things to one another before always making up in the end. There’s no way it was healthy, but he loved you more than anything, and the second he ever thought of just walking away, he’d immediately regret even thinking about it to begin with. 

He hadn’t even heard you enter the closet, slightly flinching as your arms snaked around his waist. Resting your head on his back as your hands ran up his stomach and over his chest.  Not sure if you should attempt to apologize or not, waiting for some type of reaction from him to be your sign. 

“Are you done?”

His tone a bit harsh as he relaxed more into your touch. “Matty I’m so fucking sorry. I, it’s not an excuse, I was drunk, and upset. But, you know I’m so fucking proud of you. I should have never said any of those things to you. Should never have even thought of burning those clothes. That all was so stupid.” 

He somewhat chuckled as he listened to you apologize, his mind not even focused on the last hours events, just focusing on getting past it all. 

He turned to face you, seeing you’d been crying downstairs, brushing you hair from your face before resting a hand on your cheek.

“We can’t keep doing this, fighting like crazy. Being so awful to one another just to turn around and say we didn’t mean it. There’s clearly something going on making us act this way. I don’t know if we get off on the fighting, but we can’t keep doing it. Especially after the shit you said tonight. You were ready to burn all of those clothes I’d gotten for you. I’ve never seen you like that. And that hurt.” 

Your gaze dropping to the floor as you felt embarrassed, ashamed even of getting so drunk and taking out your frustrations on Matthew. It was stupid to be mad at him for getting ejected, because you know this is how he plays. You’ve known him to be this way since you started dating, and to compare him to anyone else is unfair. 

“Baby I’m sorry. I’m so fucking proud of you. Every day, I’m proud of you. You fucking played in the playoffs last year with a broken sternum! While I found that hot as fuck that you fought through the pain, it did scare me at times. But you’re right, this is who you are. And I love that about you. I love seeing you slam guys to the ice, stick up for your teammates, and get to play the game you love as your job.” 

Your compliments always working wonders on Matt, and it wasn’t that they were disingenuous. It was the way you complimented him that just did something to him. Hearing you say how hot he looks when he’s in the middle of a scrum, or when he lays a big hit. He’d let you compliment him for hours. 

“Keep going.” He smirked down at you with a cocky grin, letting you know his anger was subsiding. His hands now moving to your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

“I mean, you did look pretty hot beating the shit out of that guy tonight. Your mouth guard hanging out of the side of your mouth as you took him to the ice.” Your fingers playing with the curls of hair on his chest as you bit your lip. 

“And don’t get me started with how sexy you looked sitting in the penalty box, legs spread apart as you caught your breath. I can’t tell you badly I wish I could’ve come in there and climbed right in your lap.” 

He moaned as your hand traveled down to the bulge that was growing in his dress pants. “Well, who says you can’t still have your chance to climb in my lap tonight?” 

Without warning he picked you up by your thighs, your legs subconsciously wrapping around his waist as he carried you into the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed and letting you have your moment in his lap. “How’s that feel baby?” 

Grinding your hips so your ass painfully circled over his rock hard erection that was practically bursting through the seams of his dress pants. “Mmm, it’s amazing, but I think you might need to take those pants off. Feels like your zipper is about to pop.” 

Slowly climbing off of him, you took your place on your knees as his hands flew to the buckle of his belt. Getting it undone and off, making your job easier. Making sure to palm him through his pants on your way to the button and zipper. Pulling his pants and boxers down in one motion as his cock sprang out and slapped his stomach. The sight mouth watering for you and you couldn’t wait to have him. 

Matthew’s hands immediately grabbing fistfuls of your hair as he guided you down his length. Holding you as you deepthroated him. A low groan coming from his lips as his head fell back. 

“Fuck me, y/n. You’re such a good girl for me.” 

His words of encouragement going right to your core as you clenched your thighs, feeling your pussy pulse. As much as you wanted him to have his way with you, you knew that you needed to make up for the shit you pulled earlier. 

Your head now bobbing up and down on his length as his hips were thrusting to meet your mouth, the expletives pouring from his lips before he forced you down, taking all of him once again. 

“Jesus Christ baby, you’re such a good girl taking all of me in your mouth like that.” He pulled you from his length, pulling you to your feet as he stood up. Looking down at you with lust filled eyes before swapping your places. 

“Get these clothes off.” 

Matthew working on your bottoms as you handled your top half. By the look in his eyes you knew you were in for some serious teasing. His favorite way to get back at you for nights like tonight. 

He trailed kisses up your thighs before brushing his scruff over your core, causing your hips to buck against him. “Mmm, someone is needy tonight huh? Too bad you’re gonna have to be really patient.” 

You groaned as he kissed and touched everywhere except where you needed him. But you knew if you tried to lead him in that direction, he’d only do the opposite. 

Matthew loved how needy you’d get, seeing the want in your face as he teased you. His fingers lightly tracing your slit, feeling how wet you were for him. Taking his fingers to his mouth and tasting you. 

“Tell me what you want baby, I wanna hear you beg.” 

Where did you start? You wanted it all, and you wanted it now. Your brain couldn’t pick one thing, your thighs pressing together in need or some form of pressure at your core. 

Matthew pushed your thighs apart as he found his place between them. “I guess I get to pick huh? Make sure you tell me what feels good baby. You know I love hearing you.” He smirked before lowering himself down, hooking his arms around your thighs before his tongue traced up your slit.

“Fuck…oh my goddddd.” Your eyes rolling back as you arched your back. His touch feeling like fire as you tried your best to deepen the contact. Needing more. 

He smirked against you as he focused on your clit. His tongue lapping up your wetness as he quickly slipped two fingers inside. A gaps catching in your throat as you immediately began grinding with his rhythm. “Mmm, yes baby.” He felt himself getting harder by the second at you grinding against him while his fingers thrust in and out of you. His tongue not stopping as your hands burried in his curls. 

“Yes Matthew, don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop. God you make me feel so good.” Your back arching even further off the bed as you felt your release close, moans and expletives continuing to pour from your lips. 

Picking up his pace as he felt you close, Matthew locked eyes with you. Lust filling his orbs as his fingers turned their efforts to your clit. The sensation too much as your hips bucked and legs began to shake, your breath short as you tried holding in your screams. 

“You think I can make you squirt for me tonight baby? Show me what a good job I’m doing?”

“God fuck, yes Matty. I wanna squirt for you so bad. Please!” 

Matthew quickly pressed his mouth back to your clit as his fingers thrust back inside you, riding you through this orgasm. Your entire body shaking as you kept your eyes locked with his, watching as you felt your release coming. Squirting all over him as his fingers never stopped. Draining you completely as you tried to catch your breath, his fingers now in his mouth as he tasted you. 

“Fuck you’re delicious baby. Now get back in my lap.” 

Sensing you were in a daze of lust and overstimulation, Matt picked you up, flipping you over and into his lap. Groaning at the feeling of your dripping pussy gliding along his length. 

The two of you taking a second to catch your breath before you lined his cock with your entrance, slowly sliding down to adjust to him as you both let out a moan, taking all of him inside. “Fuck baby, I don’t think I’m lasting long tonight. You’ve got me so close already. Fuck me and show me what a good girl you are.” 

And with that you pushed him back on the bed as you used his chest to support you, bouncing your ass up and down on his cock. His hands gripping your hips and slamming you down harder. He groans now deep as he could barely hold back, he thrusts sloppier as he reached his peak. 

“Matty, fuck me. I know you need it baby. I need it. Give it to me please. I love when you pound my pussy baby.” 

He pulled you down into his chest, wrapping his arms around you before he began to take over. Pounding your pussy as hard as he could, as fast as he could. Needing to give you what you needed, to get what he needed. Moans pouring from his lips as he held you tighter, your pussy dripping as you could barely breathe. 

“Where do you want it baby? I’m gonna cum.” 

“Anywhere, just give it to me please.” 

He delivers a few more hard sloppy thrusts before moving you off of him, “knees.” He instructs you to find your place on the floor as he stands above you, his wrist quickly jerking his length as his hips buck and a soft groan erupts from him. 

You’d taken his length in your mouth as he thrusted forward towards you. Taking all of him as he bucked his hips, emptying his release into your throat as you swallowed it all. “Fuck…me.” As you made sure you’d gotten every drop, you slowly pulled yourself from him. Matthew falling back onto the bed as he caught his breath. 

“You’re fucking amazing baby.” He helped you up and pulled you in for a kiss, giving you a little spank on your ass. 

“Now, go get all of those clothes out of the fire pit and then I’ll help you get cleaned up.” 

[bked0n-lorazepam]

"Patrick Hockstetter NSFW Alphabet"

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Kind of self explanatory, I had fun writing this one like the other! Here's the SWF one too, "Patrick Hockstetter SFW Alphabet"

Words: 1,667

Off to it!

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A= After Care (What they’re like after sex)

Patrick will not comfort you in any way, shape, or form. The best you’ll probably get is a smack to the thigh and half a glass of water if you beg nicely enough. He might clean any blood cum off of you, but it depends on his mood. If he’s somewhat happy, he’ll clean you up, but if he isn’t? He’s exiting your room through the window and leaving you on your own to sort your shit out.

B= Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

I feel like Patrick is more of a boob guy than an ass guy. It doesn’t matter how big they are, though he’d probably prefer bigger ones, he’s still gonna mark them up and bruise them. He always wants to see them, and if you’re wearing a white shirt, he’s spilling some kind of drink on you to make it see through. His favorite body part of himself is definitely his dick, there’s no questioning it.

C= Cum (Anything to do with cum)

He’s a very messy guy. He’ll unload on your chest, your face, your thighs. Anywhere he can he will. He’ll put on a condom and cum inside you sometimes, but he doesn’t want to risk you getting pregnant. He’d find a way to kill it anyway, but he doesn’t want to use all of that effort if he can just prevent it.

D= Dirty Secret (Self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Patrick doesn’t really have any secrets, but when he’s bored and you’re taking a shower or not in your room, he is grabbing your pillow and zipping down his jeans. He won’t tell you, but you’ll figure it out eventually when you keep finding odd stains on the underside of your pillow,

E= Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He definitely started having sex with girls when he was like, in the early years of middle school. You’re not his first time, and it’s very obvious with how much he knows his way around your body.

F= Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Anywhere he can see your face. He wants to see how fucked out you are, and he wants to see your face contort in pleasure (Mostly pain.) If it’s missionary, he’s holding your face to make you look at him. If it’s doggy style, he’s doing it in front of a mirror and roughly pulling your hair to make you watch yourself cry. The only thing that matters is if he can watch you.

G= Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous?)

Patrick will crack a crude joke every now and then, but he’ll mostly stay serious. He’ll make fun of you and make sure you know how much of a joke you look to him, but that’s about it. He’s focused on himself during sex, so sometimes he doesn’t say anything.

H= Hair (How well groomed are they? Do the carpets match the drapes?)

He has a bush. It’s said in the books how unhygienic he is, so don’t expect him to be bare and smooth. He’ll trim it back when it starts to itch and become too much, but he won’t do it for you. It’s curly and black, and he’s got the happiest of happy trails too.

I= Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

He doesn’t give a fuck about being romantic. It’s not his thing, and never will be. He’s choking you, leaving bite marks and any kind of wound he can to make sure that you know who you belong to, and that no one can fuck you like he can. He doesn’t care how you feel during it, he’s only there to have a good time. If you don’t enjoy it, then you can suck it up and get used to it, because he’ll be coming back the same time tomorrow.

J= Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

So often that he does it when you’re at his house too. He doesn’t have shame, he doesn’t care. He jerks off to pictures of you, random magazines, your underwear. Hell, he made you jerk him off.

K= Kink (One or more of their kinks)

So, so, many. Choking, dacryphilia, somnophilia, hair pulling, dirty talk, degradation, anything and everything. He was exposed to so much stuff when he was younger, and he’s got it all. Kinkiest guy of them all.

L= Location (Favorite places to have sex)

He likes your room the most, but he’ll have sex anywhere. Your room smells like you and feels like you, and if it’s early in the ‘relationship’ and you’re not used to him and disgusted by him, then he’ll definitely take pride in taking your safe place away from you and corrupting it. But he’d have sex with you anywhere, it doesn’t matter much to him.

M= Motivation (What turns them on?)

Seeing you in general usually does it for him. His mind starts racing when you walk by him, so it doesn’t take much. But seeing you cry? Instant boner.

N= No (Something they wouldn’t do, or turns them off)

Anything scat, piss, or vomit related. He never found the appeal, and it’s a pain to clean up anyway. But he’s up for anything else, as long as it’s not being done to him.

O= Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill)

Receiving. He loves getting head. He’s grabbing your hair, ramming into your throat like you’re nothing but a fleshlight. He doesn’t care if you can’t breathe or not, or if he’s hurting you. He doesn’t give often, but when he does, it’s like the angels are singing to you. He’s amazing at it, like God tier, but he’ll never let you cum from it. Never. He’ll get you right at that peak with his tongue, where you’re grinding against him, and then he’ll pull away. 

P= Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

As foreplay, he’ll go slow if he has the time. He’ll make you beg for more, and he’ll make it slow as possible when he wants to be a pain, but when he’s actually inside you? He’s not stopping. He’s practically bruising your cervix and hips with how fast and deep he’s going, and how hard he’s holding on to you.

Q= Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often)

He’s not the biggest fan of them, but he’ll do them when he’s in a rush. Whether you two are in the bathroom at a party, on a field trip, in an empty classroom, he’ll pull his and your pants down and make it quick. He may not like them that much, but you two will have a quickie at least 8 times a week.

R= Risk (Are they okay with experimenting? Do they take risks?)

He’s up for just about anything. Public, toys, BDSM, Patrick will do anything. Unless it’s pegging or something that’s being done to him, then he’s shutting it all down.

S= Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Like a rabbit. He’ll go all night, any night. Back to back rounds, hours without end. He’ll stop when you pass out, or when he physically cannot hold himself up anymore. 

T= Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He has plenty, a whole box full in his closet. He bought them for past partners, but be well assured that he’s using all of them on you. Rope, vibrators, dildos, you name it he has it. He won’t let you use any on him though. He also won’t let you have any. If he finds one while snooping around, he’s stealing it and searching for any others. You have him, you don’t need one for yourself. If you really want a toy, you can ask him nicely and he’ll use one on you.

U= Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Entirely and completely unfair. He’ll tease you in public, during class, under your dinner table while having dinner with your family, during a hang out with your friends, when you’re alone. He’s the biggest tease of them all, and he won’t let you do anything about it until he wants to.

V= Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s not the most vocal of them all, but he’s not silent either. Grunts, groans, shit like that. He’ll leave the screaming, moaning, and crying to you.

W= Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

He will force you to have sex with him when you don’t want to. Your pleasure doesn’t matter that much to him, it’s just a perk you get to have sometimes. He doesn’t care, and he’ll have sex whenever he wants with you.

X= X-Ray (What’s going on underneath their clothes?)

About 5 or 6 inches. Not the girthiest, but he’s not skinny either. It curves upwards just a bit, and he’s circumcised. Not exactly trimmed, but not exactly bushy either. He definitely has a happy trail, though.

Y= Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

So high that he’s having sex with you in the morning before school, during lunch, in your free hour, after school, right before your parents kick him out of the house, and then he’s sneaking back into your room at 2 in the morning for more. And then it’s all a repeat the next day. It’s a surprise he can still walk and that he doesn’t have erectile dysfunction yet.

Z= Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’ll fall to your side and he’s immediately snoring. Sometimes he’ll be awake to watch you sleep, but other than that he’s out cold. He’s also holding onto you to make sure that you can’t get up and leave, so when he wakes up, he’s moving your legs and going for another round.

[spidervee]

afterglow (tangerine x reader)

summary: tangerine finds himself falling for the girl next door (part 1/3) words: 3.1k warnings: fem!reader, lotsa swears, sexual thoughts, implied sexual situations, implied violence, implied drug use, no use of y/n, neighbours to lovers trope, tangerine's angry inner monologue is a warning all its own, lemon being the best

You’re determined to move your groceries from the boot of your car to the front porch in a single trip. Mind, there’s not more than a dozen or so steps between the two, but it’s the principle of the matter—one trip is so much more satisfying than two. However, your determination did not account for the fact that you bought a family-sized box of Cheerios, a bag of flour, and a carton of eggs along with your usual run of fruits, vegetables, and pasta. Thus, you’re more than a little off-balance as you shoulder your canvas tote bags, your body tilting dangerously toward the left as you try to close the boot with the three fingers on your right hand that remain free. You miss, staggering forward and hitting your knees against the bumper and hissing out a curse.

“You quite alright there, love?” An amused voice distracts you from the pain of what will doubtlessly become a tender spot, though the sudden realisation that you have an audience is horrible, embarrassment flooding through you as you straighten up and try to look composed. 

“Brilliant,” you call back, refusing to look at the man you know is watching you. It’s the bloke next door, on the right, the tall one with the blue eyes and the weirdly retro moustache and the suits that look far too expensive for this neighbourhood. 

You’ve never exchanged more than a few words at a time with him, only interacting when necessary—the time a package of his got delivered to your porch, the time your cat climbed the drooping branches of the willow tree in his yard, and the time he’d nearly run you over with his car during your morning run. Admittedly, that last time had been rather terse, though it hadn’t stopped the minimal pleasantries neighbours were meant to exchange. The two of you still nodded politely at one another if you happened to cross paths. Sometimes you’d give a wave that he would return with a slightly more emphatic nod than his usual. 

So, it surprises you when he starts down his drive toward yours, flicking away the cigarette that had been dangling from his lips moments earlier. You try to hastily correct yourself, balance your posture, rearrange your bags so that you don’t look so helplessly overwhelmed, but his legs are too long and he’s by your side in just a few strides, helping you shrug off one of the totes, and then another. 

“Gonna break your bloody back,” he mutters, tone disapproving as he lifts the bags effortlessly in one hand and carries them to your front door. 

“I was managing,” you say sharply, embarrassment getting the best of you. He snorts, a derisive noise that only seeks to send your guard up even further, a scowl writing itself across your face. “I was!” 

“A simple thank you is all I need, love.” He turns to face you with those dazzling blue eyes and your throat feels suddenly dry, your body pinned under his stare. You want to protest, to underscore the fact that you’ve unloaded your groceries alone more than a hundred times and his little show of chivalry was entirely unnecessary. 

But all you can do is swallow, watching as his tattooed hands pull a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his tailored trousers. 

“Thanks,” you mutter. A grin turns up the corners of his mouth as he lights his cigarette and presses it between his lips. With a nod, he’s heading down your steps and back to his own porch, not another word exchanged between the two of you. 

You can’t stop thinking about him, damn it. Three days later and you’re still remembering the way his eyes danced over you, somehow appraising and appreciative all at once. You think you want to see more of him, feel his hands, that moustache scratching along the inside of your thighs. 

Maybe it’s been a while since you got laid. 

Because you shouldn’t be having these thoughts about the bloke next door—he’s definitely dodgy. He keeps odd hours and disappears for questionable stretches of time. He only ever has one visitor, a friendly bloke, sure, but almost as dodgy, driving a different car nearly every month. And you’re fairly certain you once saw him coming home with blood spattered on his crisp white shirt—not that you were watching, no, you’d just happened to be bringing in the shopping at the time. 

Still, when you find yourself out of sugar in the middle of baking cookies for tomorrow’s fundraiser, you’re desperate. And Mrs. Barry on the left is out at her daughter’s, so you’ve no choice but to go knock on the door and ask porn-stache if he can do you a real quick favour. 

You’re not sure what’s worse. That he answers the door with a gruff “whaddaya want?” 

Or that he’s shirtless, belt buckle hanging open and trousers slung low around his hips. 

“Sugar,” you manage to squeak out. And he raises a thick eyebrow at you, amused. 

“Right, sorry,” he grins, the gruffness gone in favour of something almost teasing. “Whaddaya want, sugar?”

Tangerine never gets visitors, unless he’s counting Lemon. He doesn’t count Lemon because it’s fuckin’ Lemon. There’s obligation there. Call it business. Call it brotherly love. Call it bloody codependency. 

And Lemon has a key. He never knocks. In fact, knocking is utterly fucking suspect in Tangerine’s humble opinion. It meant you were either going to open the door to the world’s dumbest fuckin’ assassin or someone was trying to lure you into a false sense of security. Or it was the lad delivering curry. But he hadn’t ordered any curry. 

So it’s not his fault, really, when he slips his gun into his back pocket before opening the door. The heft of it pulls his trousers ever so slightly more down his hips, but he’d been about to get into the shower and whoever the bastard at the door is doesn’t deserve his decency, not when they’re knocking on his fucking door like he’s invited them over for tea. 

But when he opens the door, his brow furrows immediately because there’s that sweet-looking bird from next door just stood on his bloody porch like she belongs there, eyes wide and a shy smile on her face. Tangerine takes care to puff up his chest a little bit because suddenly he’s not so terribly annoyed. 

Although the gun pressing into his tailbone is a fucking nuisance. 

There’s a plate in your hands, piled high with something that’s wrapped in aluminium, and you hold it out in his direction by way of greeting. Tangerine just looks at your offering, unaccustomed to receiving things. 

“Cookies,” you explain, “From the sugar I borrowed.” 

His brain searches for a snarky remark, a teasing word, anything to make this feel less intimate than it does because you’re standing on his porch with cookies you made for him like he’s not a bloody bastard who killed six men in Cape Town three weeks ago. But, his traitorous brain supplies nothing—not a single syllable to his suddenly parched tongue. 

So, he blinks at you, unsure what to say. His first instinct is to laugh, but he manages to suppress that and instead allows you to instead shove the plate of cookies into his hands and wave an awkward little goodbye. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, watching you walk away with the oddest sense of déja vu. But your front door has already closed behind you. 

Inside, Tangerine sets the plate aside on the corner of the counter, beside the spice rack and tucked away so he doesn’t have to think about the cookies. It’s less about the cookies themselves and more about the inkling of warmth that filled him when you graciously handed him the plate, a small smile playing on your lips like you knew they were fucking delicious. 

He has no intention of eating them. For all he knows, they’re laced with bloody poison. More likely, though, is that they’ll taste like the things he’s missing in his life and that’s so much more fucking depressing. 

He decides to shower, if for no other reason than to wash away the feelings you’ve left like electricity rippling along his skin. And, if he’s being honest, the shower is the best place for him to think about you right now. For…reasons. 

When he emerges, he’s calmer and decidedly happier…until he spies Lemon at his kitchen island, the plate of your cookies—his cookies—open in front of him. 

“Bruv, these cookies are fucking ace.” 

“No, you daft cunt don’t eat those!” 

Lemon doesn’t even pause in chewing, fixing his brother with a confused stare, eyebrows quirked. “Why the hell not?” 

“They’re…fucking hell, Lemon can’t you just listen?” Tangerine is incensed, hands wringing, “You always hafta ask a million questions like you’re the fucking coppers. Really gets on my tits, you know?”

“You’re angry,” Lemon says through a mouthful of cookie. 

“Bloody brilliant observation. Sherlock fucking Holmes over here. Call Scotland fucking Y….” 

“It’s not about the cookies.” Lemon cuts off his ranting with a well-timed observation. 

Tangerine breathes out heavily through his nose. “Sod off.” 

“Is it about a girl?” 

“Not a bloody girl.” 

“A boy?” 

“For Chrissake, Lemon we’re not in the fourth fucking grade!” 

“It’s that pretty little bird next door, innit?” 

“Fuck off.” 

He returns the plate with a handwritten note on a Post-It. His penmanship is nice enough, a neat if somewhat loopy cursive, telling you thank you for the cookies. It was Lemon’s fucking idea, being neighbourly and all that shite. He rings your bell, glad when you don’t answer so he can simply leave the plate on your welcome mat. 

You’re pruning roses the next time he sees you and the look of focus on your face, the way your tongue pokes out from between your lips, almost makes him smile—bloody fucking hell, who is he? 

Unlucky for him, you notice him and wave, shears in your raised hand so you look a bit barmy until you realise you’re waving a weapon around and quickly tuck them sheepishly behind your back. Tangerine, in a stunning display of idiocy that he will later want to smash his head into a wall over, begins to walk toward you. Like you’re a goddamn magnet. No, stronger than that. The sunshine around which the fucking earth of his own body has begun to orbit. Gravity makes no fucking sense anymore because if it did he would not be falling for the cute smile you fix him with, the stunningly normal and carefree way you adjust your sunhat and point out that your climbing roses are almost taller than you; the manner in which you wrinkle your nose at him and inform him—as if he doesn’t fucking know—that you don’t even know his name. 

He gives you the name on his most recent fake ID, Andrew—a perfectly nice and proper name, but then shakes his head. “Mates just call me Tangerine,” he tells you, neglecting to say that his enemies call him that as well, along with some choice other words.

“Tangerine?” More nose wrinkling and Tangerine is ready to take his own knees out with a billy club because they’re getting weaker by the fucking second standing here with you. 

“It’s a footie thing,” he lies, “That bloke you see coming and going is Lemon. He plays goal” 

“You play football?” 

More lies. More small talk. Until Lemon’s car pulls up and Tangerine is torn between relieved to see his brother and wanting to throw him off the fucking face of the earth. He tells you he best be going. You nod, holding out your hand, encased as it is in thick gardening gloves up to the elbow. 

“It was nice to meet you, Tang—oh! Sorry, is it just a footie thing?”

He takes your proffered hand and gives it a small squeeze. “No, love, you can call me whatever you’d like.” 

It’s 3 in the morning and you can’t sleep, tossing and turning as seemingly every embarrassing childhood moment comes back to haunt you from the depths of your mind. Since your bedroom is no refuge and you don’t particularly feel like catching anything on the telly, you seek a moment of solace on the porch, wondering if maybe, for once, the stars are out. 

But the only light, aside from the artificial yellow of the streetlamps, is the low glow of cigarette embers on Tangerine’s porch and you narrow your eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of his figure in the shadowy night. 

“Can’t sleep, love?” His voice rings through the silence and you take it as an invitation to walk over and join him. 

“One of those nights, I guess.” You shrug as you drop down onto the porch swing next to him. It’s an oddly homey thing to have there, you think, for a man who is not always home. Tangerine makes a noise of agreement in his throat. He’s familiar with those nights, has them every so often when his birthday is coming up and those incessant thoughts about what he’s done with his life start to creep up on him. 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence until your head drops to the side, landing on his shoulder. If Tangerine is surprised by the contact, he doesn’t show it, remaining still other than the slight shift to accommodate you. 

There, on his porch, in the summer heat, you fall asleep against Tangerine, leaving him to glance up at the starless sky in askance because it all feels alarmingly normal and he doesn’t hate it.  

There’s screaming on the lawn. Not his lawn, so he shouldn’t really get involved, but the angry voice of a man calls out your name and his ears perk up, less out of interest and more out of a sudden desire to murder any bastard who dares raise his voice at you. 

Quietly, Tangerine slips out his front door to see what’s unfolding. You’re stood on your porch, arms crossed over your chest in defiance. There’s a man on the lawn, consumed by rage by the looks of it, and Tangerine contemplates popping inside to grab his gun.

“You stupid bitch!” 

“Get the fuck out.” Your voice is hard and Tangerine feels a stitch of pride at how stoic and unaffected you look by the absolute meltdown happening ten feet in front of you. But then, the man threatens to kill you and Tangerine is across his yard faster than he’s ever moved before, his fingers wrapped tightly around this fucking bloke’s wrist, staying him.  

“I think fucking not, mate,” Tangerine’s voice is low and threatening. “You touch her and I will cut every fucking one of your fingers off then shove them up your bastard arse before I fucking kill you. You don’t even fucking look at her. Tuck you tail between your legs and get the fuck out of here before you make me do something I’m gonna have too much fun doing to fucking regret.” 

It all happens quickly after that. The man shrugs Tangerine off, curses at him, looks about to pick a fight but must see the seasoned glint of violence in his blue eyes because he curses again and leaves in the car that’s been idling in front of your house the entire time. 

Tangerine turns to look at you with a raised eyebrow and he knows it’s a stupid fucking thing to say but he goes ahead and says it anyways because he can’t fucking help himself. “Didn’t mention you had a boyfriend, love.” 

To his surprise, you laugh. Loud. Heartily. It almost makes the tears that have welled up in your eyes disappear, but he can still see them. “That wanker was not my boyfriend.” When he looks at you, silently giving you space to continue, you sigh. “Brother,” you clarify, “He stops by once in a while for money.” 

Tangerine nods and you step into the front door, leaving it ajar for him to follow. “I’m making some tea,” you call over your shoulder, “Care to join me?” 

After that, he starts stopping in regularly. 

At first it’s just tea, sipped across from one another at the small glass table in your breakfast nook. Tangerine greets your cat, settles into his seat, talks about the latest book he’s reading. You try not to smile too big when Shelley, the cat in question, curls up on Tangerine’s lap, nor when he pretends to be cross about fur on his expensive pants. You pour the tea, respond in kind about the things you’re reading, complain a little bit about work and eventually, because he doesn’t offer the information freely, ask what it is he does for a living. 

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but when, with zero hesitation, he tells you he’s a banker you’re a little surprised. 

Soon, tea turns into suppers spent with your feet kicked up on the coffee table, plates balanced on laps—much to Shelley’s dismay as it means Tangerine’s legs are unavailable for snuggling.

You find yourself growing fonder of this man who has carved his way into your heart, made a place for himself amongst the fixtures of your home. He’s got sharp edges, certainly, yet you can’t help but to get caught on them, snagged on the roughness of him. 

After six or seven or eight dinners—you’ve lost count—you realise you want more. You don’t want to say goodbye to him only to retreat to your empty bed and thoughts of his hands and his lips. So when he says he ought to be going, you take a leap of faith. 

“Wait,” you whisper, gathering your nerve, hoping you haven’t grossly misjudged the situation. “Stay?” You voice quivers on the word, makes you sound uncertain, so you steel your nerves and try again. “I want you to stay.” 

It’s the first time you’ve seen Tangerine look flummoxed, look anything less than totally and completely sure of himself. He leans in slightly, clasps his hand over where you’re still holding his arm. “Love,” his voice is low, so dangerously low you might just fall into him straining to hear, “If I stay…” 

His words trail off, but you know what he’s implying. If he stays then you’ve crossed a line there’s no uncrossing. If he stays, he’ll want all of you that you’re willing to give. If he stays, he’ll absolutely ruin you for anyone who might come after him. 

“Stay,” you repeat, pressing your forehead to his. 

So he does. 

[sempersirens]

the fig tree | rotten

pairing: therapist!joel x f!reader

warnings: 18+ mdni. discussion of heavy and potentially triggering topics such as sa, self-harm, infertility, various mental illnesses, self-hatred and drug use. these topics are only mentioned and do not occur in real-time.

chapter summary: a twenty-something, seemingly lost cause, meets her match in the form of psychotherapist: dr. joel miller.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

updates: @sempersirenswrites

series masterlist

Maybe it was time to accept you were never as good as you'd always thought you'd been.

For four long years, you had spent most of your waking hours dissecting epic poetry and papyrology.

Still, the most your degree had done for you was rouse a satisfying disappointment from your mother’s side of the family when they realised you weren’t actually going to be that kind of doctor.

Not to say such in a self-deprecation; you hardly suffered from any semblance of an imposter syndrome. Your mother used to frequently remind you that you were far too vain to not believe in yourself.

It was more of a philosophical framework. Platonic realism. Knowing your muted beauty could earn you a free drink from below-average men who felt their trousers tighten when you addressed them through your eyelashes.

But it wasn't an obvious enough beauty for the attention of the men you imagined exchanging bodily fluids with between stops on the underground.

Besides, you had been a student of Classical Studies; a degree that doesn’t require the intellectual strain of learning Latin or Ancient Greek. The inclusive way for people like you, having attended a run-down state-funded school, to get a glimpse into the Bullingdon boys' and grammar schoolgirls’ fallback plans.

It wasn't even that you disliked Classics; you'd borderline gotten off on reading plays written by men about wicked women; but that was because the brilliant women were always the wicked ones.

You particularly enjoyed the assumptions men made about the female condition – how women were too wet, too porous; couldn’t keep their wombs from wandering. And assumptions they were. No Greek physician ever sliced a woman from chin to cunt to confirm their hypotheses. Although, ancient men hadn't been all too familiar with the insides of a woman anyway.

Sometimes, you thought you would quite simply die if you were reduced to only understanding people through your assumptions of them.

It was just that you could never stop thinking about what people thought. It was all you could ever think about. You wanted to peel people's skulls apart and scream at their horribly grey frontal lobe:

Are you ok? Have I done something to upset you? Do you still love me? Do I look like someone that has been raped? Do you think that girl we just walked past has a firmer ass than me? Do you like my new bangs?

For a short period of time, you'd been desperate to know how your therapist felt and thought of you. There is a sick irony in baring your bones to a stranger in the reclined chair opposite you who never even takes off their cardigan.

You needed to know if your traumas made him sad, or if he saw things that made him think of you outside of your sessions. You supposed he both pitied and admired you in a twisted, surrogate-daughter kind of way.

Then again, he probably wouldn’t have been a very good therapist did he not pity his clients.

At one point you thought you might be in love with him.

You'd met weekly in his high-ceiling office on a busy street. It was a romantic setting to unload twenty-four years of trauma to a kind man wearing a knitted cardigan. The sun would peak through clouds and shine onto the both of you through two large windows, between which sat a Japanese peace lily.

You soon realised he was just the first man to let you speak uninterrupted.

You spoke at him mostly, finishing observations that had been years in the making with “Does that make sense?” Even though you knew it made sense. You were certain, actually, that everything you had articulated came from somewhere deeper inside of you than any man could reach. You just couldn't leave it hanging there like an exposed nerve.

Maybe it was because he didn't speak much that you liked him. Sometimes he would offer anecdotes or remedies for PTSD-induced panic attacks that you both knew you would never use.

In most sessions, you had simply basked in the divinity of being listened to. You wondered if this was how devout Catholics like your grandmother felt at confession, or perhaps it was how all of your ex-boyfriends had felt.

You weren't even particularly attracted to him. He had been ten years older than you, and when your sessions first began, you'd been casually fucking someone a year older than him – but he didn't need to know that.

There were a lot of things you'd decided he didn't need to know. Like the fact you snorted cocaine until your nose bled, sliced into your thighs a couple of evenings a week, and let men use your body to masturbate as a feeble attempt to reclaim your sexuality - as if it had ever been anyone's for the taking.

Had he known the dirtier parts of your life, you feared he would have crossed out the word victim in his black Moleskin notebook and replaced it with bystander.

Maybe he would think you were a pathological liar and diagnose you with a personality disorder. This was something you'd been warned about by the first friend you had made at university.

“My mother is a therapist, you know. Don’t tell them you cut yourself or that you’ve told anyone you cut yourself – they’ll diagnose you with BPD.”

“But I’ve told you.”

“Trust me. They’ll put you on an SSRI and you’ll never be able to orgasm again.”

You were freshly eighteen and had never had a real orgasm anyway, but this terrified you enough to reel in your catalogue of symptoms for the GP appointment you had scheduled later that day.

In the end, you'd buckled and sobbed as the doctor sat adjacent to you. You didn’t mention the self-harming or the suicidal thoughts, but did tell her that you didn’t know where to go from here.

She'd slid a leaflet from the university's self-help website across the table before pushing her chair back and motioning toward the door.

“Call 999 if things get worse," she had said. "But let’s just hope it doesn’t get to that point. A&E is very overwhelmed at the moment.”

So you got on with it. Boats against the current, or whatever. You made the hurt so small and buried it so deep within you and swore you'd never let anyone get close enough to pick at the stray thread to your undoing.

And for a little while it worked. You became what you knew you should be; you presented your face for fucking and never let the door slam on your way out.

These days, you'd felt as though you were slowly becoming rotten.

It started on the surface; a bizarre case of adult acne that no dermatologist could diagnose for love nor money. Blood tests, topical steroids, antibiotics, potentially-baby-deforming drugs. You tried them all to little avail. In the end, it was simply the passing of time that had rid you of the rot.

Next, it had been your womb. Decomposing from the inside out. Your body had made the decision for you that goodness couldn't form in your guts.

The final straw had, embarrassingly, been your heart.

You hated to say it aloud. So much so that you hadn't. But it had been a quiet promise of yours; one you'd kept quietly close to your chest - that your suffering would never turn you ugly.

But here you were, alone and swearing at the wind, the rage beneath your skin growing like a tumour.

You hated it.

You hated yourself.

You hated that you were angry but had never been taught how to be angry, because anger wasn't a pretty emotion; it was one that should be starved and kept in the corner of your wardrobe to rot like black mould.

So here you stood: before a Victorian townhouse with your scarf furiously fighting the wind, droplets of rain threatening your freshly straightened hair, scanning various names scrawled on the building's buzzer.

S. PHYSIOTHERAPY

A & R SOLICITORS

J. MILLER PSYCHOTHERAPY

You bit the inside of your cheek and ducked further into the doorway, pressing the buzzer for the last option.

A voice had answered quicker than you'd anticipated, soon followed by a harsh buzz of the intercom.

"Come on up."

Dr. Miller's office was on the third floor.

You huffed, struggling with the combination of the stairs and attempting to wrangle your wet coat from your back. Amidst your struggle, you hear a door open somewhere above you, followed by a couple of soft and slow footsteps.

Your chin instinctively lifted toward the source of the noise, feet carrying you round and round the spiral staircase.

Light poured around his silhouette from the window behind him. It was ridiculous, actually. The sight was almost holy.

Neither of you spoke as you made your way up toward him. You felt as though you were on your knees beneath him, transfixed in supplication.

The sleeves of his blue cotton shirt were haphazardly pushed up just before his elbows, arms outstretched and fingers wrapped around the wooden bannister.

You were supposed to be actually trying with this one, not fantasising about the ways the veins in his arms probably bulged with his hand around your throat.

After being politely let go by your previous therapist, you'd promised yourself that the colleague he'd recommended to you, Dr. Miller, would be the one to fix you for good.

"Hello." He nodded, not quite managing a smile.

He reached a hand toward you, which you shook with the little strength left in your body.

"Hello." You tried your best to imitate his stoic cadence, your hand still tightly in his.

You let him break the handshake first, playing a petulant, one-sided game to see how quick he would be to scare.

"After you." He gestured to the room behind him. "Take a seat wherever you feel most comfortable."

"If there is any cowboy paraphernalia in that room I am not paying for this session."

"Excuse me?" His eyebrows knitted together, no sign of humour registering on his face.

"Your accent - it was a joke. I mean, I paid already anyway." You fumbled your words awkwardly. "Jokes are always much funnier when you explain them."

He cocked his head slightly. Hesitant to embarrass yourself further, you saw yourself into his office.

The room was dim for a space endowed with Victorian-style floor-to-ceiling windows. It felt like you could get lost in it, hide away, tuck yourself into a corner and be lost for days.

"I have your notes from Dr. Hughes." He said.

"Anything juicy?" You asked, still surveying the room.

You couldn't put your finger on the specifics of his scent, but it was familiar; like passing a man in the street wearing the same aftershave as your father, or a boyfriend you hadn't seen for years.

"I'd like to figure that out myself."

You'd eventually settled on the armchair positioned opposite his own.

You had briefly wondered if this was a test, that he would be psychoanalysing whether you chose the armchair or the adjacent sofa.

Maybe you'd failed already.

For the majority of the session, you'd gone through the necessary motions of admin, confidentiality, and what you eventually wanted to get out of therapy.

"I don't have the ability to fix you, y'know that right?" His question had caught you off guard.

"I know that." You'd replied meekly.

"It's just, I don't know what kind of promises Dr. Hughes made you. We trained together, you see. He had always been more, how do I put this, hopeful than I am."

"Oh wow. Forty minutes into our first session and you're already hopeless?" You were only partly joking.

"I'm a big believer in transparency, and I can see you were meeting on and off for a few years. I'm just intrigued as to what your end goal here is."

You bit down on your cheek, swallowing the ember of rage that was burning in your throat.

"Do you think I do this for fun? Carve out an hour a week to relive my deepest, darkest traumas?"

"Not at all. I just find it interesting that after almost three years of therapy, you still can't use the word rape. You've referred to it as the thing that happened four times already."

The rot crept up your throat, threatening to pour out of your mouth and fill the room with the ugliness that grew inside of you.

"What is this, some kind of tough love therapy?" You scoffed. Was he trying to get a rise out of you?

"It can be whatever you want it to be."

He was kind of annoying, actually.

The two of you sat in silence, defiantly holding eye contact with one another to see who would be the first to break. And when he finally spoke, it was more of a statement than a question.

"That's time. I'll see you at the same time next week."

"How are you so sure I'll come back?"

He smiled for the first time that afternoon.

"I'm not."

[talesofesther]

sweet calamity | ch 1

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Series Summary: It was something people described as the sweetest pain, the feeling of when the soul that's destined to find yours is closer to you. Wednesday saw it as a curse, promised herself she would hate whoever was chosen for her; but it's easier said than done.

A/N: And so the soulmate au begins (I'm a sucker for those and we all know it), anyways, I know this first part is small, but think of it as a prologue of sorts. I also can't promise that updates are gonna be super fast, because I'm kinda figuring things out as I go :') so please, let me know what you think, and especially let me know if there's anything in particular that you'd like to see happening in this series.

Masterlist

There were bumps in the road; small holes and cracks on the tree-surrounded path that lead to Nevermore. It became a familiar one, given the number of times Wednesday has already passed through it.

Today was the first day of the new semester, the return of boring normalcy after Crackstone's defeat.

Wednesday's dark eyes looked out the window, counting the trees as they went by, shadowed by the cloudy day. Her thumb was pressing over the inside of her right wrist, sometimes scratching the skin there in disdain for the faint birthmark she was cursed with.

Many people — most of them — saw the existence of soulmates as something good, the world's compensation for its cruelty with humanity; they see it as a reason to look forward to the next day, a reason to believe in a happier future.

Wednesday had a clearer vision. She knew, from the moment her parents broke the news to her that there was someone out there who had a soul that complemented hers perfectly, that it was just another devious move of this universe. A trojan horse that presented itself as salvation only to torture you — for some people to the point of insanity. Because the world doesn't give you anything on a silver platter and this was no different.

The thing about soulmates, is that each one of the pair is born with an identical mark on their skin; a mark that aches the closer you get to your soulmate, resembling the burn of a lighter on a bare finger. However, once you touch the other person for the first time, that ache is gone, never to happen again.

You could be on a train, walking a busy street, or watching a concert in the middle of a raging crowd and simply bump into the one who bears the other half of you; only to never cross paths with each other again.

So really, if anything, Wednesday respected the boldness of the universe, to come up with something so enticing, so desirable yet so out of reach.

She heard stories of people who felt the burning ache, ever present as they chased it more and more, and then suddenly… nothingness. The realization slowly sinking in as they looked frantically from one side to another and watched the people walk by, along with their chance at a happy ending.

Over time, the number of people who found their soulmate started slowly decreasing. If you did, you could be considered one of the lucky ones.

Wednesday considered herself lucky that she hasn't ever felt what others described as the sweetest pain.

The Addams girl stepped out of her car, backpack in one hand and a small suitcase in the other as Lurch unloaded the rest of her belongings. Nevermore stood in front of her in all its glory; the grey stone walls high and partly covered by climbing plants as the trees around it changed their leaves to vivid yellows and oranges.

Many students were arriving and walking through the gates, chatting animatedly and making Wednesday scrunch her nose at the unsettling noise. She spared her peers no glances, unwilling to indulge them in pleasantries and gossip about the time spent away.

It was strange how some of them still glanced at Wednesday from the corner of their eyes, whispering in each other's ears as she walked right past them, as if she wouldn't notice. She sometimes caught on to some of the words;

She's that girl who killed the evil pilgrim. That's Wednesday Addams, she saved the school last year.

The attention was not something Wednesday enjoyed, it only gave people more opportunities to disturb her peace.

As she walked through the main doors of the entrance hall, she heard it; excited steps approaching without abandon until her body was engulfed in a sea of blonde and pink.

"Enid," Wednesday said her name as a warning, though if you squint, you could say she half returned the hug.

The werewolf pulled back with a smile that Wednesday could only describe as bruising. "Hi roomie," Enid greeted, her joy dripping from her words, "it's been so long I even started missing your gloominess."

"It's barely been six months, Enid." Wednesday raised a pointed eyebrow, her features impassive as she held her roommate's gaze — until she relented; "but I did notice the absence of your obnoxious music and incessant texting."

It got Enid grinning, and with a skip on her step, she followed suit by Wednesday's side as they both walked up the stairs that led to the quad, "felt like six years to me, I didn't think I would but I actually missed school, staying home with my brothers could be considered torture."

"You can always torture them back, the possibilities are endless," Wednesday suggested.

Most students were gathering on the quad in order to hear principal Weems' speech for the beginning of the semester, including the newcomers. All tables were already filled with outcasts, some of them even sat on the ground due to the lack of space.

Wednesday huffed as she looked around, annoyed with the commotion she was forced upon; she spotted Xavier, sitting against a stone pillar with his head buried in his sketchbook; Bianca, who sat cross-legged on top of one of the tables, chatting with the other sirens; and Eugene, who was slowly walking on the opposite side of the quad, he gestured animatedly as he talked with a girl Wednesday had never seen here before, most likely giving her the Nevermore welcoming tour.

"There are even more people than before," Wednesday commented.

"I heard that a few new students transferred this year," Enid spoke after following Wednesday's gaze, "Nevermore has become quite popular…"

But the werewolf's voice faded slowly, becoming background noise to Wednesday's ears. Her dark eyes, usually sharp and attentive, lost their focus. Her burgundy-painted lips parted with breaths that came too shallow; because all of a sudden, Wednesday could only focus on one thing.

It felt like touching the tip of a lit candle with your finger, barely there, so faint that someone less aware could miss it. But Wednesday would never. Right on the pulse point of her wrist, on top of the mark she was always trying to scratch out; it burned.

The hand Wednesday had around the leather strap of her backpack tightened its hold until her knuckles turned white. She hasn't blinked since Enid started talking and she could feel the back of her eyes stinging, but her body was stuck in time. Stuck in a moment that shouldn't exist.

Only when the feeling faded, did Wednesday let out the puff of air she'd been holding. She didn't turn her head, but her gaze skimmed over the quad against her own volition, finding Xavier and Bianca and… Eugene was gone but who cares, Wednesday's so-called other half had just been close enough for her to feel them.

For a second she could feel strings pulling at her heart, willing it to match someone else's beat; her skin got littered with goosebumps and she hated every second of it. Hated whoever it was that was inciting it upon her.

It was sadistically ironic, really, that the only person who loathes the idea of having a soulmate, will most likely be studying with them.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 2 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @gayestfeels26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @witchyhs-blog @tobylikesfire @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling the Cracks)

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem. But sometimes, you just need a little bit of love... and a little bit of science.

Warnings: read chapter 1 for warnings

(also it's far too late in the game for me to be asking this but can someone help me figure out why everyone's blogs outside of the first five people in the tag list dont show up. ive been on tumblr since like 2014 and still cannot figure this stuff out im sobbing)

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock | @whore-of-many-hot-men | @nerdisthenewcool | @lilypadmomentum | @1dkneo | @kitsunechan707

Chapter 28

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Your maternity leave had started early, not helped by how active one of your babies was at the crack of dawn.  Every morning when you woke up to the sound of your alarm and rolled over to hoist yourself out of bed, you felt a kick against your abdomen.  When you stood up, you felt that familiar fluttering sensation.  One morning, you slept in only a few minutes longer than you normally did, and were punished with a small shove against your bladder that had you involuntarily unloading your urine into your pajama bottoms.

That one made you cry, Law keeping his chuckles to himself as he helped you clean up in the bathroom.

“Stop berating them through my stomach,” you sobbed.  “I just pissed my pants.”

Your husband had answered you with a soft kiss to your swollen skin as he bent down to pick up your soiled clothing and bring them to your washing machine.  “It happens, darling.  It wasn’t your fault.”

Needless to say, it had been an emotional third trimester thus far.

On a Friday evening, you were sitting reclined against the arm of your couch, a book resting on your belly as you munched on some apple slices when Law came bursting through the door.  He was frantic to kick off his shoes and shrug off his lab coat, hanging it on the hooks in the entryway before scrambling into the living room and plopping himself down next to you.  He was holding a notebook in his hand.

“Hello to you, too,” you stated sarcastically, placing a paper bookmark in your novel to mark your spot and adjusting yourself on the couch to sit with your legs crossed under you.

“I was busy on my break today,” Law stated matter-of-factly, flipping through the wrinkled notebook with a fervor.  When he found the page he was looking for, he folded the journal in half and held out the exposed page to face you.

A bunch of squares and barely legible writing covered the lined paper.  You squinted.  “I have no idea what I’m looking at, babe.”

Law rarely had moments where he got so excited that he couldn’t speak, but this was clearly one of those moments.  He would forget that other people didn’t have over 20 years of medical training going back to the age of five.  “Sorry, sorry.”  He turned the notebook back toward him, using his finger to point out what he had scribbled down.  “These are genetic predictions.  It’s estimated that about 50% of fraternal twins will be opposite genders, so a boy and a girl.  Which means about 25% will be both boys, and about 25% will be both girls.”  He moved his finger from one scribble to another.  “I have black hair, which I’m assuming to be the dominant gene among the two of us.  However, I’m also a carrier for brown hair, because my mother and sister both were brunettes.  Accounting for your hair color, I’m estimating that it’s a 75% chance that both of our babies will have black hair.  At least one of our babies will have my eye color, but I believe your eyes are the dominant trait.  I remember you saying at one point that someone in your family had curly hair, right?  I’m estimating a 25% chance that at least one of our kids will have curly hair.  If both of our babies are boys, the chances are 75% that they’ll be colorblind, and 25% that only one of them will be colorblind.  If both are girls, it’s a 75% chance that both of them will be carriers for the colorblind gene, 25% that only one of them will be.  But again, this is all approximations.  So then I started thinking about more technical stuff.  I have B+ blood, but I couldn’t remember what your blood type was, so we have to go off of the Rh factor, which is dominant with positive Rh, which means that at least one of our babies will have Rh positive blood, likely both.  Male pattern baldness is also a dominant trait in most families, but I’m 26 and still have a full head of hair, so hopefully if we have a boy, he won’t have to worry about hair loss.  Funnily enough, I learned today that having six fingers on one or both hands can actually be a dominant allele in some genetic lines, but neither of our family members have had any form of polydactyly that I can recall.  Just an interesting thought.  Anyway–”

Your shoulders were shaking with your laughter.  “Law, slow down!  Breathe!”  Your hands reached forward to grab his shoulders to settle his excited rambling, his face slowly losing color as he was speaking more than he was absorbing oxygen.

You watched as your husband took a long gulp of hair in before blowing it out slowly.  “Sorry.  I got excited.”

“Don’t apologize, you’re adorable,” you replied, stroking your hand along his cheek.  “How long did it take you to write all that down?”

Law glanced one more time at his notebook before closing it and discarding it on the coffee table.  “About 15 minutes.”

You snorted.  “I hope intelligence is a dominant trait so that both of our kids will be as smart as you.”

“You’re smart too,” he argued back, his voice light and content.

“Not ‘scribble down multiple punnett squares in 15 minutes’ smart,” you countered.  “Have you eaten anything yet?”

He shook his head, stretching his arms behind his back.  “Nope, I came straight home.  I was too excited to show you that.”

You grinned, struggling to lean forward to kiss the tip of his nose.  He assisted you by leaning forward on his own legs, pressing his forehead to yours.

“How have you been feeling?” he asked suddenly, diverting the topic.  One of his hands came to rest on the crest of your belly, petting the taught skin through your shirt.

“Tired,” you replied.  “It’s hard to stand up.  Robin said both babies are probably around 2 or 3 pounds by now, but honestly it feels like I’m carrying lead weights when I stand.  I feel like a turtle.”

“Any more movement?” he asked, scooting over the cushions to be closer to you, wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders to pull you into him.  You gladly followed his gesture, dropping your head into his neck.

“One of them moves in the morning still, the other likes to kick when I go to bed.  The only reason I’ve been able to tell is because I feel them on different sides,” you groaned.  “I don’t know what it looks like with them folded up in there, but they haven’t made it easy on me.”

Law hummed in response, his free hand stroking your belly.  The feeling of his palm against your bump felt more soothing than the finest lotion.  “I’m just glad that they’re both okay… not like I’m thrilled that you’re in pain, obviously, but…”

“No, trust me, I am too,” you sighed, closing your eyes.  “I’ve made it this long now, and both of them are still alive.  And pretty soon…”

Your husband knew exactly what you were going to say when your voice trailed off.  It was a subject the two of you had been tip-toeing around for quite some time.

The birth.

“That’s the one thing that’s still scaring me,” you admitted.  “I’m already high risk, and anything could go wrong.  I might have to be ripped open while awake to get them out.  I might die, even.”

Law felt his chest clench.  “Don’t say that, you won’t die.”

“But we don’t know that,” you sighed, your voice growing more nervous by the second.

“No, you won’t die,” he replied firmly.

You felt mildly guilty for broaching the subject.  You knew how difficult it was for him to even think about the slim chance of losing his family again, not when he had come so far and achieved so much with you.  You leaned your head upward to kiss the soft skin of his neck, his sideburns tickling your forehead.  You felt his arm around your shoulder pull you even closer to him, his breaths shallow.

“I’m sorry…” you muttered.

“Don’t be,” he responded quickly.  “I mean it.  You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His hand dropped from your belly to grasp your own, tilting his head down to meet your own as his lips gently pressed against yours.  Your eyes slipped closed, leaning into his tender kiss and wrapping your free arm around his torso.  The size of your belly made it hard to be flush against him, but you made do.  After all, you would have to get used to cuddling with two babies soon enough.

You pulled away from his lips.  “Hey, so how’s the studying been?  For that surgery?”

Law groaned, not at you, but at the mere thought of the looming procedure that had been bearing on his mind for the past eight weeks.  “I feel like I’m back in med school, that’s for sure.  I feel ready for it, but at the same time I can never be too prepared.  It’s going to be… a lot.”

Dual heart-lung transplants were very, very rare, and used for the most severe of cases.  The procedure had never been performed at Law’s hospital before.  Single heart transplants had been done, and a few lung transplants, but never at the same time.  Law’s cardiac ward was specifically chosen for the operation because of the young doctor’s expertise in the field.  The patient’s life was quite literally in Law’s hands.

A small smirk flashed on his face.  “I started wearing gloves in that patient’s room with his family.  I don’t want them to see the tattoos on my fingers.”

“Do you not wear gloves for any other patients?” you asked with a small giggle.  

“No, I do, when performing treatments.  When I’m on rounds, I just stick my hands in my pockets,” he explained.  He had one dimple on his cheek that showed up when he smiled.  You couldn’t help but peck a quick kiss to it.  His stomach suddenly grumbled, startling the two of you.

“You stay right here, I’ll make us some dinner,” he said, making a move to stand up.

“Pancakes,” you demanded with your own mischievous smirk.

“We had pancakes a week ago,” he replied with a smile.

“And?”

Law leaned down for one last kiss on the crown of your head.  “Alright.  Pancakes it is.”

—

Your pregnancy journal had gone from an anxious possession that you worried would jynx your good luck to a vice that you crawled back to whenever you were bored.  The pages were filled with the ink from your pen as you used the prompts to delve into some of the thoughts you kept to yourself, your feelings about your body, your babies, your relationships, the hopes and dreams and the worries and troubles you tried not to stress about.  You kept track of the gifts you had received, the words of advice from your doctor, and the unprovoked comments from elderly ladies at the supermarket who liked to comment about how cute of a couple you were when you shopped for food with your husband.

The grouchy, black-haired surgeon with bags under his eyes and a resting bitch face, and you, his slightly shorter, glowing wife with a very large pregnant belly and a polite, shining smile on her face.  You were truly a match made in heaven, one might say.

Law had been busier and busier in the weeks getting closer to your due date.  As the weather got colder, the holidays came and went, and the new year began, he was diving more and more into his studies preparing for what was easily the largest, most intense, and most serious surgery of his professional career.  Some might assume that you would get tired of the neglect, growing frustrated that he wasn’t around to spend time with you in your third trimester, but in reality, you couldn’t be more proud.

The sight of him hunched over your kitchen table surrounded by old textbooks and papers was an image straight out of your college days, where you’d let yourself into his single dorm room close to midnight and find him on his floor in the dim lighting surrounded on all sides by professional journals, research papers, and textbooks from every esteemed surgeon in his field.  You’d sit down next to him and diligently push french fries against his lips as his eyes stayed glued to his studies, rewarding you during his sparse downtime with awkward kisses that tasted like salt and firm yet shaky hands that were obsessed with traveling up and down your body.  

The only difference now was that Law was that professional in his field, that he was in an apartment, and that you both had rings on your fingers.  The french fries stayed the same, but he at least had a piece of mind to feed himself while you watched from the couch and giggled.  Every once in a while, he would lean back against his seat and pop his spine with a satisfied groan, toss you a fond look across the room, and go back to reading.  Sometimes, you would stand behind him and rub his stiff shoulders, encouraging him to stand up and stretch his legs just as he would do to you to ensure you remained strong during the final weeks of your pregnancy.

The only thing weighing on your mind was the panging worry that he would be in the middle of this massive procedure when you went into labor.  You were both informed by your doctor that most twins would be delivered either naturally or induced at around 36 weeks, almost a month before single babies were usually born, and with your due date at 38 weeks being in the middle of May, you had a nagging feeling in your head that he would miss it.

You both tried to hold onto hope that your babies would be delivered any other day that month.  He would be gone for only a day, a full 24 hours, in total the day of the surgery.  What were the odds that your babies would be born on that specific day?  Slim, to say the least.

At around 32 weeks, it was getting hard for you to stand up.  Your movements were slow and labored, and you were spending most of your days in your apartment either on your couch or in your bed, standing up when instructed by Law, or Shachi and Penguin when he was at work, to walk laps around your home.  The fear of blood clots forming in your legs and traveling to your lungs, as described by your lovely husband in far too much detail, was enough to make you more determined to keep the blood pumping in your body.

“Alright, ready?” Law stated, standing behind you in the kitchen as you slowly made your way through a pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

“Ready,” you stated back, your eyes focused on washing the silverware in your hands.

His inked hands traveled around your torso and under your belly, lifting up against the bottom of your bump.  The sudden relief of having the weight lifted off of your back made an almost erotic moan leave your lips, your grip on the silverware releasing slightly as the tension in your entire body flooded from your veins like a broken dam.

“Feel good?” he asked from behind you with a smirk, his chin resting on the crown of your head.

“Oh my god,” you groaned.  “I saw a lot of posts that said that it feels good, but I didn’t think it would feel this good.  I wish you could do that constantly.”

Sparse kisses were placed to the back of your head as his hands slowly released their pressure against the bottom of your bump, leaving your back aching once more as your body was forced to bear the brunt of the weight in your abdomen.  You stifled a whimper as you were forced to hold what felt like 50 extra pounds on your own again, but Law’s lingering presence behind you with his hands resting idly on your belly soothed your aches subconsciously.

“Busy spring, huh?” he asked, filling the room where the only other sound was the sloshing from your dish washing.

You hummed in response, rinsing your hands and turning off the tap, drying your hands on a towel that lay on the counter beside you.  “You could say that.”  You turned around to lean against the counter, Law’s hands remaining on your body as you rotated.  He leaned forward to capture your lips in his, you rewarding him with a smile.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to be more physical with you…” you sighed.

Law pulled away.  “Why are you sorry for that?”

You shrugged.  “You seem like you’ve been a lot more handsy with me lately, and I can’t reciprocate.  And I’m probably not going to be able to reciprocate for a while after I give birth.”

Your husband chuckled, planting chaste kisses across your cheeks.  “I’m not ‘being handsy with you’ because I want anything.  I’m ‘being handsy’ because I want you to be happy and comfortable.  I’m not expecting anything in return.  And by the way,” he pulled away to stare into your worried eyes.  “I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking about your post-birth body being somehow inferior to how you were before pregnancy, I know it.”

You averted your gaze, your lips pinching together.

“And I know you don’t like the stretch marks on your belly,” he added.

“Where are you going with this?” you asked, your voice quiet.

“Because I’m going to remind you every day how beautiful you are.  Always.  Even the changes that come with having a child.  You’re always going to be beautiful to me.  I’ll never be repulsed by your stretch marks or wrinkled skin or cellulite like you think I’m going to be.  The person standing in front of me is a beautiful woman who has given me a life worth living, and I’m going to cherish her and support her through everything.”

Your eyes darted toward his neck, where his glass necklace still sat between his collarbones.  He religiously wore it every single day, only taking it off to shower, sleep, and perform surgeries.  Likewise, you never removed your glass ring.  Hot tears began to form in your eyes, but your lips curled into a smile.  Your expression fought for dominance over being happy or sad, and what resulted was a shaky grin, furrowed eyebrows, and watery eyes.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you asked, letting a few lose tears escape the corners of your eyes.

Your husband kissed the damp streaks that your tears left behind on your cheeks.  “You fed me french fries on the floor of my dorm room in college.  I think that’s when I knew you were going to be my wife one day.”

A bubbly laugh left your throat as your hands gripped his shoulders for stability.  “I think I knew when you found me out behind my dorm building that night.”

Law leaned in to kiss you one more time, but a sudden gasp left your lips as your entire body tensed up.  A stinging cramping sensation rippled across your abdomen, lingering in your muscles.  It lasted about 30 seconds, where your shaking hands clenched the cotton of Law’s shirt, his eyes wide and frenzied as his hands supported your upright posture, before the pain finally dissipated into a mild buzz, then nothing at all.

You stared into Law’s eyes.  “Can you help me sit down?”

[gaybananabread]

•• @/Anon For the TT prompts, how about Lee!Miguel and any ler for day 5 or Ler!Peter B. with any lee for day 24? ••

TickleTober Day 24 - Joke

~This is the second half of a request for day 5. Not sure if the Anon will see it, but I still had fun writing this! Hobie’s little quips towards Peter were so casual and fun; I think they deserve more little moments together. If you’re seeing this, thank you for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy!~

Lee: Hobie Brown

Ler: Peter B. Parker (& special guest appearance by Mayday)

Summary: Peter is in an extra corny mood, telling all of his best (worst) dad jokes. Hobie refuses to acknowledge anything funny about them, staying stubborn. With a little help from his daughter, Peter quickly finds a method to get him to appreciate the jokes.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

“Okay, okay, how about this one?” Peter chuckled, bouncing his little girl in his arms. Hobie was hanging out with the two that morning, and the father had decided to unload his favorite dad jokes to pass the time.

“I just read a few facts about frogs,” Peter grinned, giving the line a few seconds to sink in. “They were ribbeting!”

Hobie giggled through a groan, running both hands down his face. That was, like, the thirtieth dad joke he’d told within the past ten minutes. One man can only take so many horrible puns and cringe-worthy jokes.

“I’ll pay you ta stop.” The punk peeked out from behind his hand, seeing the goofy grin on his friend’s face. Peter was a great guy, especially when Hobie just wanted someone easy to talk to and chill with. Plus, Mayday was adorable.

The jokes, however, were killing him.

“They’re good! Mayday likes my jokes, don’tcha, sweetheart?” Peter held his daughter out in front of him, making her giggle and kick in the air. “See? She gets it.”

“She’s yer kid. She’s gotta ge’ it.” He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Peter’s reasoning. He doubted the toddler understood the concept of jokes just yet, but it was still a cute thought. “Lil’ bit pro’lly don’t even get the point o’ jokes.”

“Hey! Every Parker gets jokes!” Peter huffed indignantly, hugging his daughter to his chest. The girl squealed as she was slightly squished, wriggling in her father’s arms. “Watch this. Mayday, what do you get when you cross a bee with a sheep?”

The girl stuck her tongue out at him, studying his face. She was trying to figure out what he was saying, paying about as much attention as a child of her age could.

“A baa-humbug!” Peter made an obnoxious baa-ing sheep noise at the beginning of his punchline, making the toddler squeal in amusement. It was a good trick, Hobie had to admit.

“Aw, c’mon! She jus’ liked the sheep noise!” Hobie rolled his eyes once again, tossing his hands up in protest. The joke was so corny; it made it hard to laugh when all he wanted to do was cringe.

“You are such a downer!” Shaking his head, Peter hoisted Mayday onto his shoulders. He glared at Hobie, nudging Mayday’s little arm until she copied him. It was – unfortunately for Hobie’s resolve – utterly adorable.

“Cram it, ol’ man.” The punk turned away, crossing his arms as he hid a fond smile. He adored Mayday more than he’d like to admit, and Peter was a funny, sweet guy to hang around. Even if he did hurt Hobie’s brain sometimes.

“I’m not that old yet!” Peter’s shoulders jumped up with his protest, his daughter snickering at the feeling. “Oh, hush, you little scamp.” He scratched a finger down one of her tiny soles, making the girl kick and squeal. She tugged at his hair to keep her balance, which he was used to by then.

Actually…he might’ve found a way to show Hobie just how funny his jokes really were.

While the teen's back was still turned, Peter fired a shot of web at him. Hobie's spider sense buzzed a second to late, not really counting Peter's silliness as a threat. The thread hit him square in the back, yanking him towards Peter.

Hobie’s back hit the man’s chest, two strong arms quickly wrapping around him. It was a little awkward with the height difference, but Peter made it work. While Hobie may have had height on his side, Peter was stronger.

“Lemme go, ya geezer!” Hobie twisted and thrashed in Peter’s grip, but he couldn’t fight with his full strength; Mayday was still on the man’s shoulders. He didn’t want to risk accidentally hurting her.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” Peter’s smug voice grated against Hobie’s nerves as he tried to pry the man’s hands off. "Why was the stadium so hot after the game?"

“I don’ care!” Hobie stomped his feet, trying to drown Peter out. Unfortunately, the man could just say it right in his ear.

“Nope! Because all the fans left! Eh, eh?”

Instead of waiting for Hobie’s inevitably underwhelmed reaction, Peter dug his finger’s into the punk’s hips, making him snort into a burst of loud, scraggly laughter.

“GAHAHAHAHA! FUHUHU- *snort* PEHETER!” Hobie tried to fold in on himself, but he was stopped by the man’s strong grip around his chest. He was trapped in a tickly hug with no viable ways out.

“Language! You know better than to curse around Mayday.” Peter shook his head before drilling his thumbs into the little pocket above Hobie’s hip bones, pulling a shriek from the lanky teen.

Mayday seemed thoroughly amused by all the chaos, climbing over her dad’s shoulders to reach for Hobie. She nuzzled her tiny head against his neck, her wily curls softly tickling behind his ears and across his neck. Hobie tried scrunching his shoulders up, only causing the girl to giggle and press closer.

“GEHEHE’ YOUHUHUR DEHEHEVIL- *snort* OHOFFA MEHEHEHE!” Hobie tossed his head around as carefully as he could, trying his hardest not to hit the girl on his shoulder. It was incredibly unfair, using her as a shield like he was. The teen had to admit that he was a bit impressed.

“Devil?! My little girl is an angel, thank you very much!” Gasping dramatically, Peter spidered his fingers up to Hobie’s sides and ribs. While the boisterous laughter was quite nice, he didn’t want to exhaust the teen entirely.

“I-Ihi dohohon’ wahanna ahaccidentahally huhurt heher!” Hobie’s cackles died down to pitchy giggles and laughs, his voice about an octave higher than normal. He made a good point, but the man still needed Mayday to keep him from fighting.

“You wouldn’t hurt her. I’d trust you with Mayday’s life if I had to. It’ll be fine.” Peter disguised a tease under the compliment, clawing his way up and down the punk’s sides. He really was enjoying himself; seeing the kids laugh was always fun.

“Y-youhuhu- GYAH! Youhu neehehehek!” Hobie nearly cursed, but Peter censored him with a quick scribble to the navel.

“Being mean in British is still being mean, Hobie.” Peter chastised him, tutting as Mayday went right back to snuggling her fuzzy head against his neck. Now that his reactions were calmer, the little squeaks and voice cracks came through perfectly.

“B-Brihitish ahain’t a lahahanguage!” Hobie’s shoulders scrunched once again, giving Mayday a little boost. She giggled from the movement, patting her small hands against his rosy cheek. It was adorable, making it near impossible for him to be irritated at her.

“So nitpicky. First, you criticize my jokes, and now you’re correcting me? For shame, Hobart, for shame.” The dad gave Hobie’s hips one more good squeeze, mainly trying to distract him from the fact that he’d just said the boy’s full first name. That usually got some not-so-nice words in response; he wasn’t looking to teach Mayday anything else that MJ would scold him about.

While the punk usually could’ve held on for much longer, his cheeks were getting sore, and he could feel Mayday slip a little with every big laugh and squeak. He knew Peter would never let her even come close to hitting the ground if she fell, but the teen was anxious nonetheless. He knew what he had to do…

Enjoy the ego boost, Parker.

“F-fihihihine! Youhuhuhur johohokes ‘re fuhuhunny!” Hobie finally conceded, trying to bring his squirming down to a minimum. He’d get his revenge later, no doubt, but peace was his only option for the time being.

“There ya go, kid!” He gave Hobie one last squeeze of a hug before pulling back, taking his daughter with him. Mayday whined at the break in contact, reaching out for the giggly punk.

“J-jehehez, ruthless ol’ bum…” Hobie muttered the words under his breath, meaning absolutely nothing by them. It wasn’t uncommon for him to exchange loving insults with his older friends and mentors.

The teen recovered pretty quickly, taking the squirmy toddler into his arms when he was able to breathe normally. She immediately cuddled into his chest, demanding snuggly affection that no being with a heart could deny.

“Yer lucky she’s ‘ere, or you’d be in tears.” Hobie calmly laid the threat out, slowly swaying to make Mayday smile. He loved the little rascal’s grin, especially the cute little gap between her front two teeth. While he didn’t seem the type, he really did love kids.

“Uh-huh, sure,” Peter huffed, knowing all too well how true that statement was. One thing that was always interesting about Hobie: he was willing to dish out whatever he received, and vice versa. It made for playfully fun slow days at the Society.

“It’s almost her nap time. Wanna help me put her down, maybe grab something from the cafeteria? I’ll pay,” Peter offered, gently nudging the boy’s shoulder with his own.

Hobie was quite peckish after all the goofy activity, and making Peter pay for things would be a step in the vengeance direction…

“Al’ight, yeah. Let’s go, gramps.” Cradling the sleepy little girl against his chest, Hobie started for the lobby. Peter rolled his eyes before catching up, reminding himself to steal some of the teen’s fries in retaliation.

Maybe he could even have busted out some of his worst burger puns, though they might’ve been too cheesy.

[raygirlramblings]

Hey so I know we have stuff and comics on Rabbid Mario and Rayman’s friendship, but what about Rabbid peach?

I kinda want to see how Rayman becomes friends with the diva. (BeSides from beep-o’s weird romance series)

.

oooooh now THIS is interesting!

Ok so originally I said a while ago that I want to se Rabbid Peach messing with Rayman and getting on his nerves, and I think that fits her personality. But having finished the dlc I think there could be way more to this relationship.

The thing about Rabbid peach is that while she gives off this diva air of only caring about herself she is also one of the best healers in the game. She’s self absorbed and prone to jealousy but she DOES care about her friends and uses her powers to heal them when they need her. At the end of the Phantom Show dlc she’s the one who presents Rayman with a surprise gift after initially seeming standoffish towards him. And despite her jealousy towards how Mario and Peach interact she clearly values Peach as a close friend and inspiration.

So what does this mean for her and Rayman’s friendship? Well the good thing about Rabbid Peach is her extrovert personality. She wears her heart on her sleeve, doesn’t hold back her opinions, and is honest to the point of rudeness. She’s not afraid to call a spade a spade. And while this might take a bit of getting used to I think Rayman would appreciate this aspect of her character.

Despite having a good number of female friends (Ly, Barbara, Betilla etc) Rayman doesn’t really have a female friend he can unload his more petty side onto. Basically have a good old fashioned bitch fest with. I imagine he holds Ly in too high regard to dump his problems on her, Barbara doesn’t strike me as the ‘girly chat’ type, and Betilla is his adoring parental figure who’d probably not be as impartial as she could be.

But Rabbid Peach? Now there is a lady he can have proper girl talk with. I can see Rayman being able to be very honest about his frustrations and anxieties with Rabbid Peach. She in turn can give him frank and blunt advice about how he’s too self sacrificing and encouraging him to follow his heart the way she does. In turn Rayman is very relaxed in his gender identity and wouldn’t mind having a make-over slumber party with Rabbid Peach once in a while. Basically they’re good stress relief to one another and a safe space where they can vent about their lives (provided Rabbid Peach promises to stay off her phone ;) )

Honestly, I got the image of that one scene in the Looney Toons show where Daffy is doing Bugs’ hair and they’re having a girl chat and I had to draw it XD

Sometimes it’s ok to just unwind, have some me time with the girls, and feel pretty. XD

So yeah, that’s basically my impressions of Rayman and Rabbid Peach’s friendship. I imagine this might take a while to develop but I could see them forming a very unique friendship with a lot of love and support between them ^_^. Almost the complete opposite of Ray’s chaotic and physical friendship with Rabbid Mario XD

[itsstrange]

Pool Party

Fandom: Supernatural / The Boys

Relationship: Jensen Ackles x Reader

A/N: Had this idea when I woke up from bed lol idk I sometimes be getting the randomness ideas either in the shower or waking up from a dream, but I’m not complaining because they turn out to be loved by so many of you 😆

Summary: “Wanna go for a swim?” Just a harmless offer right? Nothing dangerous right?

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Pool Sex, Fingering, Confessions, and once again 18+

————

ENJOY 😉 ��

————

———————

(Y/n) walked back and forth in her home gathering everything she needed for the party and loaded them into her car. Extra bags of chips, couple gallons of sodas, some juice boxes for the little ones, cases of beers for the adults, her famous birthday cinnamon roll lasagna cake, and finally the gift for the birthday girl. Once she was sure everything was packed and ready to go, she grabs her keys, phone, a lollipop and is finally out the door.

The drive to his house was probably 15 to 20 minutes away from her, which was good for many reasons. If he needed a favor she was there in a matter of minutes, if she needed a favor he was there in under 10, maybe 15 if he had the little ones in his truck. Point is, the distance to his house from hers was perfect.

Finally arriving and pulling into the beautiful home, she notices how multiple cars were neatly parked inside the driveway. Some she recognized where some she didn’t, however, she did spy Jared’s red 2021 Ram parked near the entrance of the home and noticed how a reserved sign was near the truck, causing a scoff to escape from her. Of course he’d save a spot for her, he always made her park inside his home rather than out in the streets, said he felt ‘much more comfortable’ knowing her car was visible. Although, despite his dramatic-ness, (Y/n) couldn’t help the way her chest warmed up every time he cared for her. Even if it was the smallest things, her chest warmed up, as well as her heart fluttering uncontrollably. He just had that effect on her.

Once parking, she opens the trunk to start unloading the bags, however, just as she was about to grab the third bag a familiar voice settles beside her before another pair of hands is helping her with the dessert plate.

“Thanks Alan,” She tells Jensen’s father as he walks with her towards the entrance of the home,

“No problem kiddo, figured you needed a hand,”

“You saw me coming in?” She asks as they both make their way towards the kitchen,

He shakes his head, placing the plate on the counter, “Was actually heading towards my car to grab some sunglasses. Suns’ bright today,”

A chuckle leaves her lips as she places the bags on an empty space, “Sure is, heard it’s gonna be a hot one today,”

He shakes his head with a scoff, “It’s aiming for the 90’s,”

(Y/n) chuckles in disbelief. It wasn’t even summer yet and they’re already heading towards a heat wave. Gotta love Austin, Texas.

Heading back towards her car, she shuts the trunk and opens the back seat where the birthday present laid. Which literally engulfed her whole car from how big it is. She’s actually surprised she was even able to see from her rear mirror from how big the damn present was.

“Jesus Christ, you hunt down a bear or somethin?” Alan comments after watching her struggle in taking out a large, really large stuffed bear,

She chuckles as she pulls on the large foot, “Something like that. Went to five different places for this damn thing,”

The older man only chuckles at her with a shake of his head when she finally frees the stuffed bear from her small poor car. How exactly did she manage to stuff a 6 foot bear into her 8 series BMW? She wasn’t sure either, but she made it to the party, which was all that mattered. Locking her car and taking the stuffed bear, that nearly engulfed her, she heads back towards the home. Obviously she had help, Alan grabbed a hold of some part of the bear to prevent it from blocking her sight, otherwise she’d either walk into a wall or tripped over some stairs.

After convincing Alan she’d be able to make it to the living room without killing herself, he chuckles as he makes his way to the backyard just as she carefully makes her way down the small stairs that lead towards the living room, where she planned on leaving the bear for now. As she semi struggled to place the stuffed animal on the ground, that deep familiar voice she loves hearing, rings beautifully in her ears.

“Oh god, you actually got it,” It wasn’t even a question, it sounded more like if he was shocked but not shocked that a 6 foot bear was now being laid in the center of his living room,

A wide smile spreads on her face, even if the large stuffed animal hid it from him as she carefully placed it on the carpeted floor. Turning around with a wide smile, she excitedly points at the teddy.

“Pretty cool huh?” She looks back at the monstrosity, who had a large black bow tie around his neck,

Jensen hums in agreement, even if he definitely did not think so.

The moment JJ had asked for the bear Jensen knew her wish was gonna come true, because knowing (Y/n) all too well he knew she would happily deliver. Especially when she knew Jensen was against the whole idea, but even then, Jensen was never able to say no to either one of them.

“They actually had a bigger one, but that one wouldn’t have fit in my car,”

“How tall was the other one?” He furrows his brows at her, already having a horrifying picture of its height,

She shrugs her shoulders, “About 7 or 8 inches taller,”

Jensen only scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head with a smile tugging on his lips. He will never get tired, or use to her wild imaginations. She was unique, and he loved it.

Slightly grinning at the present she turns around to face the Texan, only to feel her smile widening when she realizes what exactly he’s wearing. A light blue short sleeve with pink mermaids and dolphins laid on top, with black cargo shorts and converse on his feet. He looked absolutely adorable, yet handsome at the same time. He could honestly slay any look without any effort.

“Cute shirt,” She tells him with a smirk,

Sharing the same look on his lips, Jensen looks down at his shirt before looking back at her, “The girls picked it out, so I had no other option,”

A chuckle escapes from her as she walks towards him and lets a forefinger gently prod at a pink mermaid that’s on his stomach, “Don’t lie, you wanted to wear it,”

When she averts her (E/c) eyes up to his apple orbs, she hadn’t realize just how close she was to him. Only a couple inches stood between them as they stared at each other, and it was up to either one of them to reach out to close the gap, but neither made the first move, even if they both shared the same thoughts without even knowing.

As Jensen hovered over her, bright green eyes staring straight down at her own beautiful (E/c) orbs, he had the biggest urge to touch her, taste her lips, he has been for a while now, but restrained himself from doing so. He didn’t want to ruin their friendship for having feelings she most likely didn’t have towards him. But she did. He just didn’t know it.

She’s been sharing the same feelings since the day they first met, which made her feel guilty at first since he was married at the time, but even after he got divorced she didn’t indulge or press on the feelings. It wasn’t the right time nor it was appropriate. The man had just ended his marriage, he was hurt, healing, what he needed was a friend, not someone who was taking advantage of the moment to express her feelings or tell him she ‘was the one’ it would just be selfish and absolute heartbreaking if he’d reject her if it had happened. So instead of letting her feelings take over, (Y/n) became what Jensen needed the most, a friend, and has been ever since.

Nothing changed after that, yeah she still loved him and wished for more, but she also still loved being friends with him. Before (Y/n) even realized her feelings towards the man they were good friends, and now after a couple months later of the divorce their friendship still held strong, which is all she wanted for them.

“Hey Ackles!” The sound of Jared’s voice coming into the room causes them both to break eye contact, “Oh hey (Y/n),”

She smiles at him as he quickly engulfs her small frame with his large arms and pecks the top of her head before pulling away to direct his eyes at Jensen, “Your old man needs more pepper,”

Jensen nods his head, “Alright I’m comin,”

Gently punching his shoulder with a nod, Jared leaves the room. Leaving the space around them to be extremely difficult to breathe for some odd reason, but Jensen was quick to avoid the unsettling tension.

“C’mon,” He motions his head out the living room, “I’m sure the kiddos are dying to see you,”

At his words he lets his fingers interlock with her own, causing her body to go rigid, definitely was not expecting that but shrugs it off by allowing the man to lead her out the room, even if she can walk around his house with eyes closed she still lets him guide her out the house. Once making a quick stop to grab some pepper from the kitchen he leads them out the house, fingers still interlocked with each other until he lets her go out the doors first before following after. He wasn’t going to lie, he was freaking the fuck out when he interlocked their fingers, he thought she’d push him away, curse at him, but watching as she didn’t do anything only made him freak out even more. Did she like it? Or was she uncomfortable that she just allowed it? Or did she actually like holding hands with him? Question after question appeared in his head as he made his way over to his father who was preparing the burgers.

Turning around after giving him the pepper Jensen turns around at the perfect time, from where he stood he watches as she engulfs a squealing JJ into her arms before spinning them both in the center of the yard, causing his heart to flip in his chest at the sight. What makes a smile appear on his lips was the moment she walks towards his other two kids, Zep and Arrow, who also run towards her with wide smiles and open arms. Just the sight alone of her interacting with his kids, treating them as if they were her own and giving them so much love was enough for Jensen to realize, he was madly in love with her.

If only she felt the same way right?

++++

10:30 pm

After eating multiple burgers, drinking multiple beers and juice boxes, singing happy birthday to the birthday girl, opening her presents and surprising her with the large Teddy, the day was finally coming to an end. Once it had hit 9pm, a lot of the kiddos were absolutely drained from running around the house, or just being in the water all day, that’s including Jensen’s little ones. Once they were all tucked into bed, it was pretty soon when a lot of family members began leaving the party. A couple people still remained, like Jensen’s family, Jared’s family, Misha and his kids stayed for a while before heading off to their hotel since they had an early flight the next day, and other good friends stayed. But once it hit 10pm everyone began parting their ways, only leaving Jared, Genevieve, Jensen’s parents and (Y/n) at the house, where they soon began picking up trash from left to right.

Even if Jensen told everyone to leave it alone and he’ll clean up tomorrow, everybody continued picking up trash from tables and the floor. Causing Jensen to let out a soft chuckle when (Y/n) only shoves him the plastic black bag to hold as she throws in empty beer cans and bottles. Making it look less a mess and easier to deal with the next morning. Once the backyard looked semi decent, and Jensen’s father finished cleaning up the grill, both his parents, Jared and Gen give their farewells before leaving. Once he walked them towards the entrance of the home, Jensen makes his way back to the backyard, where (Y/n) remained piling the trash bags together in one corner.

“Hey c’mon leave that there, I’ll do it myself tomorrow,” Jensen stops her by her wrist as she reaches for another trash bag,

she gives him a smile, “It’s the least I can do, I mean we did trash your house,”

Jensen softly chuckles with a shake of his head, “You already do so much for us.. for them,”

A warm, shy, smile spreads on her face, a smile that Jensen has grown to love.

With the smile still plastered, she shrugs a shoulder, “I love you guys,”

Oh how those words made Jensen feel as if he was floating in the air, like some cheesy romance movie with hearts surrounding them. But even if those words weren’t exactly meant the way he’s taking it, it still sounded absolutely amazing to hear those words fall from her lips. However, little did he know she did mean her words, and she was honestly freaking out when she finally admitted to him.

Green eyes stared into (E/c) ones in silence. Only the sounds of crickets chirping around them was heard. It was honestly peaceful, they both felt at ease as they stared at each other. If it wasn’t for the small fear riding at the back of his head, he would have had her lips on his by now, but the fear still lingered the more he wanted to give in to the urge. Yet, he already was giving into it, he hadn’t realize he still held onto her wrist nor did he realize his thumb was gently rubbing circles on her skin, but once he did, he still didn’t let her go. He craved for her touch, but he wanted to do more than touch her, he wanted to hold her in his arms, feel her warmth day and night.

Which gives him an idea.

“Wanna go for a swim?” He says after a while of silence, motioning his head towards the pool,

(Y/n) chuckles, “At this time?”

Jensen causally shrugs his shoulders, “I don’t see why not?”

A scoff leaves her lips when she watches him walk backwards towards the pool as he keeps their gazes locked with a smirk. He eventually turns and stands on the edge of the pool before discarding his clothes. First his shirt revealing his muscular shoulders, then his shoes, socks, and finally his shorts. (Y/n) should definitely look away, but she just couldn’t. Her eyes were locked on the man’s half naked frame, feeling the way her mouth goes dry the longer she stares. (E/c) eyes roamed his muscular back and down towards his ass that we’re sadly covered by his black briefs.

Slowly, very slowly, she averts her eyes from his bottom to his shoulders once again, but just as she rises her eyes they immediately lock with his. She feels herself go stiff when he catches her staring, causing her face to grow hot. Although, instead of teasing her with a smart ass remark, he just sends her a smirk before diving into the pool. Giving (Y/n) a couple seconds to catch her breath before he emerges from the water. (Y/n) remained standing in her spot as she watches the way droplets of water cover his perfectly shaped face, and the way it had flattened his hair, and definitely not being able to push aside the feeling that forms in between her legs when he slicks his wet hair back.

“C’mon, water feels great,” Jensen tells her, smile slightly tugging on his lips as he keeps himself up float,

Aside from feeling the way her core begins throbbing for this man, she still sends him a scoff, “You’re crazy,”

And making me horny. She mentally thinks to herself.

“You can wear my shirt,” Even if I prefer nothing on you right about now. Jensen thought to himself, still keeping that welcoming smile on his lips,

(Y/n) intakes a deep breath through her nose and let’s it back out through her nose while slightly tilting her head to the side. She hates how he can easily convince her without even trying. With hesitating steps, (Y/n) toes off her shoes along with her socks before making her way towards his shirt. Picking it up she stares at it in her hands and then towards Jensen, who only sends her a wide grin before turning around to give her some privacy while she changes. The moment he does, she quickly slides her jeans down her legs, not catching how he sneaks a glance at her and not knowing how quick his member jolts in his briefs. However, right when she stands from removing her jeans he turns back around and waits patiently until she allows him to look.

Speechless is what happens when his green orbs land on her frame. His shirt was rather large on her frame, making it look like a dress on her, only her smooth legs were exposed to him. She looked absolutely fucking beautiful, breathtaking under the moon light, if it weren’t for the fear and respect he had towards her, he would’ve already had her in his arms.

The look that settles on his face was visible as day, earning a shy smile to form on her lips as she shyly places a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks burning as he continues to stare at her. Observing her, admiring her frame.

Eventually, she slowly walks towards the edge of the pool where Jensen swims to meet her halfway. Her feet were the first to make contact with the water as she sat on the edge of the pool, it really did feel amazing against her skin, fresh and just the right temperature.

Without a word, Jensen swims towards her, keeping himself upright in front of her, her knees touching his chest as he reaches towards her hips. Gripping onto his firm shoulders as he carefully and effortlessly carries her into the water, not once did they avoid gazes. Bright green and glistening (E/c) orbs kept a firm lock on each other, never parting away from each other, not even after she made it into the water.

“Feel good?” Jensen suddenly whispers, voice laced with thickness, eyes still staring deeply into her own,

A small smile tugs on her lips as she too couldn’t seem to avert her gaze, “Feels good,” she responds to him small smile tugging on the corner of her lips,

Still smiling at her he slowly lets her go, allowing her to swim freely around the pool, green eyes not once averting from frame not even when she dives under the water for a split second. Hell, when she emerges from underneath it was a goddamn sight for him, her beautiful hair slicked back, the moons light shining off her beautiful skin, Jesus.. she is fucking breathtaking. He honest to god doesn’t understand how her previous dickhead of an ex thought it’d be a great idea to go ahead and cheat on her, that stupid idiot doesn’t know what he lost, however, what he will know is she has been found by someone who will most definitely love her like she deserves to be loved, cared for, spoiled and not discriminated.

“You building something back there?” Her soft voice breaks him out of his thoughts, noticing how she leaned against the edge of the pool and staring straight ahead where his next project was under construction,

A soft chuckle leaves his lips as he slowly swims towards her, bare shoulder touching her own, “JJ and the twins want horses,”

He tells her with a defeated sigh, earning a surprised look from her along with a heartfelt chuckle.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up having a whole farm out there,”

Jensen groans with a shake of his head, “Don’t.. don’t encourage them please. I definitely won’t survive, especially when you four gang up on me,”

Another chuckle escapes from her, “I don’t influence nor do I encourage them into anything,” she says as she splashes him,

“Oh yeah?” He raises a brow at her as he continues, splashing her back, “So you didn’t influence them into having a full blown war with those mini nerf guns?”

“Hey, you gotta admit. That was a fun day, besides if I remember correctly you were also apart of that war,” She points out, splashing him once again with water only this time it reaches his face, causing him to close his eyes with a deadpan look,

When he slowly opens his eyes, they lock with her own, a smile slowly spreading on her face as she mumbles an apology to him, but instead of accepting it he lunges at her, causing a small yelp to leave her lips. Yet, before he can wrap his large arms around her she uses her feet to push against the wall to escape from him. Loud giggles are shared as they chase one another in the water, splashing each other, pushing each other until eventually as she was focused on rapidly splashing him with water she didn’t notice how he dove underneath and swam towards her. In matter of seconds another loud yelp with a giggle leaves her lips when she feels the way his large arms wrap around her waist that slightly lifting her out of the water before bringing her back inside.

She emerges from the water throwing profanities at him as she removes wet strands of hair from her face with heartfelt giggles. Displaying a wide grin and letting deep chuckles escape from his lips, Jensen helps removing hair from her face. However, just as he tucks a wet strand behind her ear they lock eyes, bright green emeralds stare straight into her orbs, smile slowly fading as he observes her features, feeling the way his chest becomes heavy, a feeling he can no longer hold in anymore. A feeling he’s been pushing aside for what seemed like ages, a feeling he’s been trying to hide, but now, with her in front of him, skin soaked and illuminating beautifully underneath the moonlight, those eyes he’s fallen dearly for, and that smile that he can never get tired of has him losing the battle.

So slowly and hesitant he cups her cheek with the same hand that tucked a hair behind her ear, and lets it rest there as he continues to stare into her eyes in silence. Waiting for her to say or do anything to stop him, but when she doesn’t and only stares up at him with now widen, pleading eyes, he slowly oh so slowly begins bending down. He hovers over her lips, giving her the opportunity to push away, to stop, when she doesn’t he finally allows their lips to collide with each other in a soft, gentle manner.

They share two, slow, lasting pecks before he slowly pulls away. Green eyes observing her own, trying to read any regret, any doubt, but when he only reads reassurance a small tug can be seen on the corner of his lip before he once again bends down. Letting their lips mold together much firmer. The kiss slowly begins escalating, becoming more heated as they share their warmth, their hidden feelings, their love. No words were needed, the way they both desperately kissed one another was enough for either one to know how the other felt.

Being completely lost and focused on the way his lips fitted perfectly with her own or the fact that his tongue would smoothly and perfectly dance with her own, (Y/n) hadn’t realized Jensen was slowly guiding them backwards, until she feels something firm settling on her back and feeling the way he easily lifts her from under her legs which she automatically wraps around his own waist. The kiss never falters, not even when he pins her against the wall of the pool or when their hips meet in the middle, causing a groan to rumble in his throat where a broken moan escapes from her mouth. However, after the fourth thrust she couldn’t bare it no longer, she wanted him, she needed him now.

“Jensen,” She breathlessly whispers his name against his lips as he once again rubs his covered member against her aching core,

Slightly pulling away to look into her eyes, his words fall breathlessly from his mouth, “You sure?”

Damn him and his well-mannered side. It shouldn’t turn her on at the fact that he’s asking for her consent, but fuck does it ignite her emotions even more for this man.

Breath coming out harshly through her mouth she nods her head, (E/c) eyes looking directly into his green orbs, “Yes. Please..please,”

The last beg came out a little more desperate and whiny but she could care less at this point. Hell, he could care less because as soon as those words came out he pecks her lips one last time before averting his lips to the side of her neck. His hands that were placed underneath her bottom, make their way down her body to the hem of his shirt before pulling it off her frame. Tossing it somewhere outside the pool he lets his lips explore, as he lavished the new piece of revealed skin he lets one hand travel behind to undo her bra. Placing it outside the pool he slightly angles his head to look at her completely.

And ohh did she look absolutely gorgeous. Skin beautifully slicked with droplets of water falling down her entire frame, lips raw and swollen, eyes completely dilated, chest displayed to him and only him. She looked absolutely breathtaking.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers as he bends down to latch his lips onto hers,

A small broken whimper can be heard in between them as he ghostly begins traveling his fingers against her bare stomach until he reaches the waistband of her underwear, where he then slowly begins sliding the garment down her legs. Once off he places them above her head, near the edge of the pool.

A small shiver travels through her body as he leaves feathery kisses throughout her chest, yet, the same time a shiver rolls through a moan escapes from her when she suddenly feels the way his thick digits begin circling against her clit. Then a gasp when two fingers slowly push past her folds.

“So fucking perfect,” Jensen whispers against her parted lips, sinking his digits deeper, earning another whimper from her,

“Fuck baby… you’re so tight,” He whispers again just as his finger is knuckle deep into her aching core,

Her hips begin moving the same time he starts moving in and out in at a slow pace, which drove her mad. As much as she wanted him to take his time in prepping her, teasing her, cherishing her, making her cum with just his fingers, she wanted more. She needed more. So with another broken moan, a pleading tone and a desperate thrust of her hips she hoped he would read on what she truly yearned.

Which he must’ve had because his breath fans hotly against her lips as he gently retrieves his fingers from her mound, leaving her empty for a couple seconds as he quickly shoves his briefs down, far enough where his aching member is free. Panting against her lips he easily guides her down until he feels the tip of his cock rubbing firmly against her folds, earning another moan to rip out from her as he rubs on her a few more times. Then, with a gentle swift motion he slides right inside causing a loud gasp to escape her parted lips.

A groan rumbles in his throat as he stills inside of her, taking long steady breaths through his nose as he focuses on not reaching the end right there and then. Because fuck, she felt absolutely heavenly. Her walls hugged him tightly as she too grew accustomed to his girth, taking slow breaths through her nose with eyes closed.

When she slowly parts them open, she immediately locks with dark, hooded green eyes. Only a sliver outline of green can be seen considering his pupils have dilated, it was then she took in his appearance, despite his hungry look in his eyes, his lips were also raw and swollen, shades of red tinted his cheeks to the tips of his ears, droplets of water slid beautifully on his skin, hair damped and disheveled from her fingers constantly running through them. He looked absolutely magnificent, everything about him shined beautifully underneath the moonlight.

“I love you,” She finds herself whisper, hand reaching to cup the side of his cheek,

A large hand also cups the side of her jaw, long fingers cradling the back of her neck before slowly and gently guiding her face closer to his.

“I love you,” He whispers back, gently latching their lips once again,

A small choked whimper vibrates against his lips just as he begins grinding his hips against her, then a gasp when he pulls out of her only to push back in with a little more force. He keeps the pace up for a few minutes, just luxuriating and getting lost in the way they both feel around each other, the way he feels her tightening around him with every thrust, the way she feels him inch by inch. It was such a delicious rich feeling. A such beautiful intimate moment.

However, after a heavy sigh and breathlessly saying his name against his lips he picks up the pace. Waves beginning to flow around them as his speed slowly increases, soft moans fall from her parted lips, eyes closing when the familiar pooling sensation begins to build at the bottom of her core from the way his speed only picks up. The waves forming stronger around them from his pace, but only calming for a second as he quickly maneuvers them towards the ladder. Snaking both arms beneath her knees and pinning her against the ladder, where she manages to grab some grip on the rails, a breathless groan falls against his lips as he fastens his pace. Waves now splashing around them, moan after moan slipping from her mouth at the change of speed. Eyes closing shut from pleasure when his hips meet with her own, his cock hitting and stretching deliciously along her aching walls.

Due to his change of speed and his hips hitting her clit with each thrust he gives, she quickly begins reaching the end of the line. What finally makes the dam break would be him gripping onto her hips and slamming her down in time with his brutal thrusts, his cock repeatedly hitting that one spot that has her seeing stars right before feeling her vision goes dark for a few seconds.

Grunting from the sudden tightness that engulfs him, Jensen breathlessly groans on the side of her neck as he continues to fuck her through her orgasm, quickly feeling his own rising. Which after a couple thrusts later a heavy breathless groan slips from the man as he finally stills inside of her, feeling himself twitch inside her raw and abused walls right as he feels the way his thick seed paints her insides.

“Oh.. fuck,” He pants against her neck, body slightly twitching from the intense orgasm,

They both remain holding on to each other for a few more minutes. Riding both their high’s together and catching each others breath. After minutes passed, Jensen slowly lifts his head from the crook of her neck, green tired orbs meeting with her own, feeling the way his lip tugs upward at the sight of her and the fact that she was finally his. The three words repeating over and over in his head, feeling the way his chest expands knowing she was finally his.

Not being able to contain himself, he lets the word fall freely once again before gently latching onto her lips. They shared a few, long, loving pecks before pulling away from each other to climb out the pool and get dressed. Despite their clothes being soaked to the brim, they still slipped them on before making their way inside the home hand in hand, not once parting from each other, not even when Jensen nearly fell on his ass when he slightly slipped along the wooden floor as they made their way towards his bedroom. A couple giggles erupted from them as they carefully walked towards his room.

Once inside, they quickly shed their soaking clothes before hopping into the shower, where they remained standing under the shower head until the water that was once warm turning cold against their skin and leaving them with pruned fingers. After drying their bodies with a towel, Jensen slipping into a pair of clean briefs and (Y/n) shrugging on one of his clean t-shirts along with some sweats of his, they both climb into bed where their limb’s perfectly tangle together.

They stayed awake, softly talking to one another, enjoying each others warmth, sharing various stories about everything and anything until eventually (Y/n) slowly starts dozing off. Cheek resting heavily against his chest, his heartbeat softly soothing her to sleep.

“God I love you,” He whispers, pulling another warm, happy, smile on his face,

Gently, he pulls her closer towards him, leaving a long kiss on the crown of her head before finally letting sleep overpower him. Despite feeling relief now that he knows she too shared the same feelings, that she is finally his, he still can’t help the small voice at the back of his head. He knows this will be challenging, there will be days where it will be difficult to get through, but as long as she held on to him through the obstacles he knew they’d be okay. He knew she’d never let him down, and he knew she knew he’d never let her down. He loves her, and he will damn sure fight for their love, because except for his kids she is also his reason to keep going in life. To keep pushing.

Because she’s worth fighting for.

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-> Alright y’all hope you guys liked this one, it has been dusting away in my drafts and it’s about time it sees the light!

-> Just wanna say, writing smut is not my strong suit, still trying to make it better for y’all so I do apologize if it’s not good enough 😌

-> Lastly, thank you to everyone who continues to read my crappy posts Much love! 🫶💗

-> Make Sure To Turn On Post Notifications!! 🔔 For More Updates!

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