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dreamersparacosm · 30 days ago

Text

𐙚₊˚⊹ flustered!jk and cheeky!reader 𐙚₊˚⊹

warnings ; jk losing his marbles, reader is a menace to society, oral (male recieving), car/public sex, jk is big af, he’s also a head pusher oop

prompt ; in which he takes you up on your offer.

part one!

Jungkook has had better days.

He’s had better weeks, actually. Ones where his brain wasn’t halting every neuron firing each time someone said your name. Ones where he could focus on normal things, like work and video games and whatever ramen packet was closest to expiration, without flashing back to you in his car, looking like a problem and sounding like a promise.

God.

It’s been exactly six days, and you’re still living rent-free in his head like you own the place, feet up on the furniture, eating snacks in his subconscious like it’s a sleepover. It’s not even sexy anymore, it’s embarrassing. He’s replayed that moment so many times it’s starting to feel like trauma. His brain shortens it into TikTok-length flashbacks like some deranged highlight reel.

And now it’s Friday night again. Another weekend. Another group outing. And he knows you’ll be there, laughing too loud, leaning too close to other guys, dressed like sin in some crop top. He thinks he’s doing himself a massive favor by telling the boys he’s too tired to go out, that he’s better off staying home so not to ruin the mood. Yet, somehow he knows his peace will be disturbed.

Despite all of his better judgment, despite the five pep talks he’s given himself today, despite Googling “how to stop thinking about someone you can’t bone for moral reasons,” he’s caving.

All because you’re texting him again. One simple message.

You: can you give me a ride home :( <3

That’s it. That’s his villain origin story.

He shouldn’t say yes. He should say you can Uber. He should say he’s busy. He should say he’s out of town, in a coma, legally dead. But instead, he just texts back.

Jungkook : on my way.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You slide into the passenger seat like you own it. Like you belong there. (Which you do — the man broke traffic laws to get to you.)

Your top, if it can even be called that, is doing absolutely no work. It’s sheer, shimmery, strapless, and defies the laws of physics and fabric. Your skin is warm from the bar, and you smell like perfume and trouble and something fruity with a hint of Casamigos. You’re tipsy, giggly, legs crossed like a Bond girl, and your hand lands on his shoulder like it’s nothing.

“Hi, driver,” you sing-song, smiling at him as if you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. “Miss me?”

He almost drives into a parked car.

You click your seatbelt with a soft snap and stretch, lifting your arms over your head in a way that should be illegal. Your shirt rides up an inch. His sanity drops ten.

“Where to?” he asks, voice already tight.

“Wherever you wanna take me,” you hum, then glance sideways at him. “As long as there’s room for me to get on my knees.”

He actually chokes. Like physically this time. Coughs. Slams a hand against the wheel. Regains composure only to lose it again.

You grin like the Cheshire Cat.

He starts driving, but barely. His eyes are glued to the road with soldier-like discipline, hands clenched at ten and two, just like last time. Except this time he’s thinking about your mouth. And your legs. And that last damn thing you said.

Every five seconds you keep touching him. A hand on his thigh, fingers tracing his bicep. At one point you lean forward to grab a sip of his water bottle from the cupholder and your boobs brush his arm and he lets out a sound like a dying animal.

He’s going to hell. You’re sending him there personally.

“You’re quiet,” you pout, turning to face him. “Are you nervous again, Jungkookie?”

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, adjusting the air-conditioning and absolutely not touching anything else.

“Why not?” you ask, tilting your head. “You don’t like it when I’m cute?”

“You’re never just cute,” he snaps, then freezes, realizes what he just said.

Your grin stretches slow and dangerous. “Oh?”

He exhales hard through his nose. His fingers twitch. That’s enough. Fucking enough.

He pulls over. Hard turn, sharp brake, slams the car into park like he’s punishing it. The air goes silent except for the faint hum of the engine and both of your breathing.

“You want to keep playing this game?” he asks, voice low and rough. “Fine. But you better be ready to lose.”

You blink, startled by the shift. “What..”

“You think I haven’t been thinking about it?” he interrupts. “You think I don’t know exactly what you’ve been doing every time you get in this car looking like that?”

His gaze drops to your mouth, then lower. It makes your skin erupt in heat.

“You have been nervous,” You whisper, a little breathless.

“I’ve been trying not to crash the car,” he says sharply. “Because all I do is imagine what would happen if I just pulled over. And now I have.”

Your heart’s going feral in your chest. Your thighs press together. You stare at him, stunned into silence for once in your life.

“Well,” you finally murmur, licking your lips. “Better make sure my seatbelt is on.”

He leans closer, eyes glued to yours.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re gonna need it.”

Ay, ay captain. You do double-check to make sure your seatbelt is on.

Mostly because Jungkook is staring at you like a man on the edge and if this goes where you think it’s going, you’d like your insurance to cover it.

He hasn’t moved yet. Just sitting there, parked in the dark near some empty lot, one hand still on the steering wheel like it’s his emotional support item. He licks his lips, exhales deeply within his chest. And you can see the exact moment he loses the fight with himself.

His hand drops from the wheel. “Okay.”

You blink. “Okay?”

“I’m…” he clears his throat. “I’m saying okay.”

..Okay what? Okay you can shut up now? Okay let’s never speak of this again? Okay go ahead and ruin my life with your mouth?

You lean in slightly, your voice low and wicked. “You want me to suck you off, Jungkook?”

He nods slowly . You swear he passes away in real time when you unclick your seatbelt.

“Wait,” he says suddenly, palms up like he’s calling a timeout. “Hold on. Are we… this is really happening?”

You smile all wicked. “Unless you want me to stop?”

He stares at you, mouth slightly open. “No! I mean… yes. I mean, wait. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Just— God, I sound like a virgin.”

“You kinda do,” you whisper, sliding closer to the drivers seat.

“I’m not, by the way,” he says quickly, then winces. “Not that it matters. I mean, it does. But not like that. I’ve just never.. not in a car—”

You press your finger gently to his lips. “Jungkook?”

“Hmm?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

And then your hand slides up his thigh.

Somewhere, above the clouds, there is a higher power that has been praying on his come-up, he swears.

He makes a noise. An animal dying in the zoo kind of noise. His head thunks lightly against the headrest and he closes his eyes like he’s making peace with God.

Jungkook is already half hard and you haven’t even done anything yet. You watch his chest rise and fall like he’s sprinted a mile, and you swear you can see the moment his brain physically leaves his body.

“You’re so tense,” you murmur, fingers brushing higher. “Told you.”

“I’m trying so hard not to die right now,” he says, voice ragged.

You giggle, leaning over the console to kiss his jaw, slow and deliberate. “Poor baby.”

He swallows like it’s painful. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I do.”

“And I hate it.”

“No, you don’t,” You smile against his skin.

His hands hover awkwardly, like he doesn’t know what to do with them; should he touch you? Is that allowed? Is this a trap? Will he be smited? You reach over and gently guide one of his hands to the back of your neck.

“There,” you whisper. “See? Not so hard.”

He mutters under his breath, “Speak for yourself.”

You burst out laughing, and he groans, closing his eyes tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he says, half-laughing, half-dying. “I’m trying to be smooth. But you.. God, you’re just—”

“I’m what?”

He looks at you, eyes wild. “You’re.. you. You know? Just.. every guy in our friend group wants to fuck you. ”

“Is that a compliment?” You bat your lashes at him.

“It is. It is a huge compliment. Please continue.”

He should be arrested. No, seriously. Somebody should call the police. He should be handcuffed and tossed directly into horny jail because there is no way what you’re doing right now is allowed under the laws of God or man.

Your hand is still on his thigh, lingering dangerously close to his button. Your mouth — your actual, real-life mouth — is somewhere in the vicinity of his zipper. And Jungkook is trying so hard to play it cool but his brain is firing blank slides like a broken projector.

He grips the seat. The wheel. Himself. The back of your neck like you told him to.

You’re too calm. Too confident. Like you’ve done this before. Like you know exactly what kind of damage you’re about to inflict on his very mortal soul (which is rude, honestly.)

You drag the zipper down slow. Partly for dramatic effect. Mostly because your hands are suddenly shaky (not that you’d ever admit that out loud.)

You’ve been teasing him for far too long, riding the high of his nervous little stares and fumbling responses like it’s your favorite roller coaster. And up until now? You were untouchable, confident, the seductress in the passenger seat of his car.

You drag his jeans down, take a look at his black Calvin Klein boxers that you’re a little surprised he owns. You finally get your hand past the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down painfully slow.

You pause.

Gulp.

Because, um. That’s a lot.

Not in a humble, oh he’s hard kind of way. No. You mean that is a full-blown situation. A legitimate problem. Something you should’ve been briefed on ahead of time with a PowerPoint and maybe a warning label.

You glance up at him.

He’s already flushed and pink-lipped, panting like he just ran laps. Doesn’t even realize you’ve frozen mid-mission. Poor guy probably thinks you’re being seductive. He’s looking down at you with the dazed trust of a man who has no idea you’ve just had a spiritual crisis.

The driver’s console presses up against your boobs a little more as you wiggle closer to him, taking his length in your hand. It’s big. He’s big. Why is he not more smug about this? Why is he always so shy when he’s walking around with a whole weapon under there?

You feel a full-on identity shift coming. Like you might start paying for his gas. Or offering to make him soup. Like this might change the entire dynamic, and you’re suddenly the one nervously blinking up at him.

You look back down at his cock in your hand, observing the way every vein curves, the way his pink tip is wet with precum. It’s curved slightly, and is thick enough that you’re starting to question if it’ll even fit in your mouth.

Your fingertips give him one long stroke and he shudders, which makes your stomach flip. Okay, this is fine. You’re strong. You do Pilates. You’ve read Harry Styles fanfiction.

You steady yourself, take a breath, and blink again. One last internal scream for good measure. Then you smile up at him, all soft lips and fake confidence, and whisper, “You’re lucky I like a challenge.”

You watch the words hit him like a punch to the gut. His whole body tightens; shoulders, thighs, jaw, everything. He stares down at you like you just offered him his first taste of oxygen after being underwater for weeks.

He reaches out, slow but sure, and gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail with one trembling hand. His fingers flex at the base of your neck, and the move is so unexpectedly possessive that it sends heat curling low in your stomach.

His other hand drops to his thigh, clenched in a fist. His breathing’s all wrong, shallow and desperate. He bites his lip ring so hard you swear it might split skin, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse.

“Then take your time,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t say anything to that. You just lower your mouth and give him one single, kitten-soft lick from the base of his cock to tip, your eyes locked on his the entire time. No pressure, no rhythm. Just a soft, teasing taste. His skin is slightly salty with a tinge of sweetness, also some familiar soap you’ve smelled on him before.

His hips jerk violently, a sharp moan escaping his mouth before he can even try to swallow it. His grip in your hair tightens like a reflex with a choked, “F-fuck—”

You inhale once, deep and steady, and then slide your mouth over him in one slow, devastating stroke, past your lips and over your tongue. Until your nose brushes against his pubic bone and your throat stretches to accommodate every inch.

Jungkook lets out a deep, desperate groan that vibrates from somewhere low in his chest liike he wasn’t ready. Like he thought he knew what this would be and now he’s realizing, Oh no. Oh no, no, no, I was wrong. I’m in danger.

You don’t really give him time to recover. You set a rhythm until the obscene sound of gagging fills up the car, mingling with his panting and the slick noises of your mouth.

His hips jerk like they want to move but don’t dare. He’s panting your name between gasps, muttering nonsense, sentences with no real structure. “Oh my fuck — so good, I can’t —“

You hollow your cheeks just slightly. The effect is instant and he lets out this helpless whimper, one hand gripping the headrest behind him like he’s trying not to ascend, other one knotted in your hair.

You come up for air for one brief second, spit stringing between your lips and his cock, and before he can even look at you, you’re going right back down even faster this time.

His voice pitches. “Wait, wait, slow down, I’m—”

You don’t. Because you like the way his voice sounds right now, shaky and too high, like you’ve rewired every synapse in his body. You like how big he is, how heavy in your mouth. You also like the fact that he’s so obviously been thinking about this for as long as you have.

Your mascara’s already smudging, eyes glassy, cheeks streaked with tears, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

He’s still unraveling above you and every single moan you wring out of him feels like a prize. His hand is fisted in your hair still, this time tighter, bolder, and he’s using it to push your head down even further.

Your throat’s raw, your lungs are burning, your jaw aches and none of it matters. Because you’ve got both hands working the rest of him, twisting and stroking whatever your mouth can’t reach, and every time you swirl your tongue over his tip, he lets out a new sound that makes you wetter.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop, fuck,” He begs.

And you don’t. Of course you don’t. Because you’re evil. Beautiful and focused and slightly too good at this, and now he’s seconds from becoming a cautionary tale on Reddit.

You hum around him, the vibrations dizzying his brain. “I’m gonna crash the car without even moving it if you do that again, I swear,” He moans out.

Okay. So. You’re currently giving a blowjob in the front seat of Jungkook’s sad little car, and he’s moaning like it’s the rapture.

Cool, cool, cool.

You didn’t plan this, exactly. You were just trying to be hot and flirty and maybe mess with his head a little and now here you are.

His breaths are so shaky you think he’ll need an inhaler. He’s whispering please like you’ve got divine powers, which, honestly, right now? You do.

You pop your mouth off his cock for one second, glance up, and whisper, “You still breathing, Jungkookie?”

He looks down at you like he’s in love.

Another tear slips down your cheek from the sheer force of how you’re swallowing his cock whole. You used to doodle his name in your diary. Now you’re deepthroating him in a car like it’s your full-time job. What is wrong with you (Everything. And you don’t care.)

You used to wonder what he was like underneath all that quiet nervousness. Well. Now you know. He’s like this. Loud, sweaty, so responsive, and squirming under your touch like he’s never felt anything like this in his life.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god, you’re — shit, you’re perfect,” he gasps, eyes wide, voice cracking on every other word. “I can’t, baby, you’re gonna make me — fuck — cum.”

Baby? That’s new. That, you can work with.

You moan around him just to be cruel, and the reaction is instant: his thighs jerk, his head falls back, and he wails, hips twitching like his body’s trying to chase the high before it’s even hit. “I’m so fucking close, shit.”

You’re faring no better. You’re crying and choking and gagging and soaked between the legs and still going because the way he sounds when he falls apart? It’s addicting.

You circle your tongue once more around his tip, drag your hand faster up the base, and glance up through your wet lashes, eyes locking with his just long enough to see the moment he snaps. “Baby, I’m gonna cum, yesyesyesyes.”

His whole body seizes, abs tightening, lips parted around a strangled moan. He doesn’t even say your name, just gasps it, offers it up like a sacrifice. Warm and overwhelming, spilling past your tongue in slow pulses, you swallow his entire load. It doesn’t taste bad at all, it’s salty and warm and oddly satisfying. Tastes a little like success.

You sit up, all dainty and slow, like you didn’t just dismantle a grown man in a semi-legal parking lot. You stretch like you’re easing out of a yoga pose, then swipe your fingers across your bottom lip to wipe away the last trace of his cum. You look like you just got out of a Sephora, not off his cock.

Poor Jungkook is catatonic.He’s melted into the seat, completely slack, one hand limp against the window and the other cradling his own thigh like he needs emotional support. His chest is rising like he just ran a marathon and lost by a landslide. His dark hair is messily strewn over his eyes.

Because you’re heartless and delightful, you twist toward him and ask all cutesy: “Sooo… how long do you think it’ll take to get to my place from here?”

His head lolls in your direction. “What?”

You blink innocently. “You are still driving me home, right?”

“I-I can’t even feel my legs.”

“Not my problem,” you sing, clicking your seatbelt on again. “You said months ago I could ask you for a ride whenever, remember? That’s a verbal contract.”

He’s staring at you like you just kicked a puppy and then kissed it on the nose. “You’re… evil.”

You grin. “Flattered.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I can’t believe I let you do that.”

“You didn’t let me,” you hum. “I begged you until you cracked.”

He groans again, louder this time. The sound vibrates through the car pathetically. His head drops against the steering wheel with a dull thud and stays there.

You glance out the windshield,“Anyway, if you take the expressway, I think we can make it to mine in like… fifteen minutes?”

“You’re insane,” He tuts against the steering wheel.

“True. But I’m also your ride-or-die now, apparently.”

He lifts his head with effort. Looks at you with the wide, shellshocked eyes of a man who knows he’ll never recover from this.

You smile at him sweetly, reaching over to squeeze his thigh again. He flinches at the comtact.

You bite your lip. “Still sensitive?”

“Don’t touch me,” he pleads, voice high and fragile.

You giggle like the monster you are. “Alright, alright,” you say, settling back in your seat as any law-abiding citizen. “Let’s go. Home sweet home.”

He starts the car with shaking hands. And as he pulls back onto the road, vision blurry, soul permanently altered he swears to himself he will never respond to your texts past midnight again.

(But he will.)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

note ; ok…. so this is no longer a blurb, i fear. i feel like this needs a title now but i also have no desire bc then it’ll be a thing. and i cannot have it be a thing bc i have 2039339 wip’s. but also them. jk spiraling over this blowjob, the friend group going crazy over it.. why is it giving toxic situationship with you not ready to commit and him being a mess? literally remove the pen from my hand. anyways this is all your guys’ fault (and also mine bc this is inspired by how my ex from 4 years ago and i started dating)

masterlist + request

#when i go to prison.. make sure its life no parole #this is diabolical work on my part #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #bts #bts army #bts jungkook #bts x reader #jjk #jjk x reader

1K notes · View notes

inseobts · 21 days ago

Note

Can I request a fic where reader is in love with zoro but he’s Zoro and doesn’t notice for forever. Years maybe even. But then law comes into the picture and likes reader and she finally realizes maybe it’s time to give up on Zoro and go for someone who may love her back…only for Zoro to realize how he truly feels ? 🙃 ending can be either angst or happy for Zoro!

Almost Noticed

zoro x reader + law x reader

a/n: it's almost similar to the last one I did but it was fun... and since they're my two husbands I couldn't choose a winner and I let google choose for me T.T (gonna put the photo at the end lmao)

tags: pre and post time-skip, spoilers, slow burn, tension, love triangle

words count: 6.7k

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

You sit near the railing watching Zoro from across the deck.

He’s lying on his back under the mast, one arm slung behind his head, eyes closed, but you know he’s not asleep.

It’s been months, or maybe even longer, since you started looking too long when he trained shirtless in the sun. Since you started noticing the way his voice drops when he’s serious, the way his brows furrow when he’s annoyed. Since you realized your heart does stupid flips when he calls your name in that lazy, gravel-deep voice.

He never notices. Not the way you notice everything.

He doesn’t know that you make him an extra rice ball at lunch because he always wants seconds, even if Sanji starts complaining. He doesn’t know you patch up the seams of his bandanas when they start to fray. He doesn’t see the way you look at him like he’s something holy, somehow both untouchable and familiar.

And it’s fine, or at least you tell yourself it’s fine.

“Oi.”

You blink and turn. He’s standing right behind you now, towel over his shoulder, swords glinting under moonlight “You spacing out again?”

“I—no, just thinking.”

Zoro stares at you, then leans against the railing beside you like it’s nothing. Like being close doesn’t twist your insides into knots “Don’t think too hard. You’ll overheat.”

You laugh softly “Thanks for the advice, Mr. ‘All Brawn No Brain’.”

“Tch.” He doesn’t even pretend to be insulted “At least I don’t sit around staring at people.”

Your heart stops. Just for a second.

Did he notice?

Guess no because he’s already turned away, already yawning like the conversation’s over. Like your entire world isn’t spinning.

Weeks later you are all on Sabaody Archipelago when the island becomes hell, full of chaos. You expected tension. You didn’t expect the world to start cracking apart at the edges.

The ground shakes with every step Bartholomew Kuma takes. Everything’s falling apart. Again.

You’re standing with the crew, breathing hard, bruised, blood on your temple, and Zoro’s right beside you. The air tastes like ozone and smoke. Pain screams in every bone, but you hold your stance anyway.

Zoro’s stance is steady, swords drawn, chest rising and falling. He’s ready to fight, even when it’s hopeless. He always is.

“Get back” he mutters, low enough for just you to hear.

You grip your weapon tighter “Not a chance.”

His eyes flick to you, just for a second.

Not long enough.

“Kuma’s not human” Franky shouts from across the field “We can’t beat him!”

“We have to try!” Luffy yells back.

It happens fast… too fast.

One flash of light. One massive hand. And then Poof.

First it’s Sanji.

Then Chopper.

Then Franky.

(I don’t remember the exact order, bare with me if I forget to check before posting lmao)

Gone. Like smoke in the wind.

“No… NO!” you scream, running forward, but Zoro grabs your arm and pulls you back hard.

“Stay behind me” he growls.

You should say it now, before it’s too late.

“I love you” You swallow the words.

Then Kuma steps forward again.

“Room.”

You don’t hear it but you feel like a buzz in the air, a coldness at your back. And then, suddenly, you’re not behind Zoro anymore.

You’re inside a glowing sphere. The world around you slows, like someone turned the volume down on the chaos. You spin, breath caught in your lungs.

“Trafalgar Law, right?”

He stands a few paces away, hat casting a shadow over his gold-ringed eyes, hand lifted.

“What—What are you doing? What did you do?”

“Getting you out.”

Your heart slams in your chest “I can’t leave! I have to go back. Zoro’s still—”

“I saw him.” His voice is low. Calm “You know he’s the next one and you can’t do anything.”

“No,” you whisper. Your fists shake “He—he doesn’t even know—”

Law watches you carefully “But you do.”

You turn, trying to run back toward the others but Kuma’s hand is already over Zoro, light bursting around him like a nova.

And then he’s gone.

Just like that.

“NO!” You scream, stumbling forward, but Law grabs you and pulls you against him.

“Don’t waste it” he murmurs against your hair “You got lucky you weren’t far enough for me to reach you.”

“I didn’t want luck,” you breathe “I want them back.”

Later on you wake up to a low hum. Not waves. Not creaking wood. Something colder. Something deeper.

Your eyes snap open. The room is dim, lit only by a strip of soft light lining the metal walls. You’re not on the Thousand Sunny anymore.

“Where—?”

You try to sit up too fast, pain flaring in your ribs. Your voice is hoarse.

“Careful.”

You turn. Law is standing near the door, coat off, arms crossed over his chest. His tattoos catch the low light like ink on porcelain.

“You passed out,” he says “Shock, maybe. Or blood loss. Or both.”

You sit back slowly, memory returning in fragments.

Sabaody. Kuma. Zoro.

All of your crew… gone.

You close your eyes, chest rising with a shaky breath “You shouldn’t have pulled me out.”

Law says nothing.

“I would’ve rather—” You don’t finish the sentence.

He watches you for a long time. Then “I know.”

That’s it. No lecture. No pity.

He just says it like a fact. Like someone who understands what it means to lose everything in a single heartbeat.

The next few days pass in a blur.

The Polar Tang is too clean. Too quiet. The crew is polite but distant. You eat in silence. Sleep too much. You try not to think them, of Zoro, you try not to remember the way he stood in front of you before Kuma could reach you.

Try not to remember that he never even turned around to see if you’d followed, widening his eyes when he realised you disappeared like that.

Law keeps his distance. He doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t comfort you. But you catch him watching sometimes.

When you forget to eat, he sends food without a word.

When you sit in the med bay too long staring at nothing, he walks in, grabs supplies, and walks out again, without breaking the silence.

You wish you could hate him for pulling you out. For saving you when no one else made it.

But you don’t. You can’t.

Because in those rare moments when he looks at you, you feel like maybe he’s just as lost.

One night, you’re in the observation room, staring at the ocean through a round porthole. You don’t hear him come in.

“I keep seeing it,” you say softly, not turning around “Zoro… the way he disappeared. I didn’t even say anything.”

“You wouldn’t have had time�� Law answers.

You let out a hollow laugh “I had years, actually.”

That shuts him up.

You finally look over your shoulder “You’re not going to tell me I’ll move on?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He pauses, then shrugs “Because I wouldn’t.”

The words hit harder than you expect. You swallow.

He steps closer, hands in his pockets, voice low “I didn’t save you for you, you know.”

Your breath catches “What does that mean?”

Law meets your eyes for half a second. Then he shakes his head.

“Forget it.”

He turns to leave.

You almost call out to him, ask him to stay, but you don’t.

Because Zoro never said what you needed to hear. And now Law won’t either.

Days pass. Maybe weeks. You don’t count them.

The crew leaves you alone. Law doesn’t.

Not in an obvious way, he never lingers too long, never asks too much. But he’s always there, hovering at the edges of your grief like someone who’s used to ghosts.

And Zoro is a ghost. Not dead. Not gone forever. But still gone.

You wonder if he thought of you before he disappeared. If he was scared.

You dig your nails into your palms and force your mind blank.

Law, standing across the room, doesn’t comment. But you know he notices.

Later, at night, you go sitting on the cold metal floor in the lower deck, knees tucked to your chest.

Law’s voice cuts through the silence.

“You keep sitting in dark corners like that, and someone’s gonna think you died.”

You huff a quiet laugh, not looking up “Maybe I did.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Then he says “That’s not how it works.”

You finally glance at him. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, unreadable as always.

“How does it work, then?” you ask “Losing people?”

Law exhales, slow “Like an open wound. You live with it.”

Your throat tightens.

“You ever lost someone?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

His jaw shifts slightly.

“Yes.”

The weight of it sits between you.

You don’t ask who.

He doesn’t ask why you’re asking.

The silence stretches, but this time, it doesn’t feel empty.

You don’t realize how long he stays there until you finally stand up, lightheaded, exhausted, and he just… turns and walks away.

Like he was only there to make sure you got back up at all.

Another week passes, maybe?

You start eating more. Sleeping less.

The crew stops treating you like a ghost. Bepo tells you stories. Shachi and Penguin try to drag you into their dumb arguments. And Law still keeps his distance.

But one night, when you wake up from another dream where they disappear right in front of you, you stumble into the hallway, breath shaky, and he’s already there. Like he knew.

He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t say a word.

Just stands there, hands in his pockets, eyes sharp in the dim light.

And for the first time since Sabaody, you don’t feel completely alone.

It’s chaos. Worse than Sabaody.

The battlefield burns, the sky cracked open by fire and screams. Bodies fall. The ocean churns red.

You stand on the deck of the Polar Tang, numb, gripping the railing so hard your knuckles go white. You don’t blink. Don’t move. Because if you do, you might break apart completely.

“Luffy!”

He’s right there.

Not an echo. Not a dream. He’s alive, stumbling forward with Ace’s lifeless body still clutched against his chest, screaming so raw and broken it rips through you.

Your throat closes. You feel sick.

I should have been there.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a hand closes around your wrist.

“Go inside” Law says, voice quiet but firm.

You shake your head wildly “No! I have to—”

“You’ll only get in the way.”

The words cut deep, but you know he’s right.

This isn’t your fight anymore. It was never yours to begin with.

When it’s over, you sit beside Luffy in the Polar Tang’s infirmary. He’s unconscious, face pale, breath shallow.

Tears slip down your cheeks, silent and endless.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper “I’m so sorry.”

You don’t hear Law approach, but suddenly, his shadow stretches across the dim room. He doesn’t say anything, just watches.

After a moment, he kneels beside you.

“He’ll live” he says simply.

You press a hand over your mouth, nodding shakily.

Law stays kneeling there for a few seconds longer, like he almost wants to reach for you. But then he stands, and the moment is gone.

Two weeks later Luffy stands on the shore, fists clenched.

“I’m going to train” he says “For two years.”

You nod, already knowing.

Then he turns to you “You should train too.”

Your breath catches “With you?”

“No.” Luffy shakes his head pointing slightly and fast at Law “With him.”

Your stomach drops “Luffy—”

“You’re not strong enough yet...” he says, no hesitation, no softness “None of us were.”

You flinch.

Luffy doesn’t mean to hurt you, but he’s right. You weren’t strong enough. Not to stop Kuma. Not to fight in Marineford.

Not even to keep Zoro in your life.

You turn to Law, who watches you in that unreadable way of his.

“You want me to stay?” you ask.

He shrugs “Your captain does.”

“And you?”

Something flickers in his eyes, quick as lightning. But then it’s gone.

“We leave tomorrow.”

That’s all he says and you don’t argue.

Luffy waves from the shore one last time, grinning even though he’s still healing, even though everything’s shattered.

“Train hard!” he yells “Don’t die!”

You wave back. Smile. Fake it.

“See you in two years, Captain!” you say.

He disappears into the jungle with Rayleigh at his side.

And that’s it. Luffy’s gone.

The last thread connecting you to the Straw Hats...

You don’t make it far. Maybe ten steps onto the Polar Tang before your knees buckle.

You sink to the floor in the hallway, fists clenched, trying to breathe.

They’re all gone. And Luffy, your captain, your anchor, isn’t the one you have to follow now.

Your whole chest aches with the weight of them, and Zoro... who never even looked back at you in the same way you looked at him.

Your hands shake. You press them to your mouth, try to swallow the sob, but it bursts out anyway.

You don’t hear footsteps. But suddenly Law is there, crouched beside you like he’s been waiting.

“Let it out” he says, voice low, steady.

You cry harder.

Ugly, gasping sobs that have been locked in since Sabaody. You curl into yourself, and he doesn’t touch you, he just stays.

You don’t know how long it lasts. Minutes. Maybe more.

When your breathing finally evens out, you whisper “I didn’t want to go with you.”

“I know.”

“I wanted to stay with them.”

“I know” he says again. But it’s softer this time. Almost careful.

You look up at him, eyes swollen and wet “Why did you even save me?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stands and offers a hand.

“Come on. I’m training you. Start now.”

Day one, training begins and you’re sore within an hour.

Law doesn’t go easy on you, not out of cruelty, but because he doesn’t believe in easy.

He corrects your stance with a flick of his sword, shoves your balance when it’s off, tells you when your swings are weak. But he never mocks. Never smirks.

And when you collapse into the dirt, gasping for breath, he tosses you a canteen and says:

“You did better than yesterday.”

“…It’s the first day.”

He shrugs “I’m setting the bar low.”

It almost makes you laugh.

That night, you stare at the ceiling of your bunk, arms aching, mind fogged with exhaustion.

And you realize Law could’ve left you behind. Could’ve dropped you off somewhere from the beginning. But he didn’t.

He’s not kind. But he’s constant. Present.

You fall asleep thinking of Zoro.

But just before your dreams take you, you actually see Law’s eyes, calm and steady, and feel just a little less alone.

Month one, and Law doesn’t hold back.

He pushes you until your muscles scream, until you’re too exhausted to think. Maybe that’s the point, maybe he knows you’d drown in your own thoughts if he let you rest too long.

At night, you collapse into your bunk, body bruised, mind blank.

And sometimes, when the nightmares come, he’s already awake. He never says anything. Never asks. But if you step outside to breathe, he’s always leaning somewhere out there, pretending it’s a coincidence.

Month three, and training drill goes wrong. Your foot slips, and you hit the ground har, too hard. You try to get up, but your vision sways.

Law is there in an instant as he kneels beside you, eyes sharp with something you almost don’t recognize. Worry.

“You hit your head,” he mutters, scanning you “Idiot.”

You blink up at him, dazed “You care.”

His hands still for half a second.

Then he scoffs, expression smoothing into something unreadable “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But when he helps you stand, his grip is steady. Careful.

Month eight, Law’s sword crashes against yours, and your blood thrums with the fight, and when you smirk at him, he smirks back.

Not mocking.

Not cold.

Just something warm.

The moment is gone too fast. But that night, lying in bed, you realize you stopped thinking about him that much.

Year one, and you have your first real battle of your time with the Heart Pirates. A raid gone wrong.

You’re cornered, outnumbered, bleeding, one knee on the ground.

And then shink. A blade flashes.

When you look up, Law is standing over you, sword drawn, eyes dark with something dangerous.

You breathe hard, staring up at him “You...”

“Idiot.” His voice is sharp, but his hands, when he helps you up, are steady “You were reckless.”

“You saved me again.”

“Tch. I told you before.” he mutters, gripping your arm “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But that night, when you pass out from exhaustion, you swear you feel someone pull a blanket over you.

It’s weird. You don’t remember when it started, when the metal walls of the submarine stopped feeling cold.

You laugh easier these days. Mostly because of the crew.

Bepo makes dumb jokes that hit way too hard when you’re tired. Penguin and Shachi bicker like toddlers. You’ve been caught in the middle more than once.

“You’re taking my side, right?” Shachi demands.

“She likes me more” Penguin argues.

You just smirk “Bepo’s the only one with a brain. I’m staying on his side.”

They groan in betrayal. Bepo beams.

You catch Law watching from the upper deck, arms crossed, leaning against the railing like he’s not paying attention, but you know he is. He watches a lot now. He listens when you’re laughing, eyes sharp, expression unreadable. Not because he’s annoyed, but because he knows the clock’s ticking.

Soon, you’ll leave.

He doesn’t say it. He never would.

But you see it in the way he looks at you like he’s memorizing it all.

And what makes it worse is that with time you’ve gotten even bolder. You tease him now, just to see if you can crack that calm exterior.

“Law,” you lean across the table with your chin in your palm, “have I finally impressed you yet?”

He doesn’t even glance up from the reports “No.”

You grin “Liar.”

He looks at you then. Just briefly. But there’s something dangerous in his eyes. Warm and annoyed.

“You’re becoming a nuisance” he says.

“And yet,” you whisper with mock drama, “you’ve never kicked me off your ship.”

His jaw ticks. You love it.

You turn away smiling, leaving him there, stoic and silent, pretending you didn’t just get under his skin again.

He watches you walk off, fingers tapping once against the table, tension in his shoulders that has nothing to do with the reports.

Year two, you still think about Zoro, but your heart is quieter now.

You don’t think of him every night like before.

And that realization actually terrifies you. Because you’ve spent years thinking of Zoro.

And somehow, without meaning to, without wanting to, you started looking at someone else.

Two years vanish in the wind.

Your boots hit Sabaody’s soil.

Same place. Same light in the sky. But nothing feels the same, not the way you stand taller, breathe steadier, walk with quiet strength instead of wide-eyed hope.

The crew is here.

Your crew.

Luffy’s laugh is the same. Usopp’s dramatic wailing makes you snort. Nami nearly tackles you in a hug.

Sanji cries actual blood when he sees you. Chopper does his little spin.

You smile so much your face hurts. But your heart stays still.

Because he’s not here.

Not yet.

You hear the footsteps behind you first. Steady. Heavy. Familiar.

You turn and there he is.

Zoro.

He’s taller. Broader. Scars you don’t recognize. A presence so solid it makes the air shift.

His gaze snaps to yours, and it holds. No blink. No hesitation.

Your breath catches.

“Hey” you whisper.

It’s barely a word. Barely a sound.

He’s staring like he hasn’t seen anyone else since the day you disappeared.

“…You’re alive” he says. Voice low.

You nod “So are you.”

A beat.

He steps forward, and for a second you think he’s going to touch you. Say something. Anything. But he just stops a foot away.

“…You look stronger.” he says.

You blink, a laugh slipping out that’s part broken, part breathless “Took me long enough.”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look away. Just says “I looked for you.”

Your heart slams.

“What?”

“When we got back.” He says it like it’s nothing “I looked. Didn’t stop for months. Thought you were dead.”

You try to swallow, but your throat’s tight “I—I was with Law.”

His jaw tenses “Yeah. I heard.”

Silence stretches between you.

He looks the same, but not really. He feels different. Like the sharp edges are still there, but dulled by time. Regret.

And you’re not sure what you feel, because for these two years, Zoro haunted you. And now he’s here, real and solid and late.

He shifts closer again, eyes flicking over your face “You okay?”

You nod, barely “You?”

“Better now.” he says, almost too low to hear.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Because behind you, someone calls your name.

You turn, just enough to see Law, standing off to the side, watching. Zoro’s gaze follows yours.

And the moment breaks.

Law finds you leaning over a crate on the dock, hands smudged with oil from helping Franky. The sun’s setting, orange light stretching long across the sea.

“You leaving already?” you ask, tossing him a crooked grin.

He nods “I did my job and you're here now. My crew’s waiting.”

You straighten up. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like just a goodbye.

“Oh.”

He doesn’t meet your eyes “You’re back where you belong.”

You hate how your throat tightens “Law...”

“I don’t regret it” he cuts in, voice low “Any of it. Saving you. Training you. Keeping you.”

You stare at him, heart thudding.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"You usually don't talk much at all."

“Then take this as a rare moment of honesty.”

You laugh a little, shaky “Okay…”

He steps closer, close enough that your shoulders nearly touch “You were never just someone I saved.”

The world tilts. You don’t breathe.

“You're back with them now…” he hesitates, swallows, “With him... as you always wanted.”

That’s when it hits you.

The shift in your chest. The ache you’ve been ignoring. The weight behind every time you teased him. Every time he didn’t laugh, but stayed.

You look up at him and it’s all over your face.

Law sees it.

You don’t say anything. You can’t. Because it’s too late.

So you just nod, eyes shining.

“Goodbye, Law.”

He looks at you one last time, as if memorizing it. Then he turns and leaves.

Zoro watches from the shadows. He doesn’t mean to. But he sees it all.

The way you stand still long after Law disappears from sight.

The way your shoulders tremble, just once.

And, worst of all, the look you gave him. That soft, broken, aching look.

Zoro’s chest goes tight, because he knows that look. You used to give it to him, back when he was too blind to see it.

Now, he sees it clear as day, but it’s not for him anymore.

Later that night, he tries anyway.

He finds you on the deck, alone, arms wrapped around yourself.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks.

You turn slowly. Smile tiredly “Sure.”

He steps closer. Hesitates. Then “I meant what I said. I missed you. I still do.”

You blink, surprised “Zoro...”

“I didn’t know how to say it back then. But I do now.”

You look at him, really look, and something in your face flickers.

Soft but sad.

“I waited a long time” you whisper.

“I know.”

“And now…” you trail off “Now, I don’t know what I feel.”

He nods, jaw tight “But I do.”

You close your eyes “I’m sorry.”

And that’s it. He’s too late.

Zoro isn’t good with words, but he can do actions. So he sticks close.

He stands by you during battles. Helps you sharpen your blade even when you insist you can do it yourself. He throws his jacket at you during a cold night on deck without saying a word.

You stop flinching when he shows up.

You stop looking away so quickly.

That’s progress, right?

One night, he brings you food. He sets it beside you with a quiet, “Eat. You skipped dinner.”

You glance up “Didn’t think you noticed.”

“I notice a lot more now.”

Your eyes meet his. There’s warmth there, brief, flickering. And Zoro clings to it.

He doesn’t say the words again. Not yet. He knows now that words have weight. That the next time he confesses, it can’t be casual. It can’t be a maybe.

So he waits.

Watches.

Hopes.

You’re softer with him. You laugh sometimes. You don’t run anymore. But you also don’t reach for him. Not the way you used to.

Weeks pass. Battles come and go. And with every scar, every shared glance, every late-night conversation, Zoro starts to think.

Maybe this time he’ll be enough.

Maybe you’re still finding your way back.

Then Punk Hazard happens. The fog. The cold. The chaos.

And amid all that... “Room.”

Zoro turns fast. His hand tightens around his sword.

Law.

He’s standing like he never left. Calm. Collected. Surgeon’s eyes scanning the area.

And then he sees you.

You freeze. You don’t say anything, but you smile.

Not the polite kind. Not the cautious one you give strangers.

It’s soft. Familiar. Full.

Zoro watches your whole face change, lit from within in a way he hasn’t seen in years.

And that’s when it hits him.

You really do look at Law the way you used to look at him.

He turns away before you can see the hurt break through his face.

For the first time since he started trying, Zoro feels something crack.

He’s not done yet. But for the first time, he wonders if trying is enough.

The alliance happens fast. Faster than anyone expects. But not without meaning.

Luffy grins wide as ever, standing on the snowy remains of the Punk Hazard wreckage, hand outstretched “Let’s do it!”

Law hesitates for half a second, like he always does. Like he’s weighing every possible outcome.

But then his eyes flick past Luffy, just for a moment. To you.

Standing there, watching, quiet.

He takes the hand.

The crew erupts behind you, half celebrating, half groaning.

“An alliance with him? Really?!” Usopp yells.

“Great,” Nami mutters “Another brooding one.”

Sanji lights a cigarette, eyes narrowing at Law “As long as he keeps his hands off certain people, I guess it’s fine.”

You roll your eyes “Sanji!”

Law blinks, then tilts his head “Was that directed at me?”

Sanji blows out smoke “You did spend two years alone with her, didn’t you?��

You choke. Zoro tenses.

And Law... oh God, he blushes.

It’s the faintest thing. Barely there. Just a brush of pink at his cheekbones.

But everyone sees it.

Robin smiles knowingly. Franky lets out a long “oooooohhh!” Chopper gasps like he’s watching a soap opera.

You cover your face with both hands “Oh my god.”

Law clears his throat and looks away “This is an alliance. Nothing more.”

Sanji grins like a wolf “Didn’t say it wasn’t anything else.”

Luffy just shrugs “Trafalgar’s cool. He helped when I couldn’t.”

That makes everyone pause, because that matters.

Luffy doesn’t say things like that often.

He looks at you next, eyes clear and serious for once “He kept you alive. And that means something to me.”

Your chest tightens.

Law doesn’t respond, but his shoulders shift, barely. The way they do when he’s holding something in.

Zoro doesn’t say anything either. But he hears everything. He sees everything. And it burns.

You’re all in the same ship now, as Law temporarily sail with you all.

It’s chaos. Tension thick in the air. But it’s not the alliance that’s unstable.

It’s Zoro and Law.

It starts small.

During a strategy meeting, you lean over Law’s shoulder to point at the map.

“Right here. If we flank from the east—”

Zoro cuts in from behind you “That’s a crap angle. It exposes our backs.”

Law doesn’t even look up “Not if we use your crew as decoys.”

Zoro’s eye twitches “You offering to lead that charge, or just hoping we’ll take the hit for you?”

“Don’t project your martyr complex on me, Roronoa.”

You sigh, stepping between them before things can escalate “Can we not have a dick-measuring contest over a map?”

Law raises a brow “Who said anything about that?”

Zoro smirks “Pretty sure I’m winning anyway.”

“Zoro!”

He glances at you. Shrugs “Just saying.”

Law’s lips twitch, somewhere between annoyance and something else “Very mature.”

Later that day, you’re sparring on deck, Zoro by your side, running drills. He’s focused, strict, pushing you hard, harder than usual.

“You’re dropping your left,” he grunts “Again.”

“I’m tired...”

“You’ll be dead if you fight like that.”

You glare at him, wiping sweat from your brow “God, you’re such an ass sometimes.”

“Only when you’re being lazy.”

“You wanna fight?”

He smirks “Thought we were.”

Before you can respond...

“Maybe she needs a better teacher.”

You both turn.

Law stands a few feet away, arms crossed, tone dry.

Zoro straightens, blade resting on his shoulder “You volunteering?”

Law shrugs “At least I know how to critique without barking like a feral animal.”

Zoro steps forward, slow, deliberate “She’s strong because I push her. I’ve been training with her since before you knew her name.”

Law’s gaze doesn’t waver “And yet, she still survived two years without you.”

You can feel the tension crackle in the air, and you’re right in the middle.

“Enough!” you snap, stepping between them “I’m not a prize. You don’t get to fight over me like I’m some damn bounty.”

Neither of them speaks. But they don’t look away from each other either.

Zoro’s jaw is tight.

Law’s hands curl just slightly at his sides.

“Get your shit together. Both of you.”

And then you walk off. Neither of them follows, but both of them want to.

You avoid them both for a while.

Let them stay in their own awkward silences and heavy stares.

Zoro finds you first.

“You’re pissed.”

You don’t look at him “You think?”

He doesn’t back off. He never does.

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel like you’re caught in the middle.”

“You weren’t?” you laugh bitterly “Because it really feels like it, Zoro.”

His voice lowers “I’m trying to tell you I still—”

“Now you want to say something?” you cut in “After years of pretending I didn’t exist? After I stopped looking at you like you were my whole world?”

Zoro flinches. Just a little.

You don’t stop “You only noticed me after someone else did. That’s not love, Zoro. That’s jealousy.”

“It’s not,” he says, sharp now “You think I didn’t feel it back then? I did. I just… didn’t know what to do with it. I thought we had time.”

You stare at him “We didn’t.”

Silence.

And then “Do you love him?”

The question lands like a weight.

You blink. Breathe. Whisper “I don’t know.”

Zoro doesn’t move. But everything in him tenses.

You keep going, quieter now “I loved you for so long, Zoro. I would’ve followed you anywhere.”

He’s looking at the ground now “I know.”

“And you didn’t even have to do anything. You just had to see me.”

“I see you now.”

You shake your head “Maybe too late.”

That night, Law comes to you. Quiet as ever.

You’re sitting at the railing, staring at the sea like it has answers. He stops beside you and sits.

“I shouldn’t have fought with him.”

You glance at him “Didn’t exactly help.”

He nods, once “I know.”

There’s silence for a beat. Then “I didn’t want to come back. I thought maybe it would be easier for you if I stayed gone.”

“That’s not what I wanted.”

He turns his head to look at you “I know. But I also know how you looked at him.”

You laugh softly, bitter “I used to. Not sure I even remember how it felt anymore.”

Law watches you “Do you remember it when you look at me now?”

You swallow “I don’t know.”

It’s the truth. And it hurts.

“I think I wanted to.”

His eyes soften “That’s not the same thing.”

You nod “I know.”

Two men.

One you loved for years.

One who helped you find yourself again.

And now, you have to choose.

Zoro doesn’t approach you after that conversation.

For days, he stays distant. His eyes heavy with everything unsaid, his silence louder than any words could be.

It’s not easy for him. But somehow, it’s easier for you.

You’re not holding on anymore. Not to him. Not to the past.

The nights spent on deck, watching the stars with Law, become moments of clarity for you. He’s the calm in your storm. The one who doesn’t try to change you, doesn’t try to fix you.

He simply… is.

You go sit beside him, your shoulder grazing his. Your heart is full of things you can’t put into words, things you don’t need to say because he knows.

And for once, you’re not scared of the future.

“I’m sorry” you murmur, breaking the silence.

He looks at you. His expression unreadable, but there’s understanding in his eyes “For what?”

“For everything,” you say, a little shakier than you expected “For making this so… messy. For making it hurt.”

His lips twitch, just a little. A subtle hint of a smile “It wasn’t just you.”

You look down at your hands, fingers fidgeting “I don’t know when it happened. When I stopped thinking about him like that. But I guess… I was always looking for something different from that. Someone who would…”

“See you?” Law finishes softly.

You nod “Yeah.”

“I see you.” His voice is steady, as it always is.

The words wrap around you like a blanket, and you feel something inside you uncoil, like it’s been waiting for this moment. For someone to just see you. All of you. No conditions. No hesitations.

“I’m sorry” you repeat, but this time, it’s softer. Not a confession, but a release. A letting go.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leans closer. You’re not sure if you should pull away. You don’t. You can’t.

When his lips meet yours, it’s gentle. You kiss him, and it feels like coming home.

The next morning, Zoro is gone. Not physically, he’s still there. But he’s… gone.

He doesn’t look at you the way he used to. He doesn’t demand your attention. He doesn’t hold your gaze for too long, hoping you’ll see something in him that you used to.

And you don’t feel the ache in your chest anymore.

It’s the quietest goodbye you could’ve hoped for.

You stand beside Law as the waves crash against the ship, the wind tugging at your hair. It feels like a beginning. A new beginning.

“I’ve got your back” Law says quietly, his voice the same steady promise.

You smile, looking out toward the horizon “I know.”

You pause for a moment, then turn to him with a teasing grin “But, you know…”

He raises an eyebrow “What?”

“If we’re going to be all teamwork and allies like this…” You give him a playful glance, “You have to stop looking so serious all the time. It’s like you’re trying to compete with Zoro again but for the ‘most brooding’ title this time.”

He actually blinks at you. And then… he smirks “Is that so? I didn’t realize I had competition.”

“Mmhm.” You tilt your head, as if seriously contemplating the challenge “But I’ll let you have it. For now.”

He chuckles softly “I’ll try not to disappoint, then.”

You nudge him with your shoulder, laughter bubbling up between you “You’re lucky you’re cute when you do it.”

His smirk widens "You have a type."

You gasp at his honesty, and you push him away just for him to push you back in his arms. You laugh and he smiles, you'd pay to stay in this moment forever, because joking, laughing with him, loving him... it feels even better than you could ever imagine.

Alternative Ending

The days after your conversation with Zoro are tense. He stays distant at first, too, as if unsure how to act after everything. But the quiet between you both doesn’t last long.

One evening, you find yourself standing at the edge of the ship, staring at the vast sea, the weight of your heart pulling you down.

It’s late. The only sound is the gentle rush of the waves.

You can feel him before you hear him.

“Y/N.”

You turn and see Zoro stands a few feet away, his silhouette dark against the moonlit sky. His expression is unreadable, but his voice cracks slightly.

“I’ve been an idiot.”

You blink, surprised at the words.

He steps forward, hesitating, then adds, “I should’ve told you. A long time ago. I...” He stops himself, runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated “I wasn’t ready. And I thought… I thought you’d wait for me. But I was wrong.”

You stare at him, heart beating faster with every word.

“I don’t know how to say this, but...” He takes a breath, looking you directly in the eyes now “I’ve been in love with you since the beginning. Since the first time I saw you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. But I didn’t know how to show it. And when you started looking at someone else…” He clenches his fist “It killed me. I know I didn’t deserve you, but I couldn’t just... let you go.”

You swallow hard. He sounds so vulnerable now, in a way you’ve never heard before. It’s the side of him that never showed, always hidden behind his gruff exterior.

“Zoro…” you say softly, taking a step toward him.

“I know you might think it’s too late.” He looks down, the weight of his regret pressing him down “But I’ll keep fighting for you. If you’ll give me the chance.”

Your heart flutters, a mixture of relief and a longing you haven’t felt in so long. You step forward until you’re right in front of him, your breath mingling in the quiet air.

“I...” you hesitate for a second “I thought I was over you. That I had to let go.”

His hand twitches at his side, wanting to reach out but unsure “I know. And I don’t deserve you anymore.”

“But you’re here now.”

His eyes flicker with hope “I’m here now.”

Without a word, you step closer, closing the small gap between you. And you kiss him.

It’s slow at first. Tentative, unsure, like the beginning of something new. And for a moment, the entire world disappears. There’s no tension, no confusion, just you and him.

When you pull away, he’s staring at you, eyes wide, disbelief and joy mixing in his expression.

“Zoro, I…” You can barely catch your breath “I choose you. I choose us.”

He blinks, then grins, a rare, honest smile you’ve only seen glimpses of. He pulls you closer, this time with certainty.

“I’m not letting go this time, Y/N. I promise.”

The next morning, you wake up to the sound of Zoro sharpening his swords on the deck. You sit up slowly, stretching your arms, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He notices you and pauses, wiping his sweat from his forehead.

“You’re up early” he grunts, clearly still adjusting to this softer side of him.

You nod “Couldn’t sleep. Had too much on my mind.”

“Like what?” He smirks, teasing now.

You chuckle and roll your eyes “Like how stubborn you are sometimes.”

He raises an eyebrow “Me? Stubborn? You must be confusing me with someone else.”

You walk over to him, standing beside him for a moment before you take a deep breath and add, “I’ve always been in love with you, Zoro. But I needed you to see me.”

He grins, his usual cocky demeanor returning “I see you now.”

“You better!” you reply with a playful smirk, your heart finally light.

And for the first time in a long while, it feels like the beginning of something that could last.

- THE END, for real now -

930 notes · View notes

geminiwritten · 1 month ago

Text

emergency contact ; bradley 'rooster' bradshaw

fandom: top gun

pairing: bradley x reader

summary: rooster exploits having you as his emergency contact to get you away from hangman

notes: okay, i am so sorry if this is rushed but i had to get it out before i start my new job (and maybe won't have so much time to write)... i really hope y'all enjoy it!!! please let me know, i really love all kinds of feedback! (p.s. this is also super lame and cheesy but that’s just my genre now)

warnings: swearing, very poor us navy knowledge (i literally just do some very brief googling), very minor and probably inaccurate medical descriptions, text chat screenshots, use of y/n (which is a warning now?), and a kind of rushed ending

word count: 9129

“Damn.” You stop just before stepping into the sun, tipping your head forward so you can see over the frame of your sunglasses. “I should come here more often.”

Fighter jets line the tarmac in two neat rows, and in the middle under the shade of one of the jets are your friends, the dagger squad. They’re all on the ground, half of them in a sit up position and the other half doing push ups. All looking absolutely fine.

Maverick is talking to someone a little off to your right, but you’re more than happy to wait for him while you ogle the pilots performing their punishments. Hondo is standing over the seven of them, counting repetitions loudly and correcting their forms.

“Hey,” Maverick calls, his voice echoing into the hangar.

You turn to see him tuck his helmet under one arm as he walks quickly toward you. “Hey Mav.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I had a day off, so I thought I’d finally get my pre-enrolment sorted out for my DBIDS card.” You hold up the ID badge hanging on a lanyard around your neck. “You’re my sponsor, by the way.”

He frowns. “Aren’t I supposed to be escorting you, then?”

You hike your thumb over your shoulder toward where you’d entered the hangar. “Warlock vouched for me and said he’d get you to take me back to the VCC and sign everything then.”

Maverick glances passed you, giving a short wave to the rear admiral who had stopped to talk to a couple of other officers. “Well then, I better wrap this lot up,” he says. “Are you alright to wait a bit?”

You nod, letting your lips curl into a smirk as your eyes slide back over to the squad. “I am more than happy to wait.”

His gaze follows yours and he chuckles. “They’ll start showing off if they know you’re here. Why don’t you come over and say hello?”

You push the bridge of your sunglasses further up your nose. “I would love to.”

Mav leads the way to the squad, into the sun and across the hot tarmac. It’s unusually warm today, and you can feel your skin start to perspire after only a few steps out from under the hangar’s shade. Or maybe you’re just starting to sweat because of the scene you’re approaching.

You’ve never seen the squad in their flight suits before. You’ve seen pictures and videos, but you’ve never seen them in person. On a hot day. Half unzipped and tied around their waists. As they drip with sweat.

Your eyes find Bradley’s head of tousled golden-brown locks immediately, and your heartrate ratchets up a few notches, your breath catching in your throat. He’s doing push ups, his dog tags touching the concrete on every dip and his back muscles rippling under the black material of his shirt clinging to his sweat-soaked skin.

Your knees almost wobble when you stop beside Maverick, and Jake is the first to notice you as he comes up for his next sit up. “Hey gorgeous,” he calls out, that signature smirk plastered across his flushed face.

“Hey.” You let your eyes wander over the rest of the group before settling back on Bradley. Your sunglasses slide a little further down your nose and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down hard to try and distract yourself from the way Bradley’s biceps are bulging and straining.

When he glances up at you, your head spins. His face is flushed and his brows furrowed, but there’s still a small smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “Hey sweetheart.”

“Eyes down, Rooster,” Hondo barks.

Bradley’s head snaps back down, but the next push up he does seems a little firmer and a little lower. Your mouth waters as you trace the outline of his broad shoulders, letting your gaze slide down his back to his butt, lingering there as his muscular body moves up and down.

“Phoenix, you’re done,” Hondo announces, startling you out of your trance.

Natasha lets out a whoosh of air as she finishes her sit ups and falls back against the concrete. She shields her eyes with one hand, squinting toward you and waving her other hand in the air.

You wave back just as Hondo announces, “Hangman, Coyote, you’re done.”

Javy falls back the same way Natasha had, his hands holding his abdomen as he works on catching his breath, but Jake doesn’t stop. He maintains perfect form as he sinks back and sits up, winking at you before lowering himself back again.

Natasha scoffs. “Show off.”

Maverick catches your eye and smirks before taking half a step forward. “What’s your goal here, Hangman? Are you trying to hurt yourself?”

“No sir,” Jake replies, his expression full of steely focus. “Just trying to impress the lady and outlast these chumps.”

Mickey chuckles as he lowers himself into another push up. “Since when is Y/N a lady?”

“Hey!” you exclaim.

Laughter rolls through the squad, and even Hondo cracks a smile as he says, “Bob, you’re done.”

Bob finishes his sit ups with a sigh and wraps his arms around his knees, chuckling softly through his ragged breaths.

You look at Maverick, tipping your chin in Mickey’s direction. “Can I sit on him?”

Mav chuckles. “As much as I'd love to see that, not with Warlock standing twenty feet away.”

You roll your eyes and sigh, turning back to face the group.

“You can sit on me,” Jake says as he rises into another sit up. He lowers himself back with a shit-eating grin before sitting up again. “Later tonight.”

Javy, Mickey, and Reuben snicker as Natasha rolls her eyes, but Bradley stays silent. You can see little droplets of sweat soaking into the concrete below him, and your first thought is ‘what a waste’. Great, you’re officially creepy enough to want to drink his sweat.

“Alright,” Hondo says. “That’s enough, the lot of you.”

Mickey and Reuben groan as they sit back on their haunches and turn their heads up to the sky, breathing in the warm afternoon air, but Bradley keeps going.

“Rooster, Hangman, that’s enough,” Mav says, his voice stern despite the smirk on his lips.

“I can last as long as you can, Bradshaw,” Jake taunts.

Bradley lets out a harsh breath as he pushes himself up again. “That’s not what I’ve heard, Seresin.”

A chorus of ooh’s fills the air as the rest of the squad watch the two stubborn boys, eyes bouncing between them. You have to keep reminding yourself to look over at Jake, to not make it so obvious that half the reason you’re here is to drool over Bradley.

“Come on, boys,” Maverick sighs. “That’s enough.”

Neither of them let up, and Hondo chuckles to himself as he strolls into the hangar.

Maverick clears his throat. “Lieutenant Bradshaw, Lieutenant Seresin, that is enough.”

They both stop and quickly get to their feet, their faces red and glistening with sweat. You can’t help but wonder if that’s what Bradley would look like after a good few hours of sex. You definitely plan on finding out one day, if you can ever find the courage to make a move.

“No debrief this afternoon,” Maverick announces. “So, unless anyone has anyone questions, you’re all dismissed.”

Bob quickly pipes up with a question about one of the exercises they performed earlier in the day, but you can barely hear the discussion between him and Maverick. Your eyes are all over Bradley, because seeing him in his flight suit is doing something to you, something more than usual. He’s standing wide, those big black boots planted further than shoulder-width apart, making his legs look even longer and more powerful than usual. His arms are crossed, his biceps straining against the black fabric of his sweat-soaked shirt. It’s clinging to every inch of his muscled torso, tucked into the flight suit that is tied around his waist. The gold in his hair is shining beneath the hot sun, his tan skin is glowing with sweat, and his slutty sunglasses are perched a little too low on his nose. This man is walking sex, and it’s becoming a health hazard because you’re pretty sure you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

A voice suddenly breaks through your Bradley-induced trance. “Is that okay?”

You blink a couple of times, refocusing on Maverick who is now standing between you and the squad with his eyebrows raised in question. “Is what okay?”

He rolls his eyes, lips quirked into a small but knowing smirk. “I’m just going to have a quick shower before taking you back to the VCC. Is that okay?”

You nod. “Yeah, of course.”

“Good.” He claps a hand on your shoulder. “You go ahead and get back to that daydream. By the look on your face, it was getting good.”

You scowl at him as he chuckles and walks away, heading in the same direction that Reuben and Mickey are walking. The rest of the squad are still standing in front of you, chatting about something that you assume came up from Bob’s earlier query.

Jake breaks away from the group, stepping toward you with a wide grin. “What brings you out here, gorgeous?”

“Getting my pre-enrolment sorted out,” you reply.

“For a DBIDS card?”

You nod.

“Why do you need to be able to visit unchaperoned?” he asks, that usual cocky glint making his green eyes sparkle. “I’ll gladly be your chaperone whenever you want to visit.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “As much as I would love to be personally escorted by you, Hangman, I thought it would be smart in case I ever need to enact my emergency contact duties.”

He frowns. “Who’s emergency contact are you?”

“That would be me,” Bradley says, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

You bite your bottom lip to keep from smiling so wide as you look up at him, but you know your bright red cheeks are already giving you away.

“I thought your emergency contact was Mav?” Jake asks.

“He was,” Bradley replies. “But then I thought that if I’m ever in an emergency situation, there’s probably a good chance that Mav is in that situation with me.”

Jake nods. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” A beat of silence passes before he turns his attention back to you, that flirty smirk reappearing as he claps his hands together. “Anyway, are we all set for tomorrow?”

“Yep,” you respond. “Are you still sure you want to spend your day off helping me?”

“Of course. Any day with you is a day well spent, whether it involves manual labour or not.”

You asked Jake a few weeks ago to help with the delivery and assembly of your new bedframe and mattress and getting rid of your old stuff, since the last time you did it on your own you nearly ended up in the hospital with a slipped disc. Normally, you would ask Bradley for help with this kind of thing, but your crush has been so stifling the last couple of months that you know it would be counterproductive to have Bradley sweating and moving heavy things in your bedroom. Besides, Jake happens to have the day off because he’s owed an RDO, and he insists that he doesn’t mind helping you out. It’s a win-win situation; you get a new bed, and no one ends up in the hospital with a broken back. Not that you would mind if Bradley broke your back.

“What’s tomorrow?” Bradley asks, his brows pinched into a frown.

“I’m helping her in bed,” Jake replies quickly, his grin downright evil. “I mean, with her bed.”

You roll your eyes at Jake again, before looking up at Bradley. “I’m getting a new bedframe and mattress, remember?”

“Right,” he says, brows still furrowed. “I thought I told you I’d help you with that?”

The way he’s looking down at you is making the butterflies in your stomach riot. He looks like a scolded puppy, wondering what he did wrong to deserve this punishment.

“You did, but Jake has the day off and you’ve already done enough slave labour for me.”

“But I like being your slave,” he says, the corner of his lips tipping up slightly.

It takes all your strength not to groan out loud. He is not making this easy.

“And you will always be my favourite slave, Bradley.” You pat a hand on his chest. “Which is why I need to give you a break every now and then.”

You pull your hand away quickly, immediately regretting the fact that you just felt up his firm chest and damp shirt, because now you’re getting that familiar ache behind your hipbones. The ache that only your vibrator and fantasies of Bradley can satiate, but even that hasn’t been enough lately. You need the real thing.

The sound of your name echoing through the hangar draws your attention, and you look over your shoulder to see Maverick with spikey, wet hair waving you toward him.

“That’s my cue.” You turn back to Jake. “I’ll see you tomorrow, and you”- you look up at Bradley -“on the weekend.”

When you slide out from under Bradley’s arm, it suddenly feels like this very hot day has turned cold. It takes all your strength to keep your feet moving one after the other away from him. You’ve had a crush on Bradley Bradshaw from the moment you first met him, but it’s called a ‘crush’ for a reason, because now it is crushing you. He’s the first thing on your mind when you wake up, and the last name on your lips before you fall asleep.

“Are you alright?” Maverick asks once you reach him, and you know it’s because your cheeks are bright red.

“Yeah, just a bit hot out here.”

He nods as you both start walking toward the door. “It’s supposed to be even hotter tomorrow.”

Back at the Visitor Control Centre, Maverick signs everything he needs to in order to grant you unchaperoned access to the base. After that, he walks you to your car and bids you farewell. You’re more than grateful for your car’s aircon as you take a moment to collect your thoughts, the ones that are running wild with fantasies about Bradley in that damn flight suit.

Eventually, you make your way home and immediately hole yourself up in your room. You spend over an hour in there to trying to satisfy that ache below your belly, but the incessant messages from the group chat popping up on your phone screen make it difficult. Only when your stomach starts to grumble do you give up and head into the kitchen, reading through the messages you’d been trying to ignore.

You hit send on your last message and smack your phone face down on the kitchen counter. Your cheeks are red and your heart is racing, and you’re not hungry anymore because your stomach has twisted itself into one big nervous knot.

You know that whatever it is between you and Bradley is no secret. You assume it’s because you drunkenly confessed to Bob, Mickey, and Natasha one night that you had a huge crush on him, and since then the rest have seemingly caught on. You don’t mind the teasing – at least, you didn’t at first, but it’s becoming more frequent and making you more nervous. Bradley rarely interacts with it, and all you do is tell them to shut up or butt out. You can’t figure out if they’re simply teasing because they can, or if they actually see something between the two of you that is real.

There have been a couple of times when you’ve wondered if Bradley might feel the same way. You even almost made a move once, before chickening out and refusing to look him in the eye for two weeks straight. You know you’re being a little bitch about it, and you hate yourself every day for being like one of those characters in your romance books that pines and pines, despite their broody love interest being obviously smitten. But you still can’t stop yourself from being a chicken. You justify it by telling yourself that it's to protect your friendship and the group’s comfortable dynamic, but you know that deep down, you’re scared. You’re scared that Bradley only wants that one thing, while you’re nothing short of hopelessly in love with the man.

You wake up to the sound of your phone vibrating on your bedside table. You know it’s too early for your alarm and way too early for the delivery driver to be calling you, so you’re not surprised when you see Jake’s goofy contact photo lighting up your phone screen.

“Good morning, Hangman,” you say groggily.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he replies cheerfully. “Did I wake you up?”

You sigh and roll onto your back. “Yes.”

He chuckles. “Oops. How’s about I make it up to you with breakfast?”

You sit up quickly. “You’re already on your way here?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter, throwing your bed covers back.

“Just the usual?” he asks.

“Make it a double shot.”

You toss your phone onto your bed before hurrying into your ensuite, quickly stripping down as the shower heats up. You brush your teeth in the shower and scrub everything as quickly as you can before wrapping yourself in a towel and starting to pull all the bedding off your mattress. Just as you’ve finished shoving it all into your already overflowing hamper, your apartment intercom buzzes.

You hitch your towel higher as you step out of your room and press the button on the intercom to unlock the lobby door. There’s an affirmative beep and a click, and then you walk toward the front door and double check that your towel is covering you.

As soon as you hear footsteps, you pull the door open with a scowl. “Since when did I tell you to get here at the ass crack of dawn?”

His green eyes widen as he takes you in, that signature smirk painting his features. “I thought it would be good to get an early start, but this”- he nods at you -“is an unexpected bonus.”

You roll your eyes and step aside, allowing him in. He stops at your kitchen bench and places the cup tray of two coffees down alongside a paper bag filled with deliciously greasy smelling breakfast.

“Give me five minutes,” you say, before walking back into your bedroom.

You quickly change into a pair of exercise tights and an oversized shirt – one that you’re not sure even belongs to you – before fixing your hair and doing a very quick version of your morning skincare routine. When you reemerge into the main area of your open-plan apartment, Jake is seated on the lounge with your breakfast laid out across the coffee table.

You flop beside him and take a hashbrown. “So, what’s the plan?”

He turns to you with a frown. “Why do I have to come up with a plan?”

“I wouldn’t need your help if I had a plan, would I?”

He chuckles softly. “I guess not.”

You spend the next five minutes inhaling your breakfast while Jake asks a few logistical questions. Once you're both finished eating and quietly sipping on your coffees, he pushes himself off the lounge and walks toward your bedroom.

He pauses at the door. “Can I go in?”

You nod, and the door squeaks as he nudges it open. He takes one step in and stops, cocking his head thoughtfully before continuing in. He assesses the area and walks further in, at which point you decide to join him. He’s standing on the opposite side of your bed when you get there, and he’s wearing the type of shit-eating grin that you know comes with some sort of teasing or offensive remark.

“So,” he says, “this is where you touch yourself and fantasise about Rooster every night.”

Your stomach drops and you splutter against the lid of your coffee cup, spraying half a mouthful of it across the room. You can feel your face turning red as you cough, but you know it isn’t just the lack of oxygen to blame.

Jake gasps, laughter bubbling from his lips as he rushes around the bed to you. “I’m so sorry,” he says between giggles. “Are you okay?”

You continue to cough, holding a hand against your chest as you try to blink back the tears in your eyes. It takes almost a minute for you to compose yourself, but Jake takes even longer to quell his laughter.

He sighs loudly and wipes the corner of his eye while you turn to him with a scowl. “Who told you?”

He bats his eyes innocently. “Told me what?”

You hesitate, your eyes narrowed as your mind races to send the right words to your lips. “That I might have a small crush on Rooster.”

He snorts a laugh. “No one had to tell me anything. Any idiot who spends enough time with the two of you can clearly see that you’re obsessed with each other.”

“What? No.” Your frown indignantly. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes, still chuckling. “I can practically see you cataloguing your spank bank every time you stare at him.”

Your eyes grow wide and your skin burns. You have to look away from him to stop yourself from smacking that smug smile right off his face.

“You know what,” you say, sparing him only a glance. “I don’t think I want to have this conversation with you, so can we please get back to the bed.”

He sighs wistfully. “If only Rooster heard you say that to me. He’d be ropable.”

You roll your eyes and take another sip from your coffee, ready to turn away from him when realisation hits you. “Wait. Is that why you’re always flirting with me, just to piss off Bradley?”

He shrugs, but his smile is sheepish. “I flirt with you because you’re gorgeous, but annoying Rooster is a small plus.”

“You are unbelievable.” You turn on your heel and walk back out of your room, finding your phone on the couch to check if there are any updates on the delivery of your new furniture.

“Hang on a minute.” He follows you into the living space. “I could help you, you know?”

You scoff. “With what? Moving my new bed in? Because that is why you’re here. Not to make me feel shitty about some stupid, unrequited crush that is apparently pretty fucking obvious.”

He rolls his lips to hold back another laugh. “I could help you make a move,” he clarifies. “Because I’ll tell you this, it is not unrequited. Rooster is as crazy about you, as you are him.”

Your heart stutters, but your walls stay up. “How do you know?”

“Just believe me,” he says. “That man’s right forearm is thicker than his left because of you.”

You frown and cock your head, processing his words until the meaning hits you and your mouth pops open.

“Anyway.” He claps his hands and rubs his palms together. “Let’s get this old mattress out of here and start pulling apart the bedframe. I’ll give you some advice while we work.”

For the next few hours, you let Jake tell you what to do. You hold things, you move furniture, you unscrew things, and you listen to his surprisingly sound advice on what to do about Bradley. The more he speaks, the more confident you feel, because something about Jake’s charisma is infectious. You know you might not feel the same when face to face with Bradley’s big brown eyes and pretty smile, but it at least feels good to talk to someone about it. Even if that someone gags every time you start swooning.

- Bradley -

Today is hot, almost too hot. Bradley has pushed his body to the limit before, it’s basically in his job description, but today feels different. He feels sick. His flight suit is too heavy and his muscles are shaking. His stomach is twisting and gurgling with every sharp move, and his head is spinning.

Bradley is only in the sky – flying like a rookie – for an hour before Maverick grounds him, giving him a brutal workout to do while the rest of the squad finish their drills. Even Hondo has taken shelter in the hangar, watching Bradley complete his exercises from afar with a damp towel wrapped around the back of his neck.

The concrete is hot, and Bradley is pretty sure he’s getting second-degree burns on his palms as he pushes himself up into his twenty-fourth burpee. His flight suit is tied around his waist, and he can feel an excess of sweat gathering in the bunched-up material there. His dog tags are jingling as he jumps up and down, occasionally smacking him in the face when his moves are too jerky.

“That’s enough,” Hondo calls out. “Have a break. Drink some water.”

Bradley stops and swipes the back of his hand across his forehead. He can see the squad getting ready to land now, so it must be time for lunch. He waits for them inside the hangar, his heart beating loudly in his chest even after twenty minutes of standing still. Eventually, the group stroll in and head toward the lockers, grabbing their personal items before going to the mess hall.

Bradley finds a seat while everyone else continues to get food. He’s not sure his stomach can handle anything right now, even his water bottle remains untouched. He pulls his phone out and brings up the group chat that has five new messages.

His insides twist at the sight of Jake in your apartment. It’s not like he hasn’t been there before, but he’s never been there alone with you. Bradley clamps his teeth together and wills that sick feeling in his gut to fuck off. This isn’t the time nor the place to vomit about the fact that the girl he likes is spending the day with one of the most charming men he knows.

“You look pale,” Bob says as he puts his tray down on the table.

“But also kind of red,” Natasha adds, a frown pinching her brows. “You look like you’re trying not to hurl.”

Bradley swallows hard and sits up straighter. “I’m fine, just a little wrung out from the heat.”

The rest of the squad join the table and conversation flows easily. A couple of them reply to you in the group chat, but Bradley doesn’t want to know anything else about what’s going on, so he lets his phone buzz face down on the table. He stares straight ahead at the space between Bob and Natasha’s heads, zoning out and imagining a much worse scenario than what is actually happening at your apartment.

He pictures you both sweating and giggling together, bumping into each other as you move and assemble furniture. Then he sees you both on the new mattress, flopping down exhaustedly after finally sliding it onto the new bedframe. You’d stop giggling with a sigh before turning to face one another, locking eyes, expressions turning serious as Jake’s hand comes up to caress your cheek. You would roll onto your side to get closer to him, and he’d only have to move an inch toward you to press his lips against yours. That kiss would unlock something in you, igniting your attraction to this man and making you climb on top of him. Clothes would be torn off, teeth and tongues clashing, and the bed would quickly be broken in.

“Rooster.” Natasha snaps her fingers in front of Bradley’s face.

He blinks a couple of times before refocusing on the woman in front of him. “Huh?”

“Jesus Christ, dude,” she says. “What is wrong with you today?”

Bradley looks to his left and right before spotting the rest of the squad making their way out of the mess hall. He jumps up from his chair. “Shit, that went quick.”

“Well, you were off with the fairies the whole time.”

He tries not to look her in the eye despite her intense stare. The journey back to the hangar is silent, but he can tell Natasha is studying him, scrutinising his expression until they both approach the rest of the group waiting with Maverick.

Mav takes the floor and announces that today is the perfect day to test limits. He starts explaining the workout that he has planned for the squad, because they may have to face extreme heat on their next assignment, and it’s important to be prepared. Everyone groans in protest, even Hondo, but Mav ignores it. He’s almost excited to torture his lieutenants.

An hour later, everyone is absolutely dripping with sweat. All flight suits are at least half off, some discarded entirely as the squad run, jump, and swerve through the makeshift fitness course Mav set up. It feels more like torture than conditioning, but no one has the energy to even speak up.

“Alright,” Mav calls out. “That’s enough. Take a break, have some water, then come inside and take a seat.”

They all slowly drag themselves toward Hondo, who is handing out towels and cold bottles of water. None of them can muster a single word, they all just huff and puff and groan when they wipe their skin with the wet towels. Bradley is the last to approach Hondo, his gaze fixed on the outstretched water bottle as he wonders when the last time it was that he had a drink.

“Rooster.” Hondo takes a step toward the lieutenant. “Are you alright?”

Bradley blinks slowly, looking up as one Hondo turns into two. His surroundings blur and his limbs start to tingle. His head feels heavy and his stomach sinks, his eyes fluttering shut as his body goes limp.

- You -

“Harder,” Jake grunts. “Push harder.”

You let out a puff of air before tensing your muscles and shoving as hard as you can. The mattress slides along the carpet slowly, making your blood boil with frustration. “Why is this thing so fucking heavy?”

Jake chuckles. “I just assumed you bought an extra sturdy one so you and Rooster can fuck as hard as- woah!”

You push with all your strength, sliding the mattress into an unsuspecting Jake. He laughs as he rights himself and guides the mattress further into your room.

“If I knew that annoying you would give you super strength, I would have started earlier,” he says, leaning around the mattress to show you his cheeky grin.

You roll your eyes. “You’ve been annoying me all day.”

“It’s called bonding.”

“Whatever, just get this thing on the frame.”

After a short argument on how you should manoeuvre the mattress, and a string of cuss words as you heave the thing into place, you finally manage to get the mattress sitting snuggly on the new bedframe. You both fall onto it immediately, facing the ceiling as you work to catch your breath.

“Fuck me,” you sigh.

Jake snorts. “I would, but I think Rooster might flay me alive.”

You roll your eyes for the umpteenth time today. “I wasn’t offering, and I’m still on the fence about believing you, so stop it with the constant remarks.”

He rolls onto his stomach, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “Then let’s have sex and see what happens?”

You huff out a half-assed laugh as you sit up. “Like I said, Hangman; I wasn’t offering.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. We shouldn’t play with Rooster’s feelings like that.” He rolls onto his back again and blinks slowly at the ceiling.

It makes you feel better to see a small sign of exhaustion from him, because for most of the day, you’ve been wrecked while Jake has been running off some sort of endless energy reserve. He’s like the human personification of a border collie, a little too keen and full of bounce, and you can definitely see him tearing the lounge apart if he’s bored and locked inside.

You open your mouth to tell him how he reminds you of a herding dog when the sound of your phone’s ringtone cuts you off. You frown, wondering who it could be as you rush out of your room to get it off the kitchen bench.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Y/N?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Mariam. I’m calling from the Primary Health Clinic on North Island Naval Air Station. I need to speak with about Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw.”

Your stomach sinks so fast and so hard, you feel like it might have fallen right out of your arse. “Is he okay?”

“He’s in our care this afternoon due to a minor incident, and while he’s doing just fine, we cannot permit him to drive himself home. Would you be able to come pick him up?”

You rush over to the coffee table and pick up your car keys. “Of course.”

“That’s great,” the woman replies, her tone calm and even. “I’ll text our address to this number. Do you require any further assistance locating the clinic?”

“No, that should be fine.” You prop your sunglasses on top of your head. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem. We’ll see you soon.”

You pull the phone away from your ear as you hurry back into your room. Jake is sitting up now, his brows furrowed and eyes wide with curiosity. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. Something happened to Bradley and now he’s at some health clinic or something.” You’re not surprised by the panic in your voice, if only a little embarrassed. The woman said he’s fine. The last thing you need to do right now is panic.

Jake stands up and rounds the bed quickly, putting a hand on each of your shoulders. “Don’t freak out, I’m sure he’s okay. He’s at the clinic, not the hospital, so he’s probably just tripped on his own shoelaces or something.”

You let out a breathy laugh as you search Jake’s face for any hint of worry. He doesn’t seem concerned, so you let yourself relax and picture Bradley sitting sheepishly in a hospital bed with nothing more than a papercut.

“They said he can’t drive, so I have to go pick him up.”

Jake nods. “You go. I’ll stay here and clean up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go get your damsel in distress.”

You hesitate for a second before throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him. “Thank you.”

He hugs you back with a chuckle before you pull away and practically run out of your apartment. You don’t slow down for anything; you even take the stairs instead of the elevator because you can’t stand still for even a second. You try not to drive like a maniac, but it’s hard not to as your mind swirls with the possibilities of Bradley’s accident.

In less than fifteen minutes, you’re flashing your identification at the front gate and waiting impatiently for them to raise the boom gate. You swerve into the visitor’s parking lot and jump out of your car, legging it toward the health clinic where your phone’s map tells you to go. It only takes a few minutes for you to get there, and you stop a few feet from the door, taking a moment to control your breathing.

The air is thick and the sun blistering. You’re sweating more than you have all day, since you've spent most of the day inside your airconditioned apartment. If Bradley isn’t really hurt, you’re going to actually hurt him for making you worry this much and run in this heat.

Once your breathing feels more regular, you grab the stainless-steel handle and push the door open. The small reception space is painted blue and white, with a couple of plastic chairs on one side and a magazine rack beside a water bubbler on the other. The blonde woman behind the desk peeks up at you through the Perspex shield surrounding her space.

“Good afternoon.”

“Hi.” You step forward. “I got a call about Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw.”

To the right of her desk is a hallway leading further into the building. Voices and footsteps echo off the blue walls, and despite the desolate reception area, it seems like the rest of the clinic is rather busy.

“Yes, that was me.” She smiles. “I’ll just get you to fill this out so we can start his discharge, then I’ll take you through.”

You take the clipboard from her and sit in one of the plastic chairs. You barely read the form, skimming quickly over it before answering the few questions and signing your name at the bottom. After you hand it back it to her, you walk over to the water bubbler and fill up a small plastic cup. You drain it three times before she waves you over and starts walking down the hall.

The noises get louder the further you delve into the building, and you quickly realise that this place is something of a mini hospital for minor emergencies to help keep the actual ER from being overrun. The hallway eventually opens up into a larger waiting area with lemon-coloured walls and bigger chairs occupied by sickly officers. One of them is holding a bloody gauze pressed to the palm of his hand, and two others are paper white and dripping with sweat.

“Heatstroke,” the blonde woman says over her shoulder. “We’ve had so many of them today, but your husband was by far the worst.”

You choke on your breath and trip on nothing as you follow her. “M-My what?”

“Oh, sorry.” She turns to her left at the end of the hall. “I just saw you were listed as Lieutenant Bradshaw’s ‘partner’ and assumed. It’s force of habit. I forget that a lot of couples don’t bother with marriage these days.”

Your mind struggles to catch up, half of it rejoicing about the fact that someone thinks Bradley is your husband, and the other half wondering why the fuck he would list you as his partner. Before you can come up with the words to correct the woman, she stops.

“Just in here.” She pushes the door open a small way. “I’ll get his papers sorted and let you know as soon as he can leave.”

You nod, still speechless, and she walks away. You stand still for a moment, your hand on the door and heart racing as you take one deep breath and push.

The room is small, with powder blue walls and the same white linoleum as the rest of the clinic. There’s a stool and tall portable desk in one corner, and one of those plastic waiting room chairs in the other. In the middle of the room is a hospital bed, but there’s no guard rails or bedding, and it's folded up so the sheepish lieutenant occupying it is sitting up straight.

“Hey,” you say, your lips twitching as you hold back a smirk.

He’s hooked up to an intravenous device that has a long tube connected to a bag of clear liquid. His face is flushed and the hair at his neck damp, but otherwise, he looks just as delicious as usual.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

You close the door behind you before approaching the bed. “How are you?”

He shuffles on the crinkly mattress, making room for you to sit. “Never been better.”

"Want to tell me what happened?” you ask as you sit at the foot of the bed.

He rubs the back of his neck, the pink in his cheeks deepening. “Well, it’s hot day, and I forgot to drink water, so I passed out.”

You lose the battle with your maturity and let out a soft laugh. Something about Bradley looking so defeated in a hospital bed amuses you more than it should. That combined with the relief that he isn’t seriously hurt means that you can’t control the elated laughter forcing its way through your lips.

You cover your mouth to try and stop the noise. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I was just really worried and now I’m really relieved.”

He rolls his eyes despite the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad my stupidity amuses you.”

“Do the others have a video of you fainting?”

He nudges your thigh with his socked foot. “Even if they do, you’re not seeing it.”

You laugh quietly for another minute, letting your eyes roam is perfectly healthy and incredibly firm body until it sinks in that he is okay. “I’m glad you’re not seriously hurt.”

“Me too. That would have been embarrassing.”

Your mouth pops open to ask him another question, but the thought is quickly usurped by another. The front reception area had been completely empty despite the fact that there are other patients here. You’re the only civilian here, the only emergency contact for an injured officer, and the injured officer in front of you is looking a hell of a lot better than some of the others you’d walked past.

Your brows furrow in confusion. “Did you ask them to call your emergency contact?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, where are the others?” you ask. “Why don’t the guys out there have their parents or partners here to pick them up?”

He shrugs. “They’re probably going to get patched up and sent back to their squads.”

“Exactly.” You narrow your eyes at him. “So, why am I here?”

He shifts nervously, the mattress crinkling beneath his weight. “They said I can’t drive myself home.”

“And you didn’t think to ask one of the other six friends you have that are already on base to drive you home?”

His lips part but no words come out. You can see him struggling, wracking his brain for any sort of excuse, but the longer it takes, the surer you are of the answer to your next question.

“Bradley.”

He looks at you and rolls his lips, his skin turning pink from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears.

“Did you tell them to call me so I wouldn’t be alone with Hangman anymore?”

His eyes widen and his mouth pops open, but so does the door to the room. The same blonde woman as before walks in with a nurse close behind.

“Alright, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” she says, clipboard in hand. “You’re just about free to go.”

You quickly hop off the bed as the nurse approaches, pressing yourself against the wall while she removes Bradley’s IV and check his temperature one last time. She gives him what you assume is not the first lecture about staying safe in the heat before declaring him well enough for discharge. The blonde woman then steps forward and asks him to sign a few forms on her clipboard.

“Is that everything?” he asks.

“Almost.” She takes the clipboard from him and flips to the last form before turning to you. “I just need one more signature from you.”

You nod and take the outstretched pen. “Just here?”

“Yep. Just under your name,” she says, before giggling.

You pause mid-signature, turning to her curiously. Her smile vanishes instantly, and she takes half a step back, holding a hand over her mouth, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. That was so unprofessional,” she says. “It’s been a long day, and I just remembered that when he was brought in, he kept mumbling your name. I wasn’t laughing at you, I promise. I honestly thought it was really sweet.”

Bradley – who is now sitting on the edge of the bed – groans and drops his head into his hands. You have to press your lips together to suppress your laughter, but you can already feel it rattling in your chest. You sign your name quickly and hand the forms back to the woman, who apologises again before exiting the room.

Silence hangs thick and heavy between the two of you as Bradley laces his boots. You don’t speak, you’re not sure you can, so you simply watch him gather his things from across the room. When he’s finished, he finally looks at you with raised brows and flushed cheeks.

“Ready?”

You nod once, pressing your lips together to keep the giggles at bay. He turns toward the door, and you can swear you see his lips tip up into a smirk, but he walks too quickly into the corridor for you to be sure.

You follow him through the building, not the same way you had come in, but out through a different entrance that you assume is for bringing in the injured officers. The heat hits you the second you step out of the building, and you almost choke on the hot air, but you don’t have time to hesitate because Bradley is already forging across the small parking lot.

He glances over his shoulder, but his eyes don’t quite meet yours. “Where did you park?”

“The visitor’s parking near the front gate,” you reply.

He slows his steps and falls into pace beside you. His mouth pops open as a thought flashes across his face, but he closes it just as quickly, rolling his lips and getting lost in his thoughts again.

You decide to help him out. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He clears his throat, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. “Talk about what?”

“Oh, Bradley,” you sigh, a smirk on your lips. “There are so many things to talk about, but I thought I’d be polite and let you choose.”

His resolve cracks and a smile splits across his face. His cheeks are still bright red, and thanks to the blistering sun, every inch of his exposed skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. You can’t help but watch the column of his throat as he chuckles, his Adam’s apple moving in the most delicious way. It’s probably not healthy how attracted you are to this man.

“I’d barely been awake for five minutes when they asked me who they should call,” he says. “I was still a little out of it.”

“Right.” You nod slowly. “And because you’d just been dreaming about me, I was the first thing that popped into your head.”

He sighs and tips his head back, squinting up at the clear blue sky. “This has to be the most embarrassing day of my life.”

You bite your lip to hold back more laughter, almost stumbling as you come to a halt at the curb. Instinctively, Bradley grabs your hand and laces his fingers with yours, keeping you steady as he checks the street each way for traffic. Little sparks of lightning rocket up your forearm and across your chest, zapping your heart and kicking it into overdrive.

You let him guide you across the street, expecting him to let go once you’re safely on the other side, but he doesn’t. The butterflies in your stomach flap to life, but you refuse to let your nerves get the better of you. You have too many questions you need answered right now.

You clear your throat, peaking up at him from the corner of your eye. “So, just so we’re clear, calling me had nothing to do with getting me away from Hangman?”

He keeps his gaze fixed ahead. “Of course not.”

“Okay, that’s good.”

You resist the urge to smile as you wait for him to take the bait. It takes a few minutes, and you’ve reached your car by the time you notice his brows scrunch into a frown.

“Wait, what do you mean that’s good?”

You walk around the front of the car toward the driver’s side. “I don’t know, I just felt different today. You know? Like, being alone with Jake was nice.”

His frown turns into a scowl. “It’s Jake now?”

You roll your eyes, being careful not to appear too amused as you play with fire. “Yes, and Jake is really sweet. He’s funny too, and really smart and… well, he’s hot.”

Bradley takes half a step back from the passenger door. “So, you like Hangman now?”

You shrug. “I guess.”

His eyes flick down to his boots, his mouth popping open as if he’s going to argue, but no words come out. His lips clamp shut and the muscles in his jaw jump as he clenches his teeth.

“Do you have a problem with that?” you ask, batting your eyelashes innocently.

When he looks back up, his glare is lethal. The warm honey-brown eyes you often love to stare into are almost completely black beneath his furrowed brows. “Do I have a problem with that?”

You roll your lips and nod, keeping your eyes as wide and innocent as you can while watching him take long strides around the front of the car. Your heart thunders in your chest, making your pulse thump loudly in your ears as he walks right up to you.

He towers over you, his body barely inches from yours. “You know damn well I have a problem with that.”

You look up at him through your lashes, finally letting your lips curl up into a smirk. “Why?”

His hands grab your hips and turn your body so your backside is pressed against the driver’s side door. “You know damn well why.” He presses his body against yours and moves his hands to lean on the car either side of your shoulders, trapping you.

Your head spins and you struggle to breath, overwhelmed by every inch of him that is pressed against you. “Why?” you ask again, your voice barely above a whisper.

He groans and pushes his hips harder into yours before leaning down and catching your lips with his. Your hands grip the sides of his shirt and pull, as if he isn’t already crushing himself against you. When you feel him slide a leg between yours, you gasp, and he takes the chance to push his tongue past your parted lips. You grind down on his thigh and a let out a soft whimper. You can feel him grin against your mouth before lifting his knee a little higher between your legs.

The rest of the world melts away as you grind and moan against each other, completely lost in the feelings you’ve stamped down for so long. Only when you feel your car door begin to bend behind you do you reluctantly put a hand on his chest and push him back.

He frowns as he steps back, looking adorable with lust-blown eyes and puffy red lips. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re about to put a me-sized dent in my car door,” you reply with a soft laugh.

“Oh.” His shoulders relax and he steps back toward you, his hands landing on your hips. “So, you were joking about Hangman, right?”

You roll your eyes, resting your hands on his chest. “Obviously.”

“Good.”

You give him a small smile before letting your eyes drop, panic seeping into your bones as your usual doubts begin to infect your thoughts. Did he only kiss you because he was jealous? Does he want more than friendship, or just a few extra benefits?

“Hey.” He crooks a finger beneath your chin to tilt your head up. “Do you want to know why I’d have a problem if you really did like Hangman?”

You nod as you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down nervously.

“Because then it would’ve been too late for me to tell you that I’m in love you.”

Your heart almost leaps out of your chest. “In love with me?”

His cheeks go from pink to red and he quickly averts his eyes away from yours. “Unless you don’t feel the same, then I’m just in love with you like a friend.”

You roll your eyes again and softly smack his chest. “Don’t be stupid, of course I’m in love with you. I thought it was pretty fucking obvious.”

His lips split into a grin before he dips back down and kisses you again. “Thank God for that,” he mumbles against your mouth.

You giggle as he trails his lips across your cheek, along your jaw, and down your neck. “As much as I love this,” you say, “I would also really love to get out of the heat.”

“Good idea.” He steps back and pulls your body with his, turning a little to the side as leans toward the car and pulls the driver’s door open. “Let’s get back to your apartment and test out that new bed.”

Your knees almost wobble as you step toward the car and drop into the driver’s seat. Bradley is around the car in less than a few seconds, climbing into the passenger’s side and reaching one hand across the centre console to grab your leg.

“Let’s just hope Hangman hasn’t decided to take a nap,” you say as you begin pulling out of the parking spot.

Bradley turns to you with raised brows. “He’s still at your apartment?”

You nod. “He offered to clean up when I left.”

“What if he refuses to leave?”

You shrug one shoulder, your lips tipping up into a smirk. “Then he can join in.”

Bradley’s fingers squeeze hard around your thigh. “Not a fucking chance.”

You giggle when you glance at his stormy expression, but you’d be lying if you said his jealousy wasn’t a bit of a turn on. “You’re not into wife-swapping?” you ask.

He tilts his head, clearly confused. “Wife?”

“Well, yeah. I’m your partner, right? Your emergency contact partner.”

It takes him a few seconds to realise what you mean, but once he does, he drops his head into both hands and sighs loudly. “They told you that?”

You almost feel bad for laughing at him again, but you can’t help it. “The woman called you my husband when I first got there.”

When he looks back up, you’re positive you’ve never seen a more gorgeous boy in the world. His cheeks are bright pink, his honey-brown eyes are sparkling, and he’s grinning so wide you can’t help but grin back at him. “Well, they didn’t really have an option for ‘best friend who I really want to bang and eventually marry one day’.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you’re pretty sure your heart stops. “Marry?”

He turns his attention out the windscreen, still smiling, and his hand returns to its place on your thigh as he says more to himself than you, “One day soon hopefully.”

END.

#bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster #imagine #oneshot #one shot #bradley x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #top gun #fanfic #fanfiction #hangman #jake seresin #miles teller

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warmwiskeyeyes · 7 days ago

Text

PRINCESS TREATMENT. bsf!chris

you didn’t mean to ruin movie night.

it was supposed to be chill. blankets. snacks. your favorite hoodie. chris leaning into your side, mumbling dumb commentary while your cheeks burned quietly in the dark. it was supposed to be easy. fun. the kind of thing you looked forward to all week.

but your body had other plans.

you knew it the second you stood up too fast in the kitchen and the pain hit you like a slow, heavy punch. deep. low. the kind of ache that made you stop breathing for a second. like something inside you twisted wrong. your hand flew to your stomach. you cursed under your breath.

“you okay?” chris called from the living room.

you plastered on a voice. “yeah! just… dropped something.”

you didn’t.

you grabbed the heating pad from under the sink and slid it under your hoodie before shuffling back into the living room like you hadn’t just been attacked by your uterus. chris was already on the couch, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, snacks spread out on the coffee table. he looked up when you walked in.

“you sure you’re good?” he asked. “you’re walking like an old lady.”

you gave him a weak smile. “shut up.”

he snorted and patted the cushion next to him. “come here, grandma.”

you curled up beside him, biting your lip to keep from wincing. the cramps were coming in waves now. you shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t make you want to cry.

chris pressed play.

you made it maybe twelve minutes in before the pain got worse.

you couldn’t focus. the screen blurred. your breath stuttered in your chest, jaw tight. you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, arms wrapped around your stomach like that would help. it didn’t.

“hey,” chris said, voice low now. “what’s going on?”

you shook your head. “it’s fine.”

“you’re literally rocking like you’re in pain. talk to me.”

you hesitated. he paused the movie.

“i got my period,” you mumbled. “it hurts.”

his face changed—softened, like the word itself flipped a switch in him. “bad?”

you nodded. “like really bad. it just started.”

he didn’t make a joke. didn’t flinch or act grossed out. just moved gently, turning toward you fully. “what do you need?”

“i already have a heating pad,” you whispered. “it’s just not helping yet.” he looked at you for a second. then got up. “where are you going?” you asked, voice small.

“don’t worry,” he said. “i got you.”

you watched him disappear down the hallway.

the pain pulsed again. you clenched your jaw, curled tighter, stared at the carpet and tried not to cry. god, it was humiliating. you wanted to be fun. normal. the kind of girl who didn’t ruin movie night with cramps. but instead you were here, bundled in a hoodie, aching from the inside out while your best friend rummaged through your apartment like he lived there.

you hated that you loved it a little.

he came back with two pillows, a blanket, and a big glass of water. “lay back,” he said, already rearranging the couch. “chris—”

“nope. don’t argue. i’m serious. come on.”

you did as he asked, mostly because moving hurt and he looked so determined. he tucked a pillow behind your back, another under your knees, draped the blanket over you, and handed you the water.

“slow sips,” he said.

you took a few.

he crouched beside the couch, resting his arms on the cushion. “want painkillers?”

“i took some already.”

“want me to rub your back?”

you blinked at him. “you don’t have to—”

“i want to.”

your throat tightened. “okay.”

he climbed behind you, carefully, like you might break. one arm slipped around your waist, the other curled under your hoodie. his palm pressed warm and gentle over your lower back, slow circles that made your eyes sting.

“you’re so good at this,” you whispered.

“i googled it once,” he said into your hair. “when you said your cramps sucked last year.”

you let out a tiny, wet laugh. “of course you did.”

he smiled against your shoulder. “gotta be prepared.”

you stayed quiet for a while. his hand moved slowly. your breathing slowed with it.

“you don’t have to stay,” you murmured. “i know this is gross.”

he pulled you closer. “don’t say that.”

“but—“

“it’s not gross. it’s your body. it’s what it does. and i’m not going anywhere.”

you felt your eyes sting again. blinked quickly. “thank you.”

he brushed his nose along your temple. “you’d do the same for me.”

“you don’t get periods.”

“yeah, but if i did, you’d baby me. i know it.”

you smiled. “you’re right.”

he held you a little tighter.

you didn’t realize how quiet everything had gotten. how still. the pain didn’t go away, but it dulled. like your body trusted him. like it knew he wasn’t going to let it hurt alone.

“you smell like tea,” he said suddenly.

“i spilled some earlier.”

“smells nice.”

you tilted your head back slightly, enough to see his face. “you’re so close.”

he grinned. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“it’s not,” you said, too fast. “i like it.”

he looked at you.

not like a best friend.

not like a buddy.

like something else. like he was seeing you fully for the first time. or maybe like he’d been seeing you all along and was just waiting for you to catch up.

“you’re really pretty,” he said quietly.

your heart skipped. “even now?”

“especially now. you’re real. soft. brave.”

you didn’t know what to say. so you didn’t. just turned your face toward him and let your eyes say it instead.

he kissed you.

soft. warm. nothing rushed or messy or perfect. just lips against lips, slow and steady. his hand still moved on your back, grounding you. reminding you he was real. here.

when you pulled away, your face was hot for a different reason.

“was that okay?” he asked, voice small.

you nodded. “more than okay.”

he smiled like a secret. “cool.”

you rested your head on his chest.

“doesn’t mean you’re off cramp duty,” you said, eyes fluttering closed.

“wasn’t trying to be.”

you fell asleep like that.

wrapped in warmth. pain fading. heart full.

movie forgotten. cramps forgotten. everything else fading into the soft sound of his breathing and the way he whispered your name once when he thought you were already dreaming.

`. ✴︎ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 : @mattswifeyy

#♱ 𓍢₊ 𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎 fics —#·˚ ༘ 444 #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris oneshots

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pathologicalreid · 1 year ago

Note

heyyy!!! I just wanted to say I really love your work and this is my first time sending a request so sorry if it’s not very specific 😭💕

If you’re still doing requests, I was wondering if you could do a fem reader x Spencer Reid where it’s similar to your cryptic pregnancy one, except Spencer is at home with her when she’s in labour without realising, and she’s just in a lot of pain and it all of a sudden gets worse and she’s just in the bathroom shouting for Spencer, he comes in and eventually works out what’s going on, readers sort of in denial? Maybe the ambulance doesn’t get there in time so Spencer has to help her give birth? Lots of fluff and hurt/comfort :)

Also completely fine if your not comfortable doing it, but again really love your work and hope you have a great day 💕 :)

three's a family | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: cryptic pregnancy, traumatic birth, precipitous labor, hospitals, medical inaccuracy (its just me and google against the world), takes place after 9x7 "gatekeeper", surgery, near death experiences, periods, home birth word count: 3.16k a/n: anon i'll be so honest with u i wasn't sure if i was gonna write this but then i learned what precipitous labor was and i was like "i would not wish this on my worst enemy... i'm going to force it on y/n" BUT please keep in mind that there is a .000012 probability of this happening to you (i did the math) this is the wildest thing ive written to date i think

“I’m going to try a bath,” you murmured over to Spencer, wincing as you dragged yourself out of bed, walking at a turtle’s pace to the bathroom, hoping the warm water would soothe the cramps away.

Your period came and went as it pleased; it was just your luck that it decided to give you debilitating cramps on your one day off. Padding on the tile floor behind you, Spencer leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom, “I could run to the store and get a new heating pad.”

Sticking your hand under the tap to check the temperature, you plugged the drain once you found it to be satisfactory. You shook your head, “No, it’s fine.” Your original heating pad must’ve gotten lost somewhere in the depths of your storage closet, but you didn’t have the patience to look for it. You could manage just fine without it.

“Will you let me know if you need anything?” He asked, leaning forward to press a comforting kiss to your forehead.

Nodding, you hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your pajama pants and pulled them down, watching as Spencer pointedly flicked the bathroom fan on – something you often forgot to do.

You lasted about thirty minutes in the bath, not only was the water beginning to grow lukewarm, but if anything, your cramps were getting worse while submerged in the water. Grunting, you reached over and tugged the plug from the drain, watching as the water drained, you managed to pull yourself to a squat before you felt stuck.

Aunt Flo really had it out for you this month.

Burying your face in your hands you accepted defeat and called out for Spencer, reaching up and trying to stand again, but only succeeding in knocking over several shampoo bottles. “Spence!” You tried again, white-knuckling the edge of the bathtub as you bowed your head. A creeping feeling that this wasn’t your period was beginning to rise.

You listened as your husband made his way up the stairs, turning the corner into your room, and opening the door to the ensuite. Moving quickly, Spencer dropped to a crouch in front of you, cupping your pained face in his hands, “I don’t think this is your period, angel.”

Clamping your lips together to prevent yourself from crying out, you simply nodded in response. How awful was it that you were going to die, naked, in your bathtub?

Spencer wiped tears away from under your eyes – you hadn’t even realized you started crying. “What does it feel like, darling? What else could it be?” He asked, voice urgent but gentle as he tried to stop you from panicking.

As you shook your head, you couldn’t focus on anything else besides your breathing as another pain rose up through you. “It’s like a cramp, but with more pressure,” you said, depending on the bathtub and Spencer to keep you upright as your legs shook beneath you. “Like something’s pushing on me, kind of like I have to shit.”

Reaching behind him, Spencer dug through one of the drawers in the bathroom vanity before retrieving the handheld mirror that you used when you cut his hair. Before you could ask what he was doing, he placed the mirror at the bottom of the tub, just beneath you. “I think you’re in labor,” he announced, breaking the news to you.

“There’s no– fuck,” your voice broke off as you dropped your head onto Spencer’s shoulder, breathing through what was apparently a contraction. “I’m not pregnant,” you insisted as your symptoms started to make sense. You had been in labor all morning.

Nodding to himself, Spencer quickly kissed your cheek before standing up and making sure you were stable before stepping to the side.

You frowned as you looked up at him, “Where are you going?”

He didn’t go far, opening the linen closet and piling towels into his arms, “I’m getting towels to put in the tub beneath you, and then I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“You want me to give birth in our bathtub?” You asked, furrowing your brows quizzically before letting out a low whine as another contraction hit.

Stopping what he was doing, Spencer dropped down to you, running the flat of his palm up and down your back as he gently reminded you to breathe. “Did you want to change positions?”

Immediately, you shook your head. You already had an insurmountable task ahead of you and you saw no reason to add to that task by trying to move. “This is fine. Squatting is good, right?”

Nodding assuredly, Spencer smoothed your hair away from your face, “Gravity can help the baby descend the birth canal, and some people even say that the position can increase the pelvic diameter.”

While you were currently less concerned with the diameter of your pelvis and more concerned with feeling like your body was being split open, you continued going through the motions as he called for an ambulance, trying to explain the situation to the dispatcher.

“Have you been timing your contractions?” Spencer asked, tilting his head at you curiously as the dispatcher spoke on the phone.

Releasing a groan, you gripped the ledge of the tub, “I didn’t know they were contractions!”

Relaying that information over the phone, Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll take care of it.” He continued to reassure you, taking one look at your desperate expression before ending the call with the dispatcher.

He understood that you were vulnerable right now, and you didn’t want that broadcasted to a stranger on the phone. If you weren’t so preoccupied with remembering to breathe, you’d be more grateful. After a contraction ebbed away, Spencer stood up.

“I have to go unlock the door for the paramedics,” he told you, keeping a wary eye on you. “I’ll be right back,” he comforted you as he took one last look at you before tearing out of the bathroom.

In record speed, he returned to the bathroom as promised, “It’s bad,” you cried, the pressure on your pelvis becoming insufferable.

Crouching in front of you, Spencer studied your face before he spoke carefully, “I have to check your cervix.”

Despite his carefully chosen words, your lips still parted in shock, “You have to what?”

“I’ll use my hand to measure how dilated you are, and then… we’ll go from there,” he told you, nodding almost imperceptibly. At this point, you weren’t sure who he was trying to reassure – you or him. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you answered instantly, “indefinitely.”

You bit down on your lip as you let Spencer check you, understanding entirely why people choose to get epidurals – this was horribly uncomfortable. “On the next contraction, you need to push, okay?”

For just a moment, your breathing faltered as your scared eyes met his, “Spence, wait,” you pleaded.

Smoothing your hair back, your husband did everything he could to comfort you, “What is it, love?” He asked, his voice soft.

“I’m scared,” you confessed, voice cracking ever so slightly as tears flooded your lash line.

He leaned forward to gently kiss your lips before pulling away to press his forehead to yours, "I've got you. You're going to be fine. You're both going to be fine."

You could see his carotid pounding, and somehow the fact that he was secretly as scared as you was more comforting than the words that came from his mouth. As you pushed, you focused on everything that Spencer was saying instead of the pain. Don’t push for more than eight seconds. Remember to breathe. Your body will know what to do. I love you. I love you. I love you.

By the time Spencer was saying something about the head, your hearing had gone muffled. “You’re doing so well, baby,” you made out his voice and nodded dazedly. “You’re wonderful. I’m so proud of you – just a little more,” he cajoled.

Taking a moment to breathe, your ears and eyes focused as shaky breaths filled your lungs.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,” he murmured, dropping a kiss on your bare shoulder as he comforted you, continuing to keep you upright.

You shook your head, sniffling as your eyes screwed shut, “You’re perfect. Don’t stop. Keep talking,” you begged, needing something to focus on other than the pain.

“There’s about a point zero four percent chance of you getting pregnant and not finding out until you’re in labor,” he told you, hoping that the information would help you wrap your head around what was happening to you. “One to three in one hundred people have a precipitous labor,” he continued to speak as you pushed, and you wondered what the odds of you squeezing his hand so hard that you did damage were.

Against your better judgment, you looked down to check your progress, “Holy fuck,” you said breathlessly. You weren’t entirely clueless, you knew that once you got past the shoulders the remaining pushes would be easier. You also found yourself grateful that Spencer knew what he was doing – this was, after all, the second baby he had delivered.

You bore down, determined to get the baby out while Spencer untangled your hands, bringing his own down to catch the baby. Out of breath, you panted heavily as you started to feel lightheaded. “Done,” Spencer said quickly, “it’s done. I have him.”

Carefully, Spencer held the baby along the length of his forearm, rubbing the tiny newborn’s back. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath, and it dawned on you that the baby wasn’t crying.

At the realization, your legs finally gave out from beneath you, watching with wide eyes as Spencer tried to clear your son’s lungs. White hot tears streamed down your face as you whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You took a gasping breath as you silently pleaded for a cry, “I didn’t know,” you sobbed, guilt building a pit in your stomach.

With bleary eyes, you looked on as the baby finally spluttered and let out a wail. “There you go,” Spencer cooed softly, his own voice stiff with emotion as he cradled the baby and handed him off to you.

You were still sobbing as you held the baby to your chest, “I’m so sorry,” you continued to babble, watching as Spencer briefly disappeared into the bedroom before returning with a blanket and wrapping it around the both of you. While holding the baby, your vision started to blur around the edges.

Watching you intently, Spencer cupped your face in his hands, “I love you.”

Nodding, your face crumpled before you responded, “I love you too.”

When the paramedics announced themselves, Spencer called out for them, not wanting to leave your side. The two of you focused your attention on the wriggling baby in your arms.

He was premature – too little to stay with you in the recovery room. The NICU doctor had estimated that he was born at approximately 32 weeks, meaning he’d likely need to spend a few weeks in intensive care. “I want to see him,” you said insistently, looking over as Spencer as he fussed over you.

“You just had abdominal surgery,” Spencer responded simply, as if that was meant to clarify everything for you. He continued fluffing your pillow, which wasn’t entirely productive considering you were lying on the pillow.

As it turned out, you had experienced what was called a precipitous birth, or a rapid birth. It tended to be dangerous, and the fact that you did it in your bathtub only heightened that danger. You reached your arm out for Spencer, “c’mere,” you muttered, trying to get him to stop fretting. “Did you listen to anything that the doctor just said?”

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Lots of rest, no physical exertion, IV medication for now-“

“Did you hear the part where he said I was going to be okay?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him curiously, you watched as he took your hand in his and sat on the edge of your bed. “I’m going to be fine,” your voice was determined, you had a few small incisions on your abdomen from the surgery to repair a tear in your uterus. “Thank you for looking after me,” you whispered.

Your husband gently smoothed your hair back from your face, “I should’ve noticed it sooner.”

Using all of your strength, you squeezed his hand comfortingly, “You were incredible,” you assured him. “If it weren’t for you, neither of us would’ve made it.”

He shook his head, “Don’t say that.”

Raising your eyebrows, you cocked your head to the side, “It’s true. I couldn’t have done it on my own, I’m so, so thankful for you, my love.”

You had passed out in the ambulance as a direct result of blood loss, so you were brought to a trauma bay as soon as you made it to the hospital. Once they were in the ER, the baby was taken to the NICU, leaving Spencer with a lot of decisions to make.

When you woke up in the recovery room, the first thing you did was ask about the baby.

Spencer, of course, had been up to see him. The nurses claimed he seemed like a fighter, and Spencer knew the survival odds of a 32-weeker, so he turned his attention to you. Every other option had already failed, so the next option was a laparoscopy. Your husband admitted that while it seemed extreme, the very last choice was a hysterectomy, and he didn’t want to make that decision.

Furrowing your brows, “When can I see the baby?” You asked, not entirely sure how to refer to the infant just yet. It wasn’t until then that you realized you needed to name him at some point – your son.

“Once your blood pressure goes up,” Spencer told you with an authoritative tone. “You lost a lot of blood in the ambulance, but the blood transfusions will bring your blood pressure back up.”

Tilting your head to the side, you glared at your husband, “And is this rule from a doctor with a medical degree or a doctor whose name is on my marriage certificate?”

In response, Spencer shrugged, sitting in the beige armchair at the side of your bed, “That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”

You rolled your eyes dismissively, “Will you go see him?”

He leaned over the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his. “I can, will you be alright on your own?”

Nodding almost imperceptibly, you squeezed his hand affectionately, “I just don’t want him to be alone.” You whispered as tears pricked your eyes, you took your free hand and waved at your face, “god, what’s wrong with me?”

“A sudden drop of estrogen and progesterone immediately following birth causes mood swings. Nothing is wrong with you, your body is acting naturally,” Spencer explained patiently, dropping a gentle kiss on your lips.

You sighed before melting back into your pillows, “At least something about this feels natural,” you responded. Your brain felt like a spinning top, while your body felt like you were being weighed down by an elephant in a commercial for COPD medication.

The fact that the NICU nurse informed you that your son had a ninety-five percent chance of living a completely normal life did nothing to calm your nerves. He’d have to stay in the NICU for a few weeks and you tried to convince yourself that the extra time to prepare for him to come home would be good for you, but the idea of leaving him alone at the hospital – save for a small army of doctors and nurses – put a pit of dread in your chest.

Spencer had the forethought to warn you about the tubes and wires that he was hooked up to, ranging from oxygen to a feeding tube. “He’s been undergoing red light therapy to be treated for jaundice, but you can hold him for a while if you want to,” the nurse told you, leading the both of you through the NICU as Spencer steered your wheelchair through the hospital.

Your breathing hitched when you finally saw him, this tiny stowaway that had been growing inside of you for the last several months, and he was just so little. While you were still in your own room, you had convinced yourself that you’d hold him, but now you weren’t so convinced.

According to the sign in his room, he weighed three pounds and ten ounces and was sixteen inches long. He was sound asleep in an incubator, a small hat on top of his head, “Spence,” you breathed.

Behind you, your husband placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I know.”

“Did you want to hold him?” The nurse asked you gently, looking over at one of the machines that he was hooked up to.

Genuinely, you didn’t know. “Is… is that okay?” You asked, wiping your sweaty palms on the blanket draped across your legs.

The nurse gave you a knowing look, “Even better than okay, it’ll be good for him to have that kind of contact from both of his parents.”

Frowning, you watched as it took two nurses to break him out of his acrylic prison before they carefully placed him on your chest, making sure you were okay before they stepped back. Your movements were stiff at first, you had never held a baby this small before, but you eventually remembered to breathe and gently cooed at the baby in your arms.

Spencer crouched down next to you and started to ask the nurse a bunch of questions that he had likely been holding in for hours, but you just kept your eyes on the sleeping baby. He was too small to open his eyes, but everyone assured you that he’d get there.

The nurse stepped out to give you some privacy, leaving the door open just in case you needed something, “This doesn’t seem quite as difficult while I’m holding him.” You knew there was a steep learning curve ahead, but with a newborn on your chest, the pit in your heart dissipated.

“That’s called oxytocin,” Spencer said, sitting in a chair, eyes fixated on the infant in your arms.

Humming, you skimmed the pad of your thumb across your son’s tiny back, “He looks like you,” you observed quietly, they had the same nose.

Your husband smiled softly, “You can’t possibly tell which parent he takes after yet,” he informed you.

“And yet, I know he looks like you,” you insisted softly, and Spencer didn’t push back. “You look like your daddy,” you whispered to the baby, “he was the first one to hold you, you know?” You looked over at Spencer, “he’s been my superhero for four years, and now he gets to be yours too.”

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oopsnewaccount · 26 days ago

Text

Drunk Text/Raphael Pt. 2

Summary: The aftermath of drunk texting a racy pic to Raph is better than anticipated😘

Warnings: SEX

...

"Oh my Gooooooooood," You groaned, face down in your pillow.

April was rubbing your back, squinting from her headache. "Y/N, he got a sexy picture from a hot girl. I don't think he's upset."

"I'M upset! A drunk text is bad. A drunk nude?? That's so embarrassing!"

"Tell him I sent it," April suggested.

"I don't think that'd help," You whined. "It doesn't excuse the red, or the fact he got it and none of his brothers."

You kept staring at the picture. You looked amazing, you would have to enlist April in all of your nude photoshoots from now on. It didn't help, though. He could Google porn at any time, why would he be impressed with you?

April sighed. "I'm sorry you're feeling so embarrassed, but I promise you he has probably already jacked off to this like five times."

You let out another long groan.

...

You avoided the turtles for the next few days, leaving April to go on her own. You just couldn't handle looking Raph or any of his brothers he undoubtedly told in the eye at the moment. Raph never replied to your picture. You left your red set on the floor of your bedroom, too embarrassed to look at them.

A few days later after declining to join April on another visit to the lair you were home in bed watching TV on your laptop. You were in your pajamas, if you could call them that. An oversized shirt, a pair of boy short underwear, and your slippers. You were fresh from the shower, hair damp and smelling like whatever new bath products you just opened. You had your earbuds in, engrossed in what had to be your sixth episode of the day.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw movement by your window and froze. You stared out on your balcony, closing your laptop slowly. You almost jumped out of your skin when a large shadow suddenly appeared in front of your window before realizing it was Raphael.

He opened the sliding door and came in, shutting it tightly and closing the curtains behind him.

"Fuck, Raph." You tugged your earbuds out of your ears. "You scared the shit out of me."

Raph didn't answer. Instead, he approached you slowly, stopping at the foot of your bed and tossing something down.

You peered down at what he'd thrown, your heart sinking. Staring up at you was your own racy photo. You swallowed thickly.

"You gonna explain that?"

You took a shaky breath. "Look, Raph, I... I'm..."

You stared up at him pathetically, searching for words but coming up empty.

"And the you don't come around?" He growled.

You felt guilty. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do when I woke up I saw the picture and I panicked, I -"

"Who took it?"

"What?"

"Who took the photo? And who was it meant for?"

You looked up at him, confused. "April, and... I mean, it was meant for..."

You froze. Why did he care who it was meant for? You felt a glimmer of hope spark in your chest. Was he jealous?

You made a decision. You couldn't possibly embarrass yourself anymore than you had, why not shoot your shot at this point? You relaxed your body, scooting backwards to lean on the wall. You pulled your legs up, resting your elbows on your knees.

There it was!

Raph's eyes flitted down to your thighs as you had moved, maybe trying to catch a glimpse of what was between them.

He cleared his throat. "Well?"

"I sent it to you, didn't I?" You could heart your heartbeat in your ears. "I sent a text after it to you, didn't I? I wore red, didn't I?"

Raph was silent for a moment before speaking, his voice slightly softer. "Doesn't matter, you were drunk."

"I wasn't drunk when I put those on."

The silence felt thick, like moving or speaking might send ripples through the room.

"You wearing em now?"

Okay, it was now or never. Go big or go home.

You leaned forward, slowly pulling your sleep shirt up and over your head. You were naked from the waist up, now. Goosebumps spread across your exposed chest and your nipples hardened. Raph was completely still, except for a stirring in his shorts.

"I'm not wearing them. I wasn't expecting you to come by or maybe I would have."

"Not got the thong on under your shorts?"

You grinned. You leaned back, sliding slightly down the bed and lifting your hips. You slowly slid the shorts down. Kicking them off onto the floor. "Nope."

It was silent again. Raph was staring a hole through every inch of you he could see. Maybe it was the adrenaline, the growing shape in his shorts, or just Raphael himself, but you could feel yourself getting wet as he stared you down. You heard him inhale slowly, and you shivered when you heard a deep, guttural churring sound.

You couldn't wait anymore. Raph wasn't going to make the first move. You slowly stood up, walking across your bed. You stopped just infront of him, almost touching. You stayed on the bed so you could be eye to eye with him. He was almost scarily still. Such a massive, strong being in front of you. He could break you so easily, he was so still it felt like a predator waiting to pounce. It was weirdly hot. You reach out, touching the side of his face so lightly you weren't sure if he even felt it.

"I really like you," You mumbled.

"You sure?"

"I am. I wouldn't have sent that if I wasn't. I've been trying to get your attention for a really long time."

Raphael paused before speaking again. "Am I too late?"

You blinked. "Huh?"

Raph looked you up and down, slowly. "You texted me to come get you. Am I too late?"

"No."

There was another moment of stillness. You mightve thought he would've lunged for you and taken you right there (no complaints) but he surprised you. He leaned in, not to kiss you, but to nuzzle into your neck. His massive hands came up to grip your waist tightly, and he inhaled your scent. He slowly pulled away, long enough to look at your flushed face, and then he kissed you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and his grip on your hips tightened. You imagined kissing him a thousand times, wondering if it would be different from kissing a human, but it wasn't. It was warm and hot and you don't know how long you did it for but it wouldn't ever be enough.

When you finally pulled apart and you opened your eyes your heart skipped a beat. Raph looked downright animalistic. His eyes were narrowed in on you, pupils dilated so far that his bright irises looked like little glowing halos. He took you by surprise again, this time with his speed. Before you knew what happened he had picked you up and pressed you against the wall beside your bed. You tried to wrap your arms around his waist but he stopped you, growling lowly. He readjusted you, moving the bend of your knees to the crook of his elbows. The strength it took do hold you low enough that the tip of his cock was touching your entrance sent shivers down your spine.

"You ready?"

You couldn't speak if you tried, so you just nodded.

Raph started pushing in slowly, dropping you down onto him. You weren't sure when you'd ever reach the base because he was so big it felt like you just kept going. He was thick and long and you could feel it twitch deep inside, somewhere you were certain you'd never felt anything go before. When you finally did reach the base you realized you were holding your breath, and you let out a whine. Raph let out another deep churr, vibrating from his chest to yours. He began moving very slowly, his whole body tense as he struggled to maintain control. You let out a choked cry as he began rutting up into you, his arms keeping you pressed against the wall. You let your head thunk back against the wall, eyes closing for a moment as a warm pressure spread in your lowered belly.

You opened your eyes, gasping as Raph hit into you a bit harder than before, his eyes fixed on yours. He was grunting, barely holding back growls and groans and clearly trying to restrain himself. He clenched his jaw and began thrusting harder, his breath labored as he watched you start to lose it. He was stretching you out so far, thrusting so hard, and hitting so deep you couldn't physically hold off the orgasm that was coming quickly. Your nails dug into his arms and you let out a few strangled cries as you tried to hold on, not ready to cum yet but unable to stop. When it hit it hit so hard and fast you couldn't help the noise that left you. Your legs shook and you're pussy clenched, and the feeling must have sent Raphael over the edge as well. With a deep, rumbling growl he gave one last piercing thrust. You cried out as you felt him explode inside of you, and then felt his cum dripping out of you undoubtedly onto his legs and the floor. He kept you up for a moment, just leaning his head into the crook of your neck and catching his breath.

To your surprise, he didn't actually put you down. He maneuvered you into his arms more comfortably and brought you into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and gently set you on your feet inside of it. He gave you a soft smile and then stepped back to let you clean off.

You went to invite him in before laughing at yourself when you realized he'd never fit. On wobbly legs you showered off, staring in shock at the amount of cum leaking out of you, while Raph used a wash cloth to get himself as clean as he could.

When you stepped out of the shower, toweling off feeling sore and happy, you found Raph sitting on your bed holding a bottle of tequila. You also spotted your red lacy set beside him - he must've found them on the floor. He grinned at you, took a swig, and held the bottle towards you. You narrowed your eyes at him, taking the bottle and plopping down next to him.

"Whats this about?" You ask, taking a swig of liquor and wincing.

"Tryna get more pics."

#tmnt #tmnt bayverse #raphael x reader #raphael #raphael smut #teenage mutant ninja turtles #misslemonwrites

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eringobragh420 · 7 months ago

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➔ Pairing — Damian Priest ♡ f!Reader ➔ Summary — Damian’s girlfriend is producing a piece on him. He decides to produce a piece of his own. ➔ Word Count — 2.2k ➔ Warnings — NSFW. Roleplay, name-calling, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, oral (m and f receiving), cum. 18+ ➔ Notes — Spanish translations are at the end of the story provided by Google Translate. ➔ Taglist — If you’d like to be added, please click here! ➔ Requested By — @eddiesrockstargirlfriend. Hope you enjoy! Sorry it took so long 😭😭 ➔ Support — Buy me a coffee! ☕ ➔ MASTERLIST, KINK LIST

“Alright, guys. I’m Damian Priest. Thanks for watching.” He threw up his index and pinky fingers just before his girlfriend pressed the button on the expensive camera to stop it recording.

“Outstanding,” she praised. Kneeling on the soft, white carpet of their home, she sat back on her legs as she played the footage back on the screen to be sure nothing weird was in the frame, and that the sound levels were normal and Damian’s voice came through clearly. WWE had tasked her as a producer (and probably because the two had been dating for a year) to create an intimate look into Damian’s private life. Which hadn’t been much, considering neither of them were in any hurry to show off their personal lives to the entire world. Despite this, she knew she had a good product. “Looks like we got it.”

“Yeah?” Damian asked. “Let me see.” She handed him the camera and busied herself with packing the camera’s accessories into the bag beside her. After a moment, she realized the only sound in the room was coming from the constant hum of the air conditioner. Glancing up at Damian, he held the camera in both hands, eyes on the screen as if he were watching the playback, but she didn’t hear his voice.

“Are you watching it?” she asked. “Is the sound not working?”

“It’s fine,” he replied, distracted. “I’m watching … you know …” He trailed off, eyes narrowing, focused.

Her own eyes blinked down at the camera’s lens, brows furrowed. “Is that zoom—are you recording?” she exclaimed. Damian grinned behind the camera, shoulders shaking as he chuckled, and he leaned this way and that as if he were some famous director with a particular vision. “Do I really have to tell you that the camera isn’t a toy?” she teased, dropping her hands on her hips.

“Aww, querida, you know that’s not true,” Damian purred, his tone hitting that one level, the special one, the one that drew her to him like a moth to a flame. “Everything’s a toy if you play with it.”

“So, by that logic …” She leaned forward, bringing her hands to the floor, and she started to crawl toward Damian “I’m a toy.”

“My toy,” Damian sneered.

Her mouth quirked. “Your toy,” she corrected. Damian spread his legs wider to accept her between them, and she tucked her own legs under her like she’d been sitting before.

“And right now—” He reached out, able to hold the lightweight camera with one hand, and cupped her cheek, caressing her skin with his thumb. “—I wanna make my toy into a pornstar.”

All the oxygen left her lungs in an audible whoosh, her heart kicking up its pace. Before she could give the idea much thought, and before she could process the fact they would be using a WWE-issued camera, she nuzzled into the palm of his hand, pressing a few chaste kisses there before licking the heel, all the way up his thumb where she enveloped the digit in her mouth.

“That’s it,” Damian said, pumping his thumb leisurely in and out of her mouth. “You like that idea, don’t you?” She watched as the twinkling stars always present in Damian Priest’s ochre eyes were devoured by growing black holes, and she’d have given anything to see just beyond his event horizon. “You wanna be a pretty little pornstar?” She nodded, eyes round and clear, mouth still working on his thumb. “Good girl,” he praised, and her heart melted, eyes falling closed. “But you gotta audition first.” Her eyes opened just as slowly as they’d closed, meeting his gaze. “You understand?” He removed his thumb from her mouth, and while she was able to speak now, she couldn’t find the words within her hazy, lust-filled brain, so she simply nodded again. Damian tilted his head, “Now take my cock out and show me why you’re better than all the other girls I’ve met this week.”

She admired—and was a little envious of—how easily he was able to go from her loving, devoted boyfriend to the intimidating, apparently manwhore porn director that now sat before her. How he was able to come up with roleplay ideas off the top of his head and was confident enough to act them out as if the scenario was real-world.

“Corazón,” Damian said, “don’t make me tell you again.”

Her hands reached up to work on his belt and jeans, glancing up at the camera, biting her lip, and all she could see of Damian behind the camera were those black eyes. Reaching inside his jeans, she unleashed his semi-hard cock, a grin working its way across her mouth. She loved the challenge of getting him as hard as possible as quickly as possible and she wondered how much assistance the camera was going to give her in said endeavor. Lifting her gaze back to the camera, she engulfed his entire dick in her mouth, a feat she could only achieve before he was fully erect. She dragged her lips back slowly, cheeks collapsing as her mouth created a vacuum, and Damian let loose a moan from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Damn,” he said, “you just go all in, huh?”

She released him with an indecent pop, licking her lips even more lewdly. “Go big or go home, right?” she purred.

“Back in your mouth,” he ordered.

She obeyed, because she loved to obey him, and because she really, really wanted this fake pornstar job. She sucked him back into her searing mouth, lips now stretching around him, bobbing her head. The distinct sound of the head of his dick poking into the back of her throat—that wet, smacking sound—echoed off the walls of their bedroom. Damian cried out, hand slipping around the back of her head, and he fisted a handful of her hair. She grunted, sending vibrations down his cock and into his balls, allowing him to control the pace, which continuously increased. She squeezed his thighs for stability, looking up at him just as tears fell from both eyes and streaked down her cheeks.

“Fuck yeah,” Damian groaned. Her scalp was going numb and her throat was sore and she was drooling all over herself, all over his cock, and, pornstar or not, she never wanted to lose the role of his toy. “Fucking love this, don’t you?” he breathed. “You’d do it even if you weren’t getting paid, huh?” He impaled her throat, holding her there, moaning and mumbling obscenities every time she coughed or gagged. “Puta de mierda.”

He released her, and she yanked herself back, gulping for air, choking on the excess saliva. She was positive she was an absolute mess right now, and it wasn’t exactly how she’d imagined looking the first time they recorded themselves, but this was them. Rough, hot, dirty, needy, and greedy. Damian jerked his soaked cock as she caught her breath, and after a moment, her mouth was back on him, sucking on the head as he continued to stroke.

“I bet you’re wet as fuck chokin’ on this dick,” he went on.

Matter of fact, she was, and, though her mind was foggy, she thought this might have been the first time she’d even noticed her own arousal. So focused had she been on pleasing Damian and getting the job, she didn’t remember once squeezing her thighs for relief. Flexing one thigh and then the other, she readily felt the slickness between her folds and she whined around Damian’s cock.

“Yeah, that’s why I thought,” he snarled. He pulled his dick from her mouth, slapping her cheek with it. “You know I gotta taste that pussy, right?” Breathless, the producer on her knees at the mercy of the World Heavyweight Champion once more could only nod. “Get up here, on your back.”

Damian stepped out of her way, and she climbed onto the bed, rolling onto her back. She reached up to wipe her face off, not able to get much before her boyfriend shoved the camera into her hands. She was turning it around and about to adjust the screen so she would more easily be able to see what she was recording while holding the camera above her when Damian snatched the waistband of her leggings and wrenched them down her thighs. He then shoved her knees to her chest, legs still trapped in spandex, and she felt him rip aside her thong a millisecond before his tongue delved deep into her folds.

“Jesus Christ,” she cried, crossing one ankle over the other. She still maintained a grip on the camera, but where it was pointed she had no idea, as her eyes snapped shut and she thought for a second she did see Jesus Christ.

“Goddamn,” Damian burst. “Goddamn you taste good.” She whimpered, feeling the pad of his finger slide from the top of her clit to the bottom, and then she heard the very recognizable sound of him sucking his finger clean. He tugged the leggings the rest of the way off, tossing them over his shoulder, and then he crossed his arms, grabbed the bottom of his shirt with both hands, and smoothly lifted it over his head.

As Damian stood there in all his el campeón glory, his girlfriend fumbled with the camera, barely getting a shot of him before he grabbed her legs, spread them, and dove face first into her pussy. He licked and sucked with reckless abandon, nipped at her clit, and had her a writhing, sobbing mess almost immediately. A few times she struggled to keep her eyes open so she could watch the screen on the camera, watch Damian devour a bare, glistening pussy, watch the sex tape unfold in real time.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she divulged, gripping the sheets with her free hand. “I’m gonna cum …” Damian groaned, somehow digging deeper in her pussy, his long tongue slipping inside her. And just as she was about to tumble over the edge, Damian was gone, her pussy suddenly cold and unstimulated. She lifted her head and moved the camera.

“What, you think we’re here for you?” Damian snarled, hands on his hips. Her eyes trailed down his chiseled chest to his swollen, weeping cock, and she unknowingly licked her lips. “Roll over,” he nodded at her, fisting his dick. Damian took the camera from her, and she rolled onto her stomach. “Up on your hands and knees.” She complied, body popping up on all fours, knees spreading, and he was on her instantly, slapping his cock on her ass. “I’m comin’ in raw,” he growled, and while she already knew this to be the case, hearing him say it in this scenario utterly flooded her pussy, and she whined. She pressed back against him. Damian chuckled, deep and throaty, much like villains in the superhero movies. He pulled her pink thong to the side, squeezing her ass cheek. “All you bitches are the same. Look at me.” She glimpsed him over her shoulder, sighing, still unable to believe she’d landed such a god among men in the first place. He held the camera at chest level and it was trained on her. “Tell me what I wanna hear.”

“Please fuck me,” she whispered. “I don’t care if you pay me—” He slid his cock back and forth along her dripping slit, coating it in her slick, and then he slipped it between her ass cheeks, continuing the same motion. “I don’t care if I get the job.” Damian’s eyes met hers, and in her peripheral, she saw him adjust the angle of the camera. “I just need you to fuck me. Please?”

Damian grinned, shaking his head, and he sheathed his entire cock inside her, shoving her forward onto her elbows, and she yelped. On any other day, he’d have stretched her to prepare her for his size, but not this Damian. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he roared, pulling almost completely out before shoving himself inside again, repeating the action a few times. He reached over her and placed the camera on the bed in front of her. She twisted the screen to see what was in the frame, and it was her in the foreground, bent over, Damian behind her, the material of her pink thong wrapped around his hand. “Maybe you’ll get the job after all.” He fucked her earnestly now, a steady, pounding pace. “Fuck,” he whispered.

“Please,” she whined.

“Say it,” he said. “I know you want it … I wanna hear you fucking say it.”

“God,” she whimpered, “cum inside me. Please cum inside me.” Damian grunted, his thrusts becoming more powerful, faster. “I need it,” she continued, not sure if she was laying it on so thickly for her boyfriend or the camera. “I don’t need the job, I just need your fucking cum.”

“Fuck!” Damian shouted. One final pump and he was unloading inside of her.

She laid her head on the mattress and looked at the camera, satisfied and smiling, reveling in the sensation of his cock contracting within her. “Thank you,” she purred.

Damian grabbed the camera, and she looked at him over her shoulder again. She giggled, shivering, as he probed her pussy with his fingers. “Look at that,” he said, and at the moment, she felt his cum seep out of her hole and down her slit. “Good girl.” He stood up, jeans and belt still hanging loosely on his hips. “Now get out. I got more interviews.”

જ⁀➴°⋆ Querida — Dearest/Beloved, term of endearment જ⁀➴°⋆ Corazón — Sweetheart જ⁀➴°⋆ Puta de mierda — Fucking slut

#wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #damian priest #wwe x reader #damian priest x reader #smut #damian priest smut #damian priest kinklist #damian priest imagine #damian priest fanfic #damian priest fanfiction #wwe fic #wwe fandom #wwe smut

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dearlenore · 9 days ago

Text

BAMBI. / S.REID / SUMMARY - Spencer meets a young criminal law student

PAIRING: allison!grey x spencer reid / w/c: 2.0K / fluff

a/n: I wanna make this a series so bad, also credit to @cheriesbucky for inspiring me to share my oc!!<3 not proofread I fear…

The moment Spencer Reid stepped onto the Princeton campus, a familiar chill ran through him—not from the weather, though early April still bit through his coat—but from memory. These kinds of places never changed. The stone buildings. The tightly-trimmed lawns. The buzz of students too smart for their own good and not nearly as smart as they’d one day believe.

He wasn’t sure why he said yes when Rossi asked him to come along. It wasn’t like his presence was necessary—David Rossi could give a criminology seminar in his sleep, probably had before. But when the invitation came from the university, and Rossi offered a guest seat beside him on the panel, Spencer heard himself agree before he could figure out why.

Maybe it was nostalgia. Or maybe it was the ache—something deep and slow that settled in his chest more often these days, like a ghost of something he couldn’t name.

The lecture hall was warm, filled with the scent of dusty books, coffee cups, and a kind of hunger that only academic places carried. Spencer followed Rossi inside and took the side seat near the stage, where he could fade into the background. His eyes flicked around, scanning students who leaned over notebooks and laptops, whispering to one another in anticipation. Most didn’t recognize him. A few stared a moment too long, perhaps uncertain where they’d seen his face before.

Then he saw her.

Front row, dead center. Small. Maybe five-foot-five. Pale blue cardigan slipping off one shoulder, an open notebook resting delicately on her lap, even though she hadn’t written a single word yet. She was staring at Rossi like he was reading a poem. Not with infatuation—no—but fascination. Her eyes were wide, lit from inside with something he couldn’t place.

Curiosity. Eagerness. Maybe both.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and bit her pen in thought. The motion was small, almost automatic. And yet, it stuck in Spencer’s mind longer than it should have.

He forced himself to look away.

Rossi launched into his introduction, commanding the room with the ease of a seasoned profiler. “Who here knows the difference between an M.O. and a signature?” he asked.

A few hands shot up, and then—hers.

Spencer watched her from the corner of his vision. Noticed the way she hesitated for a second before raising her hand all the way, like she wasn’t sure if she had the right to speak.

“You,” Rossi called.

Her voice was soft. Musical. “M.O. is the method an offender uses to commit the crime—practical things. Signature is the psychological need they fulfill through specific acts. It’s not necessary to commit the crime, but it satisfies something deeper.”

Rossi nodded, clearly (at least mildly) impressed. “Textbook answer.”

Spencer found himself leaning forward.

Later, after the seminar ended and students began packing up their bags, she lingered. Most of the audience swarmed Rossi, shoving copies of his books at him for autographs or asking questions they could’ve Googled. But she stood a few feet away, notebook in hand, staring at the crowd intensely, as if deep in thought.

He should’ve left it alone.

But something about her kept pulling at him—an invisible string he couldn’t stop tugging.

“You asked a question earlier,” he said, calling out to her with his hands tucked into his coat pockets. “About signature behavior.”

She blinked up at him, startled at first, then visibly relaxing. “I did.” Her eyes flicked across his face. “You’re Dr. Reid, right?”

He nodded. “That’s me.”

“I’ve read a few of your papers,” she admitted, cheeks flushing pink as she smiled. “Especially the one on spatial-temporal patterning and ritualistic homicides. It’s… a little terrifying….But brilliant of course! Really brilliant!”

The panicked praise made something flutter in his chest, a reaction he didn’t quite expect. “Thank you. Most people don’t make it past the abstract.”

“I liked your footnotes,” she said, laughing a bit. “They read like side conversations. Almost like you’re thinking out loud.”

He smiled back before he realized he was doing it. “That’s… probably because I was.”

She laughed again—a small, bright sound that curled around his ribs and stayed there, placing itself as if he’d been missing it all along.

“I’m Allison,” she said.

“Allison,” he repeated. Her name fit her. Gentle. Old-fashioned in a soft way. “Are you majoring in criminology?”

“Psych and criminal justice,” she said. “Double major. I want to work with children who’ve experienced trauma. Maybe help them testify in court…. Or maybe just help them survive it. I’m only human.”

That stopped him for a moment.

So young. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-three or twenty-four. And yet, her voice didn’t waver when she said it. She meant every word. She’d sounded like him at that age.

“That’s… admirable,” he said, quieter now. “And difficult.”

“I know.” She laughed awkwardly again. “But I’ve seen what happens when no one helps them.” Allison flashed a small awkward tight lipped smile.

Spencer studied her. She didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t ask.

“I’m surprised you’re not one of Rossi’s groupies,” he offered lightly.

She shook her head. “He’s brilliant, but a little… intimidating. You’re a lot less scary and official looking… plus you’re not selling yourself so I just assumed I could relate to you more than him.”

Spencer laughed. “You’d be surprised. I’m just bad at it.”

She tilted her head. “I think that’s why I like your writing. You don’t try to convince anyone—you just share what you know. Like a polite invitation into your brain.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

There was a pause—brief, but thick. Students filtered out around them, filing toward the doors, laughing and shouting about midterms. But Spencer stood still. And so did she.

“I’m headed to the arts building,” she said, finally breaking the quiet. “They’re holding a mini recital in the quad. I’m playing violin with some of the kids from the local elementary school. It’s kind of chaotic, but… cute.”

He almost said goodbye.

Almost.

But instead—“Do you mind if I come?”

She blinked. “You want to?”

“I like violin.”

That made her smile again. Something sparkled in her eyes. “Sure. But only if you’re okay with tambourines and maracas interrupting every other note.”

“I’ve worked crime scenes next to train tracks and screaming neighbors,” he said. “I think I’ll manage.”

After Spencer had excused himself, they walked side by side through campus. The wind tugged at her cardigan again, and she didn’t bother fixing it. Her hair blew into her face, and when she laughed, it was as if the whole quad leaned in to listen.

They didn’t talk much as they walked across the quad.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt easy—like they’d done this before in some other life. Spencer glanced at her from time to time, watching how she tucked loose hair behind her ears, how her fingers curled tightly around the strap of her violin case. She was nervous, maybe. But not because of him.

“Do you perform often?” he asked, his voice breaking the hush of spring wind.

“Only for things like this,” she replied. “The kids are part of a music therapy program downtown. Some are neurodivergent, some have anxiety, and a few are dealing with grief. Music helps….Even if it’s messy and loud.” Allison chuckled to herself, a small smile playing at her lips.

Spencer nodded. “There’s research to support that. Auditory rhythm can activate the limbic system and regulate emotional response.”

She glanced up at him, smiling. “You’d love our practice room. Pure chaos.” Allison made a cut air motion. “But their smiles make it worth it.”

When they reached the grass clearing near the art building, there were folding chairs set up in uneven rows, half-filled with local parents and students bundled against the breeze. Children buzzed around like bumblebees, laughing and crashing tambourines together, each sound a wild burst of joy.

Spencer hesitated at the edge of the group. His coat felt too formal, his shoes too polished. He never quite knew how to be casual, especially around people who moved so easily through the world.

“Want to sit?” she asked, gesturing toward an empty bench near the front.

“I’ll watch from here,” he said. “Better view.”

Allison gave him a quick smile, then moved to join the kids. One little boy immediately wrapped his arms around her waist, and she bent to hug him, laughing softly as he clung. Another girl handed her a bright red plastic maraca.

“She’s gonna play the pretty song again,” the girl told her.

“Only if you help me with rhythm,” Allison replied, crouching down to their level.

Spencer watched, unable to look away.

The violin came out of its case like something sacred. She tuned it quickly—gently—before resting it on her shoulder. The first note drifted out into the air like breath, soft and golden. Not perfect, not polished. But real.

The children chimed in soon after, their percussion wild and unsynchronized, but she never corrected them. She let them play. She let them be. And somehow, the mismatched rhythm and sharp off-beat clapping wove itself into something whole. Something alive.

Spencer sat still, arms folded, heart unexpectedly full.

She was luminous like this—wrapped in music, surrounded by joy, completely unaware of how radiant she looked. Not in an untouchable way, but in a quiet, reverent one. Like she was full of light and trying desperately not to spill it.

After a few songs—mostly lullabies and one wobbly rendition of You Are My Sunshine—the concert ended. The crowd clapped. The kids laughed. And Allison bowed deeply with exaggerated flair that made all the children giggle.

Spencer stood when she approached, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright from the cold.

“I warned you it’d be chaotic,” she said.

“It was,” he agreed. “But it was… good. Really good.”

She beamed at him, tucking the violin back in its case. “They’ve been practicing for weeks. I’m glad they didn’t freeze up.”

“You’re really good with them,” he said, watching the last few kids run back toward their parents.

“I just try to listen.” She shrugged. “Most of them don’t get that very often.”

They fell quiet again, the kind of silence that meant more than words. The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting golden light across the quad. Allison stood there with her case at her side, the wind catching the edge of her cardigan again.

Spencer wanted to tell her she reminded him of spring. The kind of person who made things grow. But it felt too much, too soon, and he didn’t know how to say it without sounding foolish.

Instead, he asked, “Would you want to get coffee sometime?”

She blinked, looking surprised—but not displeased.

“With you?”

“With…me I’d hope,” he confirmed, nerves curling around his ribs. “If you want.”

Her smile was soft and slow. “I’d like that.”

They exchanged numbers awkwardly—Allison fumbling with her phone, Spencer typing with the kind of caution he usually reserved for crime scene reports. Then she glanced at the time and winced.

“I promised I’d help clean up the art room,” she said. “But… thank you. For coming.” She made an awkward gesture before hitting her fist into her palm and swaying nervously.

“I’m glad I did,” he said truthfully.

And he meant it.

Because even as he walked away—coat buttoned against the evening chill, the sounds of laughter still echoing behind him—Spencer knew something had shifted. Maybe it was the way she played. Maybe the way she listened.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way he felt a little warmer now.

Like she’d lit something in him he didn’t know was still capable of catching fire.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #fanfic #criminal minds fluff #cm #fluff #dr spencer reid #criminal minds oc #oc #spencer reid x oc

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captainquake42 · 5 months ago

Text

> ♡ °. INKED UP

♡ part three

☆ kwon jae sung x fem!reader

> summary:

high on adrenaline kwon invites you to his room on accident.

OR kwon tries to teach you some korean.

> notes:

once again the korean is from google translate

find it on ao3

part one // part two // part four

> 2.1k written by:

S A R A H

By the time their team stepped off the mat for the fourth consecutive win, Kwon had to admit—watching film and researching their opponents had been the smartest thing they’d done all tournament. Hana, Yoon, Tory, and himself had yet to lose a match, and their earlier stumbles seemed like a distant memory. The strategy adjustments had worked, and their confidence had skyrocketed.

Well, most of their confidence. Kwon’s patience, however? That was wearing thin.

“ I told you so,” Yoon crowed on the sidelines as Tory got her hand raised in victory. His grin was wide enough to stretch from Seaford to Seoul. “ Four matches in a row, Captain. Feels pretty good, huh?”

Kwon exhaled sharply, trying to keep his cool. “ Yes, Yoon. You’ve mentioned it.” He raised his own hand for a high five from Tory as she got off the mat which she slapped with a grin.

“ Oh, have I?” Yoon’s smirk deepened with his own high five offer that Tory took. “ Because I feel like it’s worth mentioning again. You know, just in case you forgot how genius my idea was.”

“ Don’t push it, Yoon,” Tory chimed in, rolling her eyes as she tightened her back belt. “ You’re one ‘I told you so’ away from getting kicked in the shins.”

Kwon snorted, finally cracking a grin. “ Now that I’d pay to see.”

“ Oh, ha ha,” Yoon said, throwing a mock glare at Tory. “ You’re just mad because I was right.”

“ You’re unbearable,” Tory replied, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward in the hint of a smile.

“ Unbearably brilliant,” Yoon quipped, spinning on his heel with a swagger in his step following the rest of the team back to the locker room.

Kwon shook his head, trailing behind the others. He hated to admit it, but Yoon had earned the right to be insufferable. The team’s flawless run had revitalized their morale.

As they reached the locker room, Kwon stopped in the doorway, letting his team filter past him. They were battered and bruised, but their energy was palpable.

You walked past him laughing and his attention was instantly stolen. He saw that you won your own solo matches on the leaderboard. It seemed you and one of your other teammates were single handedly keeping your team in. The curly hairy haired boy that Yoon fought in the captain’s game.

“ Hey, Captain,” Hana said, glancing back at him with a smirk. “ Dangsin-i ogo issseubnikka, animyeon uliui mupae haengjin-ui yeong-gwang-eul nulineula neomu bappeun geongayo? (You coming, or are you too busy basking in the glory of our undefeated streak?)”

Kwon watched you, barely registered her words. “ Jamsiman gidalyeojuseyo. (Be there in a sec.)” He said, his voice steady despite the flutter in his chest.

You saw him and waved.

He grinned, raising a hand in return. “ Hey, so-yeon.” he called, his voice carrying just enough warmth to mask his nervous.

“ You still haven’t told me what that means.” You hummed.

He shrugged, “ so it seems.”

“ Why?”

“ Same as before. Not fun.”

“ Lame. I could google it.” You teased, crossing your arms as if issuing a challenge.

Kwon huffed, his lips twitching in amusement. “ Can you spell it?”

You jutted out in an exaggerated pout. “ No.”

His mouth moved before his brain could catch up. “ If you really want to know, you can find me in my room after the matches today.” As soon as the offer was out Kwon flushed, his face warming as his palms grew damp.

Your eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, Kwon panicked. Stupid stupid stupid, he thought, what on earth made him say that? Had he been too forward? But then you laughed—a soft sound that made his pulse jump.

“ Well, well,” you said, leaning in just enough to make him sweat. “ Since I got an invitation.”

And just like that you were gone with a flip of your braid.

Tory poked her head out, looked at him and then you, back to him and raised her brows sarcastically. “ Nice job man.”

“ Shut up Tory.” He snapped.

You took your time taking your everything shower, shaved from your armpits down to your ankles, moisturized with a strawberry shortcake smelling body oil, put in a hair mask, the whole shebang.

You were dressed in a spider-man hoodie and shorts, twisting your hands anxiously as Sam re-braided your hair in two dutch braids. You were good at pretending to be nonchalant until it came within an hour of doing said thing when you'd freak out.

“ What are you freaking out for?” Sam said, tugging your head back. “ Maybe you should just come with us to the beach.”

“ No it's ok, I'm tired, I wanna stay here.” You lied, you were not going to stay here, you were going to Kwon's room not that you could tell her that. You secretly wished Devon made it instead of Sam, she wouldn't judge you.

“ Are you sure?” She asked, Sam had always been nice to you but sometimes she could be really judgmental and she would definitely not approve.

“ I'm sure. I- ouch.”

“ Sorry,” Sam murmured, detangling her fingers. “ My fingers got caught.”

“ It's fine, I've done the same to you.” You laughed, you've ripped out chunks of her hair a hundred times by accident, whether it was from your braiding or sparing.

“ You should come, you and Miguel have kept us in. “ Sam tried again, “ come celebrate with us.”

“ No offense Sam,” you started. “ But that's exactly why I'm tired.”

“ Ok,” She conceited. “ Done.”

You felt it, no bumps. “ Thanks Sam.”

“ No problem, I'll leave you to it then.”

“ Have fun.”

“ We will.” And with that, Sam left you alone.

You decided to do your nails while waiting thirty minutes before you left just in case Sam came back so she wouldn't find you gone.

You had face masks you brought to do with Sam but decided to grab them thinking Kwon would be a better victim. He'd probably do them with you, he had nice skin and with the amount of hair gel he uses to spike up his hair like that he definitely has a skin care routine.

But then you started to second-guessing yourself. Maybe this is too much. What if he thinks it’s weird? You picked up the packaging, reading the back like it held some kind of life-altering advice.

With a sigh, you set it down again, pacing back and forth in the small space. Your heart raced, and your hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting. What if he was joking? And not actually inviting you?

You took a breath in your nose, held it for 3 seconds, out through your mouth.

You sat down on your bed, fiddling with the hem of your shorts. You stood up again, walking to the mirror to check your hair for the fourth time, smoothing down any imaginary flyaways and pressing your palms against your flushed cheeks.

It's not that big of a deal you told yourself lifting your foot up on the dresser to put your sock on, he already went with you to get a tattoo last night which was first time the two of you spoke. Hanging out with him wasn't any different even if he was really cute and you wanted him to like you. You switched feet and put on your other sock.

Finally you straightened up and grabbed the face masks on the dresser, leaving without putting shoes on – cause who wears shoes just walking down the hall?

Walking through the quiet hotel hallway, you felt every beat of your heart like a drum in your chest. The fluorescent lights hummed softly above you, casting a white glow on the carpeting. You told yourself to relax, that it was just Kwon, and you were just hanging out. But your hands still squeezed the face masks tightly, and you almost turned back twice.

You reached his door, and paused. For a moment, the silence of the hallway pressed in around you. You debated knocking, hesitated, then debated again.

“ Come on,” you muttered to yourself. “ Stop being a pussy.”

Taking a deep breath, you raised your hand and knocked.

The door swung open quicker than you expected, and there he was, hair slightly damp like he’d just showered, wearing a plain black t-shirt and sweats. He looked relaxed, but when he saw you, his face lit up in a way that made your nerves melt a little.

“ Hey,” he greeted, stepping aside to let you in.

“ Hi,” you replied, stepping past him into the room. It was a standard hotel setup: two beds, a small desk, and a TV. His stuff was neatly tucked into one corner, but his sparring gloves and water bottle sat on the desk, evidence of a long day.

“ I like your hoodie,” he said, motioning to your Spider-Man hoodie as he shut the door.

“ Thanks. Nice… uh… room.” You winced inwardly at yourself, but Kwon just chuckled.

“ You want to sit?” he asked, gesturing to the bed closest to the window.

“ Sure,” you said, plopping down and setting the face masks beside you. You glanced up at him, suddenly nervous again. “ So… what’s the meaning of ‘so-yeon’?”

Kwon raised a brow, amused. “ Still stuck on that, huh?”

“ I’m very determined.” You crossed your arms, leaning back a little.

He smirked, sitting down on the other bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “ Alright, fine. ‘So-yeon’ means ‘bright’, ‘graceful’, or ‘beautiful’ depending on context.”

Your cheeks flamed. “ Oh.”

“ Oh,” he repeated, clearly enjoying your reaction. “ Why? Not what you expected?”

“ I was pretty sure it was gonna mean bitch.” You answered smiling.

“ Promise it’s a compliment,” he said, his voice softening.

Your heart stuttered a little, but you played it off with a teasing grin. “ Well, in that case, thank you.”

He laughed at that, leaning back against the headboard. “ Now, what’s in the bag?”

“ Oh, these!” You grabbed the face masks, holding them up for him to see. “ I thought we could do them, if you’re up for it.”

Kwon’s brows shot up. “ Face masks?”

“ Don’t knock it till you try it,” you said, waving one in front of him. “ They’re good for your skin. And judging by how much hair gel you use, I’d say you’re not a stranger to a routine.”

He blinked, caught off guard, then laughed. “ Fair point, let’s.”

You spent the next few minutes peeling open the masks and carefully applying them, bursting into laughter when Kwon’s didn’t sit quite right on his face.

“ You look ridiculous,” you teased, holding up your phone to snap a picture. You had never been into taking pictures, just wasn’t something you thought about, but you were trying to make it a point to document the Sekai Taikai like you tried doing for all your big competitions.

“ Says the girl who’s about to join me,” he shot back, reaching over to adjust yours. “ There.”

“ Great,” you deadpanned, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Kwon leaned back against the headboard, his face still obscured by the slightly crooked mask. “ You know,” he said, voice casual, “ you’re asking me what something mean in Korean. Would you like to learn a few phrases?”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “ You’re not going to teach me anything embarrassing, are you?”

He smirked. “ I’ll save the swears for later.”

You laughed, adjusting the mask on your face as you sat cross-legged on the bed. “ Ok, hit me.”

“ First one: ‘Annyeonghaseyo.’ It’s how you say hello in a formal way.”

“Ann-yeong-ha-say-yo,” you repeated slowly, breaking the word into chunks.

Kwon nodded, his eyes crinkling in amusement as he tried not to laugh at your butchered pronunciation. “ Not bad. Now, informal is just ‘Annyeong.’”

“ Annyeong,” you echoed, this time with more confidence. “ I think I can remember that.”

“ Good. Next is ‘Kamsahamnida.’ It means thank you.”

“ Kamsa-hamni-da,” you said carefully, earning an approving nod from him.

“ You’re a natural,” he said with a grin like the liar he was. “ Alright, one more. ‘Saranghae.’ It means—”

“ Love?” you interrupted, smirking. “ I know that one. I’ve watched enough K-dramas.”

Kwon tilted his head, pretending to be impressed. “ Oh woah, a real, how you say? Genius.”

“ Totally,” you said, laughing. “ Anything else I should know?”

“ Well,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “ if you ever want to tell someone they’re doing well, you say ‘Jalhanda.’”

“ Jalhanda,” you repeated, enjoying the way the word rolled off your tongue.

“ It’s what you can say to me when we beat your team again.” He teased.

Your jaw dropped, “ ain’t no way!” you laughed. “ In your dreams maybe.”

“ Every night,” he smirked, taking the opportunity you gave him.

#cobra kai #kwon jae sung x fem!reader #kwon jae sung x reader #kwon jae sung

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smooth-perceval · 1 year ago

Text

“Merry Christmas wherever you are.”

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Reader attempts at soothing their child- and when all fails she calls the one man they both need.

Warnings: Self-Doubt, fluff, Google translate, Charles being cute, not every Christmassy… NO PROOF READ!!

Key: Y/N (your name) Y/L/N (your last name) Juliette (Yours and Charles kids name) Jules (her nickname)

Word count: 744

A/N: I’m sorry… I didn’t stick to my schedule I really have a bad timing issue- infact schedule issue. Sorryyyy! But to make up for it I got some good fics coming 👀

Or so I think are good. Also sorry this isn’t as Christmassy…

I wanted to cry, I was on the verge of tears and crawling into a corner… Juliette had no way of settling- in fact she was practically screaming the house down.

The one thing I didn’t want to do was call for help- because I’m her mother I can do this… but yet I still found myself picking the phone up and dialling the one man I need right now.

“mon chéri? You okay?” (My darling) A panicked Charles picked up the line before the first ring, and if Juliette wasn’t screaming so loud I probably would’ve sat and twirled my hair at how cute he is.

As soon as I heard the words ‘you okay’ I bursted into tears along with our baby. “Charles I don’t know what to do… she won’t stop crying!” Taking heavy breaths I gently placed my hand onto of Juliette’s tummy trying to soothe her.

“Chérie… breathe- take some deep- just one minute.” (Darling) I heard him rustling around and a door click shut on the other end of the call, he must’ve had to run away from the team for my breakdown… gosh do I feel like the worst mother and partner…

“Let me FaceTime you-” sniffling I moved the phone away answering Charles FaceTime call.

“hé ma jolie fille…” (hey, my pretty girl), even though he was across the waters- seeing his face washed a sense of relief over me… and oddly enough Juliette’s cries got quieter slowly- crazy huh, her fathers voice is the answer to both our prayers.

“I’m so sorry… I know your busy- I just I don’t know what to do…” sniffling once again I looked down at Juliette who was also sniffling… eyes opening and closing slowly proving to me she is tired yet has been fighting it this whole time. “Family always comes first how many times do I tell you this.”

“I know I just feel like a terrible mother I can’t soothe my own child…” and now I’m setting off again, tears rolling down my cheeks- lip quivering. Which also to my expense set Juliette back off.

“Y/N you’re the most perfect mother- Our Juliette is so lucky to have such a perfect woman in her life. Now stop doubting yourself, okay?” Nodding slowly I wiped away my tears taking another deep breath. “show me our gorgeous girl.” Smiling a little I turned the camera so they can both see each other.

“Hé mon bébé!” (Hey my baby!)

And just like that she calmed back down again, her dad has that effect on us both I guess. “I’ll be home soon princesse.” (Princess)

The most adorable yawn escaped her tiny body, legs and arms both kicking up and down and the smile back on her face. “Now’s time for you to sleep Jules… no more crying. Go to sleep princesse.” (Princess)

My finger danced over her face delicately, and soon she was falling asleep. “bébé?” (Baby?)

Humming I turned the camera back around, relief washed all over my face. “I’ve got to go now mon amour… are you going to be okay?” (My love) Looking down at Jules who was practically in a slumber, eyes opening every now and then. I paused for a moment, before taking a deep breath and nodding at Charles. I’ve got this- I’m her Mother, I’ve got this.

“I’ll be okay… thank you.” Lying back on the bed I looked at the FaceTime, hand resting on Juliette’s belly once again. “Don’t thank me… I’m sorry I’m not home for Christmas, especially the first as a family.” Sighing he moved the screen closer to himself. “Just means we get two huh?” Smiling a little I leaned forward kissing the camera of my phone. “I love you Charles Leclerc, come home to us soon.” Smiling a little at him, his eyes seemed to well just a little, a small sight of tears. “As soon as I can mon chéri… I love you more.” (My darling)

Then the screen went off, and silence engulfed the room… Juliette’s soft snores were the only thing heard.

And when the silence becomes a soothing lullaby, and the twinkling of the Christmas decorations become a trace, I placed a gentle kiss to my fingers- waving it off into the air. “Merry Christmas, wherever you are.”

Little did me and Jules know- our favourite person was waiting on a flight home and would be here when we wake, our Christmas miracle.

#f1 imagine #formula one imagine #imagine #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc #dad!charles leclerc #12 days of christmas

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gunnerfc · 1 year ago

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Mommy? Sorry. | Alexia Putellas x Barça!Reader (18+)

Summary: you call Alexia ‘mommy’ for the first time

Warnings: there is literally no plot, jumps straight into smut, calling alexia ‘mommy’, strap use (r receiving) top alexia, bottom reader, alexia calling r ‘good girl’ and ‘princess’, hair pulling, strap sucking, use of the word ‘cock’ lol

WC: 1.1K

AN: is this on my wips list? No! But the idea popped into my head while watching the game and I needed to write it lol – all translations are from google so, sorry if they are not 100% accurate!

Alexia’s tight grip on your hips as she roughly thrusts her hips, the strap attached to her hips hitting deeper inside you with each thrust. The captain had you bent over the desk in the Madrid hotel, hands digging into your skin and your moans filling the room.

“Eres una buena chica (you’re such a good girl),” the blonde groaned as her skin hit yours. You were fresh off another win over Real Madrid and Alexia wanted to celebrate you scoring two goals and assisting her goal privately.

You moaned loudly at the praise from Alexia, every time she told you how good you were, you felt lightheaded. Praise from Alexia as both your girlfriend and your captain meant everything and the midfielder was always there to make sure you knew just how good you were.

Your hands tightened around the edge of the desk as you felt Alexia’s strap hit that familiar spot, bringing you one step closer to the edge. You knew she was holding back despite how rough she was being. If there was one thing Alexia hated the most, it was seeing you in any amount of pain but right now you needed her to be rougher with you.

You needed her to go faster, the pent-up tension from how physical the game was had yet to break loose. The blonde knew how to read your body for signs and she knew what you wanted from her, but she didn’t want to give it to you just yet.

Her hands pushed your hips against the hard desktop, pinning you against the surface as her hips continued snapping against yours. The loud sound of her skin hitting yours mixed with your loud moans left little to the imagination and you could only hope most of your teammates were still out celebrating.

Your breathing was heavy as you moved your hands to rest on the surface, propping yourself on your arms as best as you could with how Alexia had you pressed against the desk. You felt one of Alexia’s hands leave your hips and suddenly it was wrapped in your hair, pulling your head back slightly.

Alexia leaned forward until her front was almost flushed with yours to whisper in your ear. “Me estás tomando muy bien la polla, princesa (you’re taking my cock so well, princess),” the captain husked, lightly biting your earlobe as she pulled away. Alexia placed small kisses along your shoulder blade, her hips still not speeding up like you needed them to.

Alexia let go of your hair without warning and your head jerked forward, her hand sliding around your naked torso toward your chest. Her large hand groped one of your breasts, kneading the soft skin in her hand, before letting go to pinch your hardened nipple. Your breathing was heavy as your eyes rolled back, the pleasure was amazing but you needed her to ruin you.

“M-mommy, p-please,” you begged, “harder,” you whined in between loud moans. You didn’t realize right away what you had said, but you didn’t care at the moment.

Alexia’s hips faltered at your words, unsure if she heard you correctly. The blonde’s hips almost came to a stop as she processed what you said and how hearing you call her ‘mommy’ turned her on more than she would have ever thought.

“Dilo otra vez (say it again),” Alexia ordered, but your loud moans meant you didn’t hear her. “Dije, dilo de nuevo, princesa (I said, say it again, princess),” Alexia repeated, this time in her “captain’s voice” which gained your attention, as it always does because of how attractive she sounds when she’s commanding the team.

“Mommy, please! He sido una buena chica (I’ve been a good girl!)!” you whined loudly, tears threatening to fall from your eyes as the immense pleasure you were experiencing.

Alexia didnt respond verbally, instead her hands pushed your hips further into the desk and her hips started slamming against yours much harder than they ever had. You gasped loudly before it turned into a long moan, the feeling of Alexia’s strap buried deep within you had you in a state of bliss.

Alexia gave you exactly what you wanted, she was fucking you harder and faster than she ever had. With your eyes tightly closed and your back arched, you felt the familiar coil in your lower stomach start to break. You both knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

“Ven por mi, mi buena niña (come for me, my good girl),” Alexia ordered as she kept her hips moving at a steady pace.

With a loud moan, you let go, coming around her strap. Alexia didn’t let up, her hips stayed moving in you, working her way to her own orgasm. You whined at the oversensitivity but your whines turned into shallow chants of “please” as you felt a second orgasm washing over you.

Alexia’s hips stuttered as she felt her own orgasm hit, pausing her hips as the strap bottomed out. The only sounds filling the room were both of you heavily breathing, trying to calm yourselves down. Alexia’s head rolled back as the intensity of her orgasm before her eyes refocused on you, bent over the desk with her strap buried in you. The blonde slowly pulled the toy out of you, causing you to whimper at the loss of contact. Your arms that were propping you up were weak but right before they could give out, Alexia turned you around, pulling you into a deep kiss.

Your mouth moved against hers, letting her control the kiss. Your naked chest was flushed with hers and you could feel the strap attached to her waist hitting your thigh. Alexia pulled back, a string of saliva lingering between the two of you.

“Sé una buena niña y limpia la polla de mami (be a good girl and clean mommy’s cock),” Alexia croaked as her thumb swiped across your bottom lip. You nodded obediently as you lowered to your knees in front of her.

You looked up at her as you took the cum covered toy in your mouth, taking it to the hilt. The sight of you on your knees with her strap down your throat was one of Alexia’s favorite sights. She kept eye contact with you as you started sucking on the strap, moaning around the toy as best as you could as you tasted yourself on it.

Drool started dripping out the sides of your mouth as you felt the toy touch the back of your throat. You gagged lightly at the feeling which spurred Alexia on, as she moved her hands to gather your hair into a makeshift ponytail. Alexia held your hair as her hips started moving slightly, not wanting to hurt you but wanting you to feel enough of the toy.

You let Alexia fuck your mouth with the strap, taking her fully without complaining. You were her good girl after all and you wouldn’t disappoint her. You two were far from over for the night now that you unlocked something within the captain, and you made good use of the word as you begged and whined for more orgasms that night.

#woso x reader #barca femeni x reader #espwnt x reader #alexia putellas smut #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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lost-on-an-ocean-of-books · 1 year ago

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Calling all fanfiction Readers it's time to have your say.

Hi Fanfiction Readers

My name is Tamsin and I am a PhD student, fellow lurker and fanfiction reader. I am conducting a study into the role that fanfiction plays in the lives of those fans who read fanfiction as part of their everyday lives. Does your search history include the tags related to found family, irondad or batbad for example, then I am interested in talking to you. If you would like to take part in discussions around these tags with a fellow reader and lurkers of these tags within A03 please message me.

Taking part in this research is a chance for you to share your own experience of fanfiction and what it means to you, while also highlighting that lurkers do still have a voice and an important part to play within fandom research.

Below the cut is more information about this study and what it involves. Please read this if you would like more information before getting in touch. If you are unable to take part please can you reblog this post or share it to anyone you feel might wish to take part.

Why have I been chosen?

I have deliberately chosen lurkers within fanfiction communities as the messages they take from and their reasons for reading fanfiction are under researched. Although you may not be a lurker in all fandoms you are involved in, the fact that you are a lurker within any fanfiction spaces make you the ideal candidate from this exploration into lurkers and their relationships with fanfiction, fanfictions online spaces and fandom communities.

I would also like to emphasise that I require all participants to be over the age of 18 to take part in this study. If you are under 18 please let me know now.

What does taking part mean?

By agreeing to take part in this study you are agreeing to record a diary of your fanfiction use and reasons for this usage within a discord chat. There is no limit for entries and I ask that the minimum response is once every two weeks. However, this project is aiming to work around your life and commitments and if you do miss a couple of weeks do not panic. Just start sending entries or replying to prompts again when you are able to. If I have not heard from you in a month I will send a message which will read:

Hi. I hope you are doing well. I am just sending a message to check in and to double check if you wish to continue taking part in the study. If you are happy to still take part please send any form of response to this message.

It is important to note that this response can be as limited as simply sending an emoji. If I do not receive a response after two weeks I will stop attempting to contact you. However this is not seen as a full withdrawal from the study and you are able to return at any time. I will also still use the discussions we have already had as part of my thesis. If you would like to withdraw fully from the study please let me or my supervisors know, with the process of how to do this explained below.

These entries can take the form of voice notes, written responses and memes or tiktoks. Every two weeks I shall send a prompt to the chat that hosts the diary entries, these are intended to get you thinking about certain topics and do not have to be answered directly or even at all if the questions make you uncomfortable or touch on something you are unwilling to share. At the end of every month I will arrange a touch base interview (over google meet) which will last about an hour. This will be a chance to discuss anything that you find easier to discuss face to face, to review some of your diary entries and for me to answer any question you may have. While I will aim to have these interviews a month apart I do understand that life may get in the way. I am more than happy to be flexible and move interviews around or push them back/bring them forward depending on your schedules.

#bat family #iron dad and spider son #irondad #batdad #fan fiction #a03 fanfic #found family

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springgirlshowers · 7 months ago

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Let Me Show You

Summary: You haven’t been feeling very pretty lately, Joost decides to prove you wrong, and he won’t let you finish until you admit that you are.

CW: negative self talk/self image, tiny bit of crying, body worship, teasing, praise, so much foreplay, fingering, cunnilingus, edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, i use google translate for dutch (im sorry 😭)

WC: 2827

A/N: i wassss gonna wait to post this, but i couldn’t help myself it feels wrong to keep the world waiting </33 challenge: take a shot every time the word “kiss” is said in this fic

You hadn’t been feeling well at all today.

Not in the sick with the flu sort of well, more of just not feeling well with yourself. Not feeling content with yourself.

It started in the morning, when you stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Joost was already gone, needing to stop by Teuns to clean up a few songs.

You leaned forwards in the mirror, analyzing your face. Feeling disappointed at it, for some reason, it felt like every single tiny little flaw was extremely noticeable. Every blemish, every bump, every pore, it all felt so much more noticeable.

You pushed at the apple of your cheeks, then leaning away from the mirror to look at your body.

You turned to the side, looking at your stomach and squeezing the flesh. Dropping your arms weakly as you continued to stare at yourself.

You felt ugly. You hated it. You wanted to crawl out of your own body.

Since that was impossible, you threw on a matching pair of gray sweats. Then curling yourself into a ball under the sheets. Hiding away from the world.

About three hours later, you heard the door unlock and the sound of shoes being kicked off. Joost called out your name, stopping once he saw the sight of your back and head on the bed, the rest of you covered up by the duvet.

He knew you were awake, it was only a few minutes after 3PM.

He walked over to your side of the bed, sitting on the edge and smiling at you as he stroked your hair. He could already tell from the look on your face that you were upset.

“Hey, what’s going on?” He spoke softly, eyebrows knit together in concern.

“Nothing, I’m just a bit tired.” You shrugged, Joost let out a breath through his nose, seeing straight through your lie.

Joost was your lover, of course he knew the difference between a tired expression versus a gloomy expression on your face.

“I know it’s not that, schat. Something’s bothering you.” Your eyes darted away for a second, you were trying to decide if you should keep up this act of just being “tired” or be honest.

“It’s really nothing, Joost.”

“You keeping whatever it is bottled up is only gonna make it worse, liefje. Trust me, I would know.” Joost tutted, rubbing your thigh.

He was right, you would know as well. You’ve told him the same thing before when he’d be upset about something.

"I just..." You sighed as you sat up, already feeling embarrassed about your upcoming confession. "I haven't been feeling very pretty lately." Joosts face turned into an immediate frown.

"How? What's not pretty about you?" He sounded almost insulted, insulted by the fact you would think so negatively about you.

"My face looks wrong. My body looks wrong. I’ve got a tummy on me. I don't know. I don’t know how to explain it exactly, I just don't feel attractive." You sighed, dragging your hands down your face.

“We all have a tummy. I’ve got a tummy.” He poked his stomach, smiling looking at it and then back up at you.

You shook your head as an amused smile spread on your face, you pulled the duvet off the rest of your body due to the heat becoming uncomfortable.

“You know what I mean, Joost.” You silently groaned and put your face into your hands.

“I do. But I don’t care.” Joosts voice was smooth as he removed your hands from your face, your eyes were already watering, he let out a sympathetic hum.

“You might not think it. But you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

You knew Joost was telling the truth. Anytime he would look at you, he felt like he was looking at an a real life angel sent by God himself.

You were just too far deep in the rabbit hole of your negative self talk.

Tears began to slip from your eyes and you turned your head away, Joost still had his hands cupped lightly around your face.

“I’m sorry. You know I don’t look pretty when I cry.” You sniffled, wiping away tears with the back of your hand. “My face gets all pink and blotchy.”

Joost gently turned your face back to him, taking in all your beautiful features.

“I love your face. Even if it’s all pink and blotchy.” His words got a small laugh out of you, he grinned .

“You really think so?” You asked, voice still shaky.

“I know so.” He wiped away another tear from your cheek with his thumb. This was cliché, but you loved it. You loved him.

“I can prove it to you, if you want?” Joost raised his brows, you knew exactly what he was suggesting. You nodded happily.

He quickly put his lips against yours, kissing so passionately. So sweetly.

“I wanna make a deal, ja?” Joost said in between kisses. You nodded.

“I’m gonna show you how beautiful you are.” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “I’m going to tell you, show you until you know it’s true.” He kisses the other side. “And then…you’re gonna tell me how pretty you are, then I’ll make you cum. Ja?”

“Joost..” You mumbled out, flustered already.

“You okay with that deal?” He kissed your lips gently, brushing some hair out your face.

“Okay. Okay. We have a deal.” You giggled, eyes closing.

“Good.” He smiled, the type of smile that made you feel like you could melt straight into the sheets. He kissed you one more time before moving his lips along your jaw.

He moved his hand, rubbing his thumb softly over your bottom lip.

“You know how much I love your lips.” He ran his mouth along your jaw, before moving to hover his face over yours.

“And your nose. This cute little nose.” He gave you a peck just on the tip of your nose, tapping it after and making a little boop! noise.

His antics got a small sniffle and laugh out of you. God, he was so silly. So unserious in such an intimate moment like this. You loved it. It made your nervousness fade away.

He moved to kiss both your eyelids next, so silly.

“Your eyes, I could stare into them all day if you didn’t think it was so creepy.” He chuckled. “Zo mooi. Ik zie je gezicht in mijn dromen.” He whispered, quickly moving his mouth to your neck. Your breath hitched as he placed sloppy kisses all over it.

His mouth ran over that sweet spot that made you let out a soft whimper, you could feel his smirk against your skin.

“Mijn mooie meisje.” His breath against your neck tickled, making you inch away from it.

His hands began to slide underneath your baggy sweatshirt, sliding up and down before going up one last time and bringing your sweatshirt with him.

He soon did the same with your sweatpants as he moved his lips along your collarbones, you lifted your hips to help remove them. He tossed them on the floor, along with your top.

He pulled away from your skin to look at you in complete awe. You were a bit embarrassed due to your extremely plain underwear, you didn’t bother to put on a bra this morning. If you knew you’d be getting intimate today, you would’ve worn something nicer.

Yet Joost didn’t care, his face didn’t care at all. Still staring at you like you were a dream come true. You were.

“Can’t believe you’d want to hide such a gorgeous body like this.” He grazed his fingers down your arm, grabbing your hand and lifting it up to your mouth, kissing your knuckles.

Your hands came up unconsciously to conceal your chest. Joost didn’t let this happen. He intertwined his hands with each of yours, holding them against the mattress.

“Aw, no hiding. I wanna see these pretty tits of yours.” You bit your lip and turned your head away, surprised at his explicit words.

He quickly brought his lips to your chest, kissing all over it. Between the valley of your breasts, above and below them. Finally placing his mouth on one of them.

A sharp gasp let out of you, Joost chuckled against you. Sucking and nipping at your breast, leaving red and purpling hickies.

He took your nipple into his mouth, making you squirm and arch your back slightly, he moved one hand to your other breast. Squeezing and playing with it for a little before switching his mouths attention to that one.

He didn’t need words to tell you how much he loved your tits. The messy kisses from his mouth were enough.

He ignored the way his dick was hardening in his pants at the sounds of your whimpers and breaths of pleasure. This evening, he was focusing on you, and you only.

He trailed his lips down, stopping at your stomach. He dragged his hands down, sliding them to the sides of your waist and squeezing, making you shiver.

“You know how much I love your tummy. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve fallen asleep when I lay my head on it.” He pressed a kiss just below your bellybutton. “Such a cute stomach, I don’t get how you could be so embarrassed of such a beautiful tummy like this.”

You weren’t sure how your stomach could be beautiful. But then you remembered all the times you thought the same about Joosts, going insane over the sight of it.

“All day all I do is want to hold you. I dream about it when I’m away. Did you know that?” He looked up at you, he looked like a goddamn dream.

You shook your head and he gave you a dramatic pout.

“No? I guess I should’ve told you sooner.” He moved his hands and squeezed your hips, another giggle escaped you.

He trailed small, slow, pecks above the waistband of your underwear. Soon hooking his fingers underneath and pulling them down your legs. Kissing your thighs as he did so.

He parted your legs with gentle hands, letting out a coo of adoration at the sight of you. You blushed and bit your finger, turning your head to the side.

He brought a tattooed hand back up to the side of your face, turning your gaze back to him as his thumb smoothed over your cheek.

He smiled at you with a face of pure infatuation. Not needing words to say how he felt about you once again.

He leaned down, eloping his lips around yours as you brought your head up from the pillow, pushing into the kiss.

A finger came up to your clit, gathering your wetness, you let a shaky breath into his mouth.

“It’s okay.” He smiled. Making a beeline of kisses all the way down until his mouth stopped right above your clit.

He held onto your thighs, bringing them up and squeezing the plush of them in his hands, bending your legs.

“Oh, so soft. I’d live in between your legs if you let me.”

“Naughty boy.” You giggled.

“Just being truthful.” He shrugged, he watched in adoration as he rubbed his middle finger in between your folds, his finger already covered in your slick. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He cooed.

He carefully inserted his finger inside you, staring at your face with a smile, watching how your mouth parted, eyes fluttering.

He came back up as his finger slowly pushed in and out, watching your face up close as he inserted a second finger.

“You ready to tell me what you are? Hm?” You tried your best to look at him as you let out a whiny moan. Which was your way of saying “Not really.”

“No? Then I should stop here, ja?” His fingers slowly began to pull out.

“Nononono. Pleasepleaseplease.” You breathed out, grabbing his hand to keep it from fully pulling away. He let out a defeated sigh.

“You’re lucky you’re so stunning. I’ll let you get away with it for now.” He kissed your cheek.

You let go of his wrist as his fingers began to pick up their pace once again, your eyes fluttering shut and mouth parting will small gasps.

He moved his mouth back to your chest, sucking at your tits, leaving little lovebites, you knew you’d be covered in red and purple marks by tomorrow.

He continued that same pattern of kissing trailing down until he reached your cunt.

“Cmon liefje, I need you to tell me how beautiful you are.” He rubbed his head against your thigh.

You shook your head as you bit down on your lip, eyes squeezing shut, you were already close to an orgasm.

“Hm, if you’re not gonna tell me, then I guess we’ll stop here.” He shrugged, puffing out his bottom lip as he removed his fingers from you.

“No!” You whined out at the sudden emptiness, cunt clenching around nothing. “Joost, you’re being mean.” You whined, hips squirming.

“Mm, I’m being fair. You tell me you’re pretty and I will let you cum.” He flicked a finger quickly against your clit, he grinned at the way your body jerked.

“Just admit what we both know is true.” He said in a sing-song voice. You rolled your eyes, frustrated.

“If you just tell me then I’ll give you want you want, liefje.” He teased again.

“Fine. I’m pretty.” You mumbled, you saw the way Joosts face perked up.

“Speak up schatje, I cannot hear you.” He could hear you, but he wanted to hear you loud and clear.

“I’m pretty.” You said, much louder this time.

“How pretty?” He cocked his head in a mocking manner, resting it against the plush of your thigh as his fingers slowly increased their speed.

Was he really doing this? Bastard.

“Really pretty. Fuck- I’m really pretty.” You said through shaky breaths.

“Ja, keep going.” He encouraged, licking a stripe up your cunt as his fingers pumped into you, and you whined again, he loved how flustered you looked.

He was eating you out like a man starved, his tongue deep and swirling circles around your clit, you weren’t even sure you’d be able to speak any coherent words.

“I’m pretty. God, fuck- I’m really pretty, Joost.” Your back began to arch off the bed, your hand reaching down to grip his hair as he hummed against your core.

“I’m so pretty, Joost. So so pretty, please. I’m beautiful, god. Fuck. Please, I’m pretty.” You begged, repeating it like it was a mantra. This was exactly Joosts goal.

“Dat klopt.” He pulled away from you to praise, his breath fanning against your cunt before he attached his lips back to it, beginning to suck on your clit.

Joost held onto your hips to still them. Your legs began to shake and the moans leaving you were borderline pornographic, loud and dramatic. But they were real, not forced.

“Joost, please, Joost. I’m pretty. Please can I cum? Please?” You begged, tears forming in your eyes. All the teasing before this made you so sensitive.

“Go ahead.” The vibration of his voice added to the pleasure, his fingers curled inside you, hitting that sweet spot.

Finally, finally you were cumming. The waves of your orgasm crashing over you, the intensity making the tears in your eyes fall and trail down the sides of your face. Joost continued as you rode through the aftershock, squealing and crying out as your grip on his hair tightened. He moaned against your dripping core.

He finally pulled away once your moans became raspy and you were squirming around. His chin covered in your wetness while he had the most prideful cheesy grin on his face.

“Mijn prachtige meisje. You did so good. So good for me.” He whispered against your skin, pressing small kisses all around your pussy and onto your thighs. Your body twitched with each peck, already overstimulated from all the teasing he did.

He crawled back up to hover over you, wiping the tears that fell with a gentle hand. A saccharine smile on his face to match the saccharine kiss he gave you next. You were still so shaky and out of breath, eyes droopy as you looked at him.

“Feel any better?” He ran his fingers through your hair, scratching at your head, you leaned into his touch.

“Yeah…actually. Yeah.” You gave him a puzzled smile, not expecting this to actually work.

“See. I knew you’d try for me.” He smooched your forehead.

“I’m really sweaty, I need a bath.” You laughed, still breathless.

“I’ll run you one.” He sighed playfully, knowing that your words were a request.

“Will you carry me?” He let out another chuckle, shaking his head in amusement before scooping you up bridal style.

“I can never say no to you.”

#joost klein x reader #joost klein fanfic #joost x reader #joost klein x fem!reader #joost klein fic #joost klein x you #joost klein smut #joost klein imagine #joost klein fluff

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nerdallwritey · 4 months ago

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Don't! Cross! This! Line! With Your Hand.

Summary: “I’ll tell you what, they didn’t call me ‘Astarion the Trustworthy’ for nothing.” He made to hand you the instrument, then snatched it back just as quickly. “They DIDN’T call me ‘Astarion the Trustworthy,’ they called me ‘Astarion the BLOODTHIRSTY, who KILLS whoever doesn’t give Astarion exactly what he wants in the moment that he wants it! Which is RIGHT NOW when I had better get my back read out to me!’” You looked at him with wide eyes, trying and nearly failing to withhold a laugh. He was trying to play this game with you. He really was. But you could see how desperately he wanted answers, too. Astarion, in turn, puffed his chest out as if trying to stand his ground. Just a little longer with the teasing, then you’d help him. “That’s what they called you?” you asked. Astarion looked up as if trying to grasp what exactly he should say next. “It was… shorter in Elvish.” OR Astarion asks for help with reading the scars on his back. You give him a hard time in the process. NOTE: This is a crack fic is based on this scene from Night at the Museum 2: Battle of the Smithsonian.

Pairing: Astarion x gn!reader Rating: Mature Word count: 2.1k CW: strong-ish language, stupidity, Night at the Museum 2 Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3

a/n: I wrote this back in March of 2024, WAAAAAAYYY before I ever posted An Evening to Ourselves. It was never supposed to see the light of day and yet, here we are. I recently reached 300 followers on this account and was encouraged by @vividiana and @khywren to post this crack fic as a celebration of sorts. Here's what I wrote in the google doc I originally wrote this piece in: "I wrote this purely because I love this dumb scene a lot and I thought it was a funny dynamic between Astarion and my Tav. It’s bad. It’s good. It is what it is." Please enjoy!

There it was. Your precious lute. Wood worn from loving hands cradling it through years of song. Haphazardly shoved into the back of a tent with jars full of what you assumed was the blood of wild animals. Rags and other miscellaneous objects thrown on top of it to try and hide it from view. Nothing too heavy though. She’d sing another day.

You KNEW Astarion had taken it. The bastard.

He’d begged you to stop playing when you were working out a tune on the way to the Risen Road. He’d begged you to stop playing when you made your way back to camp. It hardly seemed fair that he would take it and hide it while you were helping Gale with dinner. You couldn’t help that annoying him was one of your favorite pastimes.

Still, he hadn’t destroyed the instrument as he had threatened to do so eloquently. That was something. Though Astarion rarely ever made good on his threats to you or your prized possessions.

Puffing out a short breath to move a strand of hair out of your face, you crouched, doing your best to mimic what your resident rogue might do in this situation. Looking around, Astarion was nowhere to be seen. Strange, given the time of evening - perfect time to ignore everyone and read something he’d picked up on the road - but you couldn’t complain. Here was the perfect time to take back what was rightfully yours.

On your hands and knees you crawled forward, ducking your head under the low flap of his tent. Gently, you removed the debris covering the beloved instrument, and scurried backwards again to make off with your loot.

“Stoooooop-” you heard a familiar voice bellow from the treeline, “-right there, darling.”

Spinning on your heel, you turned to greet an irritated, and shirtless, Astarion. His brows were knit together in a scowl as he marched towards you. Specks of blood littered his skin. He must have just come from a hunt.

“Evening, Astarion,” you chirped innocently. “Were you out hunting for a shirt?”

He ignored your quip and instead got up into your personal space. Thrown off by his proximity, you dropped your guard a bit, allowing him to reach forward and snatch the lute out of your hands.

“Give me that!” you lunged after his hand but he held the instrument out of your reach.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he tisked. “First, you’re going to do something for me.” He turned to give you a look at his back.

You were met with the intricate scar you’d only seen a handful of times before. Once when you’d accidentally come across him washing his shirt in a nearby stream, and another the morning following the Tiefling party after you’d spent the night with him.

The intricate patterns drove a dull ache through your heart. Astarion had mentioned it had been carved into his skin over the course of a single night by his ruthless master, Cazador. You scrunched your nose and scowled at the thought, then softened, feeling sympathy for the man before you. Speaking of-

“I know a few healing spells, but I don’t think they’d help with this,” you said, genuinely.

“Obviously not,” Astarion spat over his shoulder. Then he sighed. “Sorry, I- That’s not what I meant. I was wondering if you could help me read them. The scars. I’ve been trying to read them by touch, but I can’t. They may as well be written in Rashimi.”

You crossed your arms and examined his back. You recognized the language of the runes: Infernal. Your eyes zeroed in on the lute in his hand. Might as well have some fun if he insisted on being annoying.

“I’ll help you read your back,” you said, a teasing lilt in your tone, “when you release my lute and give it back to me.”

Astarion turned again to face you and caught a mischievous look in your eye. You saw him mirror it. He knew you’d read the scars for him. But a game was afoot.

He straightened his posture and lifted his head in a way you’d seen him do dozens of times now: I’m better than you. I’m looking down on you. Come here and I’ll snatch you right up.

“I shall release what I want to release the moment I want to release it.”

You snorted. “Great. And I’ll read what I want to read at the exact moment that I want to read it, okay?”

Astarion huffed, a smirk playing on his lips. “Tell me what it says right now or I shall destroy ALL your instruments, starting with the little worn out piece of driftwood here.” He waggled the lute by its neck lamely to punctuate his point.

“It’s spruce!” you feigned offense. “Fine, if you’re not gonna give me back my lute, then I’m never going to help you translate the Infernal on your back.”

Astarion’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Infernal… what was that bastard up to?” His eyes flicked back to yours. “Alright,” he said. “Alright.”

“Good,” you said, leaning forward for the lute.

Astarion tilted back a little, keeping his grip firmly on the lute. You gave him a look of confusion.

“I’ll tell you what, they didn’t call me ‘Astarion the Trustworthy’ for nothing.” He made to hand you the instrument, then snatched it back just as quickly. “They DIDN’T call me ‘Astarion the Trustworthy,’ they called me ‘Astarion the BLOODTHIRSTY, who KILLS whoever doesn’t give Astarion exactly what he wants in the moment that he wants it! Which is RIGHT NOW when I had better get my back read out to me!’”

You looked at him with wide eyes, trying and nearly failing to withhold a laugh. He was trying to play this game with you. He really was. But you could see how desperately he wanted answers, too.

Astarion, in turn, puffed his chest out as if trying to stand his ground.

Just a little longer with the teasing, then you’d help him.

“That’s what they called you?” you asked.

Astarion looked up as if trying to grasp what exactly he should say next. “It was… shorter in Elvish.”

“Great, well, I’ll read your back after you give me back-” you reached forward once more for the lute and your fingers brushed one of the strings, letting out a soft trill.

“How dare you,” Astarion pivoted on his heel away from you. “If you touch that again, I shall kill you right now.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. For all his talk, you knew Astarion would never hurt you intentionally.

He pointed at the lute and continued: “Do not touch this. This is a no touching zone.” He waved his free hand in front of the lute, drawing an invisible barrier through the air.

“Good! Well, then-” you reached out and strummed a few of the strings that were within your reach.

Astarion angled his body to cut you off. “Oh my gods,” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe you reached across like that.”

Again, you tried extremely hard to keep yourself from laughing.

Astarion smiled and kept going. “I can’t even believe it. Oh, gods, I want to kill you right- If I didn’t need you to read my back you’d be- you’d be so dead right now, it would be unbelievable.”

For all his practiced words and charm, he was failing miserably at threatening you articulately. You both knew it but neither of you would be the one to break first.

“Great, but you DO need my help to read your back.”

Astarion used his free hand again to dramatically redraw the barrier between you and his arm holding your lute. “Don’t! Cross! This! Line! With your hand.”

“No-”

“How dare you-”

“What I’m saying is-”

“If you speak again-”

“Nobody else-”

“If you SPEAK again, I’m GOING to kill you. Do you understand?”

You attempted to give an answer to this, but the vampire cut you off gleefully.

“Don’t say any- Oh gods I see you getting ready-”

“I wasn’t-”

“Oh my gods! Don’t say anything!”

Sucking in your lips and holding your breath, you did your best to remain nonchalant. Astarion could see you were about to break. He leaned in and lowered his voice.

“I shall murder you if you talk again. Now would you please… read what's on my damn back?” He turned once again to show you the pattern in his skin. You took this as your chance to snatch your lute back.

Your hand connected with the instrument. “Okay, after you give this back to me.”

Astarion slowly turned back to you, feigning disbelief and using his free hand to clutch at his chest in mock pain. “You did both! You spoke, and you reached your hand across!” He whipped his arm holding the lute back to his side, forcing you to let go.

“Look,” you said, placing your hands on your hips, “I could do this with you all night, okay?”

“How about this?” Astarion moved his hand to the pegboard of the lute and brought his free hand to the base. He then kicked the back of your knee, making you shift off balance, and finally came around behind you, holding the neck of the lute against your throat. “How about I DON’T kill you right now like I really, REALLY want to, and I give you precisely five seconds to read what’s been carved into my back.”

“Oh my gooooooods,” came another voice. “You two need to stop flirting so loudly around the rest of us.”

Karlach meandered over, dragging her hands down her face indicating she’d heard enough.

“Astarion, the infernal on your back doesn’t say anything specific. It’s part of some larger devilish pact or some shit. I can’t be fucked.”

You both looked to Karlach and then back at each other. Astarion released you from the “threatening” hold he had you in and the pair of you turned to face your tiefling friend.

“Karlach,” Astarion started, “you know how to read?”

The flames that surrounded Karlach’s body burned brightly for a moment. “Of course I know how to read, you absolute twat hat.”

That made you start to laugh in earnest.

“And you, soldier!” Karlach focused her attention on you and you immediately shut up. “If you’re gonna bang fangs, good for you by the way, but if you’re gonna bang fangs, have the decency to keep it down? Some of us are really pent up and can’t do anything about it.”

You cringed inwardly. “So sorry, we’ll keep it down from now on.” you elbowed Astarion.

“Ow! Yes, sure, sorry.”

“Good. Now put a shirt on, fancy boy.” With that, Karlach made her way back to her tent.

The both of you stayed quiet for another moment.

“Still feel like murdering me?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Great. Turn around.” You knelt down in the dirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Turn around,” you repeated.

Astarion did as he was told and turned to show you his back. You stared for a moment, then took to drawing it in the dusty ground in front of you. When you were done, you patted Astarion’s calf and he turned back to face you.

“What in the hells?” Then, after a moment, “What did he do to me?”

Looking at the runes you’d dutifully copied into the dirt, you weren’t exactly sure what to make of it, apart from what Karlach had already told you. You stayed silent.

“Two centuries carrying this, and I can finally see it.” Disbelief and confusion coated his words.

“You really have no idea what this is?”

“None at all… Cazador was only figuratively hellish - there were never any devils hanging about the crypt.”

You rose to stand and joined Astarion by his side.

He sighed. “Whatever he’s left carved in my flesh, it’s a mystery to me. But if this is part of a contract, it must be powerful. Or valuable. Or both.” Something hungry played in his tone.

You nudged him gently. Come back. “No wonder he wants me back. What have I run off with?”

He spoke more to himself than you. You left his side briefly to rummage through his things not a few feet away from you. You tossed one of his own shirts at him, knocking him out of his thoughts.

“We’ll figure it out,” you walked back to his side. “I promise.”

“Will we?” He searched your eyes. “How… sweet.”

You half smiled, then your eyes trailed down to your lute still in his hand. “Can I have that back now?”

“Not a chance, darling.”

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