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IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 12 - Jang Wonyoung

IVE's Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader Smut

7,063 words

Categories | daddy kink, brat!Wonyoung, squirting, blowjob, please appreciate Wonyoung's power bottom capabilities

Sorry, Yena is coming out sometime but I wanted to finally write something timely. JANG WONYOUNG WHAT THE FUCKKKKK.

Please bear with the religious metaphors, I have Catholic guilt and Wonyoung reignites it. I'm not sorry for all the other fucked up shit here I'm just ooga boogaing because what the FUCK

It’s a little brighter today than usual. The sun surely knows what's about to happen upon its rising. It has no plans of telling you beforehand, so you’re forced to find out yourself.

You open Instagram, which is insane because you never bother to look at pictures—much less edited, filtered ones made for meaningless impressions. Your blissful ignorance of online concepts is what would make your fans hate you if they had space in their deluded hearts to. Or maybe that’s your age talking.

But today, clicking on that app is what you do, and that already should have been a sign that something’s not right. The usual run of your universe has gone off course. Who could have made that so?

Coffee. The black stillness that’s pure of sweetness and sugar. That’s supposed to keep everything normal. You sip on it as you scroll through clickbait, fan accounts, edits—

Then you wish you never took that hot gulp at all.

Wonyoung.

It’s all because of her.

She stands there from behind your screen, silky hair tangled in those lithe long fingers. She’s looking at the camera like she wants whoever took the time to click on her profile to come over and fuck her right now. Man or woman, poor or rich—it doesn’t matter. What ought to matter though is the fact that she doesn’t have someone’s hands slipped around her waist and pulling her close.

You shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

Usually, she’s dressed in knitted pink coats and miniskirts; looking fashionable but modest, modest but unplain. That’s what everyone loves about Jang Wonyoung: she’s prim, sweet, and the daughter of the nation.

Now, she’s the ideal girl to take right home and have your wicked way with. Yes, you’d feel guilty since she’s so young, just the little age of nineteen. Still, that doesn’t mean you’d have any regrets. She’s the kind of girl you can’t get away from. You’ll always come back for more.

You’d hate to be so upfront, but there’s no other way to interpret it.

There’s that fucking denim bra hugging her tiny chest, stitched up so high that her abs are on full display. That little pinch of a waist curves so perfectly right up to her wide hips that invite and invite and invite—

Remember to exhale.

So, yeah. That’s how Wonyoung ruined your day, and you barely had your morning coffee.

A text message from your boss appears. You nearly miss it because of how you’re staring all ogle-eyed at the tempting girl on your screen. Before you even click it, you already know what you ought to do.

hey, it reads, you need to—

—go to Wonyoung, and for such a scandalous photo, she’s chosen a remote but classy hotel only the biggest stars know of to shoot it.

There’s no going back when you drive like you’re running from the law when you’ll break one if you pull the wrong stunt with her. Your throat’s coiled with an unreleased breath that won’t go away unless you see her. It’s like traveling with the promise of meeting a goddess, and although you’re not religious anymore, you wear very, very close to rediscovering faith.

The hotel is grand—clear marble floors and shining chandeliers—and it’s no surprise. Wonyoung wouldn’t have things any other way. You know that when she’s come to your office to complain about her outfits and brands.

You go up to the desk with prepared evidence for what you’re going to say. “I’m an associate of your client miss Jang Wonyoung,” you say to the lady tapping away behind her computer, “and I’ve come to visit her.”

Associate? It’s more like mentor. You’re a veteran idol whose efforts inspire the rookies, therefore getting you the responsibility of looking out for Wonyoung. So, father figure, maybe? You wince at that.

She makes a polite sad look, still not removing her eyes from the screen. “I’m sorry, miss Jang doesn’t have—”

Slide your ID card on the counter.

She glances at it, stiffens, then looks up at you. There’s only one of you in the entire South Korea, and although the 1x1 traces back to when you were a bit more youthful, it’s not hard to put two and two together.

She apologizes quickly and offers you an elevator ride exclusive for VVIPs. Smile. It’s been a while since your last return to music, but everyone knows you here. Everyone knows your power.

Wonyoung’s place is the first room on the twelfth floor, a flinching irony.

Knock. You rap your knuckles three times for good luck and charm, because you’ll need it with her. Jang Wonyoung is everything save an easy girl. You remember the many times she refused to give up a debate on how she’s managed, how she’s styled, how she’s treated. She wants things to go her way only.

“Wonyoung,” you call out. Fidget with the handle of the door that refuses to budge. “It’s me.”

Knock a little more. There’s no eye behind the peekhole or a soft “come in.” You receive only the unlocking of the furnished knob and a welcome that makes you wish this could go the way your morals would want it to go.

The door opens you to a gorgeous suite that’s the supreme of all room tiers. This is the kind that only the richest of the rich are able to attain. Big as a house with a soft carpeted ground, there’s a queen-sized bed before a wide window of the city. Picture frames commissioned by the wealthy hang from the painted walls. All for the fucking aesthetic.

Even you, a star who paved the way for the Korean entertainment industry itself, aren’t used to this type of wealth.

Find her sitting on the ledge of the window frame. Wonyoung has her hands resting on the sides of the window frame. She doesn’t try at least a stance at nonchalance—no admiring stare at the beautiful view, no worried gaze at her clean fingernails. Her interest is you standing before her like you’re afraid to touch her. She might be right, but it’s not like you’d ever have it in you to admit that.

Even you, a man lusted over by girls and women all over the world, aren’t used to this kind of woman—the kind that eats away at you.

“Wonyoung.” Inside, you feel like the weakest man in the world.

She has this smarmy, confident smile on her perfect lips that tells you that it’s no surprise that you’ve come all the way here for her. No surprise at all. She expected it. Anticipated it, if you will.

Don’t mistake the coquettish float of her lashes for theatrics. No, Jang Wonyoung’s just naturally someone you’d want to fuck, no matter the politics of it. “Yes?”

Her voice is also just that pretty. That’s a large part of why it’s so hard to act professional in front of her when she’s your mentee. Even more so by the fact you’re someone she’s looked up to for the majority of her trainee years, which is already something that would make people’s brows lift.

“Wonyoung.” You let your shoulders rest. “Why are you still dressed like that?”

You know all the dialogue that passes around the general public. Oh, Jang Wonyoung’s so gorgeous! Jang Wonyoung’s even more beautiful in real life! You hate to say you can’t disagree. She’s deadlier in person; her body’s there before the glass like she’s waiting for someone to give in to temptation. That coy simper can ruin careers. It can ruin yours.

To think it all could be gone because of a nineteen-year-old celebrity with a tiny waist and legs you’d love to have around your head.

“Why are you still dressed like someone from the eighties?” Wonyoung taps her chin, then grins. She’s figured it all out. “Oh wait, you are.”

You’re not taking insults from someone who’s below you in experienced years and power. Unluckily, she’s not taking advice from someone above her or below her.

The step you take towards her, towards the little star seated comfortably waiting for you, feels like a sin.

“You’re incredibly unprofessional for a girl who’s worked her way up here,” you note. Cross your arms and give her a reprimanding look.

Wonyoung’s immune to nasty looks, too. She’s been doing this since she was a child. If someone gave her a glare that read all too well of a career assassination, she’d wink the bullet away sweetly. “Hm,” she says contemplatively, “I don’t think you get to say that, honestly.”

Your laugh is blunt and sarcastic. Unbelievable. Wonyoung’s the kindest girl according to the people who work for her, so why is she a rebel in your hands? It doesn’t make sense.

“Look here, we—”

You take three steps closer to her. You’ll keep your little rituals and superstitions to keep yourself grounded. Without them, you’d go insane.

Then without her having to do anything, she comes nearer, like a doomsday foretold by a ticking clock. Who knows? That clock could be a bomb, and that bomb would set off if you dare to touch her with a trembling fingertip. You’d leave the scene injured. And eventually, you’d die the moment they try to help you, because the deed’s been done.

“Oh, I’m looking, alright,” she chirps. She’s doing what you’ve held yourself back from doing: letting her eyes wander. “And I really, really like what I see.”

You’re someone several awards her senior, and you’re still quite intimidated by her at this moment. She’s so sweet yet so honest—she won’t make up a lie to make you feel better and she won’t hide the truth to make you comfortable. Refuse the truth her eyes locked on your crotch tell. You won’t accept it. It’s not right.

“I’m serious.” Approaching her makes you want to go on your knees and beg the lord for a little saving. Do it anyway. No one will rescue you. That’s what the industry taught you. “You’ve made it all the way up here. All by yourself. There’s gotta be something. What are you throwing it all away for?”

She laughs. Funniest thing she’s ever heard. “I’m not. How am I throwing it all away?”

“Those posts,” you hiss. Doesn’t she get it?

Before she could ask you what you’re talking about, you whip out your phone. Click on the app icon. It instantly shows you the opened tab containing Wonyoung’s recent Instagram posts. Look at her, wrapped in nothing, not even those curtains—giving the camera bedroom eyes when girls her age shouldn’t be shooting them at anyone or be aware of how to.

It’s already massed a million likes in under an hour. But you know what people who turn on anyone easily will say, and what they say could blot Wonyoung’s bright future by a lot. A million people around the world have caught sight of the abs she’s worked hard for, her toned back, and just about everything. A loud minority with frisky influences can sabotage her whole reputation.

“These posts,” you continue, shoving the screen into the poor girl’s face, “can take away everything you’ve worked for. All that fame, all that money, you can’t brag about them after this.”

Wonyoung looks on innocently. She stares at the screen with uninterested eyes, then switches them back on you. She looks like such a good girl in that second, with her hands seated beside her and that face so full of sparkling perfection.

Deception can’t lead you away.

“So, what’s it gonna be, Wonyoung?”

Long silence that builds up your frustration. Finally, she clicks her tongue. Gives you a shrug of her thin shoulders.

“You liked it.”

“What?”

She points to your phone. “You liked my post,” she repeats. “It says so right there.”

What the hell is she talking about?

You look at the device you’re brandishing. For a while, you can’t find out what she’s referring to. You can never take a liking to her posts, although if they switch on something you didn’t know you can feel. You’d die before—

The heart.

Wait.

The heart button below her set of pictures is filled with red.

Your heart pumps faster, a button pushed and played.

Fuck.

You turn to her and open your mouth. No sensible words come out. You swear you didn’t tap twice on her update or take it to a private setting. How did it happen? Worse, even if you say that to her, she’d take it as a pathetic lie.

Wonyoung giggles. It’s a tinkly sound that’s adorable, but you’ve long realized that being cute is not all there is to her. She rises slowly, sets her palms over your blazer-clad arms, and gives you an empathetic face. It’s so condescending that you want to dissolve.

“I know what men like you are all about,” she tells you. She speaks with a sultriness that makes you feel warm and has bumps appearing in masses across your skin.

She smiles. Her eyes disappear into crescent moons and the dimple appears on her cheek. You’re done for.

“Come on,” Wonyoung continues, squeezing your forearms. “Here you are, a big old man known for being a good singer or whatever. You’re so popular that the first thing that pops up on Naver is your face. Everything goes right for you, doesn’t it?”

You have no idea where she’s going with this. You’re afraid to even ask. Your teeth grit as her massages grow stronger, harder.

Something else is, too.

“Then, of course, you see me.”

Her hand. It’s curling around your wrist and bringing your fingers right around that flawless waist. She closes them there tightly.

It’s so bad that it’s good. You want to keep touching her, maybe slip your gliding fingers down her jeans. Oh, you shouldn’t. You can’t.

“You see me, and you get all hot and bothered. And what’s so funny is I’m not even doing anything. I’m just being myself, you know. Being young and rich… a beautiful girl…” Wonyoung is unbuttoning your shirt and you don’t realize it. “You can’t understand how I’m allowed to be this hot when you can’t even fuck me with a normal conscience.”

It’s all so wrong. You want to shake her by the shoulders and tell her to shut up. But if Medusa has her eyes, Wonyoung has her lips to turn you to stone. They keep opening elegantly to speak the filthiest, most fucked up shit, and you can’t deny anything.

Her eyes are creased with knowing pride. Her youth doesn’t rescue her from being so messed in the head already. Those thoughts don’t go along with such a pretty face.

“That’s why you like to get rough with me. You tell me to watch how I speak, watch how I act. You tell me to stop talking to you like you’re no one. You tell me that I’m such a little brat. But you only do that so you can get to control me. That’s your most fucked up dream, right?”

Her mouth is the tiniest space away from your chin.

You’re another word away from saving yourself a spot in damnation.

Her finger that scratches a flaw on your blazer beckons you to the fire. “You’re not breaking the law or anything,” says Wonyoung, “so why not break me instead, daddy?”

That’s a deal sealed with a rough kiss.

You grab her cruelly and cover her lips with yours. They’re more amazing than you imagined, soft and competent with how she pushes in deeper, depriving herself of the air she needs the most just to get what she needs just a bit more:

You.

Your tongues collide and clash, striving to get the most taste. She pulls your blazer off (because fuck professionalism, right?) while she kisses you with a hunger that’s equally mental and physical. It’s not like she’d bruise up if you didn’t get your hands on her yet it’s close to that.

And, in your case, it’s not like you’re breaking any law. She’s nineteen, not anywhere under the limits you’d kill others and yourself for touching. Nonetheless, you’re much older—by age, she could be your daughter; by career, she’s your junior; by power, you’re much stronger.

So, it’s still so wrong.

Can’t be when Wonyoung’s fist, firm around your cock, feels so right.

Can’t be when she lands on the edge of the bed with her lips parted in delight as she watches your dick stiffen under her service.

“There you go, daddy,” she coos, smirking. “Just get all hard for me, then you can stuff that big thing up in my pussy.”

Her thumb toys with your cockhead. You purse your lips to hold back a groan. Let go of it anyway when her smooth, closed palm rubs your sensitive flesh. She cups your balls lovingly before gliding her teasing fingertips under your length, right up to your tip. The girl knows how to do this; she’s good at more things other than MCing and performing.

Wonyoung hones this skill with firmer pumps, giving you the handjob of a lifetime. Her long fingers are just made to handle dick. Each stroke is perfection that holds and pulls and slides. You’re leaking so much already.

So you turn into the driver of the hate train, the press that loves getting her bad angles and the articles that slash up her name:

Blame it all on her.

Because you have here a girl, young and pretty and confident, so of course you have to scrape off your sins and nail them all on her, like a quivering hand to wood.

“You think you’re getting it that easily?” you say. Your moan is squeezed in your throat. “Baby, you’re not even close to it.”

Wonyoung smirks. It’s that self-assured, elegant smile that tells you that won’t work on her. She might be a rookie, but she knows how to play the game.

She tightens her grip painfully. That’s what you get for trying to one her up. Do that to anyone, just not Jang Wonyoung. Your cry goes unheard as she yanks you rather than jerks you off. Spits on your head for good measure. Wonyoung’s eyes make a connection with your soul and says, Yep, that’s what I’d do if you weren’t my senior. In fact, I’d do it regardless. I’d choke and spit and leave you to die, because a pretty Samaritan is better than a good one.

“You’re really out of touch, daddy.”

With Wonyoung slathering her drool all over you, you’re forced to teeter on the line between heaven and hell. It burns yet the offer of pleasure leaves you sated.

“You think I’m like the pretty girls out there? Other girls might have broken down and begged you to come back.”

Your rod is subjected to a brief torrid kiss, then a smile as the wicked girl looks up at you.

She laughs, gives you this smile full of haught and womanly power. “Too bad I’m Jang Wonyoung,” she says, her last words before taking you in.

Yes, it’s too bad she’s Jang Wonyoung. It’s too bad she’s not the other girls who’d kneel for a burning touch of stars like you. She wouldn’t be holding control over you with the power of her lips if she had sanity in that pretty head.

Her plump tiers wrap around you and seize everything, encasing it in softness and wetness. Her tongue, the one she uses as a killer expression for her selfies and Instagram updates, kills you all the same with how it swirls around your skin and tastes you. Trying to pretend the girl wasn’t a pro at this like she is with everything else is useless. She’ll keep proving you wrong and overpowering you.

The whole of your shaft is sucked in, then, when her cute nose is pressed directly to your stomach, she lets out a hummed laugh. You shudder—as much as it makes you feel good, fear grips your muscles and makes them limp. She’s loving how wrong everything is, and you’re not sure if you like it.

Her jaw slacks, and then Wonyoung’s swallowing you like you’re water. Can’t be water when you’re this solid in her throat. You let out a shivering groan. You can picture the bulge in Wonyoung’s neck and it’s the last thing you’d count on turning you on, but they did tell you to expect the unexpected.

Her saliva becomes excessive, resulting in some dribbles down her chin that help her work her mouth on you. Wonyoung’s drool sheens you entirely and she keeps adding more. On the occasion she pushes her face into your stomach, your cock gets wetter. She does, too.

“Fuck.” Cussing won’t help deter the onslaught of pleasure. You’re unsalvageable. Say it anyway. You babble meaningless, slurred words and not one gets to Wonyoung. All she can hear is the sound of your quivering moans and her mouth taking you all in.

She becomes less of an idol, less of the elegant princess for the cameras, and instead a fleshlight. However, she reminds you that it isn’t that way with a fierce sneer that stays on at all times. She’s not your girl—she’s Jang Wonyoung, and you’re already incredibly lucky that she chose to go down on you.

All that beautiful hair isn’t of any purpose if you don’t get to touch it, to gather it in a ponytail, to pull on it. Your fingers creep into her brown locks not only to give it a little meaning but also for sanity.

That isn’t a thing in Wonyoung’s world. She pulls your hand off and slaps it on your side. “No,” she says with a shake of her head. “Daddy can’t touch me, not when he’s pretending that he’s hot shit.”

Her nails bury themselves in your hips. Oh, the manicured talons of a gorgeous monster. Oh, the pain that runs through your sides. Should you run before she devours you? Too late for that.

“Wonyoung,” you breathe, and then ask, genuinely: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She’s so proper and serene on her shows that not even her most desperate fan would think she’s a terror. They don’t know she’s a girl who likes older, weaker men who’d ruin her if she hasn’t the pretty face and attractively black heart to do them the favor instead.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You’d respond if you knew the answer.

Wonyoung rubs her thumb under your dick, sending little sparks aflying. “Why’d you kiss me earlier?” Her lipstick decorates it as a kinder girl would to your face. “Why didn’t you grab my hair and tell me to be a good girl? Why didn’t you leave? It’s not my fault you want to fuck me.”

All these words of destruction and your cock remains standing. It’s a staunch reminder to her that you can say whatever you want and the hard evidence remains. You want to fuck Wonyoung. You want to do it to a rookie who’d turn the story around on you if it ever came out. You want to fuck her so bad it’s borderline pitiable.

“I’m just giving you what you want, daddy.” Her fingers caress your sides. “Trust me, I could be a very good girl if I wanted to.”

You almost didn’t believe that until Wonyoung started to suck you off again.

Her lips stroke you effortlessly as if this were her pastime. That’s your most accurate guess, because this seamless performance—the one of her mouth working on you with the impression that this whole thing is nothing to her—can’t be a natural gift. The combination of dripping saliva and her soft lips is lethal.

It’s unbelievable how she manages to find all your tender spots. She preys on them, licking and licking until you’re very sure you were going to blow all over her. But you can’t give her that satisfaction.

You’re very close to doing so though. She’s perfectly sloppy and rough. You glare at her when she lightly teases her teeth on your girth. She winks at you in response. She leaves you breathless in so many ways.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, god—” you whine. It’s so hard to adapt to the girl sitting there with that innocent face and wild mouth that doesn’t dare give up on you.

Her expressions on camera are always poised. Off camera, there’s this one she flashes you as she shoves her face into your stomach that looks downright evil. Although she’s already fucking you with her throat, Wonyoung partners it with strong suction that’s sure to drain you.

“Yes, daddy?” She doesn’t pant when she goes up for air, replacing her sucking with her long fingers.

“I’m really close,” you admit. It’s obvious from your shaking legs.

Sounds of returned wet suction start to increase. Criticism and compliments prod Wonyoung on. How else would she improve in her idol life? In blowing you? In devouring you?

You realize you’re fitting the cliché. There’s you, an idol whose name is uttered on the daily by both young and old fans, igniting a scandal in the making by fucking a girl beneath you in everything. There’s this expensive suite where stars go for a little precious privacy to do what they want. There’s the two of you doing exactly what you desire: fucking each other. There’s the classic maneater trope with how it’s more like Wonyoung fucking you—she fucks you with her face, fucks you in the head, fucks with your righteousness. Well, fuck.

Wonyoung drools so much that you’re invited to a sea the moment your head pushes past her tongue again. It’s slicker, sloppier, and so much sexier because she’s so completely devoted to your cock. Her hypnotizing eyes trap you and so does her body, tight and tiny—that tummy is flatter than a board and only thin panties hide what her long legs lead to from the bottom.

The only time she stops sucking you is when she darts her tongue side to side with an unhinged pace on your sensitive tip. “Good. Cum in my throat.”

“Shit, god, I can’t—”

Wonyoung attacks you again, and there, in her warm orifice, your plentiful orgasm spends itself. Her throat welcomes you tightly every time. Her hot restricted breaths fan your groin and evokes more semen that spills with no care.

Your hands ball into fists. Although you’re hot and shaking, you can’t touch her. Why are you following her rules when it should be the other way around? It’s a reversal of roles, a Stockholm’s Syndrome of some sorts whose victim is your cock never wanting to leave from the predatory embrace of Wonyoung’s puckered kiss.

Of course, after she gathers all of your cum in the pool of her mouth, she swallows.

She really could be a good girl.

“Awh.” Wonyoung pouts mockingly. “Daddy, are you crying?”

Touch your face. To your horror, she’s right. The electricity and shock of her continuous blowjob results in a few tears on your cheeks. You haven’t done that in years. Wonyoung is the first one to make you cry like this.

You flush. What more to hide your weakness than anger? “Wonyoung,” you start, then you realize you don’t know what to say, “I—you—”

She smiles. You aren’t going anywhere.

She shoves you to the bed. You’ve reached rock bottom in spite of the softness of the quality pillows. You’ll scrape your way out if not for Wonyoung finishing the job by keeping you there assisted by her legs. They close around you with not even a courtesy false promise of an escape. No negotiation, no coaxes.

Wonyoung is sitting on your crotch but not on your dick, which is a problem. Which is a solution. Her hands are pinned to your chest while you try not to meet her eyes. It’s a losing game when your runaway glances are met by her grinding hips, silky thighs, and the hard, flexing abs of a perfection of a midriff.

Her fingers tug on the waistband of her panties before slowly slipping them off. Her pink pussy clear of blemish or hair comes in contact with your length. Up and down she goes, her dancing hips always seeking for more friction. You understand their need because you share the same—Wonyoung’s splayed lips on your member feel heavenly. It’s kind of disappointing that she might as well have climbed her way out of hell.

If she did, she’s the prettiest little devil you’ve ever seen.

“Ohhh, don’t you get it?” Wonyoung asks. She moves so smoothly, you nearly forget she’s humping you rather than dancing. Her soft moan brings you back. It’s the first time you’ve heard it, and you’re melting; it sounds so seductive and innocent in the same breath.

You know her. She knows you. So it’s clear: Jang Wonyoung can be anything—supermodel, actress, dancer—but she cannot ever be innocent.

Her gorgeous voice is silky when it twists into moans and gasps. Looking down at your crotches meeting and swaying is a better show than end-of-the-year performances. The blowjob and commanding you around must have turned her on by a lot—her flesh is hot and wanton with juices as it slides up and down you.

“You’re not going anywhere, daddy!” Wonyoung giggles. She kisses your nose, then your chest until her lipstick marks you. You burn up with feverish lust after each peck. “Daddy is only Wonyoung’s. And I knew your perfect cock would be mine when I posted those pics. I know men like daddy would do anything for me.”

“Wonyoung.” Breathe again, because you’ll need to after this, so why not do it now? “Why are you doing this?”

You thought her flirtatiousness in your office was just her coyness coming out to play. She’d rest her chin on your desk, suck a red lollipop on some days, maybe run her fingertips over your knuckles. Day in and out, she plays the same game. You didn’t know it would reach this level.

“Because I want to mess you up, daddy,” Wonyoung says. Her tongue swipes at the cavern of your mouth right until she nibbles at your lower lip. Her lipstick peppers your face. “I want to fuck my daddy up so bad he’ll never go a day without thinking of me.”

Swallow. The friction of your sexes is driving you crazy and close to the edge. All the same, you don’t want to make a fool of yourself cumming early for Wonyoung.

What happened to your dynamics? Your relationship? There wasn’t a romantic one, but it was always you holding the reins professionally and her just being an insistent passenger. Now she’s wrapping that rein around your neck and claiming you for her own. Looks like you have control everywhere excluding the bed.

“That’s it?” you ask. Shut your eyes—just seeing her grind on you with her utterly wet cunt can make you bust. “Your career doesn’t matter to you?”

“I could say the same thing to you.” Wonyoung lifts herself up and flashes that wicked smile again. “But I want to feel this in me before you wimp out.”

You and Wonyoung fall down a bottomless hole of consequence and wrongs but Wonyoung makes sure to bottom out the first time she sits on your dick. She engulfs you whole and traps you there with her soaked, grippy walls that slide all the way down.

You’d say her pussy has a vise grip, holding onto you like all goes wrong if it didn’t, except you think it has the grip of a vice. Need for her juices that coat you replaces the need for alcohol. Even if you get out of this suite alive, (which is a low possibility), you can see yourself always coming back for more. You could be addicted to anything—smoking, eating, cheating—but it just so happened your vice is Wonyoung.

“Daddy!” she yelps, and from there you can’t count the times she slams her cute butt down your thighs. “Oh my god, daddy!”

Her dainty, cute yells make you throb inside her. Perhaps it’s the kittenish quality of it that turns you on so much. She sounds so appealing, so fucking ruinable that it’s surprising to see that she’s doing the ruining here. Her expression in bed is more animated than the ones she makes onstage—her nearly closed eyes look upwards while her mouth falls open.

The squeeze of her tight, wet cunt renders your knees weak. It’s a good thing you’re lying down. Wonyoung makes sure you stay that way by penetrating herself with you over and over again. Her being barely a weight on you doesn’t stop you from lying there uselessly. You know better by now not to challenge her, not when each time you enter her vagina is better than the last. Her pussy is slippery and tight, proving to be the smallest and the best fit for your shaft simultaneously. Her hole is too tight and too good.

“Is this all for me, daddy? Huh?” Wonyoung circles her hips, making you moan, then continues her up-and-down movements. “You’re so hard, you naughty daddy. I know you got a b-boner when you looked at my posts. Now I’m giving you another one.”

You always thought of Wonyoung as justifiably confident yet arrogant. She told you once at your desk that she doesn’t deserve a stylist who only has a four-star rating. She lamented about the lack of competence of her staff preparing her comeback stage. All those you turned down to give the topics of her complaints the benefit of the doubt, but you know she’s right. She doesn’t deserve less when she’s better than the best. She doesn’t deserve less when she knows her place: a royal throne. So you can’t deny that she’s too hot to handle, undiscriminating to you whose connections always have impossibly beautiful women somewhere in there.

She’s so hot that her small breasts bouncing from behind that denim bra and tube top looks appealing. She’s so hot that the heat between her legs grows wetter. She’s so hot that when her soft ass crashes down on you again, you don’t find it a repetitive bore.

She’s so hot that you’d let the slim, tall girl use you until dusk turns to dawn, even if the curtains behind her are drawn apart and the secret cameras get to snap a photo.

“Shit, Wonyoung,” you say, your core squeezing. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“I bet you’ve thought about this, daddy. You thought that one night, I’ll be so bad that you could book us a whole hotel and fuck me in all the rooms, just like this one. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes, fuck yes.”

“You wanted to open my legs and use my little pussy all day long, huh? Until I’m yours to throw around and do whatever?”

“Y-yes.” Nod. Your face twists—she shouldn’t speak when she’s fucking you because all the filth she says makes you want to blow inside her already. It’s the kind of truth that arouses rather than hurts.

Wonyoung’s riding switches to a rapid intensity that makes you yell. She lets you in so deep to the point that her butt cheeks touch your heavy balls. She’ll drain them for sure; the pace she sets is terrifyingly quick. It seems that she becomes tighter after each bounce, and it’s not helping you hold out at all.

Watch the wildness in Wonyoung’s eyes become animalistic. It makes you all the more certain now of one solid fact: there is something seriously wrong with Jang Wonyoung.

She smirks. “Well, you got it wrong. I’m not all yours, daddy.” She leans down, resting her palms on your shoulders. “You are all mine.”

Her hands might as well be a chained collar waiting to close around your neck. Her devilish simper is supposed to scare you, not turn you on. Somehow, it does both.

She flicks back her hair as she sits up again. Through it all, her riding doesn’t stop. “This cock?” she asks before slamming her pussy down it with a different kind of ferociousness. Cry out but she shuts you up with a furious kiss. “It’s gonna be my dirty secret. I’ll always go to daddy after my schedules so I can make him cum—over and over again.”

To think that a young girl like her has you at her beck and call is laughable, but there’s no laughing now. As you stare at Wonyoung’s fluid body and her hair bouncing beautifully, you realize she actually can have you for herself. It only took one Instagram post to lure you to her. She sees you’re falling deeper and deeper for her.

She didn’t exactly tell you how to escape.

“You gonna cum, daddy? Is my perfect pussy milking you?”

You can do nothing except nod.

“Of course, I can feel you throbbing, i-it’s making me lose it,” gasps Wonyoung. Her whines are making you lose it yourself. “Let’s cum together, okay? You can only cum when you feel Wonyoung squirt all over your massive cock.”

She squeezes tighter on top of you when she reaches down to rub her clit. She’s in search of any kind of stimulation: the slap of her ass on your thighs, the upward shoves of your erection, the pulse of her clit. Her moans increase in their whiny girlishness. Their tender vulnerability makes you think she should be the one underneath your body though you’re aware that’s never going to happen. Wonyoung belongs on top, just the same with her name in first place in the list of brand reputation rankings, browser searches, followers.

Once upon a time, you took charge over her. You managed her lessons, her videos, her behind-the-scenes duties. Funny how it’s the opposite now, wherein she jounces on you freely with the domineering message of caution: don’t cum until she does.

And god, is she making that hard. Everything about her is so attractive, from the bounce of her hair to her midriff showing your entering cock to her pretty pink pussy clutching you. What gets you, however, is her face—everyone loves looking at that face. Today, you’re under an aphrodisiac for it: you’re in love with the roll of her eyes as she rides you, the pink on her cheeks, the part of her lips.

“Fuck yes! Ugh, daddy, you feel so good inside me…” Wonyoung’s core clenches and slides your penis along its textured, sensitive walls. Her gasp is straight out of fantasies. “You’re balls deep, see? Look how your meat’s filling me. My pussy’s going to be so sore after this.” She chuckles. “Wait, who says we’re stopping?”

You shudder. You’re getting very close. Your earlier orgasm still has its effects on you. You’re afraid you’re going to do something you shouldn’t under her bedroom law. She’ll imprison you with her thighs and waterboard you with all the girl cum she promised until you confess that she’s the best fuck you ever had.

“Daddy’s going to cum so hard he’s probably going to breed me. Then I’ll, oh, I’ll feel it inside my tummy and it’s going to be a scandal. Wouldn’t you like that? Getting to knock up Jang Wonyoung? I can hear you moaning. I think you really like that. I think that’s why you’re thrusting up in me. You want to be a real daddy and make your baby girl a mommy. That’s so fucked up, you know that, right? You shouldn’t be having sex with me, let alone breeding me. But you’re a fucking weak old man, so of course you like that.”

You’re burning up. They’re the signs of what’s to come. If her confident words inspire her young fans, her monologues of lust make you feel like you’re the worst person in the world. Of course, the boner is part of the effect.

You groan. “Wonyoung, baby girl, please—”

“Oh god, daddy, I’m going to cum!” she squeals. Her emotions control her and tell her to go harder, bounce harder, squeeze harder. She’s pushing past her limits. “Agh, agh, you’re cumming, too, right? Cum for me. You’ll be—fuck, my daddy’s going to make me cum! I’m squirting all over his cock!”

She slams herself down roughly and repeatedly till your lower body’s flooded with her cum. You can’t take it anymore. It feels like dying because you swear you can see stars in the ceiling, stars of lust in her eyes. La petite mort. How poetic, since Wonyoung’s screaming still sounds as beautiful as her singing and speaking.

Her shouts are close to breaking the windows’ glass. Anyone can figure out what’s happening without the destruction of the pane—the curtains are wide open, letting the world see the youngest icon of the new generation pumping herself onto her co-worker.

You wonder if there’s actually poor watchers out there seeing you cream Wonyoung’s princess pussy, grab her ass to guide her, and kiss her when she leans down.

Wonyoung tastes the best when she’s squirting.

Consequences always catch up no matter what. You can hide under a cloak, in another country, underneath the earth in a secluded bunker and all that won’t help. You’ll be stuck dealing with the outcome, thorns from a rose you thought was too pretty to have some.

That’s the first thing you remember when you wake up, wrapped in the bed sheets and by Wonyoung’s arms. Someone’s calling you. Bad news: it’s your boss—the ringtone itself sounds angry, too.

“Hello?” you ask. You can’t help the grogginess of your morning voice, try as you may. If your boss didn’t know what happened, he can perfectly guess from the exhaustion riddling your greeting.

“You dumb little shit.” You can feel the spittle of your boss’ insult from miles away, cities away, screens away. “You’re lucky I’m friends with the fucking CEO.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t give me that. Some janitor saw you from the wing. I needed to hear it from you: did you fuck Jang Wonyoung?”

Unexpectedly, a veiny hand you remember holding something else grabs your phone. Wonyoung leans against your shoulder wearing nothing as she holds the phone to her ear.

“Why?” she quips, loud and clear. “Wouldn’t you?”

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mytinystay · 1 year

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I apologize for all halloween lovers but I don’t feel spooky right now. I’m drinking my hot chocolate with a sweater on, looking at the clear blue sky and hearing the sound of the wind: I feel like listening my christmas playlist and planning my christmas decor

#this is literally ideal christmas weather in my home country #i grew up this way #so i feel so ready to go up and enjoy holiday vacations #it feels kind of weird knowing i’ll be studying until december for the first time #still feeling festive tho🎄#greece chitchats

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crishayle · 4 months

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Astrology notes

Disclaimer. This is where I write my personal notes. They may not suit you because your other planets and aspects are stronger. Please consider this. Thanks for the feedback. Kisses ლ(´ڡ`ლ)

The placements in Leo/5th house are very dependent on music. They turn it on whenever possible. It doesn't matter with or without headphones. Some even have a ritual. For example, they don't clean or walk down the street without music

The beginning of the Capricorn season really fits the atmosphere of the end of the year. All people are stressed out, overworking to close deadlines. Everyone is save money for Christmas and gifts. Someone begins to feel apathy because of the cold and eternal darkness. Well, isn't it true that Capricorn's vibe? ૮₍˶Ó﹏Ò ⑅₎ა

People with a dominant Moon, do you also feel the phases of the Moon? For example, the recent full Moon in Cancer? I noticed that all my friends and clients with a dominant Moon constantly complain about some kind of fucked up full moon

If your Venus gets into the 1st house of a person in synastry, then he will consider you the ideal of beauty. That is, to accept literally everything. Even what you think is ugly

I noticed that people with a Leo in the Big Three (Sun, Moon, ascendant) most often have a pink skin tone or, more simply, a warm one

People can notice and especially feel not only your ascendant, but also the dominant planets and stelliums (including in houses). For example, the stellium in the 6th house may feel like Virgo, and the dominant Moon like Cancer or the sign of your Moon

Mars in the 7th house is not so much conflicted as fair and harsh in words. He will not quarrel from scratch, but if he feels disrespect, lies or arrogance, then… Well, you know... But in general, they are very pleasant and interesting people

Some of the most physically resilient people most often have Mars in Scorpio/Sagittarius/Virgo. They may not look athletic, but they withstand heavy loads much better than others. Although maybe it's their strength of mind, not their body.

Many aspects to Neptune can indicate a person who has an eternal mess at home

Any aspect of Jupiter and the Sun indicates optimism. Of course, they get upset too and sometimes don't believe in themselves, but their resourcefulness is much stronger than sadness.

People with the Sun/Moon square/opposition Saturn often suffer from hyper-responsiveness. It is very important for them to keep everything under control and this can literally bring themselves to neurosis

Mercury conjunct Venus with orb 0 or 1 is always a beautiful voice, maybe they don't have to sing, but they have a velvety and most often a little low voice

The Sun/Moon square/opposition Neptune most often consider their parents to be a little infantile, or they have been put in the role of a third parent since childhood. For example, a mother could see her daughter as a babysitter for her younger daughter. Simply put, such people have already felt older and wiser than their parents since childhood

People with the Moon conjunct/trine/sextile Saturn are very well-mannered. They understand what morality is, they are moderately kind, moderately modest, they know how to communicate politely and beautifully

Girls with stellium in Scorpio have always attracted, attract and will attract everyone's attention (but especially men's). Moreover, they are admired by other girls (they subscribe to them on Instagram and constantly watch stories and photos)

I recently read that Socrates (the man who invented rhetoric) may have been with the Sun in Gemini. I'm not surprised

People with the Moon sextile/trine/conjunct Venus are adorable. It's not even about charisma here, but about the fact that they are generally quite cute in character and appearance

The dominant Pluto in the natal chart may indicate a love of sarcasm, black humor and a slightly harsh manner of speech. Touchy people consider them rude, but for Plutonians this is their usual way of communicating

A little more about Pluto. Stephen King has many aspects that point to his love and talent in the horror genre. This is Pluto in the 1st house, Mercury sextile Pluto, the Moon trine Pluto, Scorpio in the 5th house

#astrology #astrology community #zodiac #horoscope #astrology blog #astrology signs #tumblr fyp #astro community #natal chart #astro observations #natal astrology #astro notes #astrologer #natal chart observations #astrology observations #astrology notes #astrology aspects

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moonit3 · 4 months

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❉ ╤╤╤╤ ❉ TWO FOR ONE ❉ ╤╤╤╤ ❉

➽ context warnings: yandere themes, noncon, teasing (like the male yandere touches your genitalia, but isn’t explicitly which type of genitalia) (receiving), blackmailing, cursed words, public sex, non consensual recording, isolation, gaslighting, unwanted touching, implied male masturbation, forced undressing (from reader’s part), implied future marking on reader.

➽ word count: 1.6k

➽ synopsis: coming back home for the summer break wasn’t the brightest idea, not when two people came to see you after giving you the worse experience of your life.

➽ yandere! twins x gn! reader

➽ a/n: it took a while, didn’t it? honestly it is my fault as i got many ideas for this one and write it over and over and over. but today i bring you this piece with not on, but two yanderes! also, keep in mind there is no romance between the twins (no incest at this blog!) , rather them working together to have reader to become their since they share. enjoy today writing, my dear! and happy christmas to those who celebrate, if not a happy Monday!

returning to your hometown feels nostalgic, seeing relatives that keep bothering you about how you still don’t have a significant other get you a little uncomfortable, but still nice to hear they carry about your lonely when away from them.

hearing about their life makes you wonder how the town changed when you were away, former classmates are already married while others started working overseas. it’s sounds amazing to see that everyone is following their life and you hope the two people you have in mind have changed, but you don’t want to seem them anymore…however you didn’t expected mother to invited them.

kai and kori, twins who were once your best friends from kindergarten and throughout high school. your family love them and the people from the town see them as the most beloved, however that doesn’t change the fact that you distance yourself from them when you went to study abroad and they are the main reason you choose to go to college somewhere far away from here.

their presence at your parents’ home makes you feel uneasy, everyone is laughing with them and happy about having two childhood friends of your around. nonetheless, when family went to rest after finish cleaning the dishes, you were forced by the twins to go outside with them.

sitting underneath the large tree, kai lays his head down at your shoulder with his hand caressing your hair while kori doesn’t want to leave your lap no matter what, although she is aware that your legs are getting numb anytime soon.

“a-ah, could you guys please let it go away from me?” you can’t move away from them, not when they are purposefully pressing their weight on you. “for real…i-i don’t…ugh…want to b-be around the t-two of you!”

instead of a reply, you hear kai snoring on your shoulder and your eyes observe kori drooling at your lap, luckily she isn’t dirtying your pants. however, that doesn’t change how your body is negatively reacting to them.

cold sweat dirtying your hair, body trembling whatever kori’s head got heavier in your lap or when kai’s grip got tighter, resulting in whines coming out of your mouth. they are pretending to be asleep to not let you go away from their touch, even though they are awake of your uncomfortable state.

the breeze hitting your face makes your skin crawl, going inside home to stay away from them and laying down with the fluffiest blankets are the ideal, in fact, coming home was the worse idea. your mind begs for you to get up and ran away and don’t look back at them. however with twins holding you down, your body fails to get away from them.

trembling and shaking of fear, you were ready to panic and call for help to the people inside home. yet, that never happened when kai’s hands reached for your neck and it brought you to unconscious instantly.

“one day, you will have to choose one of us, you know?” kori’s words haunted you. always whispering you that whatever she and kai came home to play with you, making you feel awkwardly around her. “and I know you are going to choose me~”

her smile, despite being a gentle one, often making you apprehensive about the mask she wears in for the people who come around. everyone sees her as the embodiment of perfection, a girl who stolen the heart of many and yet, she rejects them over and over. her heart already having an unwilling owner, you.

throughout high school, she forced convinced you to enroll in the same classes, always sitting close to you with hand closer to your body. her intentions were clear: isolating you from the rest of the students, preventing them from befriending you and leaving no chance from leaving her. after all, in her twisted mind, she is the only one who deserves your friendship.

when the class graduate, you thought it would the end from kori’s influence on your life with you leaving to attend a college overseas and she would study at the local one in the town. however, things didn’t go as planned when she made you come to a dinner at her house, with her family and most importantly, her twin brother.

you’d never really spoken to kai, not directly though. most of the time, his response were limited to nod and hum when you tried to talk with him. his silence attitude towards you made it hard to read him, making his presence enigmatic and slightly uncomfortable.

the first directly interaction with kai happened during a dinner before you left the town. he took the seat next to you, while kori settled in front of you with that classic smile of her. their parents discussed the result of their college admission exams, happy to have both been accepted into the local university. however, you couldn’t be happier, not when the twins’ presence made you uneasy.

amidst the family dinner, kori and kai were touching your body underneath the table, your discomfort being hide by the tablecloth.

below your fake smile, kai’s finger reaches the fly of your jeans and zipped down, ignoring the whines and protests coming out from your lips when his parents weren’t paying attention at you. behind his stoic face, he couldn’t be happier by feeling your lower area, taking his time to explore your sensitive genitalia.

when you felt one of his digit teasing the head of your genitalia, your immediately met kori’s eyes, ready to beg her to kick her brother’s leg with her high heels or do something to help you get out of this situation, but she didn’t. instead of being a helpful friend like you hope she should, her nailed hands reaches for her phone, already recording your violation under the tablecloth.

the dinner ended earlier when you gained enough courage to step up, ignoring the confuse looks from their parents when tears came out of your eyes, both asking if you were okay. you didn’t replied —instead, you quickly left their house in the middle of the night to never visit their house again.

unanswered calls from the twins, messages full of threats they would release the videos without your consent and how it would ruin your life if you didn’t obey them.

“what do you think your parents would tell you? seeing you being touched by kai so intimately and whining like a bitch?” kori was the most meaner between them, always sending those voice mail full of cursed words and calling you names that no one should. her status of being a popular girl around the town result in you become a outsider to everyone else, rumors of you being mean and rude to her made you become the evil person in the story. “you are going to willingly come crawling back to me. i know you will, after all, you are nothing without me.”

“you did like it. don’t be stupid, [name].” there was profanity sound in the missed call, his voice falling sometimes with wet sounds between his words. “a-actually, why don’t you come home? it been a while since you visit me and i-i really need to—fuck! i-i need to f-feel you…” it easy to say that you blocked their numbers after a while, completely hopelessly they would apologize for it.

the idea of going to the police and report them was your plan, but whatever you step closer to the station with the courage to speak out always ended when they started sending the video from unknown numbers and recently taken photos of you. realizing they were watching you daily, your couldn’t bare to tell the police about the incident nor anyone else, after all, who would have believed you?

when a letter from a college overseas accepting your request, you didn’t waste any second and left the town in the middle of the night, only saying goodbye to your parents. you wouldn’t never return to this place, no one sane would, but hearing mother and father begging you to visit them during the summer break hurt your heart, so you came home for just a day or so.

however, you never expect to them inviting the two people responsible for the greatest tragedy of your life.

as your nightmares dissolve into a realm of consciousness, a source coming from the blinding light of kori’s phone jerks you away from a deep sleep and you couldn’t understand why she is doing it.

with your vision slowly adjusting to the dark sky and the camera flash, you realize that kai was holding you restraint at his lap and your arms tied behind your back. a duct tape covering your lips, preventing you from screaming for help like the previous time.

“you are doing great, my love.” his breath at your neck makes you nauseous, it doesn’t help when you realize that you are nude in his lap. there is nothing covering your genitalia and nothing to hide your face from the photos. “after this, we will go somewhere more comfortable to take more photos, okay?”

his words doesn’t comfort you, it only make you struggle more for freedom when another picture is taken of you. this time kori is more closer to you, but not to take a photo of you like you expected, rather she just smiles at you.

her eyes stares into yours, making you unable to face another direction when her presence comes into your mind. it’s unbearable, but you have no options than following her eyes going down at your thigh, is she planning something?

“i think this will be the perfect place to mark you, [name]. so anyone who dares to touch you will see who truly owns you.”

@moonit3 writings

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joelsgreys · 4 months

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when i’m feeling alone, you remind me of home

Javier Peña x DEA Agent Female Reader

summary: Spending Christmas in Bogotá, Colombia isn’t ideal. Javier knows you’re missing home a little harder than usual, so he comes up with a plan to cheer you up.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. minor deviation from canon timeline (had to make it work), reader is an agent for the DEA, NO AGE SPECIED, NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION, reader understands and speaks spanish but no mention of her race or ethnicity, friends to lovers trope, reader celebrates christmas, reader has a good relationship with her family, minor smoking and alcohol consumption (both reader and javi), reader’s a bit rough around the edges sometimes. fluff, soft javi, he’s a bit of a grinch in the beginning though. switches in pov’s and tenses.

*ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS AT THE END.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: thank you to @hellishjoel for inviting me to join in on this fun project!

12 Days of Pedro Masterlist

Javier Peña doesn’t do Christmas.

He especially doesn’t do Christmas in Bogotá.

He doesn’t see the point even acknowledging it.

There are more important things on his mind.

Capturing Pablo Escobar.

Dismantling the dangerous Medellín Cartel.

Living long enough to tell the fucking tale.

Those were his priorities while in Colombia.

Not decking the halls with boughs of holly.

And yet, there he is, fighting with a string of bright and colorful lights, wishing these things would put themselves on the tree. “Puta madre,” Javi curses underneath his breath as he tries untangling them from around his waist. Somehow, he only makes it worse. He grumbles, “This is fucking ridiculous—it shouldn’t be this fucking hard throwing lights on a goddamn fucking tree—” He pauses, spins around to find where he’d gone wrong and then continues grouching to himself. “Can’t believe people do this fucking shit for fun. Stupidest thing I’ve ever—”

Javi manages to free himself and glances down at his watch to see he’s running out of time—it’s past five now, and unless Messina’s in one of those bad fucking moods of hers and decides to dump some last minute paperwork onto your desk, then you’re going to be walking through the front door soon.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling a deep and frustrated sigh.

He’d been an idiot to decline Connie’s offer to help him when she had dropped off the decorations for him earlier that afternoon.

“You sure you don’t need my help?” she had asked as she handed him the cardboard box overflowing with festive ornaments and tinsel. “I have a couple of more hours before I have to be at the clinic, you know. I can help you set it all up for her, make it all nice and pretty.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it handled,” he’d replied. “I’m sure it won’t take me too long to put some—is this fucking fruit?” Confused, Javi shifted the box over to his hip, pulling out a string of dried oranges and red cranberries. “Um, what the hell is this for? This supposed to be a snack for me while I decorate?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a homemade garland.”

“It’s a homemade what now?”

“Garland, Javier. It goes on the tree.”

Amused, he’d raised an eyebrow at her.

“Fruit going back onto the tree? That’s ironic.”

Sighing, Connie rolled her eyes at him once more.

“Last chance. Do you want my help or not, Javi?”

“I appreciate it, but like I said, I’ve got it handled.”

She’d shrugged. “Alright, suit yourself, then.”

Little did he know how he’d regret his decision. It’s a bigger headache than he thought it would be, an incredible waste of valuable time he could’ve been using to hunt down new leads, do the job he came here to do and find Pablo Escobar. Then again, the more he thinks about it, the more Javi realizes this isn’t a waste of his time at all—not really.

Because he’s doing this for you.

Because he knows you love Christmas.

Because he knows you’ve been feeling homesick.

The season you normally adored was bringing you nothing but emptiness this year. There is a void—a hole in your heart that only your family could fill.

“Messina denied my request for time off,” you had told him, taking a drag of his cigarette—you’re not much of a smoker, but he’d learned that tended to change on occasion when you were upset. “Said it isn’t fair to let me go home for Christmas. That I’m not the only one who wants to be with their family. And I get it. I do.” Sighing, you took a second drag and then handed the cigarette back to Javier; he’d put it between his lips, the taste of cherry flavored lip gloss that lingered on the filtered tip prompting a craving stronger than his craving for nicotine. “It was selfish of me to even think of taking time off. I just—I miss spending Christmas in my hometown, you know? Waking up to snow outside my window in the mornings. Building snowmen with my sister, hurling snowballs at my brother. I miss my mother and her cooking. I miss my father and how even at our age, he still insists on pretending to be Santa.”

Laughing, Javier leaned forward on his stool.

You’d asked him to meet you at your usual spot—a quiet lounge bar right around the corner from your apartment. When he walked in and saw the scotch in front of you on the table, he’d known something was wrong. You’re not much of a drinker, either.

“Does he eat the cookies and drink the milk too?”

You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest, a little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. He tried not to let his gaze longer there too long—he’s just one man. There was only so much strength he could muster to keep fighting the temptation.

“Of course. He takes his role very, very seriously.”

Despite your smile, he’d noticed it right away.

The unmistakable sadness in your eyes.

You were tough as fucking nails.

In this line of work, you had no choice but to be.

But Javier knew your family was your weakness.

His weakness?

His weakness was sitting there in front of him with a crestfallen expression on her pretty face, tracing around the rim of her glass with her finger.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” Your voice had thickened, the emotions you’re used to bottling up threatening to boil over.

“Of course not,” he assured you. “There is nothing stupid about wanting to go back home to see your family. There’s nothing stupid about wanting to be with them for the holidays. I promise you that.”

You snorted. “Peña, we’re trying to bring down the most dangerous man in all of South America. Last thing I need to be doing right now is dreaming of a white Christmas. It’s fucking stupid, alright?”

Hesitantly, Javier lifted his hand and placed it over yours—it wasn’t the first time he’d ever held it, not the first time he had shown physical affection, but this was the most vulnerable he had ever seen you and he didn’t want to make things worse. Once he realized it was okay, he brushed the back of it with his thumb softly, soothingly.

“Yo hablaré con Messina, cariño.”

“No hay caso para eso, Javier.”

“Maybe I can convince her to let you go. She’s got me and she’s got Murphy. We’ll handle things here while you head home for a few days, spend a week with your family for Christmas. Doesn’t hurt to try, you know.” Javi squeezed your hand. Knowing just how fucking stubborn you could be, he insisted on it. “Por favor, cielo. Dejame ayudarte con esto. Yo solo quiero verte feliz. Dejame ayudarte.”

You drained the rest of your scotch and swallowed it along with the lump that had climbed it’s way up your throat. Setting the glass back down, you then pulled your hand out from under his and stood up.

“Forget it. I’m here because I have a job to do—we both have a job to do. I’ll get over it, Javier. Always do.”

Before he could say another word, you’d picked up your jacket and purse, making a quick dash for the exit before he could see the stubborn tear slipping out from the corner of your eye and down the side of your face. But he had seen it, and that’s exactly why he knew he had to do something for you.

About an hour later, Javi places a glittering star on top of the white spruce and then takes a couple of steps back, hands on his hips. Cocking his head to the side, he observes the tree and makes sure that he hasn’t left a single spot bare. He decides to add more gold tinsel until he feels oddly satisfied—and once he is, he pulls out his pocket knife, using it to open the small sized box he had brought with him; two different addresses were scribbled on the side of it in your mother’s handwriting, his apartment’s address the destination, her address the return.

“I wrapped it well,” she’d said over the phone. “It’s her most prized possession, so I really hope it gets to you in one piece or she’s going to kill us both.”

Javier slowly unwraps the object inside and feels a wave of complete and utter relief wash over him to see it made it through customs without breaking.

He squints, taking a better look at the ornament.

The little blonde ballerina is made of porcelain and holds a nutcracker soldier in her arms—the skirt of her dress is white lace embroidered with teeny red rosettes that perfectly match the blush painted on her cheeks and the color of the bow in her hair.

“It’s Clara,” your mother had explained to him.

“Who?” he’d asked, stupidly.

“Clara. You know, from The Nutcracker?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” he’d fibbed. “Clara. Got it.”

He had no clue what she had been talking about—but if it’s special to you, then it’s special to him.

Carefully, Javi hangs it on tree just as he hears the front door open and then slam shut so hard that it causes the paper thin walls of your unit to rattle.

“Peña!” you shout loudly. “You fucking asshole!”

Lip rolling between his teeth, he stifles a laugh.

You must have seen his Wrangler parked outside.

Grinning, Javier steps out into the hallway to greet you. “Hola, hermosa. Bienvenida a casa.”

“So, let me get this straight,” you say, tossing your purse and unit keys onto a nearby table. “You offer to give me ride to and from work but then proceed to ditch me and leave work three hours early—you leave me with no other fucking choice but to call a cab to bring me home and when he drops me off, I see your fucking car outside of my apartment?”

Rubbing his chin, he hums, “Sounds about right.”

You approach him, your hands curled into fists.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Javier?”

Javi’s quick to hold up his own hands in defense.

He won’t put it past you to knock him out—he and Murphy have seen you bring down men twice your size before without a weapon. Neither of them can decide if it’s hot as hell or downright terrifying.

“Okay, put those away and let me explain,” he tells you, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry I did that to you, but I did it for a reason.”

You scoff, “Well, if that reason was to piss me off, I have some news for you—it fucking worked.”

“That wasn’t the reason. Not this time, anyway.”

Chuckling, Javier extends a hand, holding it out to you.

You peer at it. “What are you doing, Peña?”

“Ven conmigo, cielo. Tengo una sorpresa para ti.”

Suspiciously, you ask him, “What did you do?”

He laughs again. He knew it wouldn’t make it easy for him. “You do know how surprises work, right?”

You lift your chin. “I do and I don’t like surprises.”

“I know you don’t, but I think you’ll like this one.”

Javi continues to hold out his hand and waits.

He’s just as stubborn as you are, if not more.

“We can stand here all fucking night, corazón.”

Sighing in defeat, you place your hand in his, heart skipping a beat when he smiles and laces together your fingers with his own.

“Cierra tus ojos.”

“Javier, I don’t want—”

He quickly cuts you off. “Do you trust me?”

Of course. Hell, you trusted him with your life.

And not just because it’s a job requirement.

Huffing, you do as he says and close your eyes.

“Good.” Javier places his other hand on your waist and his fingers brush against the patch of smooth, soft skin peeking out from between the waistband of your jeans and the hem of your blouse. Ignoring his burning desire to feel more of you, he leads the way into the living room and positions you in front of the tree. Without dropping your hand, he moves to stand directly behind you, chest pressed lightly against your back.“Puedes abrir tus ojos, bonita.”

“Look Peña, I don’t know what you’re up to but—”

Your own startled gasp cuts you off mid sentence.

Squeezing your hand, he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and you can feel his grin as he whispers, “Sorpresa, preciosa. Tienes un arbol de Navidad. Qué tal te parece?”

You open your mouth to speak, then clamp it shut.

His surprise had left you speechless.

Pleased with himself, Javi nudges you towards the tree and then drops his hands down at his sides as he watches you gingerly touch the needles.

Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply, the delicious, woodsy smell of pine reminding you of your family and how you’d all pile into your father’s old pickup truck and head to the Christmas Tree Farm to find the perfect white spruce to take home. Your father took great care in the picking process—he wanted the tallest, fluffiest, most fragrant tree. “Need this place to smell like the farm!” he’d boom. You smile and can’t help but to think he’d approve of Javi—if not because of what he had done for you, then the choice in tree would be enough to win him over.

“Do you like it?” he asks, softly.

You open your eyes and whirl around. “Javi, I can’t believe you did this,” you say, breathlessly. Smiling brighter than the lights on the Christmas tree, you throw your arms around him. “I love it so much!”

He savors the embrace—and wonders if you know just how perfectly you fit right in his arms.

“There’s one more surprise,” Javier informs you as he spins you around to look at the tree once again. “Do you see it?”

“See what?” Peering at the tree, you frown. “What am I supposed to be looking for—wait a second, is that—is that Clara?” Your hand flies to your mouth and you look up at him in complete shock. “That’s the ornament my grandmother made for me when I was a baby! I’ve had her since my first Christmas. How did you—?”

“Santa no cuenta sus secretos.” Javi grins, pulling you closer against his side. “But if you must know, your mom sent it to me,” he confesses. “Actually, I have to be honest—this whole thing was her idea.”

Perplexed, you ask, “This was my mom’s idea?”

“I know you’ve been having a hard time being here during the holidays instead of with your family,” he says. “I called her up a couple of weeks ago, asked her what I could do for you. We started talking and came up with this.” He shrugs and touches a hand to the back of his neck, sheepishly. “I know it’s not the same as going home. But I thought it might be nice to bring a little piece of home here to you.”

Warmth blossoms inside of your chest as you turn to face him. You place a hand on his chest. “Javi?”

Nervously, his throat bobs. “Yeah?”

“Why did you do this for me?”

Javier lifts his hand and tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “I told you. I just want to see you happy.”

“But why?”

You know why.

But you need to hear him say it.

You need to hear it from his own mouth.

Javi’s hand moves to cup the side of your face. “Is it not obvious?” he murmurs as he grazes the silky soft skin over your cheekbone. “Tú bien sabes qué yo siento algo por ti, hermosa. Aunque no sientas igual.”

“How do you know I don’t feel the same for you?”

“Do you?” His thumb sweeps your bottom lip. “Do you feel the same for me?”

Your hand curls around his red plaid flannel.

“I shouldn’t,” you admit. “We’re work partners.”

He feigns offense. “Ouch. And here I was, thinking we were friends.” He now takes your chin between his index finger and his thumb. Licking his lips, his eyes meet yours. “Breaking my heart, baby.”

Your breath audibly catches. “We are friends—and it scares me to put our friendship on the line.”

“But?” he prompts as he tilts your head up toward his. His opposite hand finds your hip and pulls you closer to him.

“But when you do things like this—it’s hard for me not to fucking fall in love with you, Peña.” You drag your hand down his chest, your fingers relishing in the softness of his flannel. “It’s so fucking hard for me not to fall in love with somebody who feels like home.”

Javier’s chuckles softly.

“For the record, this wasn’t a ploy to get you to fall in love with me, corazón. But if it worked—” Javier pauses, dropping his hand from your face. “Then I guess it’s worth pulling this thing out.”

He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Javi, what the hell are you—?”

He grins, holding the mistletoe above your heads.

“Connie said this might come in handy.”

Your eyes flicker to his lips, then meet his gaze.

“Ven aqui, Peña.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull Javi in and crash your mouth against his. You brush his bottom lip with your tongue and he grants you the access you’re looking for. He tastes like spearmint and scotch, and something else too.

He tastes like yours.

And he feels like home.

diver credit to @saradika-graphics ❤️

Translations

Yo hablaré con Messina, cariño. - I’ll talk to Messina, darling.

No hay caso para eso, Javier. - There’s no point, Javier.

Dejame ayudarte con esto. Yo solo quiero verte feliz. - Let me help you with this. I just want to see you happy.

Ven conmigo, cielo. Tengo una sorpresa para ti. - Come with me, I have a surprise for you.

Cierra tus ojos. - Close your eyes.

Puedes abrir tus ojos, bonita. - You can open your eyes, pretty girl.

Sorpresa, preciosa. Tienes un arbol de Navidad. Qué tal te parch? - Surprise, precious girl. You have a Christmas tree. What do you think?

Santa no cuenta sus secretos. - Santa doesn’t tell his secrets.

Tú bien sabes qué yo siento algo por ti, hermosa. Aunque no sientes igual. - You know all too well I have feelings for you. Even if you don’t feel the same.

Ven aqui, Peña. - Come here, Peña.

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fluff #narcos fanfiction #javier peña one shot #javier peña drabble #12 days of pedro

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peachesofteal · 7 months

Text

Dead Disco / Chapter 8

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.7k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, explicit sex. Top Simon Riley. Bottom Johnny MacTavish. Barebacking, oral sex - fem receiving, anal fingering, rimming. Anxiety, crying. Caretaking. Comfort. Relationship issues. Established throuple. Angst. Darling is her/your own tag and warning. The guys get back.

“Two weeks?”

Simon steps closer to where you’re stalking around in the kitchen, working a circular pattern into the floor with your pacing. “It’s not ideal-“

“Not ideal? It’s… it’s about to be Christmas.” your voice squeaks with disbelief, misery, heart squeezing in your chest uncomfortably. “You just got home.” The idea of facing two more long, cold weeks in the dead of winter makes your bones rattle inside your body, worsened by the fact that you’ll most likely be alone for the holidays.

“Ah know, we know, love. But we cannae control when we’re needed. Ye know this.” The words strike true, and instantly deflate you. You do know.

You know too well.

“We’ll try to be home before Christmas.” Simon vows, but you shake it off. It sounds, it feels, like too much of a promise. Too much like the bitter pill of disappointment.

You shove it down as far as you can. Try to patch over the rip in your soul that’s turned into a pit, devolved into a galaxy ending black hole in your heart.

“It’s fine.”

“Darling.” He reaches for you, fingers moving into your line of sight, but you duck it, opting to turn back towards the cabinets, picking up the clean glassware that you were in the middle of putting away.

“I’m fine.” Your tears lie in wait, stinging up your nose, forcing you to swallow against a shallow breath.

“We don’t want to be away from you, you know that.” He tries, and Johnny sidles up next to you, watching with concern. You ignore them both, counting your breaths, arranging the glassware one by one, opting to focus on the task instead of the storm that’s brewing in your head.

“I know. It’s fine.” You huff, last glass going up inside the cabinet with a rattle. Your hands are shaking, everything overwhelmed by trying to keep yourself together.

“Darling.” Simon says again, and you brush him off, pulling the silverware caddy from the machine. The utensils jangle together, loudly, and Simon tries to get your attention again.

You pull the drawer with a jerk, hard and fast. Smooth.

Too smooth.

It jumps the track and flies towards the ground, silverware and odds and ends falling to the floor, both you and Johnny lunging to catch it without success.

It crashes across the kitchen, like thunder cracking across a night sky, a firework in the dark.

Johnny flinches, jolting from where he crouches with a hand outstretched for the runaway drawer. Simon doesn’t startle as bad, but he squints, before relaxing.

And then you burst into tears.

“Fuck!” you blubber. “Fff-fuck. I’m so-sorry.” You turn with blurred vision into a thick wall of mass, Simon, who’s arms go around you immediately, strong hand on the nape of your neck.

“It’s alright. You’re alright. We’re here.” He’s soft with his words, lips pressing to the top of your head. He holds you there, murmuring in your ear, coaxing your breaths slower, promising that everything’s okay. “Bedroom lights.” He instructs Johnny, still holding you tight.

“Rog.” Johnny replies automatically, and you shake your head in teary denial.

“The mess.” He rebukes your protest.

“We’ll clean it up later, darling. Let’s take care of you first.”

You hear the helicopter before you see it.

The blades whirl, cutting through the air effectively, and you try not to bounce on your tiptoes as the figures in the far distance disembark from the giant machine.

You can’t help it. You’re really excited.

There’s been something about being here waiting for them, being one of the first faces they see after they land, that absolutely delights you. It sings in your heart, making you smile and sigh, drawing you to the hangar to wait for them to come through the big, wide opening.

Johnny is first. He’s walking beside Simon, but actively looking, searching the faces that are milling about, some who are more stationary, like you, obviously waiting for something.

When he finds you, his mouth moves, body jostling into Simon’s side, and then he’s running. Sprinting.

He’s on you before you can blink, scooping you up, arms like steel curling around your thighs and hoisting you in the air hard enough that your hands come crashing down on his shoulders and his face is buried in your cleavage.

“Put me down!” You shriek with a little bit of laughter, a little bit of fake outrage.

He drops you a bit, but he doesn’t let go. Just keeps his grip around your waist, pulling your body into his, chasing your mouth with his own.

“Missed ye, darling.”

“It was only three days.” You chide, but your heart glows.

“Three days too long. Wonder if the boss‘ll let me retire. Take care o’ ye instead of doing this.”

“Oh, stop.” The protest is halfhearted, the smile that graces your face too much of a giveaway.

You half push him off playfully, still holding onto his jacket, and peek around, looking for the other piece of the puzzle.

He’s standing there, watching. The grey skull that’s pulled over his face sobers your glee, and you move to step forward, but Johnny holds you tight, mouth above your ear.

“Wait, darling. We’ll all go back tae the room, aye?” Simon nods, like he knows what Johnny is saying, even though you’re sure he cannot hear him.

“Okay.” You stay tucked up under his arm, Simon walking in lock step behind you both.

“This was suppose’ tae be a nice dinner.” Johnny grunts, and you gurgle a response around his cock, length stuffed deep in your throat. The edge of the table pinches against your skin, reminding you of exactly where you are, laid across the dinner table on your belly, bent at the waist with Johnny in front of you, Simon on his knees behind you, thumb spreading you wide for his tongue.

“It was.” Simon assures him. His breath heats the skin of your backs of your thighs, a wet finger swirling around the tight ring of muscle between your cheeks. There are mashed potatoes on the floor next to his knees, splattered on the hard wood near the spot where the gravy is slowly trickling over the edge of the table. You feel… a little bad about it. A little guilty. Johnny worked hard on this dinner, and you truly did appreciate it, you just didn’t anticipate being the dessert.

“Until someone called me a liar.”

You try to protest, but your mouth is too full.

That’s not what you meant. You weren’t calling him a liar. You just… don’t know how to process this. How to believe.

“We,” Simon presses a kiss to the swell of your ass, “want to keep you, darling.” Another drag of his lips, this time on the crease of your hip. “We want to take care of you.” Teeth graze along your inner thigh, tongue slicking along your skin. “We want to know you.” Fear cuts through the lovestruck, lustful haze that’s penetrated your mind, and you curl your fingers into your palms until the pressure sears with a bite. You focus on that feeling, and not the wariness that’s spreading through your body, the overthinking, the worry that grows from that one sentence: we want to know you.

A part of you wants to float away, wants to drown in the feeling of them, disappear into the toe-curling pleasure, dip beneath the surface and never come back.

But something winds you too tightly to let go. Something lurks in the back of your mind, whispering half-truths, half lies.

It’s not real. They don’t want you. They don’t mean it.

“Why don’t you believe us?” He knows you can’t answer, he must. You groan around Johnny’s cock, hot length pressed against the back of your tongue, and he blows a breath from his nose.

Simon pushes a thick finger against your rim, feeling how you flutter for him, before going deeper, up past his knuckle, and you choke on a gasp, throat constricting around Johnny’s cock. It’s good, sinfully delicious, and you relax to allow him more, a second finger joining the first, stretching you with a sting.

“Johnny.” Simon says his name like a command, and then Johnny’s pulling away, sinking to his knees in front of your face and cradling your jaw with a gentle hand.

“Tell Johnny how it feels.” Simon coaches, and replaces his fingers with his mouth, tongue dipping inside of you with unrivaled skill. You melt into a heap of buttery sweetness, bones nearly liquid, legs trembling.

“Oh, is it good? Tell me darling, use your words.” It’s a little bit mocking, a little bit sincere, with a heaping amount of adoration and lust, and he rubs a thumb across your cheekbone, soft eyes watching yours.

“Ye-eah.” You stretch the vowels, tongue leaden between your teeth. Simon is feasting on you, like he didn’t just eat an entire dinner, like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, big hand spreading one of your cheeks wide so that his entire face is buried in you. “Fuck.”

“Can ye come like this?” You garble out the word yes, then no, then there’s nothing, just your slack jaw, Johnny disappearing from your line of sight.

His mouth is on your cunt a second later. You pant, twisting to try to look, catching a glimpse of him under the table, opposite Simon, bent at an odd angle, tongue lapping at your clit, and his hand inside Simon’s jeans working his cock in long strokes.

It’s circuit overload. Every connection surges to full power, lighting up your muscles, your bones, every hair on your body. You practically vibrate with it, and your knees wobble.

“I- I… can’t!” you cry, a thumb pressing down on your clit, applying pressure in a circular motion, stroking the swollen bud in rhythm with the tongue that dips into your hole.

“Yes, you can.” Simon pulls away, kneading your cheeks with thick fingers. “You can, darling.”

“I can’t-t stand. My-“ You don’t get to finish before you’re being pulled from the dinner table and heaved into someone’s arms, jostling against a chest before your back hits the bed.

Your knees are pushed back, up towards your ears, and heat crawls through your belly when you glance up at where they both stare at your fully exposed cunt.

“Better?” The Scottish accent rasps, and you nod desperately. “Words, love.”

“Yes! Yes, please.” You’re asking for them both, desperate for them both. You’re frantic with it, your need, your desire to be ruined by them. Possessed by them. Loved by them.

You don’t know how to say it, can’t get the words out. They get stuck, hung up on your anxiety, your fear.

“Darling.” Simon reads it, reads you like he always does, pulling you back towards them, grounding you.

Your lungs shudder with a deep breath.

“Please.”

Johnny hits the overhead light off in the room as soon as the three of you get inside.

He sits you on the bed, gently. Kissing your forehead, your temple, before pulling away and flicking the bedside light on, casting warm yellow tones around the concrete blocks.

Simon keeps his back turned, things on his body shifting, being shed, being moved, until the grey skull is being placed on the little table, and the balaclava is being shucked to reveal a scruff of hair and his wide neck.

“Simon?” You whisper, but he still doesn’t turn to you. Johnny strips his gear off as well, but watches, eyes keen. Observant. “Simon…” His shoulders loosen, tension deflating from his muscles but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t move towards you until; “I need you.”

It’s fluid, the steps, the bend, the grace of such a large body sinking to his knees in front of you, arms wrapping around your hips and then his face, smashing into your belly.

“Missed you too.” He murmurs into your skin, and you stroke your fingers through his hair delicately, careful to be slow and deliberate with your movements. You know, Simon is different for work. The grey skull. The ghost.

It can be hard on him. Hard on Johnny. Difficult for them both. For you.

The bed dips, and Johnny’s sitting at your side, leaning you into his chest. A bridge, between two. A web, connecting three.

Yours. Your family.

Hope blooms across your heart, gardens of flowers thriving under the sun of their affection, their care, their love.

Your nose, your eyes begin to burn with the promise of tears. Fuck.

You blink them away, sniffling. The sound causes Simon to jerk, leaning back to peer at you, but your hide your face, and he hums, stroking the back of your neck.

“We’re here, darling.” You nod into him silently, basking in the overload of it all. The sweet. The bitter. The two, together.

“Ah love ye both. So much.” Johnny hums, and it makes the burn worse, the emotions rising inside of you like a tidal flood, waiting to burst through the dam.

“I love you too.” You choke, and Simon grumbles something in response, something that sounds like the three words, before he’s up on his feet, notching his mouth against yours fiercely. He clutches the back of your skull, touching his forehead to yours before moving to Johnny, kissing him sweetly and then pulling away.

“Gotta shower.” He grunts, and you flop onto your back without preamble.

Johnny sighs, curling up next to you, tugging your body into his.

“We’re gon’ to a pub tonight, Kyle, and Price. The three of us tae, ‘course.”

“M-me?” you stutter, eyebrows raised, and he smiles.

“Yes, darling. Ye too.”

The pub is extremely dark. It’s dark enough that Simon seems to be comfortable in just the black mask and hoodie, and Johnny is relaxed, nonchalant with a shoulder leaning against you, head occasionally dipping to whisper something in your ear.

You however, are not relaxed.

Your body is tight, muscles practically iron against the straight-backed chair, mouth dry. You’re out of place, out of your depth. You feel like an ornament of some sort, an adornment. It’s selfish, but you wish you still in the room with the guys, just the three of you. Together, still in that sweet, hazy in-between, floating on admissions of love and adoration.

Conversation flows around you like water, ebbing and flowing as you sip your drink, and Simon’s hand settles on your thigh, thumb stroking a semi-circle into your skin, nodding to something Kyle is saying.

“- and I just don’t want one, but she does. So, I guess we’re getting a dog.” He sighs into his beer, and Johnny snorts.

“Better than a bairn, ah suppose.” He quips. Simon tenses on your other side and then shakes his shoulders out, turning to look at Johnny before leaning in and pressing clothed covered lips to your forehead.

“Alright?” You hum, nodding your response. You’re a little anxious, sure. But otherwise, fine, besides probably needing to use the restroom. You don’t want to take away from this time they have with their friends, their coworkers.

They carry on, talking about something that sounds like work, going back and forth about some finer detail that you can't distinguish, and you drain the rest of the drink, hopping down from the bar seat to go to the bathroom.

Johnny pulls you into him, mouth bumping along your temple to whisper in your ear. “Dinnae take too long, or Ah’ll come lookin’ for ye.”

“Hey, do we still want to do-“ your sentence dies in your throat when you turn corner into the bedroom, where Simon’s got Johnny beneath him on a pillow, an ankle thrown on his shoulder, the lines of both of their bodies, flex of their muscles making your mouth water. “mussels for dinner.” They both turn to look at you, blissed out euphoria on Johnny’s face, while Simon gives you the teeniest smirk, before reaching for you with beckoning fingers.

“How was work?”

“Simon… fucking hell.” Johnny blurts, brow furrowed. Simon hasn’t stopped his ministrations, still slowly dragging his cock in and out of his hole, a teasing pace that has Johnny panting.

A tendril of worry snakes through you. They rarely start without you, why did they start without you? Are you interrupting? Is this-

“Darling.” Simon breaks through your distracted thoughts, hand still outstretched, waiting for yours. When you look up into his eyes, he nods to encourage you, and pulls you closer, thumb stroking over your knuckles, hips still sawing back and forth. You bend a knee onto the bed, pressing your fully clothed body into Simon’s side, the heat of his naked skin warming you through your shirt, and Johnny’s mouth snaps shut, eyes falling dreamily on yours, sly smile scrawling across his face.

“It was good.” You finally answer, never looking away from Johnny, glancing from where Simon’s cock is sliding inside him, to where his gaze is glassy with pleasure. Your own body responds in kind, the view of your partners loving each other making your knees feel kind of weak.

“Someone,” Simon thrusts a little sharper, a little harder, a soft moan sounding from Johnny in response. “wanted to wait for you to get home, but couldn’t.” He speaks perfectly clear, the vocal control something you’ve always been envious of, the fact that he can carry on a conversation while he’s fucking you or Johnny deep something you’ve never understood.

Two sides of your brain war against one another, unsettled fear and insecurity pushing to the forefront even though your body begs you to just get undressed already. You feel out of sorts, and it gnaws away inside your heart, a shadow of yourself slipping away while you watch the way Simon’s hand grips onto Johnny’s thigh.

You shove it down. You’re being ridiculous. You’re reading too much into things, like always. You’ve had this conversation dozens of times. Sex is not exclusive to the three of you at once. Why are you getting so out of sorts?

Simon’s mouth finds your cheek. “Where are you, darling?” He’s stopped moving, fingers stroking along the nape of your neck, the pressure soothing your raw edges, and Johnny props himself up on his elbows, face creased with mild concern.

“I- I’m here.” You try to assure them both, desperate to keep the mood intact, but it comes out a little squeaky, a little off pitch.

Everything grinds to a halt immediately. Simon pulls out slowly, and Johnny reaches for you without a word. You go without complaint, falling into his arms with closed eyes, trying to beat back the nonsense that’s brewing in your mind.

Guilt roars inside your head. You ruined it. Ruined their fun. Ruined the moment.

“I’m fine.” You protest, cuddling in close, nosing along his skin, sticky summer sweat dotting his skin like dew. “Swear.” Simon arranges you so that you’re laying flush with Johnny on your side, and then the comforter is being brought overtop the three of your bodies, soft cocoon of down feathers being tucked around your shoulders.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

They’re not at the bar when you come out.

You catch sight of Simon's out front through the only window in the entire pub, his boss, Price, holding a cigar between his lips, nodding his head thoughtfully at whatever is being said. Your jacket is gone, along with your little purse, tucked underneath Johnny’s arm, half of him visible through the same window. He’s closer to the parking lot, laughing at something with Kyle, face full and happy, so handsome it winds you, tugs a little smile onto your lips.

You’re still smiling when you slip out the front door, making your way towards the side of the pub where the four of them are loitering, no doubt waiting for you to be finished.

When you hear Simon’s voice, you stop dead in your tracks.

“It’s just hard on her, takes a toll.” Simon is talking to Price, who’s got his arms crossed and head cocked, listening intently. “And it’s hard on us too, bein’ away from her for too long. It starts to chafe us. We miss her, and she misses us, and sometimes I worry… about it being the right thing.” Your stomach drops out.

The right thing? The air suddenly feels like ice against your skin, and you hold your breath. Your relationship? He worries if it’s the right thing?

“You’ve made it this long, it’s clear three of you love one another.” Price counters, and you can hear the depressurization of Simon’s lungs, long sigh whistling free.

“She suffers for it, for us. It doesn’t feel fair.” Your eyes go as round as globes, mouth pooling with saliva from the nausea that swamps your stomach.

You should go back inside. You shouldn’t be listening to this, eavesdropping.

You shouldn’t be doing any of this.

You shouldn’t be here.

You turn away, heel crunching against the little rocks that are scattered across the asphalt, and you swear it’s louder than a gunshot.

Simon tenses, shoulders flexing as he turns, eyes wild when they land on you.

“Darling-“ He takes a step forward, and for the first time in so long, you feel like you can’t trust him. As if doesn’t truly see you, like he always has before.

Fair? Fair? Nothing about this was ever fair.

You want to cry. You want to scream. You want to run.

“Darling, listen.” He’s closer now, voice sharp, insistent with command, and you glance past him to where Johnny is practically jogging to your side, confusion rippling across his face.

“I want to go home.” You whisper, not sure if he hears it. Not caring if he does.

You can feel a gaping hole ripping wide in your chest, in your heart. It’s tearing apart all the repairs you’ve made, destroying the effort and love that’s been painstakingly built up, and the hope that’s been fostered inside of you slowly starts to die when you look up at the two of them.

Simon’s eyes are hard with something you cannot name, Johnny’s expression rife with concern, with worry.

“Take me home.”

#peaches writes #dead disco #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #soap x reader x ghost #john soap mactavish x you #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghoap #ghoap x reader #cod mwii

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yuzurins · 10 months

Text

# circles

in which: sae’s tired of running around in circles with an undefined relationship, so he decides to take his chance when he can to make you his.

warnings: kind of unorganized, mentions of alcohol, intoxicated reader, insecure reader, mutual pining, just a bunch of comfort and fluff, honestly strayed from the original prompt t-t

reblogs and interactions are appreciated!

itoshi sae is a busy man.

being the most sought for japanese football player and as well as a regular on the real matrid team meant he was always doing something football related. practices, games, events, you name it.

his schedule is packed with plans set months before they happen. companies and teams always request to see him sooner, but he makes no exceptions for anyone, not even his own family.

well, that goes for anyone but you.

itoshi sae has found himself breaking his own ideals without any hesitation. he‘s standing in front of your apartment, 5 hours, 27 minutes and 54 seconds before his flight back to spain, after an obviously drunk text you sent him 10 minutes ago.

1:22AM

y/n: saweewea

y/n: did u knwo a broken heart hurts REAL bad😍

sae: what

y/n: i think i’m goign to crush my cat with my body weight

y/n: u fg hhh hj jgjjgjhhhrkdoforjfof

sae: where are you rn

y/n: ogm r ru gonna come visit me 😎😜🥺

y/n: i’m soooerirjf lonely

sae: .

sae: be there in 5

sae doesn’t know whether to ring the doorbell or call you to let you know he’s here. heck, he’s not even sure whether you’re at home or not, but he does know that it’s not often you go out to drink. as he’s hesitating, you hastily open the door, almost like you could sense him there.

“sae!” you slur, just barely avoiding stumbling over yourself as you straighten up. “i didn’t expect you to actually come visit me.”

“neither did i.” he scoffs as he takes in your current state: graphic anime tee (which he gave you last christmas), sweatpants, messy tangled bun and your face is entirely red. you reek of soju and he knows better than anyone you’re a lightweight, so sae mentally prepares once more for what he’s about to get himself into.

the response from the magenta haired in front of you causes a pout to form on your face. he’s not quite sure if it’s just his imagination or not, but it looks like you’re more down, more tired than usual.

“are you okay?” he asks, and this prompts you to stretch your arms out, almost habitually, and wrap them around the taller male’s torso.

sae flinches ever so slightly at your touch. he gently pushes you back into the apartment as he closes the door, all while having one arm wrapped around your waist.

it’s obvious you’re not in the right mind space, but as everyone says, drunk words are sober thoughts, though sae doesn’t know whether that’s good or bad. you getting blackout drunk as a result of academic stress has become a monthly occurrence now, and it always ends up with sae coming over to babysit you. he’s more than aware of the fact that you’re taking his presence for granted, yet despite that, he’s still always there for you.

you’re obviously more than just friends, so why does sae feel like the line separating friendship and relationship just keeps getting thicker?

you latch onto him like a koala as he shuffles over to your couch. he doesn’t force anything out of you, doesn’t show any impatience, and just waits for you to talk.

the two of you quietly bask in the comfort of each other’s arms for a long time. just as sae begins to loosen his hold on you believing you’ve drifted off, you cling onto him even tighter, refusing to let go of his warmth.

“don’t go.” you mumble into his hoodie, voice quivering, and sae wonders if it really is school stress that’s made you this way.

humming in response, he pats your back lightly as if he’s caring for a baby, trailing his hand up to your head to play with your hair.

sae doesn’t want to pry, but there’s something he really needs to confirm before it eats his thoughts up even more.

“i won’t leave,” he reassures. “did anything happen?”

a sound comes out of your mouth in response, barely louder than a whisper. sae turns his head to look at you and you take it as a request for you to repeat your words. you try again, and this time, you’re still mumbling, but it’s enough for him to make out what you want to convey.

“i’m sorry.” and a tear falls from your eyes, “i’m sorry, sae.”

now sae’s been in this position for countless times, always coming to be your personal therapist at unearthly hours in the night, but this is the first time he’s ever seen you act so vulnerable. he can feel your body trembling against him and his heart aches just seeing you so dejected.

but he’s not dense enough to not realize what you’re apologizing for, because it’s the same reason as to why he decided to ask in the first place. he gently removes his arms off your waist, turns you to face him and moves his hand up to wipe the tears streaming down your cheek.

this tender, silent exchange between the two of you is more than any amount of words that express. sae’s usually indifferent eyes are laced with affection, and you just can’t help but feel so guilty because of that.

“i know you’re really busy,” you avert your eyes, biting on your bottom lip to stop yourself from breaking again. “you’re always doing so much for me, and i feel so terrible because i don’t deserve any of it.”

sae doesn’t say anything, letting you finish your thoughts before stating his.

“i was watching one of your games earlier, and i was reminded of the fact that your world and mine are so far apart.” you’re still looking away, but a soft nudge from sae’s hand pushes you back to look at him. “i just—i feel like i’m not enough for you, sae.”

through watered eyes, you can catch the expression of the male in front of you waver, and with years of knowing him, you’ve mastered the ability to be able to tell what emotions are going off in his mind.

“i know it sounds silly—“

“it’s not silly.” he interrupts, despite being patient all this time, but struggles to find the right words to continue. “is this what you’ve been feeling since back then?”

you shake your head, and lean forward to rest it on his shoulder. “the internet is scary.”

sae lets out a soft chuckle at your unintentional joke, and moves his head to rest it on the side of yours. “but what only matters is that i’m here in front of you right now, yeah?”

“it’s true that i’m busy, but i’ll always be your anchor of support whenever you need it, seriously.” his fingers find their way to intertwine with yours, and your heart flutters at how romantic he’s being. “so don’t cry sweetheart, because you’re breaking my heart as well.”

the use of the pet name makes you giggle, it being so out of character for sae, yet that’s how you know he really means it, from the bottom of his heart. hearing the sound of your laughter allows sae to relax his shoulder from all the tension he unknowingly had been feeling, and he cups your cheek with his palm, bringing you face-to-face with the taller male.

his eyes study your features, taking in your beauty, before going back to make eye contact with you. though you notice how they flicker down to your lips and hover there for a split second longer than anything else, your heart thumping loudly at the realization of what he’s asking of you.

you flash him a small smile in response as approval, and sae wastes no time closing the distance between you two. his touch is soft, almost like he’s afraid of breaking you, and easily washes away all the worries clouding your mind.

sae droops his arms over your shoulders and rests his forehead against yours. “you were always and will be more than enough for me, y/n.”

his sweet words bring a red flush to your face (not from alcohol this time) and you purse your lips in embarrassment as sae’s grin only gets bigger.

“so just hurry up and be mine already.”

BONUS: the morning after

you wake up with a pounding headache, and immediately try to get up to get a drink of water, but your body doesn’t budge at all.

as your eyes begin to adjust, you look down to find sae and his arms locked around you, causing a scoff to come out of your mouth.

of course you couldn’t move when a whole professional football player (incredibly fit btw😍) has a death grip on you.

“sae, wake up.” you nudge him and he only whines in response. “didn’t you have a flight to catch this morning?”

“mm, shush.” he takes one of his arms and lightly pushes you back down into his embrace. “who cares about that, been waiting for this for far too long.”

you laugh and decide to give in, slowly drifting back to sleep.

meanwhile, sae’s nonstop vibrating phone on your nightstand is totally unnoticed, the cause being hundreds of messages and calls from his manager wondering where he is.

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nouvxllev · 4 months

Text

a snowy night

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Summary: in which you had a fun idea for you and taras first anniversary (and christmas)

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: none

a/n: merry late christmas everyone!!!

masterlist.

Pulling your very sleepy girlfriend out of her bedrest wasn't ideal for a first anniversary, nor the first very early morning of Christmas.

"Y/n," Tara groaned, her body and pajamas getting dragged across the ground like she was a sack of vegetables, "Y/n, it's literally the middle of the night, what are you doing?"

Ignoring Tara's protests, you persisted in dragging her like a lifeless corpse you found on the snowy street of New York. "I know, I know, but trust me, you wanna see this!"

With some reluctance and a little bit of motivation from you, Tara mustered the energy to get up and finally walk with your hand guiding her.

"Okay, what's so important you had to drag me across our bedroom so early?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes, still half-asleep as she yawned. You could feel her eyes observing you as best as she could, eyeing the duffel bag you carried, "And why do you have a duffel bag on you like you're gonna flee the country?"

"And why would I ruin the surprise by telling you?" You grinned, pulling her by the sleeve, "Okay, before I let you in on this, close your eyes." You both stood by the doorway of the bedroom, Tara looking slightly unimpressed.

"Tara, can't you trust your girlfriend for like one second?" You asked, crossing your arms and raising your eyebrows.

"No?" She chuckled, crossing your arms alongside you, "not after you pulled that prank on me last Christmas."

"Okay, but you've gotta admit, trapping you in a life-sized gingerbread house was pretty funny and, a stroke of genius by yours truly."

Tara rolled her eyes, a fond smile tugging at the corners of her lips, "How'd you even do that anyway?"

"You know I always love the flair for the dramatic." You looked up at her, nothing but smile and love from your eyes.

"Which is why I love you." Tara whispered, her arms wrapping around your waist as she pulls you in closer.

You chuckled, she leaning into Taras hug. "And which is why you're going to love this! Come on, close your eyes," you let go of Tara's grip on you, taking her hands into yours and watching as she closed her eyes with her palm.

"I'm so breaking up with you if this is another prank," she remarked, playfully, of course, but who knows how likely that might become true?

"Oh don't say that, I won't be able to continue those anymore."

With Tara's eyes closed, you guided her into the living room, or maybe just a room with how you renovated it.

When you knew Tara was fast asleep, you had dashed over to the living room after taking your sweet time removing yourself from Taras koala-like cuddle from you and tore it down bit by bit.

Not really, but every piece of furniture scattered on the floor you relocated to the garage. The soft carpet that covered the tiles, was carefully stored in someplace else, revealing the smooth hardwood tiles underneath people could easily slide on.

You led Tara to the living room, her free hand intertwined with yours, the warmth of her palm this season never felt so comforting on yours.

"I knew you always wanted our anniversary to be unforgettable, ever since the day you told me on a warm winter night on top of the apartment building I used to live in, and I thought," you continued, pulling Taras hands down with your own, "what's more unforgettable than spontaneously pulling my girlfriend out of bed to go indoor skating with me in our home?"

Tara opened her eyes, only to see an impromptu ice rink in the middle of their living room. Fairy lights were adorning the corners, little Christmas trees scattered along the way, the floor was powdered to give it a little more boost to the slipperiness, and makeshift cardboard walls surrounded the area. It wasn't the biggest, considering it was only a living room, but it had everything that made Tara Carpenter happy. And that thought was enough for you when you designed this.

Her jaw dropped, and she looked at you with a mixture of disbelief and delight. "You did all this for our anniversary?" She questioned, excitement palpable in her voice.

You nodded, a proud grin on your face. "I wanted to make it special, something we'd remember." You giggled

Tara couldn't help but laugh, the joy bubbling up inside her. "You're fucking insane, you know that?" She pulled you in for a kiss, "but there's no denying that I love it."

You smiled, a lovesick one at that, before taking her hands again and leading her to the powdered floor. "Well, I figured if I couldn't take you to the ice rink in Central Park in the middle of the night, I'd bring the ice rink to us."

You put down the large duffle bag you had been carrying and opened it, pulling out two matching socks that kind of resembled the both of you, "And, as per ice rink tradition, we have skates! Or, socks, in this situation."

Tara chuckled at the sight of the matching socks, each knitted with a design you specifically asked for.

"A duffle bag for a pair of socks?" She laughed before taking the socks from you and slipping them on, "Only you would turn our living room into an ice rink and substitute skates with these."

"Well, I try my best," you replied with a playful wink, already putting on your own pair of socks. "Also, I still have many in store with this duffle bag."

You both stepped onto the powdered floor, the smoothness beneath made it super easy to glide and a comfortable feeling set between the two of you. Tara was wobbly at first when she first tried to slide across, but when your hand was with hers, she quickly found her balance.

"Tara, did you know your talented, smart, beautiful, girlfriend can do a triple axel?" you teased, letting go of Taras hold as you give yourself space from her.

She rolled her eyes playfully, "Oh please, as if you can even do a single one."

You smirked, feigning an offended look. "You deeply underestimate me, my love."

You took a few steps back until your body hit the cardboard walls. With little to no skating experience and the fact you've never trusted yourself once with your balance, you launched yourself. A bit too fast for your liking to the point you ended up doing not even a full rotation and crashed into Tara, "Fuck, oh shit Tara—!"

It was a decent attempt, you'd say so yourself since you didn't completely eat shit, but it gained a laugh from Tara who had been laughing her ass off ever since you landed on top of her.

"Okay, I'd give you points for your ambition and spirit." She chuckled one last time before pulling you and herself up.

"Thank you. Someone finally recognizes talent here."

"Is the talent the 'talent of crashing into your girlfriend?'" Tara teased, brushing off some of the imaginary dust from her clothes, but also the white powder that clung to her shirt.

You grabbed her hand and continued to skate, ignoring the heavy pain you had in your chest, "It's a skill only a select few possess, you know."

Tara rolled her eyes with an affectionate smile. "Then looks like I've got the most skilled girlfriend in the world."

The two of you continued to slide and glide all over the living room, talking about whatever and whenever. The both of you lost your balance here and there, and the both of you may or might not laughed before pulling the other one out of their misery on the cold powdered floor, but it was the most memorable moment of your life; you'd say.

Minutes turned into hours, and you and Tara continued until every single cardboard wall was down due to your attempts at doing probably one of the most difficult tricks in ice skating.

Exhausted but exhilarated, you and Tara found yourselves lying off the ice rink, taking off some steam and deep breaths.

You stood up, quite abruptly, and lent Tara a hand. "Mind coming with me?" You asked, eliciting a confused smile from Tara, but she took your hand anyway.

You helped Tara to her feet and led her outside the door, the cold breeze hitting the both of you like a truck. "Where are we going exactly?" She asked as you led her around the corner to where a ladder lies that goes up to the rooftop.

You quickly climbed up the ladder and turned back to Tara. "Come on, there's something else I want to show you," you say, as you reach for Tara's hand to pull her up.

To her surprise, there was a blanket laid on the rooftop, fairy lights being hung on poles you had taped to the ground, yet again, and cups of eggnog and hot chocolate waiting for you both. The city lights glittered in the distance, and the stars above shined brightly.

Honestly, Tara didn't know how she managed to have someone like you in her life.

"Y/n.. y/n, this is so— It's beautiful." She said, breathless, as she approached the picnic blanket with you in hand.

You smiled at Tara's genuine appreciation, happy that your surprise made her happy. "I'm glad you like it," you replied, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "Shall we sit, my love?"

Tara chuckled and sat down with you, never letting your hand go one bit. "The moon looks beautiful, even at this time."

You could've been looking at the moon, adoring its enchanting glow that reached the world, and the beauty of it all. But no, you were allured by another celestial being, something far more greater than anything that would exist in the cosmic universe, it was Tara.

"Yeah, it's quite beautiful."

The two of you sat in silence, gazing at the stars that slowly started to disappear as sunrise started to take over as you held hands together.

"I'm sorry." Tara broke the silence, her voice soft, "I should've planned something like this too for you, and for our anniversary. It's amazing, y/n."

You turned to Tara, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Tara, you being here with me is more than enough. I didn't plan this to receive anything in return; I just wanted to create a special moment for us and for you to have the best anniversary you can get from someone. And many more, of course." You reassured her, gently squeezing her hand, "Besides, being here with you is all I could ever ask for."

Tara leaned in and pressed a tender kiss against your cheek. "You're incredible, really. You know that?" she whispered, "you didn't have to do this."

"I had to, and I wanted to. You gave me so many happy moments in the short time we've been together, it's just a little something to pay you back."

Tara smiled as she wrapped your arms around yours, pulling you into a gentle embrace. "Thank you, y/n. I love you. Like, so much."

"Well, it's not over yet. There's one more thing," you said before unzipping the duffel bag you had brought and pulling out a box.

Tara raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "What is it?"

You turned to her, facing Tara with nothing but love.

"I want to make everything special and feel special for you, Tara. You're someone I couldn't bear to lose, and someone I didn't think I deserved, up until now. I want to tell you that I promise to do everything for you so that I'll deserve every piece of you in my heart." You vowed, opening up the box to reveal a promise ring. And, as if by cue, snowflakes were falling to the ground, and ones that ended up in Tara's hair. You never knew there was the absolute perfect time to gift the love of your life something special.

"Y/n—Y/n, this is too much, seriously." Taras heart swelled with love, her eyes widening and her smile reaching up to her ears, revealing the dimples you always loved.

"Never is it too much when I want to show my love to you, Tara. You only deserve the best, and only the best. So," you held your sentence as you lifted up Tara's hand and slid the promise ring onto her finger, "I bought this to tell you that I'm fully committed to you, body and soul, and promise I'll always cherish you no matter what. It's a reminder that you are deserving of all the happiness in the world."

Tara stared at the ring, content in her eyes as she looks up towards you. "Y/n, I don't know what to say. This is... it's perfect. Thank you."

You grinned, feeling a sense of contentment in making Tara feel special. "You don't have to say anything. Just know that you mean everything to me, and I'm grateful for every moment we share."

Tara chuckled, "For a moment, it felt like you were exchanging vows over there."

"Oh, my vows will be much more longer." You responded, a chuckle you gained from Tara.

"Well, speaking of vows," Tara began, her tone becoming more serious, "I want you to know that you have a special place in my heart since the day I met you. You've made every moment memorable that I didn't even know it was possible. Every mundane chore could never be the same now that I have you, y/n. God—I just, love you. Like so, so, so, much."

And with that, you leaned in for another kiss, embracing Tara and laying down with her as you both kissed. "I love you too, Tara."

The night, or maybe early morning, continued as you both laid down, seeing the sun take over the night sky as the moon was still visible.

You turned to Tara, "Do you think we could still sleep in?"

"I don't think people crossing the street on Christmas would like to see two people sleeping ontop of their rooftop."

"Baby, it's New York, people probably stumble into waaay worse things in their mornings."

Pulling your sleepy girlfriend out of her bedrest wasn't ideal for a first anniversary, nor the first very early morning of Christmas. But was it the best decision you've made? Definitely.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x female reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega

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shadesoflsk · 4 months

Text

BLANCA NAVIDAD

pairing: leon kennedy x fem reader.

summary: Leon never liked Christmas. Memories of him being taken away from his parents and countless missions made him a bitter man. However, he wouldn't have guessed that one day, he would be placing Christmas stockings with a wife and a little bundle of joy next to him.

warnings: Mostly fluff, dad leon, mentions of injuries, alcohol problems, Leon being an orphan, mild hurt (nothing bad I swear) so cheesy and sappy.

"to give up one's very self – to think only of others – how to bring the greatest happiness to others – that is the true meaning of Christmas."

The sounds of boxes being moved filled your living room. It’s the first week of December, and both of you have postponed the task of adorning your house with Christmas stuff until now. Between Leon’s job and your newfound activity (taking care of your 1 year old daughter) it’s been nearly impossible to find enough time to dedicate yourself to this special holiday.

Leon had told you it was more than okay if you wanted to do it by yourself. He knew how much you love this holiday. And ever since halloween ended, you found yourself eager to buy even more stuff to fill your home with. Nonetheless, you waited for your husband. There was no way you would let this opportunity slip away.

And, as you walked into the living room carrying a box albeit Leon’s constant bickering about how you shouldn’t lift heavy things, your heart melted at the sight of Leon placing a christmas hat on you guys’ daughter, which was too big on her and partially covered her sight.

“Da-da” With the baby on his hip, Leon was once again trying to teach his daughter how to say his “name.” It all started with a simple joke about him being the favorite parent, but now it has turned into a serious situation, at least for him. He wanted his daughter to master the art of speaking before Christmas. Although he has noticed that his little one barely said anything else than babbling nonsense. She was almost there, those bwaaah would turn into dada, he was sure.

She had none of that, though. As soon as Leon started talking, she laughed. As if he was telling her the funniest joke ever. Your daughter had heart eyes for both of you, but you had to admit it – she was definitely a daddy's girl. The way her eyes get so big whenever she sees Leon, and how her tiny fingers wrap around his thumb each time he's feeding her – yeah, she loves her dad.

He was an expert in fatherhood. He had no recollection of ever taking care of kids before. But, as soon as his little girl was born, the father's instincts kicked in. The way her cries filled the hospital room made him want to turn off the world for a second and give his daughter and wife a well-deserved moment of peace.

However, he never thought his life would get so lucky that he would get to experience being a dad. Ever since he was born, he was surrounded by disaster and misfortune. Having to grow up at an orphanage wasn't the most ideal place to mold a child into a perfect human being, but it seems that the little time he had spent with his parents shaped him correctly.

“Ma-ma.” You walked behind Leon and placed a hand on his other hip. Your baby instantly kicked her little feet in excitement for seeing her mom. Maybe she's a mama's girl, too.

“Hey! She was almost saying dada.” Leon feigned disappointment as you tried luring your daughter into saying mama first. This was a competition between you and Leon. Which prize will be having the satisfaction of being the “favorite parent.”

“Yeah of course. My bad.” You chuckled, voice filled with sarcasm knowing that your daughter has been the laziest of babies. Most 1 year old babies already say mama or dad. Or both. Yet this little rascal just likes existing, eating, sleeping, and exploring.

Leon saw you carrying a box and sighed in mild disappointment. You could already hear him saying “I told you not to carry heavy things.” Ever since you recovered from surgery, he has gotten even more doting. Every need of you was met by the second, and you wouldn't complain, but you're still a functional adult who can actually lift boxes.

You remember when things didn't used to be like this. In the past, you weren't instantly devoted and whipped for the man that is now teaching your daughter how to say dada. You remember how your past self leaned over the counter, you were met by an usual reek of alcohol this man had. And, with a witty and drunk smile, he said his usual line.

“Another bottle here.” It was his third one that night. Not his third glass, his third bottle. He was slowly killing his liver and himself by the way kept drowning in this deadly and burning liquid. You had never met him before, but the way his dark blue eyes sometimes shone under the dim light, you knew he once was someone important. Or at least, someone needed.

“That would be your third one tonight.” You stated matter-of-factly. However, Leon didn't miss the way you refused to move and get him his booze.

“Look at that… Smarty knows her numbers. Aren't you so, so clever?” The disdain in his voice had reached your ears. He was never the talkative client, he just spent all of his nights at your bar and drank to his heart's content. You know you shouldn't stick your nose in someone else's business yet you couldn't bear nor allow him to basically kill himself in front of you.

“Now can you please shut up and serve me another bottle.” He groaned as the empty bottle almost fell from the counter. His heavy eyelids almost closing if it wasn't from the fact that after the words he spat, you threw a glass of water to his face.

“You don't fucking talk to me like that.” Your usual warm and easy going self was long forgotten. No matter how many hardships and problems he may have, there was no way you would let him walk all over you like that. “I don't know what fucked up things you have experienced or how many people have betrayed you. But if you have time to drown yourself in this addiction and be mad about it, you also have time to make a change.”

Those words stuck with him. He knew he was being pathetic, Chris, Rebecca, hell even Claire had told him the same thing too. But he felt even more miserable when a random bartender called him out like that. Especially when you just needed to complete your job. Why would someone care? He pays, he gets his booze, repeat. But, you at least cared, even though it was something every rational human would do.

Eventually, his daily dose of booze decreased. You witnessed the small changes in him. Going from three bottles to just one, and to finally a few glasses. You witnessed how his usual dark clothes were replaced with a somewhat more colorful attire which brought out his once dull and empty blue eyes.

His slender frame slowly took form, recovering his muscles which were more visible now. His stubble remained, though. It was like a reminder of his own age – and his now different approach in life. Wiser and more careful with his own decisions. Your words didn't completely change him, but they surely helped him to see his life in another light.

Ultimately, a new Leon set foot in your bar. He was beaten up, his navy blue shirt had some blood spots while his dark brown hair was disheveled. He smelled like sweat and gunpowder. “If you ever need a tour guide in San Francisco let me know.” He said with a charming smile as you moved around your area of work.

“I'll keep that in mind. What can I get you?” You chuckled as you went to retrieve his order. You could already hear him say it.

“Grape juice...”

“And your number.”

Soft whines pulled you back from your trance as your babygirl grips on Leon's shirt. She wipes her face against the fabric. The little one was starting to get fuzzy since nap time had come.

“Oh, someone is sleepy.” He coos, bringing her closer to his chest. Leon takes off the little Christmas hat that was on her head. Immediately, the little one brings her hand to her hair. She has picked up the habit to caress her own hair when falling asleep. Before she even gets to cry, Leon rocks her to sleep. His deep voice soothes her, the gentle tunes of a Christmas song was his choice of the day.

“May your days be merry and bright and may all your christmases be white.” Leon wasn’t the best of the singers but he would sing his heart out to his daughter. It was a tradition now since Leon never had someone to sing to him. The baby calmed down at a comical rate, as if she just needed her dad’s embrace to feel safe. She was safe. As long as Leon lives, you and his miracle would have the best life ever.

“I’m almost jealous, she falls asleep so fast with you.” You set down the box, stretching your arms. This is the first box out of so many, you weren’t the biggest spender nor a shopaholic but when you married Leon, some perks came with him. Those perks included having unlimited access to his black card which you use wisely.

Wisely was an understatement, though. Having several copies of the same gingerbread man who dances every time you press a button wasn’t the wisest decision. But you and your daughter love it so Leon has to shut up. Everything for his family.

In the past, Christmas was a simple but dreadful date. He didn’t understand the point of it. When he was a rookie cop, he at least tried to force some polite smiles and give words of affirmations to his colleagues back at the police academy. He stupidly thought that once he got to work, his life would change. But the universe had other plans for him that night in September. He spent that year’s Christmas wishing to die. The government had taken away his right to end his life. Dying wasn't an option. The girl he saved back in Raccoon City, Sherry, needed him.

Year after year, he grew resentful, angry and bitter. He expected to spend this holiday alone until his last days of life. Having to grow old and wither away, no one to care, no one who would remember him as a human and not a machine. Not the government’s lap dog.

But somehow, he met you. He was a dick at first, he knew it. Until this day, he never understood how you could choose him. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t go back to his addiction one day. He vowed to never do it again, and he was sure to keep his promise. However, you could never know the extent of his words. You lived –at least to Leon– uncertain of how long he would be sober. But much to his dismay (or pleasure) you gave a chance to that renewed man, to that agent who had come from a mission in San Francisco that almost got him killed.

He was content with just you. He never asked for more, scared of being too greedy, too wishful. Your presence was enough for him, your smile made all of his problems go away. Your tender words were the medicine for his broken and beaten up heart, every last bit of self hatred went away with you. There was nothing else he wanted.

Until he realized that maybe, he could have the life he had always wanted.

When you announced you were expecting, Leon couldn’t show his happiness at first. He was scared. Hell, he even had to take a deep breath before telling you something. He never had a father, well he had one but his memories are too foggy. He grew up thinking kids were a mistake and that somehow, he was a mistake, too.

He found himself slipping into the unborn baby's room when you were asleep. Watching how both of you have decorated the space where your little one will be welcomed. His fingers grazed over the white crib, already imagining what his daughter would look like. He likes to think he looks like his own mother, a blurry memory of her blonde hair swaying with the wind. His daughter will have a better life than his. He's going to fight for it.

His eyes would travel over your body. He knew how anatomy worked but watching it before his eyes was so extraordinary. Your little miracle was safely tucked inside of your belly. He has always known you were beautiful but damn – it seems that motherhood suits you a little too well. He was grateful, really grateful. You gave him the opportunity to indulge in the normal and domestic kind of life.

“She's already asleep.” Your sweet voice called him, bringing him back to the present. While he was reminiscing about the past, the baby had already fallen asleep. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder as she breathed softly. Her tiny fingers still gripping his shirt.

“She's so lazy.” Leon whispered, his voice filled with softness and lighthearted teasing. He gently laid her on the couch, making sure to place some pillows around her in case she moved. A welcomed and soothing silence surrounded your still not decorated room. This was the perfect opportunity to start your Christmas task.

“You know… Now you can help me put up the countless decorations we have in these boxes.” You chuckled as you placed your hand on Leon’s cheek, your thumb grazing against the growing stubble. You loved moments like this where the only thing that lingered in the air was normalcy and harmony, no missions, no worries, just a happy family.

“I’ll help you if you promise you won’t judge my artistic side.” His lips turned into a sly smirk before he pressed soft kisses against your lips. A sweet yet sincere demonstration of love. He always worries he’s not enough. You play your role as wife and mother, so he ought to be the best husband and father he can be while also balancing his job life. No bioweapon could compare with the fear of losing his own little family because of himself.

Time seems to fly when you’re surrounded with love, Leon lives by that saying. You both decided to put up the tree first since that’s the most arduous task to complete. It takes you almost an hour between placing the ornaments in the correct place and Leon being scolded because he can’t match colors even if his life depended on it.

“Now big boy, you gotta put the star at the top.” You crossed your arms as Leon placed the last ornament on the tree. It wasn’t the best tree, especially since Leon didn’t give any artistic advice on his side. Some colors looked rather odd combined with others, but Leon thought it was abstract.

Almost inaudible babblings made you turn around and found your baby already awake. She was playing by herself, her hands reaching for the ceiling. You had to admit it – she was sometimes an angel. She easily entertained herself and barely cried.

You reached for her and walked toward the tree. Now her fingers tried to grab the Christmas ornaments. The colors reflecting on her blue eyes – that she got from Leon. By the way she kept babbling nonsense it almost looked like she was talking.

“Huh? Right I told your mom that too but she didn’t like the idea.” Leon acted like he understood what the little one was saying. And she also engaged in the conversation, two people against your own ideas.

For a few minutes, you focused on your daughter and how amazed she seems to be with everything. In her own world, that tree was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen.

But out of nowhere, both of you looked back at Leon who was sniffing and gently sobbing in front of the tree.

“Sorry, sorry…” He chuckled before wiping away some of the tears that continued falling without stopping. He then waved his hand dismissively, expecting you to drop the subject. Now he had two pairs of eyes intensely looking at him, yours and your baby’s.

After a short while of him trying to keep his tears of joy at bay, he eventually spoke once again.

“Thank you. For… For this.” A gentle smile formed in his face as he opened his arms. You wasted no time to welcome the hug. Now, the three of you were in front of the Christmas tree. The babbling, the sobs, and the soothing music in the background formed a domestic and warm scene. Full of love, emotions, and devotion. His thank you conveyed so much more than just merely words of gratitude. Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for believing in me, and thank you for marrying me and thank you for giving me the family I never had. He wanted to say those things, but he remained silent. He knew you would understand the meaning behind his simple thank you.

He would have never expected something like this. He had always thought he was doomed from the start. That his life would be about saving others and never being saved. But he was saved, and he will always be saved.

His daughter’s hands reached for his face, her fingers grabbing his cheeks and nose. Leon obliged, moving his face closer. Nothing out of the ordinary. Until her lips moved on her own.

“Dada!”

He will never shut up now.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #this is sojskahdja

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persevereforahappyending · 4 months

Text

He Hung Up (Birthday)

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: “Is there anything special you want to do for your birthday?” you quickly took a drink of your shake, peeking over the glass for Tara’s reaction.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.8k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“So…” you said, twirling the straw of your milkshake, your eyes constantly darting from your milkshake up to Tara who was seated across from you with her own milkshake.

You continued to play with your straw, unsure on how to broach the subject. You had been meaning to bring it up for a while but there was the whole Ghostface attack, then you were injured, and then you were avoiding everyone, there was just never a good time. You knew currently wasn’t the most ideal time, but it was the best time to come up, Tara and you were done with the semester, a whole day earlier than Chad and Mindy since you just didn’t have class the next day, you and Tara were both going to therapy and slowly dealing with the Ghostface stuff, and you were slowly falling back into a normal pattern with everyone. You had taken Tara out for celebratory milkshakes for (literally) surviving the semester.

“What?” Tara asked with a small smile, taking a sip of her milkshake but you could hear the nervousness as she lightly chuckled.

“At the potential risk of you getting mad at me,” you said slowly, watching as she slowly looked up from her shake, slightly narrowing her eyes at you, ready to yell at you for something you must have done. “Is there anything special you want to do for your birthday?” you quickly took a drink of your shake, peeking over the glass for Tara’s reaction.

Tara let out sigh, slumping back in the booth as it was her turn to play with her straw. She didn’t seem mad at your question which you were grateful for, you really didn’t want to say something to set her off. You didn’t know all the gritty details because she didn’t like to talk about them, but you knew Tara wasn’t a fan of her birthday. Tara’s birthday was a little over a week before Christmas and her dad had left during that time. Christmases had never been the same after that and you gathered from Mindy that they only got worse when Sam left a few years later, Christmas becoming almost nonexistent.

Mindy once explained that Tara tolerated her birthday after her dad left, she still had a party and cake but once Sam left it just became another day. You had only heard about her mother, and nothing had been good, you weren’t surprised that she never tried to do anything special with Tara. You wanted to do something special for her, but you didn’t want to push her away or do something that would only bring her more pain. Since Sam was back you weren’t sure if that changed Tara’s mind at all on birthdays or if she just wanted tomorrow to be another day.

“If you don’t want to do anything, it’s cool,” you said softly. You slowly reached across the table, your fingers grazing hers before she made the finale move to intertwine hands. “We can just hangout, watch movies, make out until Sam gets home and she throws me out,” you smirked.

Tara giggled at your joke, and you shyly smiled at yourself for that. Tara’s shoulders relaxed. She took another long sip of her shake, playing with the straw again as you patiently waited for her response.

“I don’t know,” she said, giving you a sad smile. “I haven’t done anything in years, I definitely don’t want anything big, but I don’t know.”

“Hey,” you whispered, tilting your head down to try and meet her eyes. “We don’t have to do anything big, it can just be dinner, it could just be movies and cake,” you chuckled, getting a small smile out of her. “If you want it to be just you and your sister, or you and the twins, or just the core four, then I’ll make myself scarce.”

“No,” Tara shook her head. You titled your head not sure what part she was saying no to or if she was saying no to the whole thing. “I want you there, no matter what we do.”

“Whatever you decide, I support.” You brought your intertwined hands to your lips, placing a kiss on her fingers. “What’s not up for debate though is me getting you a present.”

“No, you don’t have to, I don’t want you to waste-”

You quickly dropped her hands to point at her, making sure to put on your serious face. “It’s not a waste. Spending money on you is never a waste.” Tara smiled at your words but didn’t seem convinced. “Except for that god awful movie, you made me see over the summer.” Tara’s mouth dropped open. “I wish I could pay to have it erased from my brain.”

“It was a good movie!” Tara gestured widely, openly laughing at you.

“It didn’t have any explosions,” you fired back.

“So, the only way for a movie to be good is for it to have explosions?” Tara raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged. “It never hurts,” you mumbled. “It was so boring,” you sighed, dramatically throwing your head back against the booth. “All they did was talk!”

“It was a psychological thriller!” you cut her off by letting out a loud snore. “You’re an ass,” she threw her straw wrapper at you.

“And yet you love me.” You shrugged. “Maybe you need better taste in partners and movies.” She raised both eyebrows at you. “Wait…”

Tara shook her head, chuckling at you. “We can do something,” Tara said slowly. You could see the way she was thinking about the words as she said them, but you couldn’t help the way your eyes lit up.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Tara nodded more to herself than to you. “Just something small.”

“Of course. Do you want to go out to eat or keep it at the apartment.”

“The apartment. If that’s okay?”

“Of course,” you smiled, taking her hand again. “It’s your birthday, we’re going to do whatever you want to do.”

You and Tara finished your shakes, not talking about birthday plans anymore. When you were all done you walked Tara back to her apartment. You would normally stay a little longer, but the sisters agreed to dinner once a week with just each other and tonight was that night.

“See you tomorrow?” she looked at you with wide eyes.

“Bright and early,” you smiled.

“Not to early,” she put a hand on your chest. “I want to sleep in.”

“Yes ma’am,” you saluted her.

She rolled her eyes at your ridiculous, lightly punching you in the shoulder. She leaned in, grabbing you by the back of the head as she gave you a long goodbye kiss. When she finally released you, she smirked at your dumbstruck state. She gave you a light push, gently closing the door on you as you just stared at her smiling.

You shook off the effects of her kiss a few seconds later. You stepped closer, leaning closer to the door to see if you could hear Tara still in the room. You waited another minute before bringing your fist up and lightly knocking. It wasn’t even a moment later before the door was being flung open and the person you were hoping for was standing before you.

“Ugh,” Sam groaned. “Why are you back?” she shrugged. She turned to yell back into her apartment, “Ta-” you quickly put a hand over her mouth, dragging her out into the hall.

“Sorry,” you whispered, looking back into the apartment as the door closed, making sure Tara didn’t hear or see anything. “I didn’t want Tara to hear,” you quickly took your hand away from her mouth and let go of her.

“I-” a hard slap to your face cut you off. Your head whipped to the side so quick, you were to stunned, you didn’t even say ow. You brought a hand to your jaw, as you slowly turned back to Sam, your mouth wide.

“Don’t ever touch me,” she stepped closer, pointing threateningly at you.

“Sorry,” you whimpered. “I-I-I just wanted to talk to you.”

“What?” she stepped back, crossing her arms.

You cleared your throat, shaking your head but still feeling the sting of your cheek. “Tara agreed to celebrate her birthday.” Sam’s arms relaxed, her eyes going wide. “She doesn’t want anything big just a little something here at the apartment. I was hoping maybe you could get the food?” Sam nodded; her mouth open but no words came out. “Great!” you smiled, completely forgetting Sam had slapped you. “Don’t worry, I’ll get the cake. Just make sure Chad and Mindy know?” Sam silently nodded again. “Great! Great, thank you.”

Sam stood there speechless for a moment, just looking at you. You were about to get concerned, you had never seen Sam like this, not even after you got stabbed for her. “Sorry for slapping you,” she finally said.

“I probably deserved it,” you shrugged. “You’ve been wanting to do that for a while, haven’t you?”

“Oh my god yes,” she sighed, making you chuckle.

“It was a good one,” you nodded. “My face still hurts.”

Sam gave a satisfactory nod before turning and opening the door again. “Goodbye.” She didn’t wait for you to respond before closing the door.

You nodded to yourself and then quickly ran home. You considered the whole day a success. Tara was going to get the birthday that she deserved, you would make sure of it, you got her a present you knew she’d love, and you were pretty sure Sam was starting to warm up to you. You just needed to wear her down a bit more, maybe save her life again, and before you know it, she’d be wanting to hangout. Okay, maybe that was farfetched but eventually she wouldn’t roll her eyes every time she saw you.

***********************************

The next day you woke up early, running to the grocery store to pick out a cake for Tara. It was last minute so you couldn’t get something crazy and custom, but you looked at the options they had. You stared at each cake for over a minute, contemplating which one would be best. Ultimately you decided on a basic yellow cake, white icing, and little balloons and flowers decorating the edges. You bought some blue icing and took off to the Carpenters apartment. It was after noon when you knocked on the door. Tara opened it, still rubbing her half-closed eyes.

“Morning,” you said, smiling and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek as you entered the apartment. She groaned in greeting before throwing herself face down on the couch.

You shook your head at her, laughing at your very much not a morning person girlfriend. You didn’t consider yourself a morning person either, but you would get up early if it meant coming to see Tara, even though you would usually pass out on their couch in less than an hour of being there. You got back to work, sitting the cake on the table, flipping open the lid and delicately began using the blue icing to write out ‘Happy Birthday Tara’. When you were satisfied with your work you gently closed the lid and put the cake in the fridge where Sam had cleared space.

You wiggled your way onto the couch with Tara instantly sitting up to cuddle into your side. You flipped on the TV silently watching random shows until Tara decided to join the rest of the world. When Tara woke up, she woke up, she was up and talking, listing off all the movies she intended to make you watch until dinner. And that’s how you spent the rest of the day, curled up watching movies until Sam got home then the twins arrived a couple hours later, letting out sighs of relief at being done with the semester.

It wasn’t much longer before the pizza arrived. The five of you gathered around the table, your arm constantly around Tara as all of you talked and joked. Sam even joined in, telling stories of babysitting all of them and all the trouble they tried to get into. You laughed along but mostly you watched, you watched the way Tara’s eyes crinkled as she laughed, she didn’t stop smiling the entire night. When you brought out the cake Tara’s eyes lit up, giving you a kiss as you sat it in the middle of the table. Sam got the candles, lighting them and they all watched as Tara blew them out. Chad didn’t wait for the candles to be pulled out before he grabbed a knife and began cutting the cake, taking an extra-large piece for himself.

When the night started to die down all of you gathered in the living room, putting Tara in the big chair so she was the center of attention as everyone gave her presents. Chad gave her a couple gift cards, scratching the back of his neck as he looked around, noticing everyone else got her actual gifts. Tara said it was fine though and he knew how much she loved gift cards. Mindy shoved her gift into Tara’s hands next, excitedly watching as Tara unraveled the gift.

“Oh my god!” Tara shouted, jumping up from her seat. She turned showing a framed poster of one of her favorite movies, signed by the whole cast.

“Can I claim best gift yet?” Mindy asked, leaning close to your ear.

“You wish,” you said, playfully shoving her back.

Sam shook her head, rolling her eyes as she watched you and Mindy as she handed Tara her gift. Tara had just gotten seated again but as soon as she tore through the paper, she was on her feet again. She turned the box around showing tickets to something. When you got a closer look, you noticed it was for a museum tour that was in town. It opened in a few weeks, but tickets had quickly sold out, Mindy and Tara had both tried to get tickets but were unsuccessful. It was a moving exhibit of a horror props and costumes from a bunch of different movies. The exhibit was making its way across the country and Mindy and Tara had both squealed when it was announced to coming to the city.

“Dammit,” Mindy whispered. “You may have won this one,” she pointed at Sam. “But I’m not even mad!” she broke out into a smile as Tara handed her one of the tickets.

“So, can your oh so amazing gift top this?” Tara teased, staring down at you.

You looked up at her, smirking as you shrugged. She was about to sit back down but you grabbed her hand, keeping her on her feet. You slowly pulled out a little velvet box as you got down on one knee. Everyone went silent, Tara bringing a hand to her mouth as tears pricked the edge of her eyes.

“No!” Sam shouted, jumping up from her chair, making everyone turn to her. Sam froze, her arm midair as if she were reaching out to stop you.

“I’m not proposing,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. Flipping open the box to reveal a gorgeous silver ring, with a singular blue stone in the center.

“Are you sure?” Mindy whispered.

You ignored Mindy as you stood up, gently taking Tara’s hand as you slipped the ring onto her right ring finger. “It’s just a ring, with your birthstone,” you smiled down at the ring, looking at the glimmering blue stone.

“It’s nice to know that’s how you’ll react if I ever propose though,” you said, shooting Sam a glare before laughing it off. You saw the ring and instantly knew it was Tara’s style, you only thought of getting down on one knee when you realized it would make Sam freakout and then you just couldn’t pass the opportunity up.

“If?” Tara questioned, starting to pull her hand away from you.

“When,” you corrected, tugging her hand back. “But I would rather graduate first unless you want me to propose? I can redo this whole thing,” you gestured around. You were joking but if Tara had said yes, you knew you would totally do it in a heartbeat, she was the love of your life and if she wanted you to propose while you were freshman in college then you would.

“I think after graduation sounds wonderful,” she smiled, pulling you in for a kiss.

She broke the kiss but kept you close, your heads nearly brushing together. She looked down, holding up her hand to get a good look at the ring. “I love it,” she whispered, pulling you in for another kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

“Thank you, for the best birthday ever,” she flung her arms around your neck, pulling you into a hug. You quickly wrapped your arms around her waist, hugging her back just as fiercely.

Taglist: @screechcat

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #he hung up

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