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#WARNING: Beware of Grins is still in the works
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IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹
ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.
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pairing. jonathan breech x reader
summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?
warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 
word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)
a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO
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i. 
There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech. 
The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?
He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air. 
You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall. 
Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips. 
“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”
You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping. 
He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door. 
The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes.  His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming. 
Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught. 
At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?
Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene. 
But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech. 
That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming. 
“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”
Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest. 
You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”
“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”
When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall. 
“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death. 
The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.
“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.
You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see? 
“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.
“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle. 
The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.
“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.
“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.
“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”
You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.
“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”
You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly. 
It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother. 
He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him. 
At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.
Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound. 
“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk. 
Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise. 
“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”
You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.
“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all. 
You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?” 
He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”
“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling. 
“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out. 
Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about. 
The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.
ii.
Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head. 
You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface. 
You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.
You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water. 
Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in. 
But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it. 
“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”
 “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.
“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone. 
You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error. 
You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided. 
Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once. 
“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch. 
He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.  
Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.
But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory. 
“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake. 
You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten. 
Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter. 
But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone. 
You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know. 
So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to. 
He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.
This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”
His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone. 
“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”
Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it. 
It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death. 
“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.
“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too. 
“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was. 
Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed. 
Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go. 
It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer. 
You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.
So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know. 
When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.
You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go. 
Well, you were too stubborn to let him go. 
It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.
Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“
But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone. 
In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two. 
Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?
If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?
It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.  
“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”
He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned. 
“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”
He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice. 
Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”
“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”
“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”
“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’” 
At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”
“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.
“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.
“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”
“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.
He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”
The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.
“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”
“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”
“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.
“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”
“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”
“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“
It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you? 
(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)
“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”
“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”
Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”
“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right. 
“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”
He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”
“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been. 
Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare. 
“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”
You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you. 
Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?
You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms. 
Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”
“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”
“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater. 
That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.
You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels. 
“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”
You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”
“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.
“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea. 
“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off. 
When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature. 
He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once. 
That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.
“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”
Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit. 
You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick. 
“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck. 
“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.
“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples. 
Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him. 
You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker. 
However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection. 
Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin. 
You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down. 
“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”
You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear. 
The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the  arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip. 
Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. 
“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.
With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”
Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch. 
After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy. 
He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”
“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides. 
Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed. 
“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.  
Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow… 
At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?
“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”
Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure. 
“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”
He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch. 
“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”
“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd. 
You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”
“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”
Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider. 
At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt. 
“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold  sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin. 
“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans. 
Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever. 
You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely. 
“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him. 
Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other. 
“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second. 
You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out. 
Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him. 
Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness. 
Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek. 
There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world. 
When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.
“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole. 
You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.
“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”
You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly. 
At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.
You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again. 
694 notes · View notes
b4nka1 · 8 months
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inked. satosugu x fem!reader.
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warnings: lots of sex, crying, nude photography, choking, needles, tattooing, mentions of reader being curvy and chubby, pussy eating, tongue fucking, oral (both receiving), hair pulling, come eating, double penetration, dick in pussy sex, fingering, dicks rubbing, lots of squirting, big dicks, unprotected sex, deepthroat, foul language, dni if uncomfortable. not proofread.
having two best friends who are tattoo artists makes it easier for you to search for a good parlor, relying on them for a tattoo. you had multiple tattoos all over your body, but you still wanted more. you pushed the doors open of their tattoo parlor, "coming in, satoru and suguru!"
you were welcomed by the sweet receptionist, ieri shoko who became a good friend overtime. "here for them again?" she grinned, winking at you. you laughed and nodded, "who would miss an opportunity to be tatted by their two very talented friends?" i replied, sitting comfortable on a chair.
after a while, a white head popped out of a room, greeting you with a big, almost mischievous smile, "ah, welcome now, (y/n). me and suguru are just finishing off, so please wait for a moment~" he sang as he went back inside to complete whatever he was working on.
"sure, satoru! i'll wait." i replied, looking around the walls. after almost a good 10 minutes, someone walked put of the room, and suguru came out, taking your hand in his, a big grin on his face, "my my, guess who decides to grace this small but cozy tattoo parlor with their presence." he guided you inside the room, motioning for you to sit down on the tattoo bench.
you sat down, "say guys, i want 2 tattoos today. one, maybe like, a bunch of flowers scattered only across my spine and two, a pair of black and white wings on my inner thighs, the one on my left being white and the one on my right one being black."
suguru took the notes down, and satoru had already begun sketching his ideas down on a sheet of paper. he had sketched a few designs, showing them to you, "here, choose the one that you think fits you right."
you tool the sketched from him and scrutinized them carefully, picking 2 of the best. suguru took them from your hands and started making a stencil, while satoru got the equipment ready for the tattoo on your back.
"that's gonna hurt a little so beware, little one." satoru whispered, placing a bottle of red ink and the tattoo gun down on the table. he took a sterile cotton ball and motioned for you to take your shirt off.
you did as you were told and laid down on your stomach, as satoru wiped the skin on your spine with it, making sure to sterilize the area. "you want some numbing cream on before we start?" he asked, taking another sterile cotton ball and sterilizing the needles.
you shook your head, which quite surprised satoru, "my my, you're the first one to deny a numbing cream for the spine." i cooed, taking his sunglasses off his face as suguru handed him the stencil. he placed it on your back and peeled it off once the temporary ink settled onto your skin.
"let's begin now, princess." satoru said, gently stroking your back, "buckle up, princess. it's gonna hurt a little." you heard the buzzing of the tattoo gun as he brought it to your skin and began tattooing your back, suguru waiting patiently for his turn to ink your thighs.
suguru could see the distress on your face from the pain. he took your hand in his, gently rubbing your knuckles. "it's just a matter of maybe an hour, princess. you'll be okay." he whispered, sitting down next to you as satoru continued inking your skin.
after what it felt like en eternity, satoru was done, switching the tattoo gun off, placing it down on the station. "there, princess. it's all done." he smirked, taking a few steps back with his hands on his hips to admire his work.
suguru took a look, "that's really good, satoru. show it to the princess for herself to see." satoru took a photo of the tattoo and showed it to you.
"wow, that's very pretty! just like i imagined it. thank you, satoru!" you beamed up at him, and satoru patted your head, "it's no big deal, cutie. anything for our bestfriend." he smirked.
satoru got up, stretching, "do you wanna take a break before we proceed to complete the tattoo on your thighs?" he asked, making sure you were okay. you nodded and replied, "just a few minutes, it hurts and burns a little."
as soon as you said that, satoru got a cooling aftercare gel and applied it to the new addition of your tattoos. you sighed in relief once it began cooling your skin down.
after a few minutes, you nodded towards geto. "i'm ready for the one on my thighs." you said, fiddling with the hem of your skirt. suguru gave you a smile, patting your head, "fine, i want you to evenly spread your legs so that i can stencil it." the smile turned into a smirk, as he gently sat you up on the seat.
you blushed and nodded, pulling your skirt up and did what you were told to. suguru hummed, sensually stroking the skin of your inner thighs a little before placing the stencil on your left thigh accurately. "perfect." he spoke to himself, getting his equipment ready.
satoru came to you, sitting down next to you and put a hand around your shoulders, "this one is gonna hurt too, sweetie. just inhale and exhale and relax, and divert your attention to somewhere else."
you nodded, inhaling a deep breath once suguru brought the gun to your skin, starting to ink your chubby thighs. you bit your lip in pain, wincing as he continued to outline the wings.
once he was done outlining, he put the gun down, deciding to give you a small break. "shading comes in now. that's gonna hurt a lot more. say, satoru. why don't you help her in diverting her attention away from the pain?" he gave a wink to satoru, and satoru rose from his seat, smirking down at you.
"princess, i know the perfect way i can help you divert your attention away." he whispered into your ear, ghosting his fingertips over your thighs, tugging at the elastic of your panties. without warning, he slid them off your body, tossing them to another corner of the room.
you squeaked like a rat, and suguru placed a soft kiss on your calf to calm you down. "relax princess, i'm helping you to not focus on the pain. be a good girl now."
they book looked at you with hungry eyes, and you couldn't help but give in to your best friends. you nodded, and suguru picked the tattoo gun up again, bringing it down to your skin.
"toru, open her legs wide apart and do your work while i do mine." he commanded, and satoru immediately obliged, placing a sweet kiss to your now exposed cunt, holding your legs wide open.
you moaned, as the needles pricked your skin, while satoru continued placing kisses all over your cunt and the other thigh. the trick definitely worked. you focused more on the pleasure than the pain itself.
satoru poked his tongue out of his mouth, teasing your clit with just the tip of his tongue which sent shockwaves throughout your body. "stop squirming." suguru growled, not looking up from the art he was creating.
satoru shook his head, continuing to lap at your clit with his tongue, as your wetness dripped onto the seat. he whistled, "suguru, the princess has made a mess all over the seat~," he sang, dipping his head back down to gently suck your clit into his mouth and a loud moan tore itself from your throat.
suguru smirked, "satoru, it seems like her focus is towards the pleasure. continue doing so, we can't let our best friend endure pain, can we?" he chuckled, going back to his work.
satoru grinned, licking and sucking your clit, while one of his fingers rubbed your entrance, pushing it in with force. another moan escaped past your lips, squirming more.
suguru was enjoying the little show, smirking every time you squirmed. it made you look so cute. so submissive under your bestfriends.
satoru being a cocky bitch, nibbled on your clit, tongue brushing against your clit. you were squirming too much at this point, which disturbed suguru so much. he grabbed your face with force, making you look into his eyes. "princess, stop squirming unless you want the needle to stab you to death." he growled, letting go of your face and going back to work.
"oopsie." satoru said, holding your juicy pussy lips apart, spitting on your clit and going back to tickle and kiss and suck on it. you were a moaning mess, thighs trembling as you came.
"my my, thank fucking god that the princess didn't make a bigger mess." satoru cooed, continuing to assault your clit, nibbling, tweaking it with his fingers, licking, sucking and kissing on it.
before you knew, suguru was done with both the thighs. satoru gave a final lick to your slit, pulling back.
"her pussy is more swollen than her thighs." suguru joked, taking his gloved off and putting a cooling gel onto the tattoo. "a-are we done...?" you asked, chest heaving up and down due to the 2 orgasms satoru gave you in one sitting.
suguru smiled sympathetically at you, "no princess, only satoru has had his fun." he grinned, one of his hand coming down to gently slide his fingers through your slit.
"awe princess, you're so messy~" he teased, bringing his fingers coated in your cum to his mouth, sucking them clean, which made you moan.
satoru ran his fingers through your hair soothingly, whispering into your ear, "we both are going to take our own time to deal with you, pretty princess."
you swallowed hard, feeling their hungry gazes on you. satoru, being the impatient little bitch he is, made his first move, kissing you with full force, holding you down with one hand and roughly fucking you with two fingers, while suguru simply watched, a huge bulge visible in his pants.
now getting impatient as well, suguru unzipped his pants, pulling his boxers and pants down enough for his huge dick to spring free. it was too big. a little over 7 inches, at least. it was very fat, and you were worried about taking it into your mouth.
he brought it to your mouth, tapping it thrice against your lips and without word you took him, jaw stretching as he shoved it entirely into your mouth.
satoru licked his lips, "mmh that's a huge dick, suguru...didn't know that you came with the whole package." he joked, shoving a third finger into you while sucking on your clit, lapping up at your juices.
suguru grunted and fucked his dick into your mouth as tears made their way down your cheeks due to his dick being shoved in roughly. satoru pulled his fingers out, shoving them in suguru's mouth.
"mmh, so sweet, just like nectar..." suguru whistled, fastening his pace of thrusting into your mouth. you held onto his thigh, feeling brain fucked. the fat tip of his dick repeatedly hit the back of your throat. he grunted, gathering your hair into a ponytail, pulling harshly as he thrusts got sloppy. "mmh i'm gonna cum..." he grunted, his hips stilling.
to his shock, satoru pushed your mouth away from his dick, deepthroating suguru himself as suguru groaned loudly, emptying his load into satoru's mouth. he came so much, some of it even dripped down the corners of satoru's mouth.
you swallowed hard as satoru turned towards you with a grin, kissing you roughly, sharing suguru's come with you. it was so hot, so fuckin hot that suguru went half hard again.
"s'good..." he licked his lips, eating off the rest of the cum. you wiped your cheeks while satoru helped you onto the floor, on your knees, "time to suck my dick now, princess. it's nearly the same size as suguru's, just a little smaller and thicker." he grinned, pulling his thick, veiny dick out of his boxers, positioning it in front of your mouth.
just as you opened your mouth to take it in, you heard the flash of a camera. suguru, with a wide smirk on his face, took a photo of you in this position. you were so fucking vulnerable.
"ah, just right." he spoke to himself, tossing his phone onto the seat. he palmed himself, waiting for satoru to get done.
satoru shoved his dick into your mouth, and his girth was definitely bigger than suguru's. you moaned, while he bottomed out in your mouth. soft grunts escaped his dick as you sucked on him, tracing every vein on his dick.
satoru wasn't someone who lasts long. within a few minutes he was spilling his seed into your mouth, grunting in satisfaction.
"now now, princess. time for the real deal." suguru put you back onto the seat, pressing his chest against your back. "this is super uncomfortable." he grumbled, unhooking your bra and tossing it to the side.
satoru whistled, face coming close to your exposed boobs, ghosting his tongue around your nipple. he took it in his mouth, suckling on it while you moaned. suguru tweaked the other one in between his index and thumb, making you arch your back.
satoru let go of you nipple with a pop, grinning at you, shoving three fingers back into you, "mmh perfectly stretched out. suguru, shove it in." he grinned, holding you up and suguru put you on his lap, rubbing his dick along your slit before shoving it in, as you cried. once his dick was in completely, he let you relax around him.
"tell me when to move and i will." he grunted, tilting his head backwards as the tight heat surrounded his pulsating cock.
satoru cooed, rubbing your clit a little before sliding a finger next to suguru's cock. "hm, i should fit in along if i stretch you out just a little more." your vagina clenched around the girth of suguru's dick when satoru shoved one more finger in, rubbing your clit with his thumb.
once he was satisfied, he pulled his fingers out and shoved his dick in with great difficulty, moaning at the extreme tightness of your cunt pulsating against their own pulsating dicks.
suguru began thrusting in while satoru relaxed, letting himself adjust. once he got used to it, they alternated in thrusting into your cunt, which made you scream in pleasure.
satoru moaned into your ear, having a vice grip on your sides, thrusting upwards as his thighs trembled, shuddering aa he moaned and came into your cunt, being overstimulated from your mouth already.
suguru scoffed, "can't even last for at least 5 minutes, satoru?" he teased, pulling satoru's fave close to his, roughly kissing him.
satoru moaned, kissing him back as he kept thrusting into your cunt sloppily. you whined, shaking as your orgasm approached you. a few more thrusts from them is all it took for you to squirt like a fountain all over their dicks, messing the seat and the floor in the liquid.
satoru pulled out, feeling super overstimulated as he continued kissing suguru who was busy chasing his high. with a final grunt, he thrusted up into your cunt, dick pulsating as he came all into your cunt, and there was a lot of it.
he stayed like that for a little, pulling out after sometime. he moaned looking at his and satoru's come leak out of your cunt.
"oh suguru, don't you think we need to take a photo of her tattoos?" satoru grinned. suguru nodded, a mischievous grin playing on his face as he grabbed your thighs, holding your legs wide apart. satoru angled his phone, taking a photo of the tattoo on your thighs while your cunt leaked of their cum.
"i'm gatekeeping this to me and suguru." he licked his lips, shoving his phone back into his pocket. he leaned down, gathering all the leaked cum and thrusting his tongue into your gaping cunt, fucking the cum back in, as a sob escaped your lips, feeling too overstimulated.
suguru groaned, "you never have enough of it, do you?" he pulled satoru away from you, pulling him on his lap, kissing him roughly. their dicks shamelessly rutted against each other, and it took just a matter of seconds for satoru to tremble and shiver and cum all over his own and suguru's dick again.
"satoru, shit, i didn't know you were so fuckin...horny." he grunted, pressing satoru's body close to his, as satoru kept on rutting his dick against suguru's, wanting suguru to come all over him. and suguru did. white ropes of his come shot out of his cock, painting satoru's chest white. they both panted, collapsing onto the seat.
satoru sighed, looking at you and stroked your hair, giving you a sweet smile. suguru shoved satoru off his lap, pulling your head to rest against his lap.
"did you like it?" he asked, stroking your cheeks. you blushed and nodded, hiding your face into your hands. suguru laughed softly, stroking your head.
satoru grinned at suguru, "are you done?" he asked and suguru nodded. "well, i'm not." he said, bringing his face to your cunt and eating you out, ready for round two.
705 notes · View notes
hungharrington · 9 months
Note
Could you write some smut of Steve with a girl who’s insecure about her thick thighs and he’s like obsessed with them
thank u for the request honey! hope this is okay <3 1.3k. warnings: afab!reader, steve eating r out, fingering, r is very critical of her own body image so beware!) remember babies, every body is a good body <3 ur all hot as fuck
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By the time Steve’s kisses reach your stomach, you’re beginning to squirm.
Not for the reason’s one might hope for though.
Somehow, Steve notices as well — which is a surprise considering you’re focused entirely on trying not to show this part of you, literally and figuratively. Maybe you should be endeared that he’s so keyed onto you that he can tell the moment a concern worms into your head. It’s all love, after all.
“Uh oh,” Steve says, mouth still hovering just above your belly. He presses one more quick kiss and moves up a bit more so he can see your face clearer. His own brows knit together as he says, “You got that little wrinkle between your brows—”
He pokes between your eyebrows with his finger lightly and you realise he’s right, your face smoothing as you try to school it. Too late.
“Something’s wrong.” He states obviously. His next words are softer, kinder. “You not in the mood anymore?”
You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished his sentence, sitting up a bit straighter. “No, no, it’s not that.”
Steve relaxes a bit at you words, more of his weight resting back on the cradle of your hips. You can feel the hairs of his happy trail press against your tummy, the bend of his arms pressed against your sides. He ducks his head low and plants another kiss to your ribcage.
“Mm, what is it then?” He hums lowly. Another kiss, his bottom lip scraping as he drags his mouth along your skin lovingly. They drop from his mouth easily, one after the other, leaving a mess of wet kisses across your midriff.
You sigh softly, desire churning up inside your belly, fiery hot. Steve trails down, hands slipping to pinch at the edges of your panties and he begins working them down. You let him, breathes turning to pants as Steve’s kisses turn a little meaner. He nips and nibbles as he travels down.
Pulling back for a moment, Steve grins as you kick out your ankle and send your panties flying— his hands settling back on your knees and gliding down to hold your thighs tenderly. You can’t help it— you squirm again.
“There!” Steve says, about to lean back down to kiss you but pausing when he notices it again. “What are you- why’re squirming, honey?”
And oh, he’s figured you out completely.
You fight the urge to pout and find it hard to meet Steve’s brown eyes when he’s doing that goddamn sweet look that makes you want to tell him everything. It’s stupid. It’s stupid.
Steve tries to give you a comforting squeeze but he doesn’t seem to realise he’s squeezing the very problem; your thighs. You squirm again.
“C’mon, what is—”
“I just don’t… like my thighs that much.” You admit, swallowing back your embarrassment. You stare at the ceiling, a little annoyed that you’ve interrupted sex so you can talk about this. “And when you touch them too much… it just draws attention to them and— ugh! Can we not talk about this right now?”
Your try to press your thighs closed, feeling too exposed, but Steve doesn’t let you. His hands are gentle but firm and you look back down at him, wilting a bit at his sad and confused expression.
“What’s wrong with your thighs?” Steve asks earnestly. He sounds genuinely a bit devastated.
“Steve.”
“No, I wanna know.” He insists, hands still on your thighs, fingers pressing in. “What’s wrong with your thighs?”
You feel like you might cry — in frustration, in your own freakin’ self pity. Your voice is a weak whisper when you say, “Steve, they’re huge.”
Your eyes crush close so you don’t have to see Steve’s face, sighing to yourself and the ugly emotion wrestling with your chest. You wait for the touch on your thighs to retreat but… it doesn’t.
“And?” Steve says finally. He seems to remember his hands, fingers moving deftly to start massaging the flesh of your thighs. All the moves of a well-learned lover, devoted.
“And you don’t think that I love that?”
He bends and peppers kisses along the inside of your thigh, slow and purposeful. You can’t help how you squirm under the touch but this time Steve is expecting it. He doesn’t let up, just switches to the other thigh and murmurs against your skin, “You think that I don’t love that there’s more of you I can love on?”
You feel like, maybe, you want to cry again for a whole ‘nother reason this time. He’s so fucking nice to you.
Steve’s kisses grow more fervent, his teeth nipping at the skin — his hands slide down to your hips, grabbing at the doughy flesh appreciatively.
“Can’t believe,” he murmurs between his kisses. “You don’t think I love these— that these aren’t one of my favorite things about you.”
His kisses are so far down your inner thighs, it sets your arousal spiking high, you’re slick just inches from his hungry mouth. This time when your say his name, it’s in a whiny keen.
“Steve.”
“I got you, honey,” He assures you, his fingers gliding along the softness of your inner thighs, finding the well of slick building at your entrance. He teases at it, fingers gathering your slick and spreading it through your folds.
His kisses resume where you thigh meets your hip, easing his finger into your cunt and this time, when you start to squirm and write, it’s because of the blazing lust that aches deep in your gut. You can’t help but moan.
“Shhh, I got you.” Steve whispers, his finger fucking slowly in and slowly out. Every movement is paired with a dozen kisses along your thighs, dropping little reminders of his love. Your heart blazes nearly as hot as your cunt, especially as Steve’s murmurs continue. “Yeah, that’s it, I got you, sweet girl.”
You mewl pitifully at his words, torn between the urge to squirm at how he grips your thighs again, fingers spread wide and grip hungry — but it’s devoured up instantly when he leans down and puts his mouth on you.
His tongue is warm, poking around your clit almost experimentally. He hums, a deep nearly growling noise of content, and dives in. His lips wrap around your clit and he flicks his tongue expertly, in time with his finger pumping in and out of you, making your back arch and another whimper of his name leave your mouth.
“Steve, fuck— Steve,” you pant. One of your hand begs to be holding his but he’s too enraptured by doting on you and your particular insecurity.
Steve pulls off, reaching his thumb up to roll your clit beneath it tantalising well. He nuzzles into your v-line adoringly, planting even more kisses. “My pretty girl, mmm,” He says, voice raspy. “So good, letting me make her feel good, yeah? Letting me love on her thighs.”
You nod without thinking, just agreeing with whatever comes out his mouth. You’re getting warmer and warmer, wound tighter and tighter. This time when you go searching for his hand across the sheets, Steve spots it right away and his free hand lurches out to intertwine with yours. He gives it a quick squeeze.
“You squeeze real hard to tell me how good m’doing, okay?” He says, not really asking — because then his mouth is back on your clit, his finger in your cunt joined by another and moving with renewed vigour. A moan warbles out your throat, hips rolling in your pleasure as he plays with your body in that perfect way only he seems to know. Pleasure mounts, close to blooming. Your thighs start to tremble.
Your hold his hand is so tight, you must leave indent marks, half moons on his skin — and you don’t let up the whole entire time. Testament to how good he is, at loving you and making you feel good.
853 notes · View notes
glossysoap · 1 year
Note
okay awesome!! what do you think about like showering w frank after a mission? i literally cannot stop thinking about it like getting the spots on his back he can’t reach and the gentle silence
sanctuary ; frank castle
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sanc·tu·ar·y. noun: sanctuary; plural noun: sanctuaries.
1. a place of refuge or safety.
thank you for being my first request in a long time !! i hope you enjoy.
warnings : some spice near the end, not actual p/v smut though. beware of it though, just in case. purposeful lowercase.
if frank could think of one word to describe you, he would have to say sanctuary. you were his safe haven that he could always return to, away from all of the tears, death and bloodshed that came with his line of work.
everything about you from your voice and your eyes to your touch, makes his heart flutter.
he could listen to you talk about the most boring shit and he would think that you were reciting some lovey-dovey poem to him, instead of the morning weather report. shit, you could be reading the obituaries in the paper likely a result of his work last week, and he would still be hanging onto every word that fell out of your pretty lips.
don’t even get him started on your eyes. he loves how expressive they are, how he can tell your mood just by the way your eyelids wrinkle when you laugh or how you roll your eyes when you’re frustrated or annoyed with someone. even if he’s the one you’re annoyed at, he still thinks you’re too cute for your own good when you roll your eyes at him.
fuck, even your smell drives him crazy. he can’t help but take a deep inhale whenever you even so much as walk past him, all so he can get a whiff of your vanilla bean scented body wash paired with whatever fruity perfume you had chosen that day. he can always tell which shampoo and conditioner you use whenever he presses a kiss to the crown of your head or hugs you from behind.
in fact, the smell of your fresh mint and tea tree scented shampoo is what brought him out of his thoughts and back into the shower where the two of you were.
the two of you were sitting in the spacious bathtub, his back against your chest and your legs wrapped around his waist so your feet were resting in his lap. your nimble fingers were massaging that shampoo into his thick hair, gently massaging his scalp at the same time.
frank let out a pleased rumble from deep in his chest, making your lips quirk up into a grin.
you took it a step further by moving your hands a bit lower to the nape of his neck and rubbed gentle circles into the taut muscled skin. every once in a while you would use your thumbs to rub down the column of his neck.
once you found a particularly stubborn knot, he let out a groan and tilted his head back to lay on your shoulder.
you could see his adam’s apple bob as you leaned down to press a tender kiss on his shoulder, right next to a nasty bruise. your eyes remained trained on his face as you continued kissing a trail up his shoulder until you hit the crook of his neck. his breath hitched every time your lips touched his sensitive skin. you watched him, committing to memory every flutter of his lashes and sharp inhale of pleasure when you pressed an open mouthed kiss onto his pulse point and sucked.
frank lets out a particularly shaky exhale as you lick over the love bite, soothing the skin. as much as you enjoyed the sounds he was making, you knew the blood and sweat still needed to be washed off.
after ensuring that there were no open gashes down the span of his back, you grabbed the loofah and pumped some of his body wash on it. keeping in mind the bruises that littered his broad back, you made sure to have a light hand as you scrubbed his skin.
once all the soap was rinsed from his back, you leaned down to press wet, open mouthed kisses down the trail of his spine. your hands moved to caress his chest as you sucked marks into his skin, pulling delicious moans from frank’s lips. your left hand found purchase over his heart and you savored how you could feel his heartbeat race with every bite you suckled into his flesh. how you could know without any shred of a doubt how much of an effect you had on him.
he covered your left hand with his before lacing your fingers with his and bringing your hand to his lips. “you’re always takin’ care of me,” he whispers against your hand before placing your hand back against his heart, where it belonged. where you belonged.
“always will.”
©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.
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onlyhuis · 1 year
Note
Imagine sweet sweet junnie letting you put make up on him while you're sitting in his lap and he ends up looking so insanely pretty with glittery eyeshadow and cherry red lips that you're moaning at the sight and he grabs your hips to start grinding into you 'why are you moaning so prettily my love? do I look that good?' and oh wow look at that somehow you ended up butt naked with lipstick marks all over 👄
i literally fell off my bed and rolled around on the floor for an hour after reading this oh my god what did i do to deserve this anon you're criminally insane
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member | junhui x f!reader genre | smut, fluff word count | 2.5k synopsis | jun wants you to put makeup on him for the party you're going to tonight, but why go out when you've got a gorgeous man right here instead? warnings | reader has a vagina and breasts, nicknames (my love, baby, sweet girl, good girl), a bit of dry humping, fingering, jun has a hair pulling kink (?), marking, briefly mentioned big dick jun, creampie (what did you expect from me), a very improper use of lipstick, established relationship, it gets really soft at times beware
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“you should do my makeup,” jun says nonchalantly, sitting in the chair in the corner of your room.
you glance up at the mirror, holding his gaze in the reflection, your hand paused with your eyeshadow brush inches away from your face. “since when do you want makeup for a frat party?”
“since now.” he shrugs, leaning back against the chair and stretching out his legs. your eyes automatically fall to the empty space in his lap before darting back up to his face. “why not? it looks so pretty on you. we can match.”
you give him a look at the sudden compliment, but you set the brush down and turn around in your chair to face him. “fine. what do you want, just eyes? or the whole face?”
he runs a hand through his hair once, blond hair falling across his forehead. “up to you. but i want the lipstick you’re wearing.”
you stare at him for a second, noticing the troublemaking gleam in his eyes that hints at his true intentions. but finally you grin, grabbing the eyeshadow palette from the table and bringing it over to him. 
you could just as easily have him sit in front of the mirror like you had done, but he’s not the only one who can play games. you cross the room and sit down on one of his spread legs; to anyone else, it may seem like an innocent enough gesture, but both of you know what you’re doing. teasing.
you sweep your brush through a glittery powder, a shade not far from yours but still bright enough to stand out. he did want to match, after all. but just as you’re about to apply it to his face, you feel his hands reach out to grip your waist.
“you’re too far away,” he says casually, but you could swear you heard a whine in his voice. he tugs on your hips to draw you further up his leg. “don’t you have to get closer to do it?”
you keep as straight a face as you can as you stand up to adjust yourself, sitting back down so you’re straddling his lap with one leg on either side of his hips.
“is this better?” you ask, sinking down just a little bit more so your thigh brushes against the bulge you had suspected might be there.
he lets out a barely audible sigh as his hands trail down your waist. “mm, yeah.”
you try not to smirk as you bring your hand up to his cheek. “now close your eyes for me, junnie.”
he does as he’s told, pretty eyelashes fluttering shut as you begin to work. each brushstroke spreads the glittery substance across his lids, and you can’t help but smile as you watch his face, studying the way the shadows from the cheap yellow overhead light fall so gracefully across his cheekbones.
you rub at the corner of his eye with your thumb and then stand up, walking back over to your makeup bag. jun huffs, and in your peripheral you can see him not-so-subtly adjusting his pants.
you grab what you were looking for and sit down again, this time pushing down a little rougher on his bulge and eliciting a louder whine from his pretty lips. “forgot my eyeliner pencil,” you say coolly, resting your hand on his cheek again.
“mhm,” he says in a way that you know he doesn’t believe you, but he closes his eyes anyway.
you smudge the dark pencil at his eyelashes, giving him directions about where to look so you can apply it at the right angle, but more than once you catch him staring up at you instead. pretending like the look in his eyes doesn’t make your stomach flutter is probably the hardest thing you’ve ever done.
you finish with his eyes and sit back to admire your work, resting your full weight on his lap. he muffles a groan, but neither of you mention it.
finally, you bring out the finishing touch: the lipstick he’d been admiring earlier. and by admiring, you mean he’s been staring at your lips for the better part of the last hour.
“why are we even going to this party, anyway?” he asks, and you scoff, telling him to stay still as you press the bright red stick to his lips in careful strokes.
“why else do we go to parties? because it’s almost the end of the semester, and i wanna get drunk and make out with mildly attractive guys.”
“well, i’m right here,” he says with a laugh once you give him the go ahead, rubbing his lips together at your instruction. “and i’d argue i look way more attractive than anybody at that party.”
“mm, i’d have to agree. i am a pretty good makeup artist, aren’t i?”
“you are, but you know what would make it even better?” he asks.
you shake your head, waiting for him to tell you. but he doesn’t tell you. instead he cups his hands behind your head and draws your face towards his, pressing his lips against yours. his mouth moves slowly at first but his kisses turn rough when you start kissing him back, lips parting slightly to give him better access.
but just as you start to melt into him he pulls away, studying your face as you exhale deeply. his lipstick is smeared across his chin and you’re certain yours is now too, but you couldn’t care less about what you look like when jun is sitting in front of you looking absolutely fucking delectable.
“now you look perfect,” he says under his breath, and you let out a gasp when his grip on your waist turns tighter, holding you down against his lap so you can feel every part of him. you’re sure he must be able to feel your throbbing heat through his pants, but he doesn’t say anything; he just pulls you back in, his sloppy kisses settling on your lips.
he grinds his hips up against you, slowly, experimentally, and you moan into his mouth in response. you can feel his lips turn upwards into a smile at the sound, clearly pleased with your reaction. whimpers escape you as you chase his lips, desperate for more of him.
his hands that were guiding your hips at first have stopped and you move your hips continuously on your own now, practically riding him over his clothes as you grind across his lap. he pulls away again suddenly, leaving you panting for breath once more.
“why are you moaning so prettily, my love? do i look that good?” he asks. his tone is innocent, though he knows exactly the answer to his question, gleefully ignoring everything you’ve just been doing as he teases you.
“jun,” you breathe out his name, both a plea and a question.
“yes, my pretty baby?”
you moan out loud at his words, and in response he attaches his lips to your neck and begins to suck at your skin. you can feel the waxy stickiness of his lipstick on your neck, and you inhale sharply as one of his hands starts to dip into your pants.
“tell me what you want, my love,” he says, lifting his lips away from your neck for a moment to speak.
your breath hitches as his fingertips brush across the skin beneath your belly button, his touch far too light to do anything but still more than enough to drive you wild. “want you, jun…” you repeat his name, and he hums, fingers skimming lower until you can feel the tip of his finger run through your folds once.
“so wet for me, baby. all this just from me wearing makeup? you’re dripping all over my hand, sweet girl.”
you let out an impatient whine, and he presses another kiss to your stained lips. his eyes raise to meet yours again, and after what feels like an eternity he nods, and your hands jump into action, eager to free yourself from your clothes.
the party and the makeup you spent so much time on are both long forgotten as you fumble to pull your top off. jun smiles, his hands circling around you to grab underneath your ass and hoist you up as he stands up from the chair. he tosses you on the bed in one swift motion as your shirt falls to the floor.
you kick off your pants and jun unbuttons his jeans, climbing on top of you as you tug his shirt up and over his head. immediately his lips attach to your breast, the remnants of his lipstick leaving bright red marks across your skin as his teeth skim over your nipple before moving on to your other breast.
you look down at him and moan at the sight as he works his way across your chest, a trail of red leading down your body as he kisses his way down to your stomach.
you dart out a hand to pull at his hair, stopping him from going any further, and he moans, leaning his head back to strain his hair in your grip.
“you’re not eating me out with lipstick on, junnie,” you say, and he huffs like he’s disappointed but he accepts it, moving up your lipstick-covered body to kiss you once more. 
he hovers over you, almost laying at your side with how close he is to you, and you crane your neck up to meet his lips again. his hand slides down to poke at your entrance and slips one finger into you, then quickly adds a second when he meets no resistance. you gasp and let go of his hair, hands falling to clutch at the sheets beneath you instead, but he pulls his fingers out and hums at your action, displeased.
you find his eyes and study his expression as he grabs your wrists and places your hands back on his head. you can feel his fingers that were just inside you smear your wetness across your forearm. 
“want you to pull on it,” he says by way of explanation, and you nod, winding your fingers through his soft locks. “good girl,” he says softly, and gently he pushes back into you, drawing another whine from your lips.
his pace starts slow, but his hand quickly speeds up when you tighten your fingers in his hair. it’s too easy how he finds the perfect angle that has your eyes rolling back, building you up until you can’t hold back anymore and you’re clenching so hard around him he can barely pull his fingers out to push them back into you.
he doesn’t let up, adding a third finger and bending his thumb to rub at your clit, and before you can say anything to let him know, the coil that’s been building in your abdomen snaps and you’re gushing around his fingers as you let out a constant stream of whines and whimpers, stumbling through your high.
if your ears weren’t already ringing from how powerful your orgasm was, then they’re ringing from hearing the praises that fall from jun’s mouth, telling you what a good girl you are for him and cooing about how beautiful you look all covered in marks.
when you’ve come back down to earth enough to continue, he sits back on his heels, pumping his cock with one hand before he lines himself up with your dripping pussy. he pushes into you, the girth of his cock creating more resistance than his fingers did but still fitting snugly inside you.
you lean your head back and moan, consumed by the feeling of being so perfectly full that it’s hard to focus on anything else but how good he feels. he waits for a moment, feeling you clench so tightly around him as you adjust to his size, and as he waits he takes the time to look at you. 
your face, half covered in lipstick but your features scrunched up in pleasure in that familiar way he could see with his eyes closed. in fact, he does see it when his eyes are closed; whenever you’re not around and he recalls each perfect time you’ve had together, and he pictures the face you’re making right now and he knows how good he’s making you feel, the only one making you feel like this, and how good you make him feel, too. predictable in the very best way.
he feels your fingers lace through his hair and tug gently, and it brings him back to this moment, here and now, your eyes silently telling him—no, begging him—to move.
so, of course, he complies. his hips push against you once, twice, setting a slow but deliberate pace that has you right up at the edge already with hardly anything from him. just the feeling of him inside you is all you could ever want, all you could ever need. 
you moan his name and he responds with a sharp thrust that makes you yelp but feels better than anything you’ve ever felt before. you push your fingertips into his scalp, and he speeds up, nearly doubling his pace. you clench your muscles around him and he lets out a yelp of his own, his rhythm faltering for a second but he recovers quickly.
it’s not long before his hips begin to stutter, signaling his coming orgasm. he leans forward and puts his arms on either side of your head, caging you in with his forearms. he’s so close you can feel his breath on your face, see the dried clumps of lipstick on his cheek. 
he tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear with his thumb before pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. at this new angle you can feel him so much better, and the gentleness of his kiss is enough to make you fall apart all over again.
he captures your moans in his mouth as he pushes into you a last few times before his own orgasm hits and he’s burying himself as deep into you as he can go, your pussy spasming around him as his cum fills you up.
he collapses next to you, his cock beginning to soften inside you, and you both lay there panting for breath, sweaty and dirty and content.
it takes a while to scrub the makeup off your skin, but you couldn’t think of a better way to spend your time than throwing a makeup wipe at jun’s face and giggling as he chases you around the room, still naked. but eventually the lipstick smudges come off and a warm shower relaxes your bodies, and you help each other pull on pajamas and make a snack and a couple mugs of tea.
“are you disappointed we missed the party?” he asks once you’re in bed together, tracing his fingers along your arm.
you had completely forgot about the party, the reason you had even put makeup on him in the first place. “there’ll be other parties,” you sigh. “besides, you’re prettier than any frat boy i could ever meet.”
“with the makeup?” he asks.
“without the makeup.”
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ronearoundblindly · 5 months
Text
Fire & Ice (a RoAR drabble)
Flufftober Day 12, Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader (see series)
I blame @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory and @brandycranby for encouraging HughSaison. This is fairly loosely related to the prompt but there are a bunch of temperature references/illusions. 🤷🏻‍♀️Hey, I did my best. -> While I'm at it, does anyone want to own up (privately) to being the person who first asked about rich!Reader over a year ago??? I always wonder if that anon is still reading 🥹
Uhhh, angst with a fluffy ending... yeah, yeah, Ro loves writing arguments, we get it.
Warnings: If you've never read my Ransom before, beware. He curses like an angry sailor, inside and outside of his brain. Plus super suggestive language/mentions of sex. LOTS of dialogue. Zero editing. MINORS DNI. WC 1.8k
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He cannot fucking believe it's come to this.
"Don't you fucking dare," he snips. “You cannot use a veto. You put me in charge.”
He watches you walk calmly, put away a dish calmly, sit at his couch calmly.
"I've made my decision, and that's final."
"Fuck you." Ran means it, but in his own way. "You said I could choose--"
"Not that," you say, so calmly, too fucking calmly for someone who managed to turn Ransom Drysdale into this, this thing that cares about something so petty for all the wrong--or just different--reasons.
He stretches to his full height and sucks on his tongue for a moment.
You continue to scroll through your phone.
He never thought he’d get married but he’s always loved a good party. Since the ring's not flashy, he wants you in the tiara. He hasn’t given you the ring yet either because…well, because it’s been less than a year and you practically live on the other side of the planet. Call him old-fashioned, but Ransom wants to be home for all the big things. He can plan a damn party though—and the look to match— whenever the hell he wants and for however long he wants.
At length in the quiet, he asks, "why not?"
"Because it's ridiculous, and I'm saying 'no.' Veto."
"You don't get vetoes for--" Ran smothers his frustration, but barely. "Does this have to do with...money? Because you know I’m not talking millions of dollars in real diamonds or something.” But, ya know, he’s expecting a couple hundred thou between colored and semi-precious stones, plus the setting in—would gold or platinum work best for your skin? Grandma Thrombey’s ring is made of yellow gold. Ran guesses he should match that.
The false calm never lifts from you.
Eyes icy and blank, you look at him while his plans keep running amuck. "No."
Two letters. One word. He fucking hates it.
"You'll look beautiful," he yells in annoyance.
The phone drops on the leather couch. "I'm not wearing a crown to be married in. It'll look pretentious, ostentatious. I won't do it and that's that."
"It's a tiara," Ran corrects, "and with a veil, it's near invisible. It’ll include the wedding colors with the stones."
"No."
His blood starts to boil. Don't say it, don't say it, he thinks fleetingly but fails.
"Says the woman with shit taste."
Slowly, calmly, coldly, you walk over to him, stretching to your full height, holding his gaze. You’re wearing one of his sweaters again and nothing else. That’s his favorite look, but only for him.
It’s winter outside, the heater turned up so that your naked skin stays comfortable. You stay comfortably exposed all the time, when he has his way. Comfort is king in Ran’s house. 
Despite being exposed though, he can see how you've made it so far in business—in life—even with shitty taste. Your poker face rivals champions, and you are stalwart in your dedication. There's a hard (and hardening) edge to your simple, sly grin.
You take a deep breath in,  a whiff of him, a sample for assessment.
"Poor--" you sigh "--boy."
His teeth grind together, jaw tight as a vice. How dare you.
Ran's petty, spiteful even when he tries so damn hard to keep it together, and the wound of disinheritance is still fresh enough he cannot abide that sting.
"Burn in hell."
You don’t take the bait and simply cock your head, waiting for his guilty meltdown. So far, he does this at least once a week, sometimes multiple times a day. It bothers you, you’ve told him, that he questions everything instantly, that he can’t trust you or your feelings or his surroundings, that he panics over the idea of ever having to get a job, but it’s also great ammunition against a man-child.
The grin never leaves your lips. You're in fine fighting form tonight. Ran shouldn't have tangoed.
"Go fuck some bimbo's ass."
Oh.
Oh, you bitch.
That's low.
Ransom's face contorts. "It was one time," he gripes, "and we weren't even dating."
Your palm lies flat against his chest. "We'd slept together several times, and you even volunteered for me by then so..."
Ran grabs your hips and brings you close, avoiding your gaze while hoping you keep looking at him, cooling him down, evening his hot temper.
"Of course," you add casually, "that wasn't the first time you did that, was it?"
This is where it gets tricky for him. Ran never had a real relationship before you--not even his 'bond' with his parents compares--but old habits die hard.
He shoves at your hips, spinning you two until your back hits the glass block window between the house and the bare woods outside.
His head ducks to mirror the angle of yours. "Doesn't have to be the last either."
"Hugh," you warn, as threatening as wind across his cheek.
He's gonna regret this. He knows he will, but curiosity gets the better of him.
"Tell me. Tell me why you don't want to wear something gorgeous and fancy for an occasion where you are meant to be gorgeous and fancy."
The turn in your expression is pronounced. He didn't expect you to be more alarmed by his caring than his come-ons.
"Bad form," you finally admit. "Some rich bitch thinks she's a princess. Looks really bad."
"You are rich. You are a--"
"Careful..."
"--I'm saying 'princess.' Calm down," he says to the perfectly, eerily calm woman in his arms. "Would you just fucking let me compliment you?"
Ran fiddles with some hair around your ear, noting proudly how your eyes droop shut slightly at the smallest touch from him. He likes that you respond to him, his distance, his fury, his doubt, and his passion. You make feeling okay. You are his safe space since you've seen him at his lowest.
You see him.
There's very few things in life that make more sense to Ransom than his wife will be the one who sees him and he lets see him. Everyone else and everything else can piss off.
God, he fucking hates that he loves you so much. Why won’t you just wear the fucking crown? You’ve earned it; you’re the one who conquered his demons, not Ran.
He could buy it anyway, have your veil sown straight on it, not give you the chance to argue, or he could take you out to shop, put one in your hands, knock it onto the floor, and claim ‘you break it, you bought it.’ Problem solved, but he’s a petty bitch.
He tucks the edge of his lip into his cheek.
He should be less of a petty bitch.
“What do you want?” Ran asks. “What’s it gonna take?”
He keeps his sharp eyes locked to yours, watching understanding shrink your once-dilating pupils
Change in demeanor. “Oh my god.”
Aaaand there’s the regret. “Don’t make a big deal—“
“HOLY SHIT.”
“It’s not—I’m just—“
“Hugh Fucking Drysdale?! Trying to compromise??? I’ve see it all now.”
“Stop,” he whines, dropping his head to your squirming chest.
“Wait—” you whip out of his arms and hustle back to the couch, retrieving your phone “—do it again.”
He’s too lost in staring up the sweater as you bend over to notice right away.
“Are you filming me?” Disgusting. Childish. Petty, just like him. Maybe he’s had more influence on you than he realized.
“Your face is priceless.”
“Give me that.” Ran doesn’t put much effort into reaching the phone. He would rather win for his cause. “Seriously, what do you want?”
The arm held up falls lax. He has a clear view of your home screen, so you weren’t taking a video. You just wanted to tease him. Fuck, you love to tease him.
Dramatically, your hand frames your chin in thought. “Well, I don’t want something that extravagant to go to waste, but it won’t go with every outfit…”
“No, not with colored stones,” Ran says absently. He guesses you want to get more use out of it. Gross.
“Okay, my compromise is whenever I wear it, you treat me like a princess, or perhaps, your queen.”
“Uh, sure,” he snorts. You already get treated better than any woman he’s ever known…by him, of course. He’s vaguely aware that some people do even more than the bare minimum, but those are other people. Baby steps.
“If that tiara is on my head, Hugh, you become a perfect and adoring gentleman.”
Ran wrinkles his nose. “What?”
“You heard me. That’s my compromise. Dress me that way and you have to treat me like royalty.”
“Like…” He rushes forward to sweep you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and thrusting his hips. “Princess Pussy?”
“Ran. Ew, no.”
“Queen Cunt?” Heh, he chuckles, King Comfort and Queen Cunt. No, don’t say that out loud.
You gag slightly. “Super not what I meant.”
“You’re already going to marry me, but you want me to worship you? No fucking way.” Ransom flat-out laughs.
“How did you get worship out of ‘treat me nicely?’” Your arms tighten around his neck, pulling your faces closer.
He exaggerates a groan. “I don’t know. That’s asking a lot.”
“Oh, right,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “Just keep on being shitty…even to your future wife. What could possibly go wrong?”
He huffs.
Ran is passionate about making you look good, not just because you are on his arm. Sure, he probably focuses on all the wrong things—all the selfish things,—but you easily think of the big picture and completely forget about yourself.
That’s already a balance. That’s already a big compromise.
And yet…
Ran’s looking at your face and admiring your playfulness when he could be ordering you to unzip his pants. He’s more excited to see you decked out pretty things than he is to say he dressed you. He’s concerned with how you refuse to spend money for you even though you’ve put no restrictions on him. That’s…that’s just a different Ransom Drysdale. That’s a man he wouldn’t recognize if he weren’t watching his reflection in your eyes.
Ran pecks a gentle kiss to your waiting lips.
“Okay, princess,” he coos, his arms snaking tighter over your back and his fingers plunging into your hair. He keeps you close, noses touching, hot breath mingling. “Shh, shhh.”
He hears the faintest whine escape you, and he just can’t help himself. He’s a petty bitch.
“Don’t worry, princess. I’ll fuck your ass.”
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🙈🙇🏻‍♀️😝
sorry not sorry.
@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @starkleila
[Main Masterlist; The Root of All Ransom Masterlist; Ko-Fi]
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cookiesupplier · 3 months
Text
Hell Ain't So Bad - Part Seventeen
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pairing: Noah Sebastian x ofc (Ellie)
warnings/tropes: slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death, mentions of torture, thoughts of religious ideology, minor violence, swearing, cheating.
summary: Ellie was lost in the world, homeless with no idea what to do and nowhere to go.. Who would have thought that one day, she’d end up working in hell itself.. And what does this even mean?
author’s note: Unbetaed, readers beware. Last update before Christmas, enjoy the cliff hanger mwhahaha *runs away*
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tags: @spicywhenspeaking @bngurngheart @cncohshit @valiantroeagleangel @blackveilomens @dominuslunae @tearfallpixie @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @wild-child-7747 
Tags are open feel free to ask.
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Ellie wakes the next morning wrapped up warm, and cosy but missing one very important element that she’d fallen asleep with the night before. An important piece that she’d been hopeful to have wrapped around her, whimpering softly as she pushed herself up from her bed, and padded her way out of her room. Dressed in nothing but one of Noah’s shirts that she’d acquired over the past few weeks when he’d stayed over here and there. With how tall she was, it was practically like a nightgown on her, hanging around her body, the hem of the shirt around her thighs.
Smiling softly thought when she found him in the kitchen, Noah looking up from the skillet where he was working on the eggs,
“Tsk tsk, BabyGirl, you shouldn’t be up already. Here I was trying to surprise you with breakfast in bed.”
Laughing softly, as she moved to sit on one of the stools along the opposite side of the breakfast bar watching him cook at the stove, Noah was wearing nothing but a pair of lounge pants hanging low on his hips. He’d left some clothes here, more than the shirt, just a few things though since he’d started staying the night, nothing too extreme, nothing to suggest he was actually moving in. Not that he ever really needed to leave anything behind at all when more than once she’d seen him snap his fingers and magic up clothes from nothing when he wanted new clothes the next day. Once or twice he’d done the same with things he’d wanted to see her in, and it was never anything that was fit for public consumption either.
“That’s fine, I don’t mind watching you half-naked in my kitchen.”
That of course, had him glancing towards her with a smirk on that devastating face of his,
“I’m sure you don’t.” After they finished eating breakfast together, Noah insisted on walking her to work today, wanting to enjoy the sunshine. She laughed and called him a sap, but that was alright because he could be her sap and she wouldn’t tell anyone. His secret would be safe with her. His hand over his heart, he’d grinned, not a word. Still, he’d left her with Folio, and Jolly, and he was off, he had things to do today.
One errand in particular.
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Walking into Nicholas' office in the Afterlife, he didn’t actually venture out into the realm of the living as often as Ellie thought he did, but that's beside the point. He did have an office, and he did have to deal with so much transitional paperwork when it came to the souls that passed through the Afterlife. Noah didn’t envy him any of that, as much as he had to deal with the souls face to face, and at times they could be the most detestable people you could ever imagine, but he’d take that over dealing with paperwork any day. It would be mind-numbing and just no, he just couldn’t imagine having to handle that for as much as Nicholas did.
As it was, when he walked into the office, he found it empty, smirking to himself, he walked about his best friend’s desk. Noah moved to perch himself in Nicholas’ chair, propping his feet up onto his desk as he waited for him. With a flick of his fingers in the air, he had one of those human toys in his hands, a Rubix cube while he waited, twisting the toy while he thought over what he needed to talk to him about. Ellie. It had been months since she arrived. When people arrived here, some took more time to adjust than others, it was hard to tell how they’d react to certain elements around them, and yet, while Ellie had been so accepting of so much, there had been some, there had just been things she was stuck on.
Truth was, Noah felt like she was still stuck on them, but she might never trust him again if they kept going like this and it exploded in their faces, Hell could be a nasty place in some corners, even if they didn’t like to admit it. Waiting was doing nothing, something needed to change. This wasn’t his call though, he needed to talk to Nicholas.
Looking up when the door opened, smirking at the sight of his best friend, his brother, as he came into the room, coffee in hand,
“What, none for me?”
Grinning wide with a chuckle earning an eye roll from Nicholas as he closed the door behind himself and moved into his office,
“If I knew you’d be meeting me this morning, I absolutely would have made you get your own.”
Smiling at him before jovially flipping him off and then walking towards him.
“Now get out of my chair.”
Moving around his desk, Nick kicked the back of his chair, to jolt Noah, and knock him, using his strength to push him forward and pitch him from the chair. The other demon laughed as he jumped up from the chair just in time before he could stumble out to the floor, he vanished the game cube into thin air and made his way back around the desk, before perching himself on the couch that Nick had in the corner of his office.
As Nicholas settled in his desk chair himself now that it was vacated, sipping his coffee, he said he’d have made Noah get his own, but he probably would have brought one for him, but he really hadn’t known he was coming which was curious, Noah wouldn’t usually turn up without reason.
“Why are you here, you avoid the offices.. You avoid your office like the plague!”
Oh yes, Noah had one, he had to fill in paperwork, not as much as Nick, but he had to at least sign off on the torture sessions for his underlings, especially when they went sideways and he had to clean up the mess that they made.
“I think we need to tell her.”
Noah looked over to Nicholas, not missing the shadow that crossed Nicholas's eyes as he spoke, how serious his expression turned.
“You think she’s ready?”
Noah paused, that was the question. Just as Nicholas asked, a pile of new folders just appeared on his desk, always more souls to assess, and Noah knew when it happened like that it wasn’t a good thing. It usually meant that the souls were from sudden deaths and Nicholas had to process them through the system so they could be assigned to a punishment, or less likely in this manner, a settled placement, sooner rather than later so they weren’t caught in the tangle of the structure waiting to be sorted because their deaths had been so sudden.
“Maybe, no, I-, possibly, I don’t know, but-”
“Wait.”
Nicholas had opened the top file, and the sound of Nicholas' one word stopped Noah cold. His voice was soft, but the tone of his voice spoke more volumes than if the man had yelled booming across all of Hell, fire flickered in the younger demon’s eyes. Nicholas didn’t yell, he wasn’t that kind of demon, he wasn’t forceful, he wasn’t aggressive, but there was an air about him, and when he spoke like that, Noah knew to listen. Another might not know, but Noah wasn’t an idiot, he knew Nick.
“Whatever this is about, another day Noah.”
Shoving the file at him, Nick was standing up at his desk and abandoning his coffee.
“We need to go, now.”
Noah took one look at even the name of the soul in the file, and he knew exactly what the problem was in the file as if Ellie hadn’t dealt with enough, just yesterday even with that fucking jackass of her ex-boyfriend. His BabyGirl deserved better than to deal with this insanity today.
He didn’t say a word as he dumped the file on Nicholas's desk and they teleported out of the office together.
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Ellie was sitting at her desk, laughing with Jolly and Folio, they were playing Go Fish. It was such a silly game, but it was one that they could enjoy back and forth. Didn’t matter if they had to drop their hands and tend to a soul and come back to a game after. They were in the middle of a hand when another soul came through the doorway, one that they hadn't been alerted to already, which meant that it was a pretty fresh soul, a quick death.
Settling her cards down, she glared at her pseudo brothers to make sure they didn’t cheat and try to peek at them when they were laying face down, not that it was a high stakes game, but Folio at least was highly competitive. She wouldn’t put it past him. Standing from her seat as she looked to the door now to get a better look to who came through, her heart dropped lower down through her stomach when she realised just who had walked into the office.
Her step-mother.
Fuck.
She hadn’t seen her in years.
She hadn’t seen the woman since she’d kicked her out of the house when she turned eighteen years old and left for college, claiming if she didn’t want to stay in the dorms, she could find her own place to live. How Ellie had been an adult by then, it was up to her to take care of her life on her own. Not that she’d ever been the one to take care of Ellie. No, Ellie had always had to take care of herself, always, even before her parents had gotten divorced really.
Taking in a deep breath, the woman she was looking at had treated her like a chore more than a daughter. She’d married her father less than six months after her parents got divorced, and at the time she’d been withdrawn, missing her mother, but her mother had never really paid much attention to her even before that. Before they got married, she’d treated Ellie like she was the most wonderful little girl, but the moment they had, everything had changed.
Ellie became nothing but a burden to her after that. Treating her more like a member of the help, than like a child she was supposed to look after, having her cook, clean, and doing everything that she didn’t want to do. Ellie had learned to deal with everything herself. From home to school, and everything in between.
“Ellie, dear, thank god you’re here! Can you tell me what’s happening? I don’t know what's going on, I was just, I was in a horrible car crash, and now, I’m here? I don’t know what’s happening?”
Oh, oh she was so confused. Great, and now Ellie had to deal with her, walking towards her,
“You’re in Hell, Gia, Hell, you know Hell, you dragged me to church enough and told me that's where bad girls ended up because I was always such a terrible disappointment to you.”
Always Gia, never Mum, Ellie never had a real mom, her biological mom abandoned her, and her step-mom treated her like some sort of slave… no, she didn’t have a mom. Just Gia.
“Oh honey, I was helping you, helping you to live a good life, a godly life, please, I was in a wreck, it was <i>horrible</i>, please, can you help me? Do, you..”
Glancing to Jolly and Folio who were hanging back and letting Ellie talk to her for the moment since she wasn’t getting violent, just pleading.
“Do you work here, Ellis dear?”
“Ellie, I go by Ellie and you know it.”
Gia huffed slightly,
“Yet your name, is Ellis. Sweetie, please?”
“Why, why should I help you? You’re in Hell, maybe you’re here for a reason, ever think about that?”
She hadn’t met one soul that had come through this particular office that had been innocent. They had all been bound for a punishment dimension of some kind, and it made her wonder what kind Gia was bound for, it was almost poetic to Ellie considering everything she remembered. Glancing over to Jolly she noticed he was looking at the computer, her file must have come through,
“What possibly could have been the reason I would be here, I’ve always been a good person. I raised you, I loved you. Sweetie..”
“Loved me? Raised me? You didn’t do either!”
Ellie’s voice raised higher as she spoke, yelling at her.
“You also killed three people along with yourself by causing the accident. You were the drunk driver.”
Ellie’s attention was drawn right back to Jolly as he looked up from the computer, and the moment the words left his lips, his tone dry and matter-of-fact, Ellie couldn’t help laughing at her,
“Oh, my god! So much for being a good person Gia, drunk driving, homicide? Wow.”
Gia’s eyes narrowed into a vicious glare at Ellie the moment she started laughing at her, but she couldn’t resist, hearing how she had died from her stupidity had just been too ridiculous.
“Oh please! Why do you care anyway? You’ve been dead for months.”
That stopped Ellie cold, her laughter dying instantly, and behind her, she could hear Folio mutter, “Oh shit.” Her stepmother grinned viciously seeing the way the colour drained from Ellie’s face at what she said, gaining the upper hand again, she liked that, having the power. Jolly scrambled forward from behind the desks,
“Shut up.”
“Your funeral was pathetic just so you knew, boring as shit, your father didn’t even bother to cry, you little brat.”
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Dividers by @saradika-graphics
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Note
ok but like, the post you reblogged with the pics of ledger putting the makeup on,, imagine you and J getting ready for the day and sharing the bathroom together while he's putting his makeup on. idk just sounds cute and domestic uwu 💖
Omg nonnie, I was literally thinking these thoughts the moment I saw those pics! I knew I had to write them down, so here ya go! 💖
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Getting Ready With J (Headcanons)
*Inspired by this post
‣ Pairing: Ledger!Joker/Jack Napier x GN!Reader
‣ Genre: fluff, domestic bliss w/cute deadly clown man
‣ Warnings: None!
‣ Notes: Besides the rare occasion of J spreading some daytime chaos across the city of Gotham, most of his work would be done at night. Because of that, I don't think he would always feel the need to put on his makeup early in the day if he's just gonna be at home—especially after he's reached a point of being able to drop his mask around you (literally & figuratively). That said, I can see this situation playing out in 2 different ways...
L!Joker/Jack Napier Masterlist
Main Masterlist
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« Scenario 1: » ♡ He and you get ready together in the morning/afternoon.
‣ Maybe you have work or some errands to run, or you're simply getting ready to spend the day lounging comfortably at home.
‣ As for J, he has some important "business" to attend to.
‣ The two of you start by brushing your teeth together, J trying to make you laugh the whole time just to watch you struggle not to spit toothpaste everywhere. He gets a good kick out of this, a shit eating grin on his face as he continues to brush his teeth.
‣ You both share the counter space, your self-care items scattered around as you carry on with your routines. There are very little words spoken during this time, but you still communicate through your own secret language; sometimes being able to read each other's minds just by sharing a simple glance.
‣ You both know each other's routine so well that you hand each other the items you need next before either of you ask for it.
‣ On days where J is particularly clingy, he's glued to your side, having such a strong need to be touching you at all times—even if this means just barely touching arms while you get ready in the mirror.
‣ If your daily routine includes brushing your hair, he totally enjoys doing this for you. So much so that he's now in the habit of grabbing your brush and gently running it through your hair while you do something else. He often takes a little longer than necessary, but that's only because he loves to feel the beautiful texture of your hair.
‣ You sneakily give each other occasional kisses on the cheek or anywhere your lips can reach as you continue getting ready. You always love to see the small blush that creeps over J's bare face in the mirror after you've given him a smooch and maybe a gentle caress on his back that just happened to drift a bit lower 😉
‣ Sometimes you play music together while you get ready. A playlist of songs both you and him like. He loves it when you sing or dance to your favorite songs, or even to some of his favorite songs that have started to grow on you too. If you're quick about it, you might be able to catch him looking at you fondly through the mirror just before he looks away and pretends to be focused on something else. Depending on his mood that day, you might get to hear him hum along to some songs as well.
‣ If you wear makeup, you also do this part together. If not, you sit on the counter or hug him from behind while he does his own (he much prefers the latter).
‣ If you ask, he'll definitely let you do his makeup for him. He loves to just sit back, relax, and soak up your touch during this time. He particularly enjoys the part where you draw the smile over his lips and scars with red lipstick and the concentrated look on your face while you do it.
‣ Beware to makeup wearers, Jack will steal your red lipstick if he's suddenly run out or lost his! And he's definitely not gentle with his application. But it's alright, he'll steal buy you a new one!
‣ If you choose to sit back and watch, you'll witness him create his personal masterpiece with nothing but some lipstick, greasepaint, and his fingers. He only uses one brush and that is to dab on a little bit of setting powder at the end (a trick he learned, thanks to you), though if he's in a rush, he'll sometimes skip this part. After doing it for so long, it takes him less than 5 minutes. But he'll often go slower just so he can spend some extra time with his love.
‣ When he's all done, he chases you out of the bathroom, threatening to cover your face with sloppy red kisses. In the end, he settles for a small peck on the lips before the two of you part ways for the day.
« Scenario 2: » ♡ Darkness has settled over Gotham city, which means it's time for J to clock in.
‣ You're already settling down for the evening when J gets up and makes his way to the bathroom. You're right on his tail, following in his footsteps. He smirks when he realizes and playfully comes to a halt, just to get you to bump into him. When you whine/pout over this, he coos teasingly at you and gives you a kiss on the forehead before taking your hand and leading you the rest of the way there.
‣ You perch yourself on the counter or the toilet while he sits in a chair in front of the mirror. You watch him work, admiring the focused look in his eyes and the way he contorts his face to apply the paint to his skin.
‣ He occasionally glances over at you and scoffs at the heart-eyes you're giving him.
‣ Don't you dare give him a flirty compliment unless you want to see him roll his eyes and brush it off all while trying to hide his flustered smile (do it, do it, do it).
‣ The two of you talk about whatever is on your minds and J finds himself lingering on the black around his eyes for far longer than usual just to keep listening to your sweet voice.
‣ Once again, if you ask, he'll let you finish his makeup for him. This time he'll have you sit in his lap while you do it, giving your thighs a light squeeze and running his thumbs over your soft skin.
‣ Upon finishing, you press a little kiss to the tip of his nose and fix his hair a bit. He watches you with a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips, reaching up to cup your face in his hands. You stop what you're doing as he pulls you in for a kiss that speaks on behalf of words left unspoken.
♡ J loves you. And he cherishes these little moments with you more than you know.
◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆
‣ Have an idea for a fic you’d like me to write? Send a request here. But first, make sure to read my Request Info!
‣ If you’d like to join the taglist for L!Joker/Jack Napier, or be tagged in all of my future writings, let me know by sending me an ask/message!
‣ Taglist: @jslittlebirdie @alittlesmartcookie
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bellaxgiornata · 9 months
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Safe Haven [Chapter Eight]
Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4.5k [Series Masterlist]
Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains violence, drug use, domestic abuse, smut, hurt/comfort, angst, mutual pining, friends to lovers
a/n: Another update for you all! I'm on a Mikey kick, what can I say. This one is sweet and a little fluffy (considering Reader's hangover) at the beginning, but beware the angst in this one... Feedback is always appreciated!
Tag list: @loveroftoomanyfandoms @farfromstrange @rotscinema @1988-fiend @shouldbestudying41 @shiorimakibawrites @norestfortheshelbywicked @mattmurdocksstarlight @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift @theetherealbloom @24hflower @mattmurdocksscars @schneeflocky
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You woke to a sharp pain radiating through your head and pounding in your skull. Wincing, you tried to open your mouth to groan but your tongue felt dry and as if it was stuck to the roof of your mouth. A noise of discontent vibrated in your throat as you reached a hand up out of the sheets to rub at your temples–but you immediately hissed at the unexpected pain in your hands.
The bed dipped behind you and you froze, your eyes flying open as panic surged through you. There shouldn’t have been anyone in your bed with you. Quickly rolling onto your other side to see who was behind you–hoping against hope it wasn’t him–the room soon spun around you. Your eyes closed tight again, your stomach churning horribly at the sensation. You felt like you might vomit.
“Hey, easy there, Grace,” a familiar Irish accented voice spoke.
“Michael?” you croaked out, eyes still closed as the spinning continued.
“Yeah, ‘s’me,” he answered. 
Your bed felt as if it was rocking back and forth beneath you and you swallowed hard, praying you wouldn’t throw up in front of him. Or on him. The feeling had you curling further in on yourself along the mattress. How much had you drank last night? And also why was Michael in your bed?
“Why–why’re you here?” you asked.
“Ya…had a bit of an accident last night,” he said awkwardly. “I stayed with ya while your sister went back to work. But I uh–” he cleared his throat, “–admittedly fell asleep after cleanin’ everythin’ in the kitchen last night.”
You frowned, eyes fluttering open to take in the sight of Michael in your bed beside you. He was laying on top of the sheets as if to place some sort of gentlemanly barrier between the pair of you. His dark hair was a rumpled mess on his head and he looked like he’d just woken up himself. He was in a dark brown long sleeve shirt and a pair of black sweatpants, his feet bare on the bed. Your eyes slowly drew back up towards his face. He was smiling at you now, a shy, sleepy little grin as he lay raised up on one arm.
“You stayed with me?” you asked, brows knitting together.
The small smile never left his face as his gaze dropped nervously down towards the bed. “Ya kept askin’ me to stay with ya. I couldn’t refuse,” he replied softly.
“Oh God,” you groaned, burying your face in your bandaged hands. “I’m so sorry. That’s embarrassing and weird.”
“It wasn’t,” he said firmly. “Ya needed help and I wanted to help.”
You peaked out at him between your fingers, your head still pounding horribly. He was looking at you with a strange look in his eyes, one that you certainly didn’t just look at a neighbor with.
“So what exactly…happened?” you asked hesitantly. “All I remember is–” you broke off instantly.
You remembered researching the Kinsellas, specifically Michael and his deceased ex-wife. A pang of sympathy hit you as you gazed back at him, your hands slowly dropping from your face. You couldn’t exactly tell him what you’d been doing that had caused you to spiral and need a drink. You were sure he wouldn’t be thrilled with your researching of him and his family, especially with how personal the information was.
“I remember drinking a lot,” you finished weakly. “And…breaking a bottle on accident.”
“Ya tried to clean it up,” Michael said with a nod. “Cut up your hands. Called your sister for help and she left the hospital to come help ya.”
“So you–you came over when?” you asked curiously.
He ducked his head sheepishly again, a hand scratching his beard in a nervous gesture. “I heard her scream. Twice. Thought somethin’ was wrong so I…may have come bargin’ in with that.”
He gestured his head behind him towards the nightstand. Slowly you craned your neck, peering around him. Your eyebrows shot up high onto your forehead at the sight of a handgun innocently laying there. Your eyes quickly flew back up to his face, studying him curiously. 
“You came over here…with a gun?” you asked.
He nodded, still not meeting your eyes with his own. “Was worried somethin’ might have happened,” he murmured.
His words hit you hard, something warm filling you at the sound of them. He’d been worried that something had happened to you? And he’d shown up with a gun to protect you? 
“You were worried about me?” you whispered in surprise.
“Yeah,” he answered, nodding gently. “I–I care about ya, Grace.”
His gaze finally flew up to meet yours, his eyes full of emotion. There was something tender sitting right there on the surface as he looked back at you. You sucked in an audible breath at the intensity of his stare, nerves gathering in your stomach and mixing with the nausea you felt from drinking last night.
“I know I don’t know ya that well, it’s hard to explain but I–” he paused, shaking his head, “–I just feel somethin’. Like an understandin’. Like you somehow–”
“Truly see you?” you breathed out.
Michael's mouth hung open for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth between yours. Slowly his mouth closed, his lips pulling into a small smile as he nodded. 
"Yeah," he answered. "Exactly like that."
Your attention shifted down towards your bandaged hands, the dull ache of them noticeable. Though your head was violently throbbing and the pain of that was far worse than the cuts on your hands. You felt like shit this morning, but yet somehow all you could focus on in this moment was the strange, giddy feeling Michael was drawing forth in you. It was a feeling you hadn’t experienced in a very, very long time.
“I uh, I know what you mean,” you admitted.
One of Michael’s hands slowly slid along the mattress towards yours, your eyes following its movement. He hesitated a moment, his fingers just an inch from yours, before he gently grasped onto one of your bandaged hands. Something fluttered in your chest at the affectionate gesture and your fingers curled back around his.
Gradually your eyes made their way back up to Michael’s face. He was smiling more fully at you now, something light and happy shining back at you in his eyes. You'd never seen that look on his face before with the run-ins you'd had with him. He had always looked so full of pain and sorrow. But he looked happy laying on your bed right now, just holding your hand. 
"What would ya say to grabbin' coffee with me sometime this weekend?" he asked softly. "Would the answer still be no?"
Biting your lip, you tried to fight back the growing smile on your face. "You asking me on a date again, Michael?" you questioned.
"What if I am?" he replied.
Something like a cheeky smile spread on his lips and your stomach somersaulted inside of you. But the fluttering of your nerves was only increasing your nausea. Lips pressing together, you closed your eyes and tried to will that feeling to subside. 
"Ya alrigh', Grace?" he asked. 
"Just uh–" you winced, aware of how unattractive and ill-timed this was, "–trying not to vomit. I definitely overdid it last night."
"Ya need somethin'? Some water? Hell, I'm sorry," he said in a rush, releasing your hand and sliding off the bed. "Should have figured ya wouldn' be feelin’ good this morning. I'll get ya some water."
"Wait, no, I'm fine," you said, sitting up and hoping to call him back, not wanting to further ruin the moment. "I–I can get some water in a minute."
"Ya…sure?" he asked hesitantly. 
You nodded, ignoring the way the room felt like it was still moving when you stopped. Gradually he sat back down on the bed. 
“Sorry,” you muttered, eyes on your hands as heat flooded your cheeks. “You’re not exactly seeing me at my best right now.”
“Not like ya haven’t seen me at some shite moments,” he replied. “Didn’t seem to scare ya away.”
“Yeah well, I’m sort of ruining the moment here,” you joked.
“I can assure ya,” Michael said with a chuckle, “you’re not.”
Nervously you shifted your attention back on him, taking in that tender expression on his face. Something felt like it was drawing you to him again, pulling you in, and you found yourself once more getting lost in his eyes. But then your gaze dropped down to his mouth, noticing the slight twitch of his lips. Goddamn you wanted to lean across the bed, close the space between the pair of you, and just kiss him. You wondered if he would be good at it. Would he be sweet and gentle with you? His hands carefully holding you to him? Or would he be rough and starved for you, his lips and tongue greedy and hungry as they ravaged your mouth? 
A need suddenly stirred deep within you, one you hadn’t satiated in quite awhile. You wanted Michael, you couldn’t deny it. And if you weren’t hungover as all hell you’d have been a bit more tempted to act on that want.
“Grace?”
Snapping out of your thoughts, your eyes flew back up to his. They were crinkled at the corners, a grin pulling at his lips.
“Ya know, ya still didn’t answer me ‘bout that coffee,” he pointed out.
“Oh, right,” you said, blinking a few times. “You’re…still interested in that?”
He laughed lightly, amusement written across his features. “Well I can’t say I’ve suddenly changed my mind in the last couple o’ minutes, no,” he answered. “I want to get to know ya better. And I–I hope you’ll let me.”
You bit your lip, gnawing it nervously. Dating Michael would be dangerous–for him and you. But a growing part of you didn’t want to listen to reason anymore when it came to him.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” you admitted. 
Michael frowned, his face falling. You quickly backpedaled, assuming he had misunderstood what you’d meant.
“I mean yes, I want to get coffee with you,” you said quickly. “But I worry about some things. About how being with me is…dangerous.”
Michael’s expression quickly shifted to something serious. “Megan said last night ya were in some trouble,” he replied.
You stiffened on the bed, your entire body going rigid. “She told you that?” you asked him.
“That’s ‘bout all she told me, but yeah,” he answered. “Though I can assure ya, Grace, I don’t scare easily. And I can see you’re runnin’ from somethin’ or someone. But I’m still here.”
Blue eyes flashed in your mind. The scent of burning flesh hit you out of nowhere and you recoiled on the bed, swallowing hard as you grimaced. You fought to push the memory back down.
“Maybe who I’m running from is dangerous,” you whispered.
Wordlessly, Michael slid closer to you on the bed, his gentle hand snaking its way to your back, very slowly pulling you in towards his chest. You let him, your own arms encircling his waist as you buried your face against his shoulder. As you clung to him, inhaling that comforting smokey, warm scent of him as his strong arms held you tight, you felt safe for the first time in a long time.
“I can be dangerous, too,” Michael whispered, “when it comes to protectin’ those I care about.”
Goosebumps rippled along your arms at his words. You wanted to believe that.
“You barely know me,” you replied, voice muffled against his shoulder.
“Then let me buy ya a coffee this weekend, Grace,” he said, one of his large palms soothingly running back and forth along your back. “Let me get to know ya.”
Hands balling up the material of his shirt, your mind recalled the things you’d dug up on Michael last night before you’d gotten drunk. You felt guilty, sitting here with this knowledge you shouldn’t have because he didn’t give it to you. 
“Does that mean you’re going to let me get to know you?” you asked.
There was a silence that settled between the pair of you, your hands still fisting his shirt. You could feel the tension in his body gradually easing out of him the longer he held you.
“Maybe not all of the darkest parts,” he murmured eventually. “Not yet, at least.”
Inhaling a deep breath, that smokey, cinnamon scent of him filling your nose, you felt your body relax into him. You wished you could stay like this for the day. Safe and comfortable in his arms. Yet another feeling you weren’t familiar with anymore. A feeling you’d thought you’d once had with Victor, but then those very same hands that promised to protect you did the opposite.
“Okay,” you whispered.
Michael’s arms tightened around you for a moment, squeezing you almost reassuringly before he gradually released you. You sat back, your own arms falling down to your sides. His hand reached out and gently tucked some hair behind your ear, a sad smile on his face.
“Unfortunately I have an appointment later this mornin’ I need to get to,” he said softly. “And I can’t be late. But why don’t I help ya downstairs to get some water and make sure ya get somethin’ for that headache I’m sure ya got?”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” you told him. “I can get that all on my own just fine.”
“Ya had a rough night last night,” he murmured, his hand landing on your leg over the sheets. “I’d like to make sure ya are alrigh’ before I go, pet.”
You couldn’t help but to internally melt at the term of endearment that so easily slipped from his lips. Nodding, you began to slip out of the sheets as Michael rose from the bed. He grabbed the gun from off the nightstand, and for some reason as you followed slowly behind him out of the bedroom and down the stairs, you couldn't deny how incredibly good he looked with it. Especially knowing he'd been willing to use it to protect you last night. 
Michael didn't even wait for you when he reached the sitting room. He turned and made his way down the hallway and into the kitchen, apparently already having familiarized himself in there last night enough to know where your sister kept her cups and medicine. When you'd entered the kitchen moments later, he was already filling a glass with water for you, the bottle of Ibuprofen on the counter. When the glass was full, he turned and handed it to you.
"Thanks," you murmured, accepting the water.
Drawing it to your lips for a drink, you watched as he unscrewed the lid from the Ibuprofen bottle on the counter beside him, shaking a couple of tablets into his palm. He handed those to you next and you quickly tossed them into your mouth, swallowing them down. 
"Maybe I'll see ya later?" he asked hopefully.
"Maybe," you answered.
Michael took a hesitant step towards you, his eyes fixed on your own. You reached out, setting your now almost empty glass of water on the kitchen island right next to where he'd placed his gun. Taking a cautious step towards him yourself, you gingerly slipped your arms around his waist and drew him to you, trying not to let yourself overthink the action as you did. Michael's arms encircled your shoulders as he held you firmly against the front of himself, his face burying into the top of your hair. 
"Thank you," you said, eyelids lowering as you once again relaxed into him. "You didn't have to do any of that last night."
"Ya didn't have to stay with me the other night, either," he replied. "But ya did."
With your arms still wrapped around him, you drew your head back from its place along his chest, Michael instantly pulling back from your hair at the movement. He gazed down at you, brows drawn together curiously as you looked back up at him. 
His face was so close to yours, close enough that you could just bridge the gap and press your lips to his. Despite the pounding in your head, you found you desperately wanted to kiss him. You wanted to know what it would feel like, at least just once. You had never felt such a strong pull to someone before and you didn’t want to keep trying to deny it anymore. Clearly he was going to be right there for the duration of your stay with your sister, why not explore what this was? 
Why couldn't you have this?
One of your hands released his waist, instead coming to rest hesitantly along his cheek. His eyes softened at your touch, the crease between his brows disappearing as he understood what was on your mind. Judging by how he'd leant in a bit further towards you, you assumed he had been thinking about kissing you, too. The knowledge of that only excited you, your breath coming in shallower as your fingers lightly ran through his dark beard. 
His eyes had dropped down to your lips now and your heart beat a little quicker in your chest. You decided you were just going to go for it, consequences be damned. You’d worried about those too much for too long. Eyes closing, you tilted your mouth up towards his and leant forward, closing that distance between the pair of you.
But a soft gasp startled both of you apart. Your eyes flew open, Michael abruptly taking a step away from you, his eyes landing just over your shoulder as his hands fell back to his sides. Looking over your own shoulder you spotted your sister, her eyes wide as she stood frozen just at the edge of the kitchen.
“I did not mean to interrupt that,” she said quickly. “Holy shit, I didn’t know you two were even in here. Oh my God, I’ll just go back upstairs and you can–”
“I actually need to be goin’,” Michael cut her off, a strained smile on his mouth. “I’ve got an appointment I need to make.” His attention returned to you, his expression almost apologetic as he leaned over and grabbed his gun from the counter. “I’ll get back to ya ‘bout this weekend, yeah?”
You nodded quickly, crossing your arms over your chest as you stepped out of his way. Michael gave you one last look before he walked past you, Megan thanking him for looking after you last night as he went. He’d only muttered a soft response about it being no problem before he was out the front door and walking down the driveway. Your eyes watched him as he went out of the kitchen window, taking in his comfortable stride as he casually carried the gun at his side. When he turned the corner and passed the stone fence and was out of view, you turned and shot your sister a pointed look.
“I’m sorry!” she said immediately, throwing her hands up in the air. “You both were being so damn quiet! I didn’t know anyone was even in the kitchen!”
You sighed, running a hand over your face. “It’s–it’s fine. And I’m sorry about being a drunk asshole last night and apparently interrupting you at work,” you apologized. “I’ve been a shit sister lately. Always worrying you and needing help.”
“Stop,” she said firmly. “You’re going through some shit. You’re my sister and I love you and I’m going to be here for you. Victor is an asshole and I’m not going to let him run your life and keep you in hiding.”
“Meg, there’s nothing you are going to be able to do when it comes to him,” you said flatly. 
“Well then maybe we need a damn gun in this house,” she said, making her way over to the coffee maker and turning it on. “Because I’d shoot that fucker on sight.”
You took two large steps before getting up in Megan’s face, your expression serious. “You’ll go nowhere near him,” you stated sharply. “He’s not like my other ex’s Meg. Not like your ex. He’s dangerous. I can’t risk you getting hurt. You see him? You run. Even if he’s got me in his sights. End of story.”
Megan’s eyes narrowed, her mouth opening to object. You quickly cut her off, your eyes piercing into her own.
“End of story,” you growled.
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Sitting at the kitchen table, you were attempting to work on your novel. You’d certainly fallen behind on deadline with all the drama since you’d moved into your sister's house this past almost week and a half. Now your hands hurt to type from the cuts as your fingers stretched across the keyboard, the pain distracting you from your train of thoughts often. Angela was going to be pissed if you asked her for another extension on the deadline.
You’d been forcing yourself to focus though, even writing as you ate a brief dinner. Megan was once again back at the hospital working another shift and you’d promised her you wouldn’t give her another scare to come back home to this time. You felt guilty for the past couple of nights. Despite what she’d told you earlier, you felt like a shit sister. You shouldn’t have gotten that bad last night, shouldn’t have used alcohol to cope with your demons yet again.
Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention and you turned, spotting Birdy walking up the driveway through the kitchen window. Her eyes were on you, a purposeful step in her stride. 
“Christ,” you muttered under your breath. “Just what I need.”
You saved the progress on your laptop before closing it, pushing your chair back and feeling a sense of dread wash over you. This most likely wasn’t going to be a friendly visit considering the last interaction you’d had with her.
Making your way to the front door, you unlocked it and pulled it open. Birdy stood there with a self-satisfied smile on her face, her brows raising just a bit.
“Mind if I come in for a chat, dear?” she asked.
With a sigh you stepped aside, waving your hand before her. Her eyes narrowed briefly before she stepped inside and you shut the door behind her. She made her way straight to the kitchen, her focus instantly going right to your laptop. You followed behind her, leaning against the entryway with a frown.
“I know this isn’t a friendly, neighborly visit,” you said. “What is it you’ve come for, Birdy?”
Her head swung back towards you, her blue eyes boring into your own. That cold smile was still on her lips.
“I saw Mikey leavin’ here this mornin’,” she began. “Carryin’ a gun. I don’t know how ya have gotten one of my boys wrapped around your finger so quickly, dear, but I’m askin’ ya to stop it right now.”
Your eyes narrowed. Of course she’d been watching the house. 
“He’s not wrapped around my finger,” you told her. “He came here on his own.”
Birdy crossed her arms, squaring her shoulders as she took an intimidating step towards you. You straightened, pushing off the wall and staring her back down.
“I know what you’re doin’, dear,” she said.
“And what’s that?” you challenged. “Enlighten me, Birdy.”
“I know who ya are, who you’re with,” she continued, her blue eyes burning into you. “The Serpents of Hell.”
Your teeth grit together at the name, your heart hammering in your ribcage like the flutter of a terrified bird’s wings. You knew she’d made the connection the other day, but hearing it aloud still struck fear into you.
“I know all about what your little motorcycle club does,” she said. “And how you’re probably here tryin’ to get an in with Eamon. Think I don’t know about that charter in Cork? Runnin’ guns?” She took another intimidating step towards you, her eyes still narrowed. “But I know you’re a city girl from the States, yeah? From Miami. Your man and his charter traffickin’ and dealin’ drugs all around the country there. Now what? Ya comin’ out here tryin’ to take over more territory? Thinkin’ ya can carve a place out here in Dublin?”
“What?” you asked, brows knitting together in confusion. “What’re you on about?”
“Don’t play the fool with me, dear,” Birdy snapped. “Usin’ my Mikey to get in with a big supplier. Sleepin’ your way around for them. It’s disgustin’ it is.” She pointed a finger firmly at your chest. “So I’m tellin’ ya this once, dear. Ya stay away from my Michael. All o’ my boys. If I catch ya sniffin’ around any of them, I’ll call up your fiance myself and tell him to drag ya back before I tell the family what you’re up to. And I promise ya they won’ be very nice about dealin' with ya. Especially Mikey.”
You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You stood there speechless, your mouth just opening and closing a handful of times. Birdy crossed her arms, looking satisfied and clearly misinterpreting the reason for your reaction. Your tongue felt like lead in your mouth, too heavy to move.
She knew about Victor.
“I see I’ve made my point,” she said, tone cold. “I’ll see myself out. But know this dear, we Kinsellas don't back down. Doesn’ matter what your fiance does–either ya go or I send him a warnin' myself."
Briskly she stepped past you, heading down the hall and opening your front door. She closed it behind her with a loud click, and then you were left alone in the house. Panicking.
She knew who you were. She knew about Victor. 
And she was going to lead him right to your goddamn door if she caught you with Michael again. Which was dangerous, because not only would Victor show up and kill you, he’d probably take out your sister. And certainly Michael if he knew there’d been something going on between you both. He wouldn’t even bat an eye or think twice, because he was the Sergeant at Arms for the Serpents’ Mother Charter. Enforcing rules and killing was what he did. That was his job. And he was really fucking good at it.
Your breath started to come in sharp, ragged gasps. Hands flying up to your throat, you felt that panic crest over you, dragging you under and pulling you down. You sunk to your knees on the kitchen floor, gradually beginning to hyperventilate as tears sprung forth from your eyes, streaking their way down your cheeks. 
You had nowhere else to run on such short notice. Birdy had you cornered. 
You’d have to steer clear of Michael and find a way out of Dublin, find somewhere else to go. But that might take you a few days to figure out still.
Ribcage tightening like a vice around your lungs, you collapsed to the floor and curled in on yourself, sobbing hysterically into your bandaged hands. You didn't want to have to run again, you were tired of it. And eventually you knew you'd have nowhere left to run.
With a muffled wail into your hands, you rode out your panic attack alone on the kitchen floor.
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leoramage · 6 months
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HEADCANON - dating casimiro "madrid" cenamor aranda of la casa de papel / money heist (carlos sainz jr. au)
⊹ masterlist ⊹ taglist ⊹ visuals ⊹
⊹⊱ trigger warning - [google translated spanish, allusions to smut]
⊹⊱ theme - [money heist / la casa de papel au]
⊹⊱ pairings - [carlos sainz jr. x elite!y/n]
⊹⊱ synopsis - wanting to date the heist's ladies man? beware it is a passionate adventure that takes you on a rollercoaster ride of emotions, where you discover that there's much more beneath his enigmatic exterior.
"tus besos son versos en mi piel, y en tus abrazos encuentro mi abrigo, somos dos almas entrelazadas en la noche, en esta relación, un amor que sigo." 
translation: your kisses are verses on my skin, and in your embraces, i find my shelter, we are two souls intertwined in the night, in this relationship, a love i still follow.
From the very beginning, you'd be drawn into his world of charm and charisma, an irresistible magnetism that makes every moment together feel like an enchanting escape from the ordinary and manages to sweep you off your feet. You'll find yourself in awe of his ability to turn ordinary moments into extraordinary memories.
Dates with Madrid would be nothing short of charming masterpieces. He'd meticulously plan each one, ensuring they're not just memorable but magical. Picture rooftop stargazing sessions, where you'd lose yourselves in the vastness of the night sky, sharing dreams and secrets under a blanket of stars. And be prepared for surprise getaways to picturesque destinations that seem like they've been plucked from the pages of a fairy tale. He's an adventurous man and knows every spot in Spain with the back of his hand, you would not get lost with him. But you might get lost within his eyes.
But it's not just his charm that would captivate you; it's his devilish flirtatiousness. Madrid's natural inclination to flirt would keep the spark alive in your relationship. You'd experience playful compliments that make your heart flutter, stolen kisses that leave you breathless. 
NSFW! Your bodies intertwined, his lips meeting yours with a passionate hunger and claiming you as his own. His fingers explore the curves of your body, feeling each part of you with desire. Breathlessly breaking apart from the kiss, and laying his lips onto your neck with a need to feel the taste and the scent of your skin. Slowly trailing kisses down to your thighs, working his way towards his main goal.
He loves validation, as a neglected child left in an adoption home in the streets of Spain, he wasn't able to receive love from parental figures. Feed the flames of his ego, tell him that he's better than your exes, you'd have a taste of heaven ahead of you. His reaction? He is electric. His eyes darken with desire, and a predatory intensity flickers in his gaze. It's as if a heady aphrodisiac. He becomes a fervent and passionate lover, eager to prove that he is indeed the best you've ever had.
NSFW! "Mi amor, te lo dije. Y te lo demostraré." (my love, I told you. And I'll show you) He began kissing your neck once more as his fingers curled inside of you, palming your sensitive bud and making you whine from endless hours of teasing. 
"Estás tan deliciosa, y yo no resisto a la tentación de comerte." (you are so delicious, and I can't resist the temptation to eat you.) He looks up grinning like a devil, his tongue licking his now slick wet fingers because of your juices before giving you a wink that is followed by a sly smirk.
Madrid's primary love language is physical touch. He expresses his affection through tender caresses, passionate kisses, and the warmth of his embrace. To him, physical closeness is the most intimate way to convey his love and devotion. He also shows his love through acts of service. He's attentive to your needs and desires, always willing to go the extra mile to make your life easier. Whether it's cooking your favorite meal, running errands for you, or fixing something that's broken, he finds joy in serving you.
Picture a lazy Sunday morning in your apartment. The soft sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the room. Madrid in his more tender persona, Casimiro, is up early, preparing breakfast for you. He moves gracefully in the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. The table is set with care, your favorite breakfast dishes neatly arranged. He knows how much you appreciate these small gestures of love. 
As you wake up and enter the kitchen, Madrid greets you with a warm smile, a gentle "Buen día, mi amor" escaping his lips. He pulls out a chair for you, and you can't help but notice the subtle touches of physical affection as he brushes a strand of hair from your face and plants a soft kiss on your forehead. Over breakfast, you share quiet moments of physical closeness. His hand finds your thigh under the table, his thumb tracing invisible circles on your skin, a silent but endearing connection. From refilling your coffee cup to ensuring you have everything you need for the day ahead.
One thing you'd quickly notice is his adventurous spirit. He'd crave shared adventures, seeking the thrill of new experiences with you by his side. Whether it's go-kart racing on a Sunday afternoon, spontaneous road trips that lead to hidden gems, or impromptu dance sessions in unexpected places with his two left feet, every moment with him would be an adventure waiting to happen.
His gentlemanly manners would persist, with acts of chivalry that make you feel cherished. He'd open doors, pull out chairs, and ensure your comfort in every situation.
In the world of shadows and secrets, Madrid despises the spotlight, and his love for you remains concealed from the prying eyes of the public eye. His very existence was shrouded in mystery, and he had honed the art of disappearing into the shadows. For him, the thought of being in the public's gaze was unbearable, and so your relationship had to remain concealed.
Madrid's criminal pursuits keep him far from the public eye, while you, as the daughter of a prominent politician, are entangled in the web of high-profile events and political scrutiny. The revelation of your connection to a notorious criminal would unravel your family's reputation and jeopardize your own future. He leads a double life, with one persona as a criminal and another as your passionate lover. While you would want to shout his name from the rooftops and show the world how handsome Casimiro is, public exposure could blur the lines between these personas, endangering your safety.
But beneath his enigmatic exterior lies a deeply protective almost possessive nature. Madrid's commitment to your safety and well-being would be unwavering. You'd always feel secure and cared for, knowing that he'd move mountains to keep you safe. 
Dating someone with Madrid's complex personality would require understanding and patience. You'd navigate the nuances of his sly and manipulative tendencies, balancing them with the genuine affection and sincerity he shows in your relationship. It would be a delicate dance, but one that would only strengthen your bond.
In the depths of your relationship, Madrid would also reveal his intimate side. Casimiro, the real name behind a glorious nickname. He'd be a great listener, always there to lend a sympathetic ear and provide unwavering support. You'd share your dreams, fears, and secrets, forging a connection that transcends words
You love him as Casimiro. However, there's another side to him which is Madrid, one that reveals itself when he gets jealous and possessive. It's a testament to his strong feelings for you, but his treatment afterwards is not of certain.
His jaw tightens, and his gaze sharpens, fixating on the conversation. His body language becomes slightly more protective, and he unconsciously steps closer to you with his arm wrapped around your lower back.  His touch is both reassuring and subtly possessive, a silent declaration to the room that you're with him.
He mutters softly into your ear and pulls you close to his chest, "por favor quédate cerca de mí, bonita." (please stay close to me, pretty)
He'd be understanding all throughout the night, his patience is long but when it comes to people wanting to waltz you away from him? You'll never hear the rest of it from him. He is instantly irritated and is passively aggressive till he burns low of understanding. His replies would be snarky or sarcastic, murmuring insults under his breath.
As the night comes to an end and you head home together, Madrid's earlier jealousy and possessiveness seem to fade, replaced by the magnetic allure and charm you've come to love. But the incident serves as a reminder that, beneath it all, his passionate feelings for you run deep, and he'll do whatever it takes to ensure you remain his.
This man would offer you the two sides of himself. You love him first as Madrid and you even loved him as Casimiro more but you'd never fail to love him a whole.
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Author's Note: i really enjoy making money heist AUs for carlos especially him as madrid / casimiro. going to release that fic soon and this is just a teaser for the real deal! let me know your thoughts, hit that ask box it's open for everyone! 𔘓ฅ[⁠ᓀ⁠˵⁠▾⁠˵⁠ᓂ⁠]𔘓ฅ
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction created by the user in response to a creative writing prompt. Any resemblance to actual events, persons, or entities, whether living or deceased, is purely coincidental. The characters, events, and dialogue portrayed in this fanfiction are products of the user's imagination and are not meant to infringe upon any copyrights or trademarks associated with the Formula One sport or any real-life individuals. This fanfiction is solely intended for entertainment purposes, and the author acknowledges that the depicted scenarios are not endorsed, authorized, or supported by any official Formula One entities or the individuals mentioned.
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happy-mokka · 7 months
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Hi there.
I'd like to start with a warning first: Beware!
I'm rather new to tumblr, so if what will come next turns out to be total bs, I hope you all get out of this unscathed, forget we ever crossed paths and will be able to go on with your beautiful lives.
If you're still here, you'll about to hear the nice and accurate story of a guy that stumbled naively into a Good Omens binge watching weekend and came out forever changed.
Roughly 4 weeks ago I was asking friends what they were watching currently. I needed new material to turn to.
That's when it happened.
One of them casually brought up Good Omens on Prime.
I should give it a try.
Angels, demons. Terry Pratchett. Neil Gaiman.
Ok. I like fantasy. I like good story telling. I have an odd sense of bad humour.
I decided to give it a try.
To my eternal shame I have to confess, that until lately I hadn't read a single line written by both Pratchett and Gaiman.
I've read thousands of books. My love for them is so widely spread over all genres, that it simply did never happen. There was always some other book and author that came next.
Oh, how blind and ignorant I have been. I now clearly see the grave error of my ways.
If you can't forgive me, that's ok. I'm having a hard time myself doing so.
Be that as it may, I'm currently reading Good Omens and won't stop there. I promise.
So, where was I?
Right.
Binge watch session of Good Omens season 1.
Saturday evening. Around 9:30pm.
Episode 1 wasn't even running for 5 minutes and I was already sucked right into it.
Frances McDormand's God intro and the garden eden scenes.
I was instantly in love.
Michael Sheen had already been one of my favorites. His first minutes as Aziraphale directly hit home.
David Tennant was familiar but I also hadn't been into Doctor Who, so it took another 5 minutes to also fall for Crowley...
The path was set and I started to deep dive in.
6 hours, 6 episodes, 1 Antichrist and 1 almost Armageddon later I crawled into bed on early Sunday morning to get at least a few hours of sleep. I fell asleep with an almost idiotic grin on my face and a feeling of deep content.
Only 5 hours later, technically still Sunday morning, I woke up, prepared a coffee infusion and switched the TV back on.
There were important deeds to be done. Episodes to be watched.
I could sleep later.
Narrator: No, he would NOT sleep later...
I again immediately fell for the 2 celestials.
The slightly different arc, no dramatic catastrophe on the horizon, instead beautifully written side characters and wonderful new details on the two main protagonists...an evolving love story that had already been clearly visible in season 1...
And god, or Satan, HOW I LOVED JON HAMM as Jimbriel...
I again ended up binge watching the whole season, only interrupted by a few coffee and bathroom breaks.
6 hours later. The end credits were already over for like an eternity and I hadn't moved. Just sitting there, all goosebumps and teared-up.
I ate something. Had to. Don't really remember tasting anything or remembering what I actually had.
I was dumbstruck.
The friend that had suggested to start watching GOs, hadn't let out much more detail, so I hadn't been prepared in the least, for the emotional train wrecked state it had pushed me into.
Hours later I finally fell into an uneasy sleep.
The next morning before work I just sent Tori Amos' Nightingale in Berkeley Park to my GOs friend followed by a ❤️, as a signal that I had watched it all and let her know that there was no need anymore to hold back with talking out of fear to spoiler me.
We had lunch together and spent the whole time rambling on our GOs induced emergency emotional state and the whole beauty of especially Gaiman's season 2.
The next days we kept randomly talking about GO before she pinpointed me to tumblr, in case I wanted to dare a real deep dive into GO fandom.
So here I am now. A week's passed. I've spent hours of reading so many amazing posts around here. So many eye-opening moments.
I'm not only speaking of all those perfect interpretations of GO and it's characters.
What impressed me so much more is the fabulous energy especially radiating from the queer community.
Not being queer, only having a few queer friends, I hadn't really realized, just how big a thing GO in general and season 2 in particular was for you.
I was raised to walk earth open-minded, to respect everyone, no matter of religion, gender, nationality and sexual orientation. This is so deep a part of my DNA and personality, that GO for me was mostly just a beautiful story about religion, the meaning of life and love.
2 immortals fall deeply in love, first into humanity, life on earth and then finally into one another, while trying to overcome all the madness of belonging to two opposing sides of the same medal.
A great parable on the pursuit of happiness. Skillfully written for the screen and perfectly casted and played.
Well that was then.
Now I see you and I have to thank you, for opening my mind even further.
For giving so much joy so generously, although every day is still a fight for your rights.
For giving me a space here among you and the chance to delve some more in beautiful minds and fanfiction.
So, if you're still here and reading this, maybe it was not all bs. Maybe it gave you some minutes of entertainment and distraction from every day's stress and problems.
It sure was for me.
I'll end this with some favorite Shakespeare quotes, although now I'm not so sure any more, if not some red haired demon might have actually written this...
"If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber’d here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends."
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Note
Shower sex with Aki
*runs out of window and crashes 🫣🫣🫣
Anon! Watch out for the soap! 🧼 😂
Here is a little something you could read while you recover. 😏
Caution ⚠️ : Sexual Content Below
Warnings: Lil bit of Angst (in the beginning), Teasing, Edging, Shower Sex? Beware of the loose soap?
- Minors Do Not Interact -
His tense muscles de-stress under the shower head. A warm shower after work was perhaps one of the best things that could await a salary-man …Aki wasn’t your average typical salary-man, but being a public servant, he was close enough. Letting the water drip down his loose hair, Aki stands motionless and relished the relaxing sensation.
In addition to being a therapeutic routine for him, Aki’s time in the shower also allowed him the rare-luxury to recollect his thoughts; it was a chance for him to let his mind wonder. Sometimes – just sometimes – Aki likes to imagine what things would be like if he had lived a normal life.
.
He would probably leave Hokkaidō to attend college somewhere close to central Japan.
.
After graduation, he would probably still find his way to Tokyo. He would get an average, white-collared job; a profession consisting of the most mundane and repetitive tasks day-in, day out.
.
He would probably find a girl and get settled down. He would probably take her to visit his family every so often. He would probably have to also occasionally go with her to visit her parents.
.
They would most definitely fight over whose family they would be staying with during the holidays. After a few days of a cold war, they would probably realize that none of them actually wanted to go anywhere. They would probably make up some bullshit excuse to tell both sides that they contracted the flu, and it was best to quarantine to avoid getting the family sick.
.
Then, next year, the same cycle repeats itself.
.
Yeah, that was it. This was probably what it would be like if he lived a normal median life.
Lost in his thoughts amongst the steamy atmosphere of the shower, Aki failed to notice the small figure sneaking into the bathroom.
Supple breasts pressed firm against his back. Soft hands gliding from his hips and down his pelvis. Plush lips leaving butterfly kisses down his upper spine.
Aki grinned in satisfaction, knowing that at least he managed to score one aspect of normalcy.
“You were taking so long.” She purred.
“Oh. Sorry about dinner getting col-“
“I got cold.” She whined whilst rubbing her cheek against his back, her hands caressed his toned abdomen. She teased him with her fingers tracing the outlines of his abs - applying more pressure the lower she reached. However, just before she would reach his most sensitive region, her hands darts away and repeats the seductive foreplay once more.
This time, he won’t let her get away. His large hands captured her playful fingers and guided them downwards until they reached their intended destination.
“We could come to a compromise.” He proposed.
“I’m listening.”
Her fingers tangled around his shaft. Giving his pulsing member a light squeeze before they begin to slide up and down.
“You could help me finish up.” Aki carefully breathed; his eyes squeezed shut from the growing pleasure.
“hmm…that doesn’t sound like a compromise.” The tip of her pointer finger presses against his slit. The other hand only adding to the deadly combination, stroking his balls below. “Sounds like you are the only one benefiting.”
Oh god. He was close. He was already leaking precum, which she gladly took advantage of to lubricate alongst his full shaft. Her grip tightens as she jerked him. The tackiness of his fluid and the water added onto the unbearable friction. His d*ck twitches inside her grasp. He was going to c*m. After the day he had, he needs to c*m.
“mmmm, babe” He moans. “please.” He pleads.
She didn’t respond. Much to his dismay, she removed the hand which had been previously attending to his balls.
“please, babe.” He tries again. “I really need this.”
From his backside, he could feel her rogue hand traveling down along the tight space between his back and her stomach. The hand reaches downwards until it sinks into her own clit.
“I wanna to c*m too.” She whimpers as she falls victim to her own sinful ministrations.
“Aki, baby, I want to c*m too.” She coos again, with more desperation. He could feel the movement of her hand intensify. She was pleasuring herself while her other hand mercilessly teased him in the front.  
His d*ck was unbelievably hard. The entire shaft was erected, with the tip of its curve nearing his own body. He could feel his veins pulse against the strokes of her hand. Either he was going to ejaculate, or his balls would explode from the building pressure. This was dangerous. She was a menace to his sex.
“Aki!” She shrieks in surprise as she felt the sudden sensation of his left hand joining her own. His left hand invaded her throbbing c*nt, twisting against her delicate fingers. Like the desperate man that he was, his fingers forced themselves deeper into her warm core; frenzied, they stretched and penetrated her.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, his right hand laid on top her own - guiding her in a hasty motion up and down along his member. She was too absorbed in her own pleasure and gladly became his marionette. His lips pressed into a smile, feeling his own high fast approaching, “let’s cum together, baby.”
The friction between both of their bodies rubbing lewdly against each other had caused her nipples to harden. “Baby. Aki! Aki!” She squeaked and cried on repeat. He could feel her nub harden against the pressure of his finger.
The bathroom was filled with the wet noises of bodies grinding against each other, the violent slap of the water onto the tiles, and their erotic cries.
“I-Im” She sobs.
”Clo-s” He groaned.
The impure symphony continues as they sang out their love for each other euphoniously.
“!!!”
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Notes: Once again, I failed you all with no penetration. I told y’all that I’m not good at writing smut! Once more, I reach towards my heart medication with shaky hands. 🪦
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gurugirl · 1 year
Text
Mint Chocolate Chip Check-in 6
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Summary: Sweet and domestic, a look into a somewhat typical day with MCC!Harry and y/n.
A/n: Based on this request - thank you @love-letters-to-uranus (once again!) 1.5k words
Warning: While this is all fluffy and sweet - it's still kidnapper!harry x reader so beware if you're not a fan
MCC!Harry Masterlist
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Harry felt a little bad for the punishment he’d given you the day before. He had just had such a bad day that he took it out on you, and when you didn’t answer when he called, he thought the worst. Though he wound up being soft with you afterward, he still had some guilt over it. Especially because he felt so deeply for you. He sometimes took you for granted and the fact that you so easily fell into his plan. Also, it didn’t help that Harry was struggling to contain his meanness at times. Since he’d taken you in (kidnapped you) he had to work to suppress the violent side of himself. He didn’t want to hurt you but being mean occasionally was too easy. You let him because you loved him and he knew that.
So his guilt was warranted.
He found you in the kitchen making sandwiches for your lunch. Harry walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed the back of your neck, “Looks really good, pup.” He was going to make today soft and nice for you. To show you how special you were to him.
You smiled and turned slightly so you could see his profile and hummed before turning back to your task. Harry moved the hair from your shoulder and brushed his fingers over your neck before leaning over you again and putting his chin on your shoulder.
When you finished plating the lunches, Harry grabbed both plates from your hands, “Let’s eat outside. It’s a beautiful day.”
He put your plate in the shade and his in the sun. He didn’t want you to get too hot or get burned, “I kind of wanted to sit in the sunshine,” you spoke before sitting down at the iron outdoor table.
Harry shook his head, “No pup. It’s too hot out right now. You have to be careful to not get sunburned as well. S’not good for you. The shade is better.” And that was that. If Harry said you had to sit in the shade, you’d sit in the shade.
The table was near a large magnolia tree and you were covered by the bulky limbs and leaves, hidden from the blaring sun, while Harry sat in the sunny spot, squinting his eyes as he ate the sandwich you made him. There weren’t many words exchanged between you. It was nice, though and Harry kept putting his hand on your knee. You could tell he was trying to be extra sweet today after what he’d done to you yesterday. But you’d already forgiven him last night when he was soft with you afterward. You actually forgave him before that when you understood what the punishment was really all about. However, you weren’t going to complain about how nice he was being.
Harry cleaned up the dishes and then suggested you make brownies together. It was just a simple recipe but it was fudgy and rich. Harry tested the batter before you put it into the pan to bake and he smiled and touched the tip of your nose leaving behind a bit of the chocolatey goo. You laughed and moved your hand to wipe your nose but Harry stopped your motions and held on to your wrists with a big grin before pressing his lips over your nose and licking it off. You squealed in delight at his tongue licking the batter from your nose and then Harry kissed your mouth and swatted your bum (very gently, you were quite sore from the previous night), “Alright, it’s ready for the oven now, pup.”
The timer was set and the dishes were put away. Harry knew what you’d say next.
“We should watch a movie!” You spoke excitedly to Harry. He couldn’t resist your big smile and the way your eyes brightened. You were happy today. Harry felt like he’d done well to be sweet to you the day after he’d been a bit rotten.
“What should we watch, then?” He watched you scurry off into the living room as he trailed behind. You turned on Netflix and picked something Harry couldn’t care less about, but he’d let you choose this time. You deserved it. Harry dragged you into his lap so he could hold you and kiss you while the brownies baked.
You hummed and settled into his hold and kissed his neck and his chin. Harry loved doting on you but he enjoyed it when you returned that sentiment. His girl. His sweet pup loving on him. It felt like reassurance to him every time you did it. You weren’t going anywhere. You belonged to him.
When the air smelled chocolatey and your heart was pounding and you were out of breath from Harry’s mouth covering yours in hot, soft kisses, the timer beeped in the kitchen.
The brownies were steaming hot when you pulled the pan from the oven and Harry swatted you away, “You’ll burn yourself. Let me…” Harry plated the brownies and insisted on carrying the plates as you returned to the living room to watch the movie you picked out.
He had you sit right next to him and he took a bit first, blowing on the dessert and sucking in air when it burned his tongue. You reached for your plate but Harry moved it away from you, “S’too hot, pup. Burned myself even. It needs to cool a bit first.”
You pouted but Harry grasped your chin gently and turning you to face him, kissed your cheek, “No pouting. I’m taking care of my girl. Don’t want you hurt from a hot brownie. Puppy needs a little patience doesn’t she?”
He blew over your portion and you smiled. Harry was always trying to take care of you in this way. Doing little things that some might think of as a way to treat a child, but to you, it just felt like love and care.
Before letting you have a bit, Harry tested the temperature again before deeming it cool enough to put into your mouth. He broke off a bit of the edge and held it out to you, “Open.”
You parted your lips and Harry put the warm brownie on your tongue. You closed your eyes and chewed with a moan. Harry ate a bite of his and then gave you a bite of yours as you both snuggled together to watch the movie.
When your plates were emptied you tried to take them so you could put them in the sink but Harry shook his head, “Sit. Stay here,” he spoke as he got up and took the plates to the kitchen sink himself.
Just before the sun set in the sky, the movie came to an end. Harry pulled you in between his legs on the couch and brushed your hair, “Got all tangled from lying your head on my chest during the movie.”
You smiled and let Harry run the bristles down your hair and to your shoulders. It felt so nice having him dote on you. The sweetest feeling of his nearness and his care was all you could ever want.
“There we are. That’s better,” he spoke as he put the brush down and pulled you back into his chest, kissing your temple.
You both sat for a moment in the quiet, breathing one another in. Harry’s cheek was pressed to your temple and you could feel his chest rise and fall behind you as he breathed.
But, soon, Harry was nudging you forward and speaking softly, “Let’s get you some water. Probably need a little after that sticky sweet dessert. Need you to stay hydrated.”
You rolled your eyes, but not in sight of Harry, his doting was a bit extra today and you understood why. You just went along with it, though. Smiling as you stood up and grasping onto Harry’s hand as he stood.
You didn’t need all the sweetness. Not this much. But you loved it and it only made you feel more secure in your relationship with Harry over time. All the gentle touches and whispers, the kind gestures of care, the way he needed you… it all made you need him more with each passing day. There would never be anyone that could change your mind or tell you he was a bad man. Not after all this time and how you’d truly grown to know Harry. The real Harry. The one who was insecure and needy. The one that relied on your touch to feel whole. The one who wanted to give you the whole world and keep you safe from harm.
He was your Harry.
Feedback/Thoughts | Support Me |Main Masterlist
Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕
Tags: @victoria-styles @michellekstyles @ssaama @sombrioinvernoemveneza @golden-hoax @a-strange-familiar @reveriehs @yousunshineyoutempter @the-gardener-31 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @dancinsunflowerkiwi @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @harrys-foxy @dirtytissuebox @closureesny @lhharrylilpumpkin @evelynlarue @chaptersleftunwritten @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysmimi @itsgigikay @angelbabyyy99 @lllukulele @lanadelharry @novasblogofstuff @gills-lounge @damnasstyles @malwtilda
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jamminvroomvroom · 2 years
Text
maybe. part 4
GR x fem!reader
find the other parts on my ✨masterlist✨
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hello it is me, president of the george thirst fan club 🫶 this man is my one singular thought so here is part 4. i think this is gonna have more parts bc i’m enjoying writing him so much he’s so sexy i’m crying
in which george takes you on a date
warnings: 18+!! SMUT SMUT ITS ALL SMUT BEWARE!! ehehe, a bit of fluff too for once lol
3.5k words
despite every single one of your best efforts, you didn’t finish your interviews until much later that evening. even when they were done, your sessions hurried along by your blunter than usual questions that you usually saved for george, you’d been summoned to the stage to interview lando. and then lewis had arrived, and it wasn’t exactly like you could say no to him, enticed by the way he livened up the crowd. your energy levels were drained, thighs still aching from your rendezvous in george’s motorhome, and the end of the day was still nowhere in sight. neither was that dinner you’d promised him. you’d huffed as you’d shot him an apologetic text, wondering how he, a driver, had made it out of the paddock and yet you were still working.
he’d told you it was fine, suggesting tomorrow night in london instead, a winky face accompanying the message that should have made you cringe. you didn’t cringe, though. you did something way worse, staring down at his reply with a lovesick grin and teenage-esque butterflies in your stomach. it was bizarre, the way things had taken such a turn between you, those moments you’d shared while you were still on his lap. his words, your hands in his hair, the look in his eyes - it had all just felt different. different to monaco, different to montreal, just different.
good different.
another night was spent at your hotel near the track, far too exhausted to try and make it back to london after four intense days of relentless work. despite your exhaustion, it was much harder to fall asleep than you had anticipated. all you could think about was him. his hands, his lips, his eyes. the ripples of his body, his touch, the fading trace of expensive aftershave. you couldn’t pinpoint when exactly you’d become addicted to him, but you knew you were a goner. your dreams that night, after a lot of tossing and turning and hands between your thighs trying to tire yourself out, were filled with the sound of his voice; “you’re all for me.”
finally you’d made it home, another obstacle out of your way, before you were faced with others. what the fuck does one wear on a date with george russell? where is he taking you? what are the chances of an, ahem, sleepover?you spent the remainder of your day agonising, until you decided that george would probably enjoy anything that you wore, just as much as he would enjoy taking it off of you. you went for the classic, a little black dress, almost rolling your eyes at the cliché but you didn’t care all that much, you looked the right balance of sexy and elegant, and you felt it, too.
you checked your phone, hearing it ding.
‘picking you up in twenty xx’
the kisses brought back that embarrassing smile that you believed you were stronger than, but you couldn’t fight it off of you face. you replied, letting him know that you were ready. your phone dinged again.
‘can’t wait to see you xx’
his reply did nothing to make your smile waver, in fact, your cheeks were starting to hurt.
-
dinner with george was somehow even better than you’d expected. he’d picked you up, opening your car door, hand holding yours as your lowered yourself into his sleek mercedes. he’d opened the door again for you when you’d reached the restaurant, taking your hand in his once more as he led you into the dimly lit restaurant. it was beautiful, quiet, tucked away in a posher part of london that you only ever visited for work related reasons. you supposed that in a twisted and hilarious way that this dinner was, in fact, work related. ironically, work hadn’t come up once. it hadn’t come up during the starter you’d shared, when your bottle of red wine had arrived or during your mains. instead, you’d talked about everything but, shockingly sharing plenty in common. he had you laughing, leaning in, intrigued as you listened to him speak.
the only thing left was dessert, and the more you looked at him, eyes dancing across his neck and over the undone buttons of his white dress shirt, the more you were sure that you wanted dessert. preferably, back at his place. or at yours, you weren’t exactly fussy.
“so, how was the rest of yesterday for you?” george asked, head tilting, eyes inquisitive.
“tiring, just went on forever. although, i did get to see lando do a shoey.” you shrugged, grinning at the memory. george laughed lightly as you picked up your glass of wine.
“tiring, hmm? maybe i need to take you to bed.” you almost choked, placing your glass down on the table, your eyes narrowing, thinly veiling your amusement. he was staring back at you, trying to convey innocence with a look of pure mischief in his eyes. you decided to play along.
you moved the conversation away from that place, guiding him back to safe territory. he followed along, either oblivious to your antics, or loving every second. you were discussing your favourite bars in the city when you struck, heel brushing up the leg of his expensive jeans. he coughed, eyes widening, covering his shock with a quick sip of water.
“are you okay?” you feigned concern, sliding your hand across the table to rest on top of his, his long fingers rigid against the table cloth. you gazed at him innocently, wide eyes betrayed by the small smirk on your lips.
“absolutely perfect, darling.” he spoke through gritted teeth, smile painted on. you let your eyes wander, raking them over his broad shoulders, thick neck, the veins in his forearms peeking out from the rolled up sleeves of his white shirt. you picked up his hand delicately, placing it palm up on the table, eyes locked on his blue ones. your fingertips traced his palm, before you were playing with his fingers. his were so much longer than yours, thicker, perfect for reaching spots that you wouldn’t ever be able to. your breath hitched, so faintly that you hoped he wouldn’t pick up on it, but of course he did.
“what are you thinking about, darling?” george looked unfazed, back to being his calm and collected self already. suddenly, you were the mess, right where you’d tried to get him. “you thinking about my hands?” his voice dropped an octave, making sure that only you could hear him.
“thinking about what you can do with them.” you uttered, rather confidently to your own surprise. the least you could do was try and catch him out, beat him at his own game. the only problem was, the situation you found yourself in no longer felt like a game.
“your own can’t compare, right? too small to get the job done properly. that’s what you’re thinking about, isn’t it? because you couldn’t have me last night, bet you had to take care of yourself at the thought of what we could have done.”
“lewis and lando held me up.” you saw his face change slightly at the mention of the two other drivers and you realised that you had found an advantage. “unfortunately, they had to come first.” you faked a pout, enjoying the way his jaw clenched.
“lando and lewis definitely do not come first.”he replied. you giggled at the double meaning. suddenly, his fingers intertwined with yours, warmth spreading across your skin, to match the goosebumps left behind by his words.
“they did yesterday.” you tilted your head, gaze challenging his.
“pretty sure that you came first yesterday.” he licked his lips. you blushed.
“yeah, well, made me late for work.” you flipped your hair over your shoulder, trying to play it nonchalant.
“is that so? i’ll remember that. next time i won’t let you.” he leaned back in his chair, playing with your fingers. your mouth hung open for a second, before you snapped back to reality.
“i’m pretty good at taking care of myself.” you muttered, pursing your lips.
“tell me all about it.” he smirked. you raised an eyebrow. “go on, love. tell me all about your evening.”
“why don’t i tell you in the car while you drive me back to your place?”
you’d never seen a man move faster. he’d paid the bill and practically dragged you back to his car before you could even comprehend what you’d actually said. now, sat in the passenger seat, his fingertips working up your leg, you couldn’t find the words.
“george,” you breathed, his fingers pressing right against the wet patch on your panties. “don’t tease.” you begged. you could feel yourself getting hotter and hotter as he rubbed small circles over your panties, one hand on the wheel. he didn’t even look at you, smirking evilly as he drove.
“should have thought about that before you teased me, sweetheart. now go on, don’t be shy. i want every detail.” he said, rubbing harder at your clit.
“got myself off.” you muttered weakly.
“to what?” he pressed on.
“thought of you. your fingers, oh!” you moaned, feeling him push your panties aside, a finger dipping into your wetness. he stopped at a red light, daring to look at you.
“and what did you do to yourself, my love?”
“used my fingers, got myself so wet.” you gasped, feeling one of his fingers dip into your entrance, hooking inside of your cunt perfectly.
“as wet as i get you?”
“never.” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut, head hitting the headrest as he fucked you further into the seat.
“how many times did you cum, baby?” he added a second finger, your hips raising off of the leather seat.
“only once.” you whimpered, eyes rolling back as he stretched you open.
“bet you were so tired from our afternoon together, but you still had to get off one more time, all for me, right darling?” the sheer arrogance in his voice sent you to another level, pussy clenching tightly around his fingers as he dared you closer and closer in the front seat of his moving car.
“yes yes yes.” you chanted, shaking now, inching higher and higher to your peak.
“come on, sweetheart. cum for me, gorgeous.” he murmured, fingers curling deliciously. you spilled all over his fingers, flopping against the seat, worn out already. you didn’t know how he’d gotten you off so effortlessly, whilst perfectly navigating the busy london streets but you were in awe, staring at him like he’d been sent by god. he glanced over at you, head rolling against the headrest, bringing his fingers from underneath the hem of your dress and up to his mouth. just before he swiped his tongue over them, he looked you dead in the eyes and smiled.
“i’m going to fucking ruin you.”
-
george’s apartment was nice.
well, you assumed it was. you hadn’t seen much of it, really, quickly guided through the front door and to his bedroom. his hand held yours tightly the whole way, bringing you to stand in front of him, facing his bed. he was behind you, both of his hands covering yours, resting them on your waist. he held them there, firm against the material of your black dress. slowly, he dragged both sets of hands up your body, over the curve of your waist and up your ribcage. soon enough, he had you cupping your breasts, head tilting back to rest against his shoulder. he tightened his grip, your hands massaging your tits at his complete mercy.
“you like touching yourself, don’t you?” george’s voice was right in your ear, his whisper sending a shiver down your spine that caused your ass to grind back against him. “watched you in baku, watched you use your fingers on that little pussy,” he kept one of your hands in place over your breast, the other slowly moving back down your body, holding you close. “you keep telling me how well you take care of yourself, sweetheart,” your hands moved under the hem of your dress, pulling it up until your panties were exposed. your fingertips were pressed to the soaking material. “but we both know you like it better when i do it.”
“fuck, george.” your mouth fell open as he encouraged you to move your fingers, his hand guiding the slow circles you were making on your clit.
“can you feel that, sweetheart? feel how wet you are? how wet i got you?” he muttered, catching your earlobe between his teeth.
“yes, god, please. just need you to fuck me. need it so bad.” never had you craved someone the way you craved him.
it was almost strange, how he’d managed to keep you wrapped so tightly around his finger, pun very much intended. he was consuming you, first your body, and now your mind, and you wondered how far this would go. the date was good. in fact, it was one of the best first dates you’d ever had, and you couldn’t help but consider where this could lead, as his spun you around in his arms, kissing you deeply. the animosity between you had been fucked away in canada and now, you were ready for more. you needed more. anything he would give you.
“what do you want?” he mumbled, lips barely parting from yours as he walked you backwards, closing in on the foot of the bed.
“anything.” you whined, fisting the collar of his shirt in your hands, pulling him even closer.
“tell me what you want.” george demanded, not leaving any room for debate. your eyes fluttered open, locking with his darkened ones.
“your tongue.” you whispered, almost shy under his intense stare.
he smirked instantly, beginning to unbutton his dress shirt. you watched on, borderline confused as he dropped it to the ground, stepping around you to settle onto his expensive bedsheets, the navy of the linen contrasting beautifully against his skin. once he’d made himself comfortable, he eyed you up and down.
“take all of that off.” he gestured to your dress, still bunched up around your waist. you made quick work of your clothes, a quick mess being made of his bedroom floor. “get on the bed, darling, that’s it.” he coaxed you closer with a flick of his fingers. you crawled up the bed until you were kneeled next to him, unsure of what your next move was supposed to be, until he tapped his collarbone and your mouth went dry. “sit on my face, my love.”
he looked positively devilish as you swung a shaky leg over his head, strong forearms instantly looping around your thighs and pinning you against his mouth. you moaned desperately at the contact, hips rolling of their own accord as his tongue licked into your cunt, relentless against where you were dripping for him. george seemed quite happy with the way you rolled your hips to meet his tongue, groaning loudly, the vibrations making you speed up.
you rocked against his face, his plush lips wrapping around your aching clit, knuckles turning white as you held onto his headboard for dear life. his tongue alternated, sucking your clit into his mouth, before swiping down your slit to slide into your opening. one hand fell into his hair, tugging hard, a hum emitting from him in response that made your entire body shake as you came, his name and the occasional profanity being the only thing you could remember as you saw white.
you didn’t quite know how you’d made it onto your back, somehow finding the strength to pull yourself off of him and fall against the mattress. you’d left him a bit of a mess, but still george rolled on top of you, not wasting any time. he held himself above you, staring down at you as you caught your breath, tongue running over his lips.
“are you okay, darling?”
you nodded in response, hand making its way back into his hair, threading through the locks.
“got another one for me? you’re doing so good, sweetheart.” he crooned, eyes still devious, as his voice softened. again, you nodded, pulling him down to kiss you.
as george relaxed on top of you, your legs hooked over his jean-clad waist, bringing him down completely on top of you. he was so warm, covering your completely. your ground yourself against his crotch, hissing as the material of his jeans rubbed against your pussy, your two orgasms of the night leaving you sensitive. he rolled his hips a few times until you cried out, pressure already building in your stomach when he stopped.
“always make such a mess.” george muttered, pecking your lips one last time, pulling himself off of you to remove the rest of his clothes. once he’d settled back on top of you, something in his expression had changed. his eyes, still dark enough to show his lust, were softer, gazing at your parted lips and into your eyes. his hand came up to cup your cheek, body resting on his forearm by your head.
“look so pretty like this, all ready for me.” the pad of his thumb stroked your cheek, and you climbed your legs high around his waist. “so fucking pretty.” he whispered.
“want you.” you whispered, hands cupping his cheeks. he dipped down, nose brushing yours.
“i know, baby, i know.” his lips brushed yours and he lined himself up with your entrance, sinking into you slowly.
you moaned into his mouth, lips barely pressing against yours as he groaned, feeling the way you were squeezing him already. slowly, he pulled out, only to snap his hips back against yours, filling you up. he set a rhythm, slow and deep, fucking you hard.
“‘m not gonna last long.” you gasped, nails raking down his back. you could barely think, barely speak, senses completely overwhelmed, an incoherent mess on his sheets.
“you’re gonna hold it. doing so well, my darling. squeezing me so tight.” he spoke through gritted teeth, the praise sending a new wave of heat across your already flushed body.
“can’t hold it,” you whined.
“wait for me, baby. such a good girl for me.” he crooned, pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck, a mark quickly being sucked into the skin. his hips sped up, a gasp sounding from the back of your throat.
“george, please.” you could feel tears building in your eyes and you knew that you were there.
“wait. come on, be my good girl.” he ordered, rhythm getting sloppier as he neared his own orgasm.
“fucking me so well, i- please, baby. george.” you dragged out the syllables of his name, the grunt he let out at your words making your pussy pulse around him.
“there you go, baby, cum for me. come on darling, cum all over me.” george groaned, hips rutting against yours as he fucked your through your orgasms. you could feel him slowing down, his release painting your walls as your rapid breathing gradually slowed.
you pulled him in for a kiss, your lips not parting as he pulled out of you and laid on his side, bringing you with him. your lips moved together slowly, soft kisses that made you dizzy. you smiled when he pulled away, relaxing onto his back, pulling you against his chest. you curled into him, enjoying the closeness.
this was new.
you’d never cuddled before, another line being crossed. you enjoyed the pleasant silence, the both of you exhausted as you laid in his arms. eventually, you wondered if you needed to leave. his embrace hadn’t loosened, but you panicked, once again unsure of what this meant to him.
“i should probably go, don’t want to be a bother.” you mumbled awkwardly, breaking the peaceful, easy silence.
“a bother? you’ve never worried about bothering me before.” he laughed. you glared up at him playfully. “all those times you’ve chased me down in the paddock, practically held me at gunpoint and asked me the most ludicrous things, and now, i invite you into my house willingly and you’re worried about bothering me?” george continued to tease you. you looked away shyly, a coy smile playing on your lips.
“just doing my job.” you muttered, trying not to laugh along with him.
“much prefer the other type of job that you do.” you slapped his chest playfully, your night on the yacht flashing before your eyes.
“you’re awful.” your rolled you eyes, grin betraying you.
“you love it.” he was laughing again. what a beautiful sound.
“i don’t.” you tried to ignore the way your stomach twisted at the word love and the complicated implications.
“i reckon you could.” he stopped laughing, that same hopeful look that he gave you at silverstone driving his beautiful features.
“yeah. maybe.” you smiled at him, a genuine, heart stopping smile, just like the one he gave you when you realised that this was real.
as you gradually fell asleep in his arms, held close in his embrace, the soft rise and fall of his chest coaxing you into a deep slumber, you had a feeling that ‘maybe’ wouldn’t just be a maybe.
-
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bearr02 · 5 months
Text
Delicate |KSJ ~ One Shot|
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Pairing: Seokjin x f!reader
Summary: You were never allowed over at your sugar daddy’s place, and whenever you’d ask why, he’d make up an excuse, “my house isn’t the cleanest at the moment.” Or, “I’m renovating right now.” Yet one day, he finally has enough of your begging and caves in, but what will you do when you find out your sugar daddy isn’t single like you’ve been under the impression of, but a married man.
Genre: Sugar daddy au, smut, angst.
Warnings: unprotected sex, dom!Jin, sub-ish!reader, oral (f & m), vaginal fingering (I think that’s all, please lmk if I missed anything cause like I suck at smut writing)
Word count: 4k
A/n: so um I found this fic like a month ago and have been working on it sometimes and like I think it’s decent? The first bit probably sucks cause I wrote this almost a year ago and I didn’t wanna re-write like 2k words so yeaahhh..also I still need to go back and do a look over, make sure the parts I want italicized are italicized and that it’s at least a decent one shot so beware!
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You excitedly check your makeup and hair in the mirror, looking over your outfit before making your way out of your bedroom. You bite your lip to contain a squeal as you hear the doorbell ring.
You rush to the door with your heels in your hand, opening the front door with a wide grin.
“Hey, princess.” Jin greets, opening his arms to which you gladly wrap yours around his middle. “What do you want to do today?” He asks, petting your head. “Mmm..can we go to your house?” You ask, already knowing the answer.
“Y/n..” he sighs, hand pausing on the top of your head. “Fine.” He says and you pull back, looking up at him with shock written all over your features. “Really?” You say.
He nods, letting go of you and making his way to his car. You smile widely, quickly throwing on your heels before closing the door and locking it.
You trot to his car happily, opening the passenger side door and getting in. You buckle up, looking at Jin with a smile making him nod before shifting to drive. He places his hand on your thigh, something you’ve gotten used to when he drives.
“Something happen today? You seemed really excited earlier.” He speaks up after a few minutes. You shake your head, “No, just excited to see you.” You say sweetly, smiling at him.
He hides a smile, rubbing his thumb across your thigh before patting it. “We’re here.” He says, pulling into the driveway of a mansion.
Your jaw drops in shock as you look at his home, you knew he was rich but damn! He chuckles from beside you, “I told you I was rich, princess.” He says, taking the keys out and unbuckling.
He gets out, walking to your side where you’re still gawking at the house. He opens the door before walking to the front door, looking back at you and mouthing, ‘coming?’
You nod, quickly unbuckling and shutting the car door behind you before rushing to him as he opens the door.
He steps out of the way for you to go in first, entering after you and closing the door. You look around in amazement, taking off your heels before looking at Jin.
He walks past you, grabbing your hand and pulling you with him. “Where are we going?” You ask, looking around as he drags you with him. “My room.” He replies, reaching a door and opening it.
Your jaw drops again at the size of his room. “Holy shit..” you mutter, “This is my room doubled in size!” Jin chuckles from beside you, letting go of your hand to shut the door and make his way to the bed.
You study the room a bit more before following him, falling down beside him. “What do you want to watch?” He asks, turning on the giant tv in front of you.
“I’m good with whatever.” You reply, snuggling into his side. He finds a rom-com and puts it on, drawing small shapes into your shoulder as you both watch.
About half way into the movie, you let your hand wander from his chest down lower, slowly reaching his groin. He’s too engrossed in the movie to notice your hand. That is until you start to palm him.
He lets out a small groan under his breath, “Couldn’t wait for the movie to be over, huh?” He says, making you bite your lip, “I could, just don’t want to.” You reply, cupping his cock and squeezing slightly.
He groans, finger no longer drawing the shapes into your shoulder. You inch up to his belt, unbuckling it before unbuttoning and unzipping his pants.
Just as you’re about to slip your hand into his boxers, Jin flips you both over to where he’s hovering above you. You meet his lust-filled gaze with your own, biting your bottom lip as his eyes roam your figure hungrily.
His eyes last land back on your face, slowly inching toward you without breaking eye contact. He connects his lips with yours, kissing you hungrily as his hand roams your body.
You wrap your hands around his neck, parting your lips for his tongue to slip through. You moan softly as his tongue roams your mouth, playing with yours.
He parts your legs with his, rubbing his hard on against your clothed core. You moan, back arching slightly as he repeatedly thrusts against you.
He parts from you as you both gasp for air, “See what you did to me?” He rasps, staring at you. You nod, “And I plan to fix it.” You say, biting your lips as you pull him back down, pecking his lips repeatedly.
You part from him again, taking your arms from his neck before attempting to flip you both back over. You successfully get him on his back, hands intertwined behind his head as he watches you with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.
You slowly inch down his body until you're face to face with his clothed dick. You plant a kiss over where you know his tip is, eliciting a small moan from Jin before you finally move to take his pants off.
You slowly tug them off his body, keeping eye contact with Jin as you throw them somewhere in the room. You crawl back up, hooking your fingers in the waistband on his boxers before pulling them down his legs as well.
You toss them in the direction of his pants, watching his mouth watering cock as you climb back up the bed. You place a small peck on his tip before giving it kitten licks, slowly making your way down his shaft.
You kiss your way back up to his tip before pulling away completely, sitting up on your heels. You take the hair tie from your wrist, intending on putting your hair up yet Jin stops you, “I’ll hold it.” He says.
You nod, leaning back down as he takes your hair into his fist. You lick a stripe from his base to his tip, eliciting a groan from him as he fights to keep his eyes open.
You place one last kiss on his tip before you start to take him into your mouth. You slowly work your way down, sinking down further every time you come back up until your nose is snug against his groin.
Your throat constricts around him making him let out a guttural moan, fist tightening slightly in your hair causing a delicious sting to your scalp.
You begin bobbing your head at a slow, rhythmic pace, drool leaking from the corners of your mouth, pooling at his base.
After a few seconds, you speed up to his liking, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock.
You slowly bring your hand to his full balls, fondling them making him groan loudly as his fists tighten in your hair, stilling your movements.
“Fuck, princess.” He heaves, slowly loosening his hold on your hair. You pull off of him completely, taking a small breath before speaking, “Use me, use my mouth to make you cum.”
He groans, shutting his eyes for a moment before opening them and looking at you again. You move back down, jaw going slack as you inch back down slightly before stilling completely for him.
He tightens his hold on your hair, thrusting up, experimentally, making you gag. He groans, tightening his hold further before fucking your face.
His grunts and moans fill the room as he uses your mouth for his pleasure, slowly coming undone. He thrusts one last time before holding your face snug against his groin, releasing into your mouth.
You tap his thigh, telling him to release you, which he does immediately. You swallow what’s in your mouth, breathing deeply before looking at Jin, “You okay?” He asks, pulling your face toward him.
You nod, kissing him harshly making him chuckle breathily against your lips. He pulls back after a few seconds making you whine, “My turn, princess.” He says, flipping you both over to where you’re laying on your back.
You bite your bottom lip as he slowly makes his way down your body, pulling up your dress to rest just above your hips. Jin lets out a small groan when he sees the lingerie you’ve picked out, “You like it?” You ask, smirking. Jin nods, squeezing and fondling your thighs, “Love it.” He says.
He brings his hand up to play with the lace, bringing his hand further down to press on your clit through the thin cloth. You let out a soft moan, reaching your hand to tangle in his hair as he pulls your panties to the side.
He licks a fight stripe through your folds, emitting a moan from you as you buck your hips. Jin removes his other hand, pressing your hips into the mattress while the other holds your panties off to the side, continuing to eat you out. “Mmph..Jin.” You moan, shoving his face into your cunt more.
Jin circles his tongue around your entrance before pushing in, immediately licking at your sweet spot. You moan loudly, attempting to buck your hips to no avail, “Jin..” He hums against you, smirking when you moan again. He speeds up, removing his hand from your hip and replacing his tongue with his fingers.
He rubs your clit with his tongue, pumping in and out of you quickly with his fingers, watching you intently. Your mouth is slightly agape, eyes pinched shut as you chant Jin’s name like a prayer, “Jin..Jin yes, fuck yes..” You feel your orgasm build up, close to release when Jin pulls away.
You whine loudly at the loss of orgasm, looking at Jin with furrowed brows, “Why’d you stop?” You ask breathlessly, only to be met with a smirk from Jin. “Oh princess, did you forget about our last meet up?” You groan, “You teased me all night, not letting me cum, this is a little payback.” You whine, only causing Jin’s smirk to grow.
“Please!” You whine, pulling him by his neck to your face, kissing him desperately. You remove your arms from his neck, moving to unbutton his shirt. Jin lets you get a few buttons before he’s moving away, sitting back on his heels, much to your dissatisfaction.
You pout up at him, reaching for him again only for him to grab both of your arms in one hand and pin them above your head. “Ah ah, babygirl.” He licks his lips, “Keep your hands there.” He slowly lets them go, reaching over to the nightstand on the side of his bed, opening it and pulling out fluffy, pink, handcuffs.
You wiggle with excitement, you’ve never explored restraints and you’re hella excited to. Jin grabs your arms again, cuffing one before looping it through the bedframe and cuffing your other hand. “Is that alright? Nothing hurts?” Ever the gentlemen, Jin watches your face carefully, “No, it’s fine, nothing hurts.” You assure with a smile.
Jin nods, leaning down to peck your lips a few times before leaning back up, chuckling when you chase his lips. He feels around the back of your dress, pouting when he doesn’t feel a zipper. He leans down and whispers in your ear, “I’ll buy you a new one.” You furrow your brows in confusion.
Rrrip!
Your eyes widen.
“Jin!” You squeak, looking at him with your mouth agape as he tosses your torn dress to the side. “I loved that dress!” You whine and Jin smirks, “I’ll buy you a new one, I promise.” You pout at him before turning away as best as you can, deciding to play petty now that he’s ripped your precious dress.
You hear a small whine from Jin making you smirk. “Baby I’m sorry.” He says, grabbing your jaw softly and attempting to make you look at him. He successfully turns your face yet you refuse to meet his eyes. “Baby~ look at me?” Jin says softly, running his hands up and down your body. “Hmph!” You turn away again.
Jin leans down, running his nose along your neck, leaving small kisses every now and again. You sigh, “I’m sorry~” Jin says, slowly trailing his hand down to your aching cunt. You bite your lip to muffle a moan when he cups your pussy, sucking on your neck as he strokes you gently.
Jin starts kissing his way down to your chest, to your right boob to be precise, taking your nipple into his mouth while he fondles your left. You let out a soft moan, squeezing your thighs together over Jin’s hand, gaining a chuckle from Jin. “Can’t stay mad for long, huh?” Jin questions, rutting his hips into your thigh.
You bite your lip, pulling at the handcuffs, whining. Jin continues to suck on your nipple, rut against you, and do quick figure eights on your clit, earning soft moans from you. Jin suddenly comes to a halt, releasing a shaky breath against your boob making you whine at the loss of yet another orgasm. “Why’d you stop?” You whine breathily, tugging on the restraints.
When you don’t get an answer you peek down at Jin to see his eyes closed as he seems deep in thought or concentration. “Jin?” You question, earning yourself a soft groan.
Jin doesn’t say anything else, he simply sits up and grabs the key to the handcuffs, uncuffing you, “Turn around, get on all fours for me.” You obey quickly, sticking your ass out just how he likes it, you hear a soft groan from Jin, smirking in satisfaction.
He rubs the head of his cock through your folds, eyes shutting at your wetness, “Fuck, Y/n.” You moan, attempting to push your hips back to get him to enter you quicker. The head slips in, making both you and Jin groan in sync. Jin places both hands on your hips, fingers digging into your skin slightly as he slowly enters.
“Fuck I’ve missed this.” Jin whines out, stilling when his length is halfway inside you. “Feel okay?” You nod, head hung between your shoulders, eyes pinched shut and mouth slightly agape. Jin chuckles breathily before pushing in more, until he’s fully inside you.
“Y-you can move.” You let out after a minute, raising your head to look back at Jin. He nods, slowly dragging his hips back only to thrust back in harshly, making you moan. He builds up a ruthless pace pretty quick, a few minutes before he’s hammering into you.
You cringe slightly at the sound of your squelching pussy, overpowering the loud slap of skin on skin. Jin groans loudly, fucking you back onto him, “Fuck, Y/n, I’m gonna cum.” You respond with a small whine. He takes his hand from your hip to instead bring it down to rub quick figure eights on your clit, eliciting a loud moan from you.
“Yes, oh fuck yes.” You’re just about to finally reach your climax when Jin suddenly stops, making you whine. “Jin!? What the fuck?!” Your blood runs cold, lifting your head up and looking behind you to see a woman standing in the doorway, glaring daggers at you as her chest heaves. Jin pulls out of you quickly, grabbing the blanket to cover you up, getting up and walking toward the woman.
“Who is she?!” The woman screams, slapping Jin harshly before she turns to you. She shoves Jin out of the way, storming toward you making your eyes widen. You’re just about to move further backwards when she grabs you by your hair, pulling you out of the bed making you cry out. “Kora stop!” Jin grabs the woman by her waist, pulling her back before she could do anything else to you.
You whimper as tears slip down your cheeks, curling into yourself as you back up toward the wall, watching them both closely. “You fucking cheater!” She screams, fighting Jin’s hold. Jin scoffs, pulling her out of the door and disappearing down the hallway.
You get up quickly, grabbing your dress, fighting back a whimper at the rip straight down the middle of the dress. You slip the straps onto your shoulders, folding one side over the other tightly as you look around the room for your heels. You let out a quiet ‘fuck’ when you realize you left your heels at the door.
Your gaze flits between the window and door as you debate if you should just try and go home shoeless or not. You jump when the door’s opened, immediately backing away from the door. Jin walks in, still very much naked, the only difference is he’s no longer hard and there’s nothing but anger and tiredness present on his features as he walks into the room.
His eyes soften at the sight of you, slowly reaching out only to pause midway when you back up. “Who was she?” You ask, wincing at the hoarseness of your voice. “She..” Jin sighs, looking down at his feet. “She was my wife.” You feel your heart sink, unbeknownst why. You nod, looking away as tears cloud your vision again. “I-it was more so the title that tied us to being married. It was forced and no matter how many times we voiced to our parents how much we didn’t want to be married, they never listened.” You nod again, still refusing to look at Jin.
“Kora and I have had issues for years, she’s been cheating for god knows how long..and I felt lonely..one of my friends recommended getting a sugar baby, and it’s one of the best things that’s happened to me, Y/n. Because I met you.” You purse your lips, giving Jin another nod. “Please talk to me.” Jin’s voice cracks in desperation as he reaches out to you again. “I don’t have anything to say, Jin.” You say, taking another step back as you meet Jin’s eyes.
“Please I-I'll break it off with her.” You shake your head, wrapping your arms tightly around your waist. “Jin, I don’t need you to explain anything about you and Kora, much less end things with her.” You say, giving Jin what you hope is a smile. Judging by his reaction it was more of a grimace. “I don’t even want to be with her, Y/n. I swear.” He pleads, walking toward you again. “Jin..why do you even care so much? I was just a cumdump for you really..” You mumble, looking down at the floor. “No!” Jin practically yells, taking a few frantic steps towards you.
You stumble back, colliding with the wall as you stare at Jin wide-eyed. “You weren’t just a cumdump Y/n. I swear. You’re so much more to me.” He rushes out, grabbing your hands. “Please just give me a chance..” He pleads desperately. “Jin, why? I’m just your sugar baby, nothing more.” You hurt yourself saying this, watching Jin’s face closely. “But you’re not.” He whispers, a single tear slipping down his cheek. “You’re so much more, Y/n, just let me prove it.” He whispers. “Please.” Jin pleads, bringing your hand up to his mouth and placing a peck on it.
You try to take your hand back, only for Jin to grip onto it tighter. “Please.” He pleads again, intertwining his fingers with yours and pecking the back of your hand a few times. “Jin, no, I’m sorry but I’m not getting in the middle of a marriage.” Jin shakes his head frantically, “You won’t. I swear. I’ll get a divorce I promise. Kora and I don’t even love each other.” Jin explains desperately, holding your hand against his lips as he places continuous pecks on it.
“Jin I’m sorry.” You mumble, attempting to push Jin away. He only shakes his head, mumbling a small ‘please’ under his breath as he presses himself closer to you. “Jin get off of me.” You whisper, pushing at Jin. He doesn’t move. “Jin, god dammit get off!” You yell, sobbing afterwards as you push at Jin. He backs up frantically, watching you closely. “Y/n I’m so sorry. God I’m so fucking sorry.” He mumbles, running a hand through his hair.
You shake your head, pulling your dress to cover yourself again before stumbling past Jin out of his room. “At least let me drop you home.” Jin pleads, following you out of the room. You sigh, pausing in the hallway. “Fine.” You mumble. If you might not see him again, you should take any last chance you get. Jin nods, turning around to go put on clothes.
When Jin returns, he’s fully dressed and holding a shirt with some sweatpants. “I-I figured you’d want clothes instead of going out like..yeah..” Jin mumbles, gesturing to your torn dress. “Thanks.” You mumble, taking the clothes from Jin when he hands them to you. Jin turns around, having felt that he lost the privilege to see you naked. “I uh, I also found these.” Jin mumbles, backing up and holding out your panties. “Thanks.” You mumble, sliding the article up your legs.
“M’ done.” You say, making your way over to the front door. You grab your heels before opening the door, making your way outside and down toward Jin’s car. You open the passenger door and slide in, resting your head on the window when you close the door, watching Jin’s house. “All buckled up?” Jin asks quietly, glancing at you. You nod, not quite trusting your voice. Jin nods with pursed lips, shifting the car into drive before pulling out of the driveway.
“We’re here.” Jin mumbles after a painfully long drive. You nod, unbuckling. You’re just about to get out of the car when Jin locks the doors making you sigh. “Unlock the door, Jin.” You whisper, hand clutching the handle. “Then just let me talk to you for a minute.” Jin whispers, turning toward your direction. “I don’t wanna stop seeing you.” Jin starts, looking down at his hands. “But we have to.” You respond, hand starting to slip from the handle. “We don’t. We can make it work.” Jin whispers, looking up at you.
“Jin I..” You sigh, slowly slumping back in your seat. “I don’t want to get in the middle of a relationship.” You mumble. You hold up a hand when Jin opens his mouth to speak, “I know. I know you said it was forced and I know you said you’re not happy in it, but I don’t want you to get a divorce all because you have some stupid feelings. That is a weight I don’t want to carry.” You whisper, playing with your fingers as you stare at your hands. “They’re not stupid, Y/n. You’re the first person I’ve felt happy with. The first person I actually want to leave work for, not work overtime.” Jin mumbles, reaching forward to gently grasp one of your hands in his.
You don’t hold Jin’s hand, nor do you pull away. “Please just..at least give me a chance.” Jin whispers, bringing your hand to his lips to place a soft peck on it. “Jin.” You sigh, leaning back against the seat, staring at the roof of the car. “I’ll treat you right, you know that.” Jin whispers, running his thumb over the back of your hand. “I know you would. That’s not why I’m not agreeing, Jin.” You say, turning to look out the window. “Then why aren’t you?” Jin whispers, bringing your hand up to kiss the back of it. “You know why.” You mumble, slipping your hand from his hold.
“I’m sorry..But I don’t want a relationship with you.” You whisper, hoping he can’t hear the tremor in your voice, giving away your lie. Jin doesn’t reply, simply unlocks the doors. “Goodbye, Jin.” You whisper, pursing your lips to hold in the small sob as you open the door.
“I love you.” Jin mumbles just before you close the door.
You walk up to your front door, unlocking it before pushing the door open. A sob slips from your lips just as you shut the door, leaning your forehead against it. You peek through the blinds and out the window by your front door, watching as Jin pulls out and disappears down the street.
Deep down, you hope this isn’t the last time you’ll see Jin. No matter how wrong it may be if you continue to meet up.
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A/n: I hope this was good because like most of it was written back when I really sucked at writing so..
Permanent taglist:
@viankiss @lizzymizzy-blogg @teddymoon06 @rln-byg
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Text
Good Luck Token | Bonnie Gold
Bonnie Gold x F!reader
Summary: You offer Bonnie a small token before the match begins
Warnings: None, just fluff.
Note: English is not my native language so beware there may be grammar or spelling mistakes.
Enjoy!
Do not repost please!
Feedback is appreciated!
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It was the night of the big fight between Goliath and Bonnie Gold.
Your Bonnie.
You walked through tiled corridors behind the arena, heading towards the men's laboratory where you knew he was getting ready.
Aberama and two of his men were there with him. They didn't notice you straight away, too busy watching Bonnie getting a warm up.
"Ahem!" You coughed softly in order to get their attention. Bonnie's face lit up slightly when he saw you. "Can I have a moment with Bonnie, please?"
Aberama turned to his son, who gave him a small nod in response.
"You have a few minutes before the match begins." He told you, before escorting the men and himself out of the room leaving the two of you alone.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, whilst he began to wrap a white cloth around his palm.
"I came to give you a good luck token." you answered softly, watching him struggle a little bit with the white material. " Let me."
You walked over to him, taking the cotton fabric from his hand, your fingers brushing gently with his knuckles, you helped him cloak either one of his palms.
"Are you still mad at me?" he asked curiously.
"If I was, I wouldn't be here, now would I?" she retorted, too focused on her task to look at him.
"I'm sorry I shouted at you." Bonnie said with regret in his voice. "I just saw that Shelby boy flirt with you and I lost it."
"Why?" you asked, although you knew the answer already. He was jealous, but you wished he'd just admit it, and his feelings altogether.
It'd been a long while now since you felt the tension between you and him whenever you were alone. Esmeralda had offered to help you, but you refused, telling her it was something the two of you had to deal with on your own.
And when you had finally worked up the courage to do it yourself, the business with the Peaky Blinders came up and you had to go.
"I was… jealous." he stated. You stopped your movements and finally looked up to meet his eyes. He was already staring at you, eyes glowing.
"Bonnie it's time, son!" Aberama's voice echoed from behind the door.
"Comin'." Bonnie called back, while you helped him with his boxing gloves. "Thanks, Y/N."
"Wait, I still haven't given you your token." you noted, and without giving him time to reply you leaned forward, pressing your lips gently on his.
Another knock sounded from the bathroom door, while Bonnie almost immediately responded to the kiss, his lips devouring yours.
"Go win this, champion." you told him encouragingly when you pulled back.
"I'll win this for you." Bonnie grinned sheepishly, his forehead resting on yours.
"No, you'll win this for yourself." you shook your head. " This is the beginning of your boxing career. Now go, before your dad breaks this door down."
They both giggled.
You watched as Bonnie got escorted towards the arena from the hallway, with a proud smile on your face.
Soon, you trailed off behind them thinking that perhaps the waiting was worth it. Once you were done with this job it'd be just you and him. And you'll finally be able to refer to him out loud as yours.
Your man, your champion.
Your Bonnie.
~~
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