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back2bluesidex · 10 days

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Novice - JJK (18+)

Pairing: Pornstar!Jungkook X Fem!Reader

Theme: PWP (porn with tiny plot), SMUT, pornstar au

Wordcount: 3k

Summary: The need of some extra money lands you on a weird job. But you are not complaining, not when you get to fuck Jeon Jungkook.

Warnings: Explicit sex, porn movie shooting, mentions of pros**tution, Jungkook is a smooth flirt, reader is nervous and shy, inexperienced reader, a little bit of flirting, missionary position, unprotected sex. NSFW!!

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

Honestly, you have no idea what you are doing here.

You have been zoning out for the past ten minutes.

Keeping your focus trained on what’s waiting for you ahead is a little tough. Especially when it’s 2 degree celsius outside and you are wearing nothing but a thin camisole and flimsy underwear.

Even though the heater is in full blast, you require to have some clothes on your body to enjoy whatever warmth it has been offering.

You question your sanity once again. Are you really doing this? You out of all people? You - the goodie two shoes?

Yeah, the situation has been like that lately.

You are in need of some extra money because some fucker voiced-phised you and you, being dumber than ever, gave them your company card number and pin. Now you owe 200 million won to your company and you don’t even have 10% of the amount to do anything about it.

Right at that time, one of your friends knocked on your door asking for a favor.

“Please, Y/N! You are perfect for the role!” she pleaded.

“What are you even saying? I don’t even have any experience-”

“That’s exactly what we want - a novice.”

And you landed on the deal or role or whatever the fuck it is, in an exchange of 250 million won. By the way, did I mention that they have paid you 50% of the amount already?

It’s good money and a one-time opportunity. All you need to do is to get fucked on camera, get the pay and avoid showing your face around this place anymore.

As simple as that.

Or as simple as you thought.

But now that you are already at the set and ready to feature in a porn movie.. You are rather nervous.

Even though they assured you and added the “blurred-face” term to your contract, it’s nerve-wracking and for multiple reasons.

First, you have almost zero experience of sex. And must I mention that you never had an orgasm in your entire life?

Second, the concept of the film is complicated. There is only one male lead but three female leads (including you). But it’s not poly. The guy plays the role of a male prostitute, who pleasures three different women with three different stages of experience. The first woman is a pro, second one is amateur and third one, you, is a novice.

The first shoot was almost over when you arrived at the set and the cast went to prepare for the second shoot. Hence, you haven’t gotten to see the guy you would be having sex with.

And it’s unsettling.

You only heard his name but couldn’t muster up the courage to search him up. What if you don’t like his face and back off? You will have to repay the 50% of the advance along with a 5% of contract violation fee. And you certainly can’t afford to do that now.

So you held on, arrived at the studio as per instructions, got your clothes and hair done and now you are waiting for them to call you outside.

“Ms. Y/N?” A voice calls you from the door and breaks your reverie. “Let’s go” the staff smiles.

You stand up and follow her outside the green room.

As you approach the main shooting set all you hear is, well, moans and groans. And those get louder and louder with each passing second.

“Sit here.” the staff says. “You can observe what they are doing and prepare yourself in the meantime. We’ll brief you on the scenes once they are done.” she places a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

Too bad, ‘cause you are anything but reassured now.

“So this is how you like to be fucked? Like the bitch that you are? You slut!” the groan of the man invades each of your senses and you are shocked to say the least.

Is this how you are going to be treated here? You think to yourself. A shiver runs down your body when the sound of a sharp slap echoes inside the almost calm studio. Then another, then another. But the woman seems to enjoy it all. Her moans and whines keep getting louder.

You find your throat closing up with fear. Will you be able to enjoy it too? Or will you fuck things up?

You suddenly feel hot and sticky right between your legs. What the fuck? Are you really getting wet? Just with the sounds?

Squeezing your eyes shut you try to think of all the things you can do with the extra 50 million won.

“Great work, guys!” a loud cheer and sound of applause halt your activities. You open your eyes to measure the surroundings.

First you see the female lead coming out of the set with a cloth wrapped all around herself. She disappears with her assistant within seconds, even before you could see her face.

Then the man walks out, wearing almost nothing.

A towel is wrapped loosely around his torso and his bare body is on full view for you to enjoy.

You gulp.

The man is chugging down water as if he has been wandering in deserts for years. Your eyes fall on his Adam's apple at first, then on his glistening collarbones, his built chest, his toned abs, small waist and then on his torso.

Your anticipation makes you gulp again.

When you finally manage to drag your eyes up, you see him already staring and smirking at you.

And fuck! You choke on your own spit because you have never seen a more handsome man in your life.

Initially you thought Jeon Jungkook would be a pervert-looking middle aged ajussi but this guy looks like he is your age.

Your friends would actually pay to get fucked by a guy this hot. But you are getting it all for free? Must’ve saved your country in past life or something.

When Jungkook winks at you, you realize you have been staring at him for too long. And now you feel embarrassed.

Lord! What have you been doing!

“That’s it. I hope you have understood, Ms. Y/N?” The director peeks at you expectantly.

“I guess.. So.” You reply with a lot of doubts still playing in your mind.

“There is nothing to be nervous of,Y/N. We are not gonna send this movie to the Oscars, so you don’t have to think too much about your acting. Just do the bare minimum. Do what you are told. Jungkook will take care of the rest.” He gives you a kind smile.

You nod, reminding yourself that you need money and this is the only way.

“You guys will blur my face right?” you ask him with a low voice.

“We will. You can sue us if we don’t.” he chuckles.

You feel your nervousness and fears subsiding a bit… only to reach the peak in seconds.

“Hyung, are we good to go?” Jungkook appears from one of the green rooms, wearing his casual outfit - a white t-shirt with loose jeans.

He smiles down at you and you struggle to return his courtesy.

“Yeah, we are almost done here. Take care of Ms. Y/N, Jeon. She is very nervous.” the director gestures Jungkook to sit beside you.

Jungkook sits down with a respectable distance between you two and takes a tentative look at you before saying, “hyung, we have some time before the shoot starts right?”

The director nods a yes.

“Then.. let me talk to Y/N for a bit.”

“Yeah sure, go ahead.”

And they leave you alone with your co-star.

“Hey.” Jungkook says sweetly once you are alone in the makeshift secluded space.

“Hi.” you reply with a quiet trembling of a voice.

Jungkook chuckles at that.

“Cute.” you hear him murmuring under his breath.

“This is your first time, I guess?” He asks.

“Yeah and the last time as well.” you reply urgently, avoiding meeting his eyes as much as possible.

His eyes widen at your response, “why so?”

“I just need some extra money. So you know.. It’s a one time thing for me.”

“Oh..” Jungkook breathes out and then says, “then I will make sure it’s something you remember your entire life. I know you don’t have much experience but I won’t push you to do something crazy. I will be gentle, don’t worry. Just leave yourself up to me, relax and enjoy.” with that he rests one of his hands on top of yours and gives you a sickeningly sweet smile.

Now you don’t know how you are supposed to stay calm when your co-star’s mere presence is this nerve-wrecking.

“Okay. Cut” the director screams as you and Jungkook complete shooting the non-sexual scenes.

“You are pretty good, you know?” Jungkook slides beside you as you stand there preparing yourself for the big thing ahead.

“Ah. thanks. You are very impressive as well. I mean three times in a row is no joke. Aren’t you tired?” you reply, finally staring into his eyes.

Jungkook’s big doe, beautiful eyes almost defy the fact that he is in this business. Almost because once your eyes move lower on his body, you’ll have to admit that this is certainly his place to shine.

“I have a record of six times in a day, sweetie.” he smirks at you while winking at the same time. Your stomach flips involuntarily.

“Jungkook, Y/N, are you ready?” The director screams from his seat.

Jungkook raises his thumb to affirm him and then he looks back at you.

“As I said Y/N, don’t be nervous. I will take good care of you, okay?” Jungkook holds your hand again.

His sincere tone really melts your heart.

You nod, “okay.”

You don’t know how things will turn around but you are determined to enjoy it. You will not be seeing Jungkook anymore, anyway. So, why not take the advantage?

“Action!” the director screams.

When you look at Jungkook again, his doe eyes have turned dark.

From now on, you don’t have any dialogue. It’s only Jungkook who will do the talking, you will have to say yes or no as a response.

“So, you want me to fuck your virgin cunt because you are a bad bad girl. Is that right?” Jungkook speaks in a sultry low voice.

Your head starts spinning.

“Yes.” you reply.

He takes a step towards you as you take a step back.

“Oh. you got a voice I see.” Jungkook steps towards you again.

You know he is just acting but you can’t help but feel a burning sensation in your stomach. When you take another step back, your thighs come in contact with the bed.

He pushes on your shoulder gently, making you sit down.

“Then.. let me take care of you.” Jungkook says while sinking down on his knees.

He takes one of your feet in his hand and kisses on top of it. When his mouth wraps around your big toe, your breath hitches.

Were your feet always this sensitive?

He sucks on your big toe briefly, making it tough for you to breathe normally.

“Do you like it?” he asks, looking up at you, lips still close to your foot.

“Yes.” you mutter.

“Good girl.”

Jungkook places a kiss on your ankle next, then on your knee. His other hand kneads on your other thigh gently.

His mouth reaches to your inner thigh and hovers above your skin for a brief second. Then he kisses down, pulling out a moan from your throat.

“Lay down for me.” he requests and you oblige.

Jungkook’s fingers hook on the waistband of your panty and he slowly pulls that down revealing your glossy slit to not only him but to the entire crew.

But surprisingly you are not self conscious. Jungkook has somehow made it feel like it’s only about the two of you. And you like it that way.

“So pretty” he whispers, as if talking to your cunt.

His actions make you leak even more. You suck in a deep breath when you see him, lowering his face down to your pussy.

He places a soft kiss on your folds at first and then licks a stripe along it.

Latching his lips around your clit, he sucks on it. You lose your senses with that. Some incoherent words fly out of your mouth but you know you are not really making sense to anyone, not even yourself.

He keeps performing his ministrations, licking, sucking and occasionally biting down on your clit.

This is the very first time someone has their mouth on your cunt and you never thought it would feel this good.

“Umm.. you taste so good, sweetie.” Jungkook mumbles on your clit.

His tongue probes into your entrance, lapping up all the juices that you leak.

You grab the sheets to find something to distract the overpowering pleasure that Jungkook has been providing you with.

Your knees buckle, caging Jungkook between your legs.

Soon you feel something akin to a finger pressing down on your clit, then drawing slow circles around it, and then the circles are fast.

Your eyes roll back and your throat produces some sounds you never knew you could make.

“Fuck! So tight. I have never fucked a pussy tighter than this” Jungkook groans and it vibrates your folds.

When he pokes into your entrance again, while circling your clit, you find something coiling in your lower abdomen. Something so strong that you can’t contain it anymore.

And you have it. The very first orgasm of your life.

Your juices drain Jungkook’s mouth and chin.

“Fuck, sweetie!” Jungkook stands up, “look what have you done?” he says while climbing on the bed.

He grabs your camisole and tears it in an instant.

Even though you are in your post-oragsm glory, it shocks you regardless. You hear mumbles coming outside the set but then the director seems to say something that shuts everyone up.

As soon as your tits are on display, Jungkook grabs both of those with both of his hands.

He kneads the muscles while his mouth latches to your neck.

There is so much happening at the same time that you don’t know what to focus on.

Jungkook’s kisses drop down to your collarbone, bruising your skin and then to your tits. He wraps his pretty lips around your perked nipples, suckling those as if his life depends on it.

Your moans know no bounds. And you already feel heat building up in your stomach again.

You leave the sheets and grab Jungkook's hair instead. He groans in pleasure.

“You are driving me fucking crazy, sweetie!” Jungkook manages to say, “do you think you can take my cock now?”

“Yes.” you say desperately.

You are actually very desperate to have him inside you already.

Jungkook climbs down the bed and starts stripping. You stare at him as if he is the best mountain view in the world.

Your eyes widen upon seeing his cock and your first thought is if it will fit or not.

“Don’t worry. I will make it fit.” Jungkook replies as if reading your mind.

He then comes closer to you and lines his cock on your entrance. Putting his lips on yours he pushes his length in.

A loud earth-shattering moan comes out of your mouth, which Jungkook swallows immediately.

He grabs one of your thighs and wraps your leg around his torso, your other leg follows the suit. He takes the chance to accommodate his cock inside your hole comfortably. And once he is sure you have adjusted, he starts moving.

At first he is slow but then he starts picking up his pace.

“Does it hurt?” Jungkook mumbles in your mouth, not ceasing to kiss you all while.

“No. It feels good.” you spill the truth.

Jungkook groans at your response, emptying you for a second only to thrust his full length inside you harshly.

You whine.

He pins your wrists above your head and stares at you while fucking you dumb. His eyes are so dark that they demand you to keep staring back at them.

The skin slapping sound makes your head spin and the coil in your stomach starts getting loose.

“I-I am cum-” and before you could finish your sentence, you cum.

It Triggers Jungkook’s own orgasm. He pulls out your cock from your hole, pumps it twice and then spills his cum all over your body.

And all you could do is to stare at him dumbly with your mouth ajar.

“That was so unlike you, Jungkook.” you hear the director talking to your co-star.

Even though you don’t want to eavesdrop, you want to know what was not like him.

“I know, hyung. For the first time ever in my career I lost control.” he sighs “Y/N was… something else.”

Your face grows hot with the complement. But you know you are not going to see him again so it’s better not to think too much about it.

You grab your bag and head towards the exit, stopping to greet everyone on your way out.

“Hey” you greet him with a small voice.

Jungkook gives you a big toothy grin in return.

“Are you leaving already?” he asks, staring at your bag.

“Yes. I- um. Thanks, Jungkook. I really enjoyed it.” You tell him sincerely.

“My pleasure, Y/N. And honestly, I think I enjoyed you a little too much as well.” he replies scratching the back of his neck. The tips of his ears turn pink.

You giggle.

“That’s great. So… yeah. That’s it. I will take my leave now. Bye” waving your hands, you turn your heels to leave.

“Y/N?” but his voice stops you.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe if you don’t mind… Can we exchange numbers?”

“Umm.. maybe we can do that.”

Maybe this deal has more than just money to offer.

Taglist:

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nadvs · 2 months

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cam girl (part ten)

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary you work two jobs. by day, you’re a maid for the cameron household, where rafe degrades you any chance he can get. by night, you’re a cam girl, hiding your face so nobody can recognize you. when you discover your new subscriber, the filthy-mouthed man obsessively paying you to do everything he can think of, is rafe, you’re not sure what to do next.

» masterlist

*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Rafe is on your mind constantly. At this point, you’ve accepted it. There was something about the way he looked at you in his car last night. Possibly. Hopefully.

You stand in a quiet aisle, eyeing merchandise while you hold the charm on the necklace he gave you, the metal warm under your fingertips.

You’d never been in a sex shop before. The guys you hooked up with before Rafe were nowhere near as kinky as him and you bought all the stuff you needed to be a cam girl online.

But seeing all the possibilities makes your stomach twist with excitement. You want to try absolutely everything with Rafe.

You’ve been thinking about coming here throughout all your classes today with one thing in mind. Rafe loves to use toys on you, but you’ve never used anything on him.

With Rafe’s need for control, you assume he won’t be all that open to using a cock ring, but you want to do something special for him. Maybe you can introduce him to something for a change.

You find a vibrating ring that you know will fit him, then decide to send him a photo of the toys in the aisle behind you and text him: this is a great place to meet guys.

Before you’re even at the register, your phone buzzes.

Rafe: dont joke like that

Rafe: buying something for yourself princess?

He sends you $100.

You reply: something like that :)

You check out at the register and head home, already looking forward to tonight. Your phone buzzes again.

Rafe: when can i come over?

You smile at your phone.

You: what about our cam session?

You get a notification that he sent $1000. The alert makes you wonder if he thinks you’re just doing all this solely for the money and gifts.

You’d do it all for free.

Rafe: i won’t wait that long

Not just can’t. He won’t.

You reply: like 8ish?

Rafe: ok

It starts to rain close to 8 and when Rafe arrives at your place, his hair is wet and his face and jacket are peppered with raindrops.

“Is the valet not working today?” you joke, knowing full well he had to find street parking on your busy road.

He breathes a chuckle, stepping into your apartment with his usual ease. You’ve noticed that he walks into every room like he owns it.

Rafe shakes off his jacket and places it on the back of one of your kitchen table chairs while you grab a clean hand towel out of your hamper.

“Sorry this towel’s not a million thread count,” you tease, meeting him to dab the towel over his face.

His blue eyes search your face with a hint of something new. Confusion?

You realize you didn’t even think about it; you thoughtlessly started to dry him off. It was such a mechanical response. Your impulse is to take care of him, make him comfortable.

It’s official. This man is not just a fuck buddy to you anymore.

“What?” you ask, knowing you need to crack a joke to break the tension. “I’m just drying off my seat.”

“Oh, my God,” Rafe groans, trying to act annoyed, but you know he’s not. You laugh and lower the towel, squeezing the cotton in your hands.

“What’d you buy?” he asks, clearly eager.

“I’ll show you later. I wanna hear what you have planned,” you say. “You always have something planned.”

“You first,” he says.

“Rafe,” you whine, dropping the towel to rest your hands on his firm shoulders. “Can’t I surprise you for once? What do you want to do to me tonight?”

“I wanna see what you bought,” Rafe solidifies.

You suck your teeth in frustration, looking up at him with doe eyes.

“Please?” you breathe. “I’m always the one waiting. Why don’t you wait for once?”

Rafe’s jaw tightens and he shakes his head in disbelief like he can’t believe he’s giving in, but he gives in.

“You ever been tied up?” he finally asks, his voice so deep that it reverberates through you. The air is suddenly thick and any impression of humor that was floating between you has been dismissed by his words.

“Like… bondage?” you say in a short breath, mulling it over as blood rushes to your cheeks. “No. I haven’t.”

He closes the already minuscule distance between you, cradling your jaw in his cool hand.

“I want your hands tied up while I fuck you,” he says. Your mouth goes dry. Just when you think he can’t get any fucking hotter.

Rafe’s hand drops and you hear his belt unbuckling while his hot breath spreads across your cheek.

“Why the fuck are you still dressed?” he rasps. You’re reeling as you strip down to nothing but the necklace he gave you. You hear the clang of his belt buckle falling onto your kitchen table beside you.

Rafe’s hands drag over your hips, pinching down when he turns you to face the other way. He’s still in his boxers, his cock jabbing against your ass. His warm chest is pressed on your back, rising and falling.

“You’re always the one waiting?” he mutters. The belt buckle drags off the table top, and when you feel him roughly grab both your wrists and wrap the thick leather around them, the familiar need for him between your legs aches.

“You’re always waiting,” he repeats with a scoff. “I’m the one who’s always fucking waiting.”

You want to know what he means, but the belt is suddenly tight around your wrists, your chest jutting out. Rafe pushes you by the back of your neck so that your front is down on your table, your cheek flush against the hard plastic.

“Spread your legs,” he orders.

The muscles in your thighs are strained and your hips burn against the hard table from the way he has you bent over. He couldn’t even spare the few seconds to go to your bedroom.

You feel his tip press against you, making you wonder which hole he wants to fuck.

“Beg for it,” he orders. His fingers tighten around the back of your neck. Your arms are already burning from being bound like this.

“Please fuck me,” you moan, lips flanged from how hard your cheek is being pushed against the table.

“Say my fucking name,” he tells you.

“Please, Rafe,” you obey. He groans in response, hands settling on your hips.

He stretches your cunt out so fucking slowly that you want to scream. You push back against him, and you swear, he laughs at your desperation.

Rafe finally bottoms out in you, his hips against your ass. He puts his hand over your bound wrists, starting to drag out again.

“This pussy is fucking mine,” he says. As if you need the reminder. He owns you completely.

When he picks up the pace, driving into you, your breath hitches. With every thrust, your hips grind against the hard table, making you ache in pain.

“Ow,” you snip before you can stop yourself.

Rafe immediately pulls out of you, making you writhe in frustration.

“What hurts?”

“Nothing,” you lie, wanting him more than you want the pain to stop. “Keep going.”

“What hurts?” he repeats sternly.

“My hips,” you admit. “I’m fine, it’s just ‘cause of the table. Please just-”

“I’m not making you cry again,” he snaps. He cups a hand on your shoulder. “Go to your bed.”

“Rafe, it’s fine.” You feel oddly ashamed, like you’re not doing your job pleasing him how he wants you to.

“Go,” he mutters. His hand pulls you up and you have no choice but to let him push you into your bedroom.

Your wrists are still bound at your lower back when he bends you over your bed. You sink onto your stomach, feeling Rafe’s fingers spread you open before driving his cock into you again.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he relentlessly pounds in and out of you. Your arms strain against the constrictions of his belt, the sensations so fucking perfect.

“Shit, I’m…” he groans, and you know he’s close, so you try to tilt up your hips so he can get as deep as possible.

Rafe shakes through his orgasm and you think how you could never tire of this feeling, of being the one he finishes inside of and reaches this feeling with.

He’s panting when he pulls out of you. Your wrists burn against the belt as he loosens it. His hand smooths over your ass before he spanks you and collapses beside you.

“Show me what you bought,” he says. “It better make you cum.” You tilt your head to meet his gaze.

“Have an open mind, okay?”

“Damn, what the fuck is it?” Rafe asks with a curious laugh.

You’re sore as you get up on your knees and shift to grab the white ring you already took out of the packaging and placed in your nightstand.

When you settle back on the bed and hold it out in front of him, his brows furrow.

“Is that…?” He can’t finish the sentence, his tone apprehensive.

“It might feel really good,” you say with a small smile. “I got a vibrating one.”

Rafe sits up, glancing down at your purchase before looking up at you again.

“Come on,” you laugh. “You surprise me all the time. I can’t surprise you?”

He clears his throat.

“I don’t know,” he says simply, blinking fast. It sounds like a hard no.

“Oh,” you say. You’re shocked he’s not at least a little open to it, considering how kinky he is. “Okay. Sorry.”

You turn to put the toy away, but his next words stop you.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “Fine.”

“Really?” you ask, meeting his eyes again.

“You just look so fucking sad,” he groans.

“You don’t have to do it.”

“Let’s just try it.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “After everything I do to you…” You smile in response.

Rafe sits up against the head of your bed frame and you straddle him, dipping your head to kiss him. It’s strange how with him, making out feels more intimate than sex does. As good as the sex is, nothing gets your heart fluttering quite like when his lips are on yours.

Your hands settle on his shoulders and you tug at the ends of hair as you kiss him passionately.

Rafe smiles under the kiss, your lips molding together, his tongue tumbling with yours. You feel him getting hard again.

You pull back to slide the ring down his cock and he sighs in a way that tells you he can’t believe he’s actually doing this before he takes you in to kiss you again.

Rafe’s hands roll over your ass, squeezing and kneading as you sit on his naked lap. This is the longest you’ve ever kissed. It feels crazy to realize that, considering everything you’ve done together.

“Shit,” he shifts beneath you. His cock is growing, the ring starting to squeeze around him.

“How’s it feel?” you ask.

“Good,” he breathes, eyes low. It makes your heart swell with pride. “Ride me.”

You sink down on him slowly, feeling the ring against you once you’re fully seated. You find the button at the top of it to turn on the vibration.

You both exhale in pleasure at the same time. He skims his hands up to your waist, looking at you while you grind on top of him.

In the dim light of your quiet bedroom, the toy buzzing against your clit, how deep he is inside you, the way his eyes are locked on yours… it’s all so perfect. Everything with him is so fucking perfect that it can’t be true.

The fact that you ended up here all because of a part-time cleaning job and a cam website feels insane.

Your palm is against his hot chest. He looks down at it and his dimples dip into his cheeks as he smiles smugly.

“Your hands are so fucking cute,” he teases. The non-sexual compliment sends you into a tizzy.

“Yours are huge,” you retort, trying to keep cool.

“What else is huge?” he asks.

“Your ego.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs.

“Okay,” you tease, starting to sit up so he’ll slip out of you. He roughly pulls you back down by your hips.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Rafe mutters. You laugh and start to fuck him faster, your hips rolling in circles.

“Fuck,” he groans, head tilting back. “I… Fuck, I need to get on top.”

You shift to let him settle over you, your head resting on your pillow. Rafe’s hand runs up the side of your bent leg and he grabs your calf to pull it towards him, silently inviting you to wrap your legs around him.

You hook your ankles together, your entire body hugging him.

You fuck for at least twenty straight minutes, both of you sweating and panting and shaking. You knew he’d last extra long with the cock ring tight around him, but this is unbelievable.

You cum twice underneath him in the span of the session, earning a string of “good girl”s from him. By your third orgasm, he starts to tremble, too.

When Rafe cums inside you, his name tumbles out in his groan. Not princess, not baby, not good girl, but your name, and it gives you a knotted feeling in your stomach that you haven’t had with him yet.

Maybe it’s because he’s elated over coming down from a new level. Or maybe it’s more.

He pulls out, still dripping.

“So… you like my present?” you ask when he falls in your bed next to you.

“Fuck,” Rafe groans. “That was…” He doesn’t seem to have the words, but neither do you. How do you even begin to describe something this unreal?

“I need water,” you say, unsure of how you’re going to even stand up. “Want some?”

He shakes his head in response.

You stand at your kitchen sink, leaning against the counter and swallowing down cold water. On your way back to the bedroom, you notice a lit up screen on your kitchen table.

Rafe must have left his phone here before you moved to the bed. Through pure instinct, you look at the screen. By the time you realize you’re accidentally snooping, it’s too late.

You don’t see the contact name in time, but you do see the message.

bro where are you? too many bitches here for just me lol

A chill rushes through your body. It must be one of his buddies waiting for him at a party.

Of course. It’s a Friday night and you’re pretty sure all the rich people on the island have to do is party.

You feel like an idiot. Expecting exclusivity from Rafe in the arrangement you’re in was ridiculous. Of course he’s fucking around on the side. Someone like him, with his sex drive, can’t be satisfied by one girl.

At this point, you just want him to leave, so you collect his clothes off the kitchen floor.

Thankfully, Rafe’s already sitting up in your bed when you reenter your bedroom. Surely eager to go.

“Here,” you say coldly, handing him his jeans and t-shirt. You don’t look at him when he takes his clothes from you. “Are you gonna head out?”

You realize when you ask the question, it’s like a secret test you’re putting him through. If he stays, he gives a shit about you. If he leaves, he doesn’t.

“Yeah, I should,” he says. He should. Yeah, he really should go look at and flirt with and fuck other girls.

“‘Kay.” You start to collect some clean clothes from your dresser, covering your body with them, feeling strangely insecure around him now.

“You pissed off or something?” he asks behind you as he gets dressed.

You clench your jaw. Honestly, you’re more hurt than anything. But are you even allowed to be? Just because he acts like your boyfriend sometimes doesn’t mean he is.

“No,” you reply. You swallow down the painful feelings and turn to look at him. “Just tired.” You think back to your texts yesterday about how often you’ve hooked up. “Lost count, right? I might need a break.”

You don’t mean it. At this point, you’re just defensive. Wanting to hurt him like he hurt you.

Rafe’s face flashes in displeasure.

“What - why? What the fuck happened in the last fucking minute?” he asks.

“I’m not allowed to be tired?” you respond.

He dips his head, nodding as he buttons his jeans. He seems silenced by his own anger. Your eyes sweep down his muscled body, wishing he’d just hug you and ask you what’s wrong one more time and reassure you that you’re more than just sex to him.

You can tell he’s pissed off and you know you’re not being fair, but you let him leave without any more words exchanged between you.

After a long shower, you lie in bed and wish Rafe didn’t leave his smell on your pillow. You browse your phone, trying to distract yourself.

You tell yourself you’ll go to sleep in five minutes over and over again. You’re working at the estate tomorrow. You need to get up early. But you know the moment you close your eyes, you’ll be trapped in your thoughts. You don’t want to think about him.

It’s nearing midnight when a text comes in.

Rafe: princessssssdsssss

You look at your screen in confusion. Is this a drunk text?

Rafe: ur mean

Rafe: but ypur pussy is sooo niiice lol

Yeah. He’s plastered.

Rafe: ans you have cutehands

Rafe: you akwyas smell good how the fuck is fhat possibke

You hate that your heart warms at the fact that he’s clearly fucked up but his instinct is to text you.

You reply: i think someone’s drunk…

Rafe: yes iam

Rafe: idk what i’m gona do with yiu loool

You: what do you want to do with me?

You get an alert that he sent you $69.

Rafe: that

Rafe: looool

Sex. Of course.

You: are you going to make me do every position?

Rafe: you’r efreaky as fuck. i know youd like it

You: true…

Rafe: lowkey ur all i think about

Goddamn it. Your heart is pounding at this point. You try to play it off.

You: oh only lowkey. cool

Rafe: don’t be maddd

You: i’m pissed

Rafe: we should fuck aboutt it :)

You know the answer to your next question, that he sees you as a booty call and that’s all, but you know the confirmation.

You: is that all you want to do rafe? fuck?

Rafe: YES

Rafe: what if i come over again tonigjt lol

You: i work tomorrow. i need to sleep

Rafe: you need this dick

You: omg

Rafe: do you likw this skng

Rafe: song

You: ??? what song

You can’t stifle your laugh at how shit-faced he is.

Rafe: irs good

Rafe: u should giveme a lap dance

You: you’re drunk as hell. i’ll see you tomorrow, ok? goodnight

You think back to the way he looked when you snapped at him earlier and decide to send one more message.

You: sorry i was mean

He doesn’t reply. Maybe it’s better that way.

Your body is heavy the next morning. You barely make it to the Camerons’ estate. You don’t see Rafe at all in the morning. You’re guessing he crashed at whoever’s party he went to.

You wonder how many bitches, as he and his friends say, he talked to last night.

When it’s time to turn over his bedsheets, you take a moment to take in the familiarity of his bedroom. When you pull over a new fitted sheet, you realize just how exhausted you are.

There’s no reason for another maid to come into this room. It’s on your list only. And Rafe is gone.

So, what’s the harm in lying down to rest, just for a little bit? You’ll do a better job when you’re not exhausted.

You won’t close your eyes.

You lie on his pillow. Okay, maybe you can close your eyes for a minute. You’ll count to sixty then stand back up.

The numbers quickly melt away and you slip into a slumber.

When you wake up, nuzzling your face into the pillow, Rafe is in bed with you, his back to you.

It takes a moment to remember where you are. You sit up and he notices the movement, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

{ read part eleven here }

author’s note: shoutout to my readers for being so creative. thank you to this anon and this anon and to another reader (you know who you are) for your contributions to this chapter! ILY!

#we are FINALLY getting rafe’s pov in the next part 🫡#also dont hate me for the cliffhanger pls #two more parts and the series will wrap up!!! hope you’ve liked it 🥰#im excited to give this fic its ending but honestly sad its almost over #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #obx smut #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic

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freedomfireflies · 6 months

Text

A-Mazing*

Summary: An extra for 404*

The one where you and Harry find yourselves lost in a corn maze together.

Word Count: 7.5k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, exhibitionism, size kink, Daddy kink, enemies dynamic, Harry being a little bitch 🫶

“Oh, absolutely not.”

Harry smirks as he turns to you, hands sliding into his hoodie pocket. “Gee, thanks.”

“No, I’m serious, I’m not getting stuck with you,” you argue, glancing toward the rest of the group that’s already heading inside the corn maze. “Seriously, please. Anybody else. I will take literally anybody else.”

“Well, you don’t get anybody else,” Harry snorts, much too smug for your liking. “You were late.”

“Yeah, and I was late because I was fixing your mistake,” you remind him. “It took me three hours to recode that sequence. And I’m still not finished—"

“Right, because it wasn’t a fucking mistake, Princess. The way I designed it was going to help it run three times more efficiently than the way Prescott suggested. And you just fucking undid it—"

“You weren’t asked to make it more efficient. You were told to do it the way the client wanted—”

“Well, the way the client wanted it was slow and stupid—”

“And you would be the authority on slow and stupid.”

Harry’s eyes narrow while his lips press into a thin line, looking quite incensed. “Very mature. Are we going in or what?”

“Fine,” you agree through a heavy exhale, shoving past him to head toward the entrance.

You have no idea why you even agreed to come in the first place. Sure, the idea of getting a few coworkers together for some fall fun was sweet, but truth be told, you don’t really care about any of these people outside of the office. You don’t care to see them, or get to know them, or hang out with them.

And the one person you do know happens to also be the one person you can’t stand.

Corn mazes are fun. Even pairing up to do them together is kind of exciting.

But with him? You’d rather get lost.

“All right, here’s your map,” the kind, older woman at the table says, handing you a piece of paper. “Answer the questions at each fork and follow the path according to your answer.”

You nod your understanding and offer a quick thank you before slipping past the tent and toward the beginning of the maze. The setting sun casts shadows across the field as you both make your way through the stocks.

You feel a sense of adventure as you make your way to the first checkpoint. Taking in the lingering scent of kettle corn somewhere off in the distance, and the excited chatter of the other people inside the maze. It’s exhilarating, and you feel a sense of purpose as you stride forward. Spurred on by a need to win – to do better than him.

And you hear Harry subtly huff from somewhere behind you, clearly annoyed with the way you’ve left him behind. “Real fucking mature,” he scoffs, and you can practically hear his eyes roll. “We’re supposed to be a team, Tinkerbell. You know, work together.”

“Well, I don’t want to be on a team with you,” you retort. “And we’ve never worked well together. As is evident by your complete lack of common sense and understanding of the system we’re trying to design.”

“Oh, this shit again—"

“Yes, this shit again. You’re costing us time and money by trying to prove you’re so much better than everyone else—”

“Well, I can’t exactly help it if I am, now, can I?”

You feel your expression fall as you spin on your heel to face him. “You’re fucking annoying, is what you are. It’s not my job to clean up after you. Okay, I’m not your mother, I’m not your babysitter. I am your equal. And it’s about fucking time you start treating me like it.”

Even in the dark, murky space, you can see a certain glimmer in his eye. One that challenges the frown on his face.

He studies you for a moment, eyes searching for a response. “Careful what you wish for, Princess.”

With that, he shoves past you and forges ahead into the maze. Leaving you to stare at his back with a glower.

You’re both silent as you approach the first fork, offering nothing more than looks of indignation and huffs of apathy as you raise your map and scan the question.

“What does WWW stand for in a website browser?” you read aloud before snorting. “World Wide Web. C.”

An easy question. You both know the answer, and there's no way he can argue with you.

So, instead, he says nothing. Merely glancing over the paper almost skeptically before heading toward the third row.

Pocketing the trivia questions, you chase after him. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? The silent treatment?”

Harry’s back stays to you as he slips between the stocks. “I’m not giving you the fucking silent treatment; I’m not twelve.”

“Then why aren’t you talking to me?”

“Because you’re a fucking brat.”

The vicious way he sneers the word sends a certain reaction down your spine, but you brush it away just as quickly as it appeared. “I thought I was your teammate.”

“You said it yourself, we’re not a team,” he retorts. “You’re not my babysitter, and you’re not my mother. Unless what you were really trying to say is that you want me to call you Mommy.”

You feel yourself hesitate, confused, and slightly startled by the suggestion. “Ew. Why would I want that?”

You see his shoulder lift and fall in a shrug. “I don’t know. You’ve always been a kinky little thing. Maybe it gets you off.”

“Oh, fuck you, I don’t have a mommy kink. Especially not with you.”

“Fine, a daddy kink then. Don’t think I forgot how eager you were to say it last time—”

“That was for you,” you hiss, once again glaring at his hooded back. “Okay, I was trying to see if you liked it, and you did—”

“Of course I did. It’s hot.”

“Sure, yeah. But I’m the kinky one?”

“I never said I wasn’t. I’m just saying, if you want me to call you mommy…all you have to do is ask.”

You come to the second fork, forcing the conversation to a halt as you feel your heart hammer in your chest. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Fine.”

You unfold the map and search for the next question. “What is cynophobia?”

“Easy. Fear of cats.”

“That’s ailurophobia, you dipshit. Cynophobia is a fear of dogs.”

“Dipshit. Classy. No, that’s real nice, Tink. Very romantic.”

“Well, it’s true. Look it up.”

“Can’t,” he says calmly. Confidently. “There’s no service in here.”

“Oh, yeah? And how do you know?”

“Cause I’ve done this before. Many times.”

Your eyes narrow. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“…why?”

There’s a brief pause before he says, “She used to love it here.”

Your heart instantly drops into your toes, grimace untwisting as you glance toward the ground. “Oh.”

Another shrug. “Point is, I can’t look it up. So…pick whichever. I don’t care.”

Swallowing thickly, you gesture toward the second exit. “B. The answer is dogs. My brother used to have it when he was younger.”

And for the first time all evening, it’s Harry’s turn to look surprised as he nudges his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “You have a brother?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you learn that from my file?” you tease, and you notice his lips twitch up into a smirk.

“Not exactly.”

“Yeah, well…I don’t really talk about him. He doesn’t live here, he lives back home. After my dad left, he stuck around to take care of our mom.”

You see a flash of sympathy streak across his expression, but you’re brushing him off before he can comment.

“Anyway, it’s B,” you repeat, walking toward the middle row. “If you don’t believe me, then go your own way.”

For a moment, Harry hesitates, almost as though considering it. Then, he sighs, and begrudgingly follows your lead.

This time around, you’re both quiet. Listening to the sounds of everyone else further on in the maze laughing, or talking, or squealing with excitement.

A few scattered lamps help guide you through the dark labyrinth. You can see the wind move through the corn stocks. The way they rustle as they sway with the breeze, adding an element of eeriness to the already spooky scene.

Furthermore, the night air is beginning to grow cold. The fall chill nipping at your skin and reminding you once more that it’s no longer summer as you shiver and pull your jacket further around your body.

“Should have brought a real coat,” Harry comments, almost haughtily, and it makes your eyes roll. “It’s October, Princess. Can’t wear booty shorts and flip flops anymore.”

Despite the fact that you’re wearing neither of those, you still feel the need to scoff, “Well, of course it’s not cold to you. You’re already dead inside.”

“Ooo, ouch. You got me. Sick burn, Tink. Real sick.”

His flippant response makes your skin crawl. “You are so fucking annoying, do you know that?”

“And you’re a fucking brat, do you know that?”

“I’m not a brat, I’m just right.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Yeah, it is whatever I say, actually. I’m the one with the fucking map.”

To prove your point, you wave the paper in the air before stopping beside the next checkpoint.

“What are the names of the four women on the show, The Golden Girls?” you read, eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Uh…I know Rose is one of them.”

“And Betty White,” Harry adds.

“No, her character. Not her,” you huff. “And I’m pretty sure Betty played Rose, so that’s only one.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to help,” he scoffs before glancing over the multiple-choice answers. “Then it’s probably A or C. Those are the only ones with Rose in them.”

“Well, we have to pick one. Okay, we can’t do both—”

“Yes, I fucking know that, Tinkerbell. I’m just narrowing it down—”

“Well, maybe be less condescending about it.”

“Fine,” he nearly snaps, angrily stabbing at the map with his finger. “A. Dorothy, Rose, Blanch, and Samantha.”

“No, that doesn’t sound right. I don’t think they had a Samantha. It was…it was something else. Either Sophia or Sarah.”

“Well, you have to pick one. You can’t have both,” he repeats mockingly, and you begin to glare. “Besides, statistically, it’s more likely they switch up the letters with each guess. We’ve already done B and C. Next should be A.”

“Really? That’s your reasoning?”

“That’s my reasoning. Take it or leave it.”

And you don’t like it. You don’t feel convinced by it. But you decide – just this once – to put your faith in his incessant need to be right. To trust him and his judgment.

You nod once. A curt gesture of good will as he sighs gratefully and takes off toward the first row.

An eerie feeling follows you as you trail behind. Perhaps an ominous warning to turn around. That something is about to go wrong.

At first, you shake it away. Equating it with your distaste for the man before you.

But soon…you see the real reason why.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you groan when you’re both forced to a stop by a dead end. “See? What did I tell you?”

“Fuck off, you didn’t tell me shit, Princess. It’s a dead end, not death,” he huffs. “We’ll turn around and try again.”

“Can we? We passed like two other rows and now I can’t remember which way we came.”

“Well, that’s not my fault.”

“Oh, bite me, Harold.”

“Just tell me where.”

You feel your heart race beneath your chest. Spurred on by adrenaline, slight fear, and the brisk cold air. “Can you please stop being so infuriating?”

“Can you please stop being such a bitch?” he replies cooly before his eyes flick down toward your shivering frame. “You’re shaking.”

“Yes, I know,” you grit through clenched, chattering teeth. “It’s cold. And don’t you dare make another joke about flip flops. I don’t have the energy to slap you.”

That arrogant smirk returns. “Cute. Told you, you should have brought a coat.”

“Well, I didn’t,” you hiss. “So can we please just get the fuck out of here before I freeze to death?”

Harry’s eyes roll, but you notice his grin grow as he sighs and lifts a hand toward the collar of his hoodie.

In one fluid motion, he’s slipping the sweatshirt up his torso and over his head to hand to you. Dangling the dark fabric between your bodies as you stare at it incredulously.

“Take it,” he grumbles, waving the material in your direction. “And don’t fucking say I’m never nice to you.”

Stunned, you blink quickly. “What…are you doing?”

“Just put it on,” he huffs, gesturing toward you again. “Cause, if you die out here, I’m not dragging your body back.”

Your eyelids narrow into small slits while you cautiously reach for the hoodie. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Once you’ve taken it, he uses his knuckle to shove his glasses back into position. “Like you said, I can’t get cold. I’m dead inside.”

You smile at this before pulling the cozy jacket over your head. It smells…good. It smells like him. Radiating heat and the faint scent of his cologne.

Truth be told, it feels like a warm hug. Something you can’t imagine Harry ever giving you on his own. And a part of you feels…relieved. Relaxed and almost…enamored. Perhaps even grateful.

“Thanks,” you murmur, snuggling against the fabric before slipping your hands into the pocket. “You didn’t…have to. I know being nice isn’t your thing.”

He snorts, turning now toward the tall lookout platform just beside the dead end. “Whatever. Maybe we should go up and see if we can see the exit.”

“Okay.”

With that, he turns toward the stairs and begins the trek up. You rush after him, trying hard to see the steps without much light, and thankfully making it to the top in one piece as you begin to look around.

It’s beautiful. Absolutely stunning, the design lit up by the soft glow of the moon. An almost romantic touch, although you shake the thought away. You can see a few groups spread out throughout the rest of the maze, but most of them are already making their way out. Having figured out the riddles much quicker than the two have seemed to.

You pout. “Nuts.”

“Yeah,” he agrees in a low grumble. “Okay, we’ll…we’ll turn around. Maybe you were right. Maybe it was C. We can try that next.”

It’s strange to hear him admit you could have been correct, and you can’t help but smirk as you nod. “Okay.”

You follow Harry down the other side, focusing your attention on your footing as you take each step one at a time.

But once you’re toward the bottom, your tennis shoe suddenly catches on a rogue nail, and you begin to stumble. Body falling forward before you can even reach for the railing.

Instantly, Harry – who’s already made it back to the ground – reaches out for your arms, slipping his hands beneath your elbows to help steady you and catch you just in the nick of time. Sparing you from a rather embarrassing fall.

You gasp as you’re flung forward, allowing yourself to settle in his embrace for support while you work on your balance and place your feet back where they need to be.

And once you’re sure you’re sturdy, you take a deep breath, and straighten up.

“Shit,” you whisper, lashes fluttering from the rush of adrenaline, and the feel of his touch. “I hate these shoes.”

You expect a snarky quip, but instead, you see his expression twist from behind his glasses as he glances over your face. Hands still glued to your arms. “Are you all right?”

A bit stunned by the soft and rather gentle tone of voice, you nod once. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m…sorry. I should have been looking.”

He seems confused by your apology but chooses to ignore it, instead watching you closely as if monitoring your reaction. “If you wanted me to hold you, Tinkerbell, you could have just said so.”

Despite yourself, you laugh, cheeks growing warm as you push yourself out of his arms. “Fuck off.”

“Fuck off? Or fuck me?”

“Ha. Very funny.”

“Maybe I’m not being funny,” he argues. “Maybe I mean it.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”

You snort. “Harry, come on. This would be the last place to fuck.”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why. What’s wrong with it? It’s dark. Secluded. There’s the element of getting caught, which I know you like.”

“Harry,” you repeat, almost doubtfully. “We…there’s no place to even do it. It’s way too exposed, and cold, and dangerous. We’d be better off just fucking in my car.”

“If we can even find our way back to your car,” he retorts teasingly. “Besides, I thought you liked danger.”

You gaze at him with suspicion, feeling that odd racing return to your chest. “You’re not being serious, are you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. I wasn’t at first, but…it’s not a bad idea.”

“Please. You can’t be that horny that you have to fuck me every time we see each other.”

“Okay, well, I’m not and I don’t,” he scoffs. “It’s just…different.”

“Oh, really? Why?”

Another shrug, but this time, he’s stepping closer. Those soft, green eyes dancing down your body as if drinking you in. Indulging in the sight of you. “I don’t know,” he repeats, a bit quieter. Thicker. “There’s just…something about you, in my clothes. It’s…it’s good. You look good.”

The look in his eye is primal. Breeding a new sense of desire deep within the pit of your stomach. You shift under his lustful gaze, fingers curling into your fist from inside the pocket.

“Thanks, I guess,” you manage to say, noticing the way he continues to move closer. “It is comfy.”

“Good,” he mumbles, still studying your stance before dragging his attention back up to your face. “And you’re warm?”

“Getting there.”

A short nod. “You know…there are other ways of heating you up.”

The sneaky remarks are back, and even though you can feel your legs squeezing together from the suggestive tone of voice, you grin. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” He finally reaches you, fingers outstretching for the front of his hoodie. Moving up your chest almost innocently before slipping around the back of your neck. “Want me to keep you warm, Tink?”

And you want to tease him a little longer, make him wait. Suffer.

But he’s too good. He’s always been too good at catching you off guard and luring you into submission. The way he speaks, the way he looks at you, the way he pulls you closer with the palm of his hand. You can practically taste him. Can smell him everywhere. Feel him in places he’s not even touching you.

And you need it. You need him, you want him. Right now, more than anything.

“Yes,” you exhale, almost shakily. “Yes, please—”

He surges forward, lips connecting with yours almost violently. Stealing the rest of your plea before you can make it.

You can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but whimper as he sucks on your tongue and presses his fingers harder against your head. Trapping you against his mouth until you feel dizzy.

And he’s so warm. A stark contrast to the brisk, autumn air. And he’s soft in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Inviting. As though he’s been waiting his whole life to lay his mouth to yours.

“Har—” you gasp when he pulls back to nip at your bottom lip. “Har, please—”

You sound deranged. Wounded, almost, and so goddamn pitiful. You’re tugging on his shirt, trying to yank him impossibly closer. Tilting to the left for a deeper angle and raising up onto your toes in order to taste him fully.

“Easy,” he whispers, and it’s so very strained. Like he’s using what little strength he still has to speak to you. “Easy, Princess. S’okay, I’ve got you.”

It’s possessive the way he talks to you. Commanding you to listen. Insisting that your pleasure is his. That your wellbeing is in his hands.

He’s not a caring man by nature. At least not to you. But in moments like this, his dominance takes control. Turning him into a desperate man eager to care for you. To protect you and keep you safe.

Perhaps it’s a more caveman mindset. The idea that he needs to look after you. That you’re his to keep and care for.

But right now…you adore it. Feel safe in the idea of submitting to him.

“Please,” you try again, breathless and desperate as you cling to his strong frame and beg him for something only he can give you. “Harry, please…hurts.”

There’s a teasing glimmer in his eye, brightened by the reflection of his glasses. “Yeah? Is it achy, Tink?”

You nod quickly, grabbing onto his other hand to slide it down your stomach. Right toward where you need him most.

And he lets himself be moved, watching with intrigue at the way his fingers are dragged toward your thighs. Smirking rather sadistically while pressing his palm against your pussy with fervor.

You whine at the subtle friction, already attempting to grind down against the heel of his hand as he meets your pace with soft strokes of his own.

“There you go,” he murmurs, watching your hips before returning his attention to your face. “Feels good, baby, yeah? Like to use me, don’t you?”

Another quick nod, and you sigh contently when he presses his lips to your cheek. Placing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“Har,” you try again, nuzzling closer. “Har, they’re…they’re gonna see. Can’t…can’t do it here—”

“Yes we can,” he replies calmly. And the soft, secure tone of voice instantly turns your insides to jelly. “Promise I won’t let them see, okay? Gonna keep you to myself.”

He removes his hand from your pussy to place it on your hip. Guiding you back until you feel your body connect with something hard. You glance around just long enough to find that it’s the wooden frame of the lookout. And he keeps you trapped there as he hides you both beneath the structure, tucking you away from any prying eyes that might pass.

“There,” he says, grinning to himself at the eager look on your face. “Now Daddy can see just how wet you really are, hm?”

You can tell he’s using the nickname sparingly. Tentative of your reaction as he waits to see how you might feel about it.

And truthfully, you hadn’t anticipated liking it as much as you do. Especially in this moment, when he’s giving you everything you’ve ever wanted. It’s like music to your ears, orgasmic just to listen to.

You swallow thickly and nudge your nose against his cheek. “Yes, Daddy.”

He tenses beneath your touch, cursing against the shell of your ear before he whispers, “Show me.”

He returns his hand to yours, allowing your fingers to interlock as you shakily guide him toward your jeans.

After a bit of maneuvering, you get the zipper down, and help slip his hand inside your underwear. Straight down to your cunt as his fingers glide through your folds until he can find what he’s looking for.

“Oh, Tink,” he coos almost sympathetically. Stroking your pussy as you move to grip his wrist excitedly. “S’all wet, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you mumble, leaning your head back against the wooden board for stability. “Hurts.”

“I bet,” he tsks, sliding his middle finger toward your hole. Circling it once before glancing over your expression. “Need something to fill you up, hm? Get you warm again?”

You hum your agreement, tugging his touch further into you as he chuckles and steps closer. “Please…”

“What, baby? What do you need?”

You whimper again and roll your hips against his fingers. Needing the friction of his thumb against your clit which he refuses to give you.

“What do you want, hm?” he mumbles, dipping down to ghost his lips across yours. “Just ask…and Daddy will give you anything you want.”

And in this moment, you know he means it.

“Want you…to fuck me,” you exhale, reaching now for the curls lying against the back of his neck. “Please, Har. Need you to fuck me. Make it better. Make it go away.”

“Is that right?” He slips a finger inside, and you feel your insides twist as you gasp and squirm against the pleasurable touch. “Need something bigger, yeah?”

“Yes…yeah. Please. Please, Daddy.”

He smiles again before slipping his hand from inside your jeans to help tug them down your legs. Yanking almost furiously until they’re settled near your ankles. Allowing him just enough room to slip between.

And once your cunt is on display for him, he stares at it with a certain mesmerized admiration. Allowing himself to enjoy you before he reaches for his own belt and tugs it free.

Once he’s managed to pull his cock out, he reaches again for your hips. Squeezing them once before turning you around.

His arm slips around your middle to keep you secure and you grin lazily as you rest yourself against his chest.

“Gonna hold you, just like this,” he whispers against your cheek, and you feel the tip of his cock trailing against the curve of your ass. “Keep you warm.”

The hand against your ribcage is gentle. Keeping you steady as he attempts to hold you close.

“Deep breath, Tink, okay?” he instructs next, nudging the crown against your dripping hole. Warning you of his next step. “Know it’s a lot, but you always take me so well, don’t you? Gonna take me again?”

You grab onto his arm, nails scraping down his skin as you whine, “Yes. Yes, I’ll take you. Just need it, Har, please—"

“Okay, all right,” he shushes, nudging his cheek against your temple. “Need you to relax, okay? Are you relaxed, baby?”

And you think you are. Mentally, anyway. You’ve never felt so comfortable in someone’s arms. Under their influence and control. Even despite the cold air nipping at your thighs and the outside threat of getting caught, you feel at ease. Adrenaline coursing through your veins as the sounds of people somewhere else in the maze float toward you. Reminding you of where you are. What could happen.

“Tink,” he warns, sliding his cock through your folds in wait. “I need you to relax for me, okay? I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“No?” you manage to retort, and you catch his smile out of your peripheral. “Thought you liked to hurt me.”

“I do,” he agrees, lips following the shell of your ear. “But not like this. Don’t wanna split you in half.”

“Maybe I want you to,” you breathe, reaching back for his neck. “Maybe I need it, Daddy.”

He chuckles almost darkly before pressing his mouth against your heated skin. “I’ll remember that.”

With that, he drops his hand down to your cunt, circling his fingers around your clit until he feels your body unwind. Allowing him just enough room to begin pushing his cock in.

“There you go,” he sighs, both of you groaning when you feel how easily he slips in. “So fucking good. Take me so well, don’t you? Always do, I know. Relax, baby. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

The burn is almost overwhelming. Demanding your focus and attention as you feel him stretch you open, forcing your walls to accommodate his size.

“Hey,” you hear him murmur, his palm coming up to cup your jaw. Thumb sweeping across your parted lips. “Are you breathing? Gotta breathe, Tink, come on. You know better—”

“I know,” you gasp, sucking in a greedy gasp for air before you suck in his finger. “I know, Daddy, m’sorry.”

He hums his approval before allowing himself to sit inside your warm mouth. “It’s okay, know it feels good, hm?”

“Mhm,” you agree around the large digit, allowing your tongue to settle him on your tastebuds. “More.”

“More?” he repeats, using his other hand to squeeze your hip. “Want more, greedy girl?”

“Please…”

“Please," he echoes thoughtfully. "Greedy Girl has manners, how precious.”

There’s a slight air of condescension and teasing to his response, and you feel yourself flutter around his length.

His grin grows. “You like that, baby?”

You manage one more weak nod as you press yourself against his body, squirming in his hold while his cock pushes in to the hilt.

“There,” he exhales, groaning some before falling still. Allowing your body to adjust to his size. “You okay?”

“Yes…yes, m’okay. Please move, please…please, Daddy—”

“Okay, all right,” he agrees coarsely, readjusting his stance before returning his arm to your stomach. Just beneath your chest. “Need you to be good, okay? Just listen to Daddy’s voice and do what I say.”

“I will. I will, I promise.”

“Good.” He begins to pull back. Dragging his cock through your quivering hole as you moan his name.

But such a loud noise isn’t quite what he had in mind, his other palm reaching up to smack across your mouth to silence you.

“Uh-uh,” he grunts, pausing the rhythm of his hips until he’s sure you’ll obey. “None of that. M’keeping you for myself, remember? Can’t let them know.”

You make an incoherent noise against his hand before writhing back against his cock. Needing more friction and movement that he refuses to give you.

“Unless that’s what you want, Greedy Girl,” he whispers into your neck. “Want them to see what I do to you. The way I make you fall apart…the way you beg for my cock. Even when you hate me.”

The idea sends a shiver down your spine as you groan his name and claw at his wrist.

“Is that what you want?” he murmurs between sharp thrusts. “S’it why you keep this pretty pussy so nice and tight for me? Cause you want them to know that it’s only me? That everything…everything…you do is because of me?”

Your eyes roll back, either from annoyance or pleasure. But it’s blissful, this feeling. This hard fuck, this angry connection.

And yet, this infuriating man is oddly tender with you. Holding you close and helping you find your release, despite the way he goads you.

“Do you, Tink?” he asks again. “Do you want Lucas to see? Want them all to fucking see what you do to me?”

His nails are scraping down your ribcage, pulling you taut against his chest as he drives his cock as deep as it’ll go. Hips meeting your ass as he releases your mouth to hold onto you again, keeping you still.

“Tell me,” he says between deep breaths. “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you only cum for me—”

“Har—”

“My greedy little whore. My dirty fucking princess.” His tone is angry. Dissolving into something feral as he begins to pound into you with a harder force. Nearly knocking the wind from your lungs. “Not his. Mine. Always mine—”

“Yours,” you repeat between soft whines. “Yours, Harry, you know that—”

“Yeah?” He holds you tighter, allowing you no room to squirm as he nears his release. His pace becomes faster and sloppier the closer he gets. Allowing your warmth to soak him, draw him in. Using you as nothing more than a toy. A means to his end. “Then prove it.”

Even without much extra stimulation, you can feel yourself getting closer to the brink. Harry has always had this innate ability to get you there without much more than a few pumps of his cock. Perhaps it’s his size or his technique. The way he knows exactly where to thrust in order to hit the right spot and make you see stars.

And maybe there’s a part of you – albeit small – that enjoys the idea of being good for him. Of coming on his cock (or his tongue or his fingers) just so he can watch. So he can feel what he does to you.

Maybe…you just want to be good for him. At least in moments like this. To know that you’ve earned his approval, his praise. That such a brilliant man has devoted his time and attention and body just to you.

That you’re worthy of his time.

Worthy of him.

It’s almost degrading to think about and yet…it makes you clench. Pussy clamping down on his beautifully thick cock until he groans and nuzzles his nose against your neck.

“Shit,” he hisses, rhythm stuttering as a shot of pleasure rolls through him. “Tink, if you’re gonna do that, I’m gonna cum.”

“Good,” you answer instantaneously. “Want you to. Need you to, Daddy, please—”

“No,” he huffs, and he stills for only a moment as if attempting to refrain from falling apart. “No, need you to cum first. Daddy needs to feel you cum first, okay? Come on, baby, gotta give it to me—”

You mewl helplessly, drowning out the rest of his instruction. You’re close, and you know it won’t be much longer until it overwhelms you.

And there’s some part of you that feels…disappointed. Saddened by the idea of things going back to how they normally are. That he’ll take himself from you – take his cock from you – and return to the maddening man you can hardly tolerate.

Maybe subconsciously, you try to hold off. Keep your orgasm at bay so you can keep him just a little longer. So you can appreciate the caring man behind you and the way he’s so desperate to put you first.

He’s quite wonderful when he’s not being an ass.

“Tink,” he grunts, hand moving up toward your jaw. You feel his palm press to your throat, and you swallow thickly against his skin. “Baby, I want you to cum. Wanna feel you. What do you need? Hm? Wanna play with your pretty button for me?”

You nod pitifully and allow your own fingers to move down toward your cunt. It’s wet and achy and swollen so much it almost hurts to touch. But you release a strained breath, nevertheless, appreciating the sting of overstimulation as you writhe in his hold.

You can feel your body beginning to overheat the closer you get. Helping warm you up from the October chill still biting at your skin. And the sounds of your friends aren’t far behind. Perhaps looking for you, waiting for you both to exit the maze and continue on with your evening.

But you don’t give a damn about anybody else right now. Just him.

Something you never thought you’d say.

“Getting closer, yeah?” he hums against your ear, fingers tightening around your neck. “I know. Fucking shaking, baby, you’re okay. I got you. Just let it happen, let go.”

There’s something about his voice. About the feel of his glasses against your temple. About the way he makes you feel safe and secure. The way he effortlessly brings you to the edge and promises to catch you when you fall.

You know he hates you. And yet you also know that despite this loathing you share, you’re still his priority. That he’ll put your pleasure first, no matter what. That he wants to be good.

“Har,” you whimper through a high-pitched whine. “Shit, please—”

“You close? Gonna give it to me? Make Daddy happy?”

The reminder of the nickname makes you moan, a bit softer than before, but still rather lewd. And Harry tsks from behind you, once again sliding his palm up to your mouth.

“Dirty fucking princess,” he grits before he’s suddenly slamming himself into you. “Can’t ever do what she’s told, hm? Just loves to disobey me. Wants to get caught. Wants to be my greedy little girl—”

My greedy little girl.

That’s what does it for you. His possession, his mark, his claim. Reducing you to nothing more than this thing he uses for his pleasure. An object to be had.

In any other moment, you’d chastise him for it.

Right now, it’s everything you need to hear.

You cum on his cock without much choice. Pleasure unfurling like the petals of a flower in spring. For a moment, the overpowering sensation is all you can comprehend. Just ecstasy, a weightless euphoria. Lifting you up and dropping you back down.

He curses when he feels it, offering you quick murmurs of praise before he’s grabbing onto your hips with both hands and yanking you back. Using this leverage to drive his cock in in sharp thrusts before he’s following. Releasing himself into you with a groan as you gasp and grab onto one of the beams for support.

Thirty seconds pass of heavy breathing and lingering whimpers before you both fall quiet, chests heaving and legs still shaking.

He doesn’t pull out for at least a moment or two, merely holding onto your waist as he works to gather himself together.

“Shit,” he finally whispers, and you feel the subtle stroking of his thumb against your tender skin. Right over the bruises you’re sure to find tomorrow. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum weakly, nodding once. “Really good, actually.”

“Yeah? Good. You needed it.”

You feel your lips pull back into a smile. “Oh, did I?”

“You really did.”

“Right. Even though you’re the one that fucks me every time you see me.”

You hear him scoff as he finally – and slowly – pulls out. Allowing your muscles to unwind as you release a deep breath. “I’m doing you a favor,” is his reply. And it’s laced with a condescension and haughtiness that you know all too well.

“Oh, is that what you’re doing?”

“Yes.” He tucks himself back into his briefs before crouching down to reach for your jeans. Pulling them back up your legs with a strange amount of care, despite his snarky attitude. “I do a lot of favors for you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

You turn around while he steps back and readjusts his glasses. “Was getting us lost one of those favors?”

A strange, almost sadistic kind of grin begins to stretch across his face. “Maybe.”

You hesitate. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs once before backing out of the lookout as you rezip your jeans. “It means…maybe I knew this was the wrong way.”

“…I’m sorry?”

His hands shove into his pockets while his sly smile seems to mirror his satisfaction. “I just figured it wouldn’t hurt to do some…exploring.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” you nearly gasp, striding after him so you can swat your hand across his chest. “Are you fucking serious? You got us lost on purpose?”

“We were never lost, Tinkerbell. I knew exactly where we were."

"Yeah? And where are we?"

"Taking a detour."

“I cannot believe you,” you murmur, staring at him rather incredulously. “God, you are so fucking horny, it’s insane.”

“Oh, relax,” he snorts. “I didn’t take you back here to fuck you. I just thought you’d wanna see the top of the maze.”

“And you couldn’t have just asked?”

“Would you have agreed?”

You consider this. “…all right, maybe not. But you’re still a fucking ass.”

“Yeah,” he agrees coyly. “I know.”

You keep your stern glare, but your grin is playful. “Whatever. Does this mean you know the way out?”

“I do,” he says. “There’s a shortcut. Cassie and I used to cheat and use it all the time.”

The revelation of her name makes your breath catch. You hadn’t expected him to reveal something so personal, and there’s a part of you that isn’t quite sure what to do with it.

You can tell he hasn’t realized his slip, because he’s still smiling at you like he’s waiting for you to get the joke. To laugh with him.

But there’s something else in his eye – something beautiful and reminiscent. Excited. Like the mere mention of her name has calmed him. Reminded him of a better time. A happier place.

Reminded him of someone who isn’t you.

“I see,” you manage, choking the words out as you glance toward the dirt beneath your sneakers. Avoiding his eye. “Well…great. Get me the hell out of here, please.”

He studies you for a moment. You can feel his eyes boring into your profile, as though attempting to work out just what changed in your demeanor.

Then, he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and says, “Yeah. This way.”

With that, he maneuvers back through the large stocks of corn and leads you through the intricate labyrinth. Weaving his way along the path and bypassing each checkpoint with ease, almost as if he’s done this a hundred times.

You imagine he has.

You reach the exit in only a few minutes, and relief washes over you as you catch sight of your car in the distance. Your means of escape and your excuse to leave him behind.

“Thank God,” you mumble as you both slip out from the corn and back into the light. “That was…excruciating.”

“Oh, was it?” he teases. “Really? All of it?”

“Yes, all of it,” you snort, but you feel rather amused as you glance over his expression. “Let’s never get stuck in a corn maze together again, agreed?”

“Agreed,” he replies, but there’s a certain playful glimmer in his eye. “We can just fuck the old-fashioned way. In your car.”

“Gee, great.”

You both fall silent as your quippy remarks die down. Looking at each other like you’re waiting for someone to break the spell. To return you both to your anger and your rivalry. To poke fun at the few moments of intimacy and understanding you shared and release you from this strange yearning.

You decide to be the first, clearing your throat as quietly as you can while reaching for the collar of the hoodie to slip it off. “Uh, well…thanks again. For letting me borrow this.”

He blinks, momentarily puzzled – or perhaps…disappointed? – as he watches you pull it from your body. “Yeah. No problem. Just bring a fucking coat next time.”

“There won’t be a next time, remember?” you retort, tossing it over.

He catches it with one hand, and smiles. “Right. And thank God for that.”

“Exactly.”

Another lull, the two of you continuing to stand in the dimly lit parking lot as you wait for him to say goodbye.

And suddenly, you realize…you don’t want to go. You don’t want to say goodbye. That you feel…safer when he’s around. More relaxed and at ease. Even when you’re griping with him or resisting the urge to put his head through a wall, he’s still…comforting. A forceful and reassuring presence that you otherwise feel lost without.

Because you remember who he was before…Cassie. You remember his kindness and his ability to make you laugh.

And you know that he’s still that person. He’s still trying to take care of the people he feels closest to, even when he doesn’t mean to. Even when he doesn’t realize.

You know why he pushed you away. You know why he’s created such a vast, unyielding distance. And you can’t exactly blame him.

But the version of him that automatically thinks to care for you…that’s the version you’re drawn to. That’s the version you don’t want to say goodbye to.

“What?” he asks, grinning again as his head cocks. Seeming to notice the shift in your expression. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You hesitate, lashes fluttering as you work out a response. Wondering just how much you can share…and how much of it is real. “Nothing, I…this was just…”

He waits, brow raised.

Your lips clamp. “Nothing. I’m just thinking about all the fucking work I have to do when I go in tomorrow, thanks to you.”

And you can see he’s unconvinced, eyes flicking between yours as if looking for the real answer. But he waits a beat before his smile fades and he asks, “Why did you really come tonight?”

A bit caught off-guard by the question, you blink. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you could have partnered with anyone else. If you really wanted,” he explains, slowly stepping closer. Forcing a hitch in your throat. “Could have left me behind. Gone ahead. But you didn’t. Why?”

And there it is. That hint – that almost undetectable trace – of vulnerability behind the usual arrogance. He’s giving you the chance, offering you an opportunity for truth.

And maybe you want to take it. Maybe you want to confess and unburden yourself of this weight that’s settled on your shoulders.

The truth teases the tip of your tongue, laden with consequences.

But just before you can offer him the real answer, there’s a distant laugh from one of the groups back in the maze. Interrupting the moment and stealing what little courage you had left.

Your lashes flutter quickly as if shaking yourself from a daze, and you step back. Forcing distance between your bodies in an attempt to find clarity.

Harry watches you go, expression hard and etched with frustration, while you swallow thickly and spin on your heel.

He doesn’t call after you as you race to your car. Doesn’t insist on an answer or try to make you stay.

He merely stands there beneath the warm hue of the streetlamp, allowing you to run away, and disappear into your car before fleeing the scene.

Leaving him behind.

Previous Part:

~ Always*

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~ Freaky Fun Masterlist

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lemonlover1110 · 17 days

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𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

Toji Fushiguro & Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 1] The Ideal Woman

Story Masterlist

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader x Satoru Gojo

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*So excited to share with y'all, very Toji heavy first chapter but remember this is a love triangle

Toji has never been more miserable before. The man should be happy, he should be thrilled for his best friend, but he’s not. He’s never been the biggest fan of engagement parties, but this is just another level of discomfort. Spoiled brat Satoru Gojo always gets what he wants, and what irks Toji the most is that what Satoru gets is never something the average man can come close to achieve.

Satoru has the perfect job, great looks, charisma, talent, money, and the one that pisses off Toji the most, the perfect woman. Satoru’s girlfriend– Well, now fiancée, is the woman of every man’s dreams. At least the woman of Toji’s dreams.

Toji has never felt jealousy like this. Toji’s unlucky, he knows so, and he’s felt jealousy hundreds of times before, but never like this. He’s green with envy because he should be the one to hold your hand and parade you around as his fiancée, not Satoru. Satoru already has everything a man wishes for, couldn’t he have left you alone?

Satoru is just too greedy, he has to take everything for himself, and Toji slowly begins to resent him. Toji clenches his jaw, watching a very proud Satoru gloat about you and about the perfect proposal that he made last month. He makes sure to emphasize just how expensive it all was but without actually mentioning any prices.

“Toji.” You call out his name, breaking him from his thread of endless thoughts. He’s startled when he sees you, rightfully so. You sprung on him out of nowhere, not that he minds. You chuckle before asking, “Why are you here all by yourself?”

“Just needed a moment alone.” He answers, and you smile at him. He smiles back at you, trying to mask his unhappiness and frustration. He looks at you over again, looking as beautiful as ever tonight. He swears you can’t get more beautiful, but you prove him wrong each and every time. He’s mad that he can’t tell you that you’re the most beautiful woman that he’s ever seen; a simple ‘you look good’ or ‘that dress looks nice on you’ isn't cutting it, but it’s the most he can say without sounding weird.

“You know, I’m mad at you.” You proceed to tell him with a laugh, and he raises his brows. He knows you can’t be too serious since you’re laughing, so he chuckles as well.

“And why is that? What did I do this time?” He asks, and you hold up your left hand, one that is adorned by a beautiful diamond ring. Toji nearly rolls his eyes, and he knows immediately what you’re about to say.

“Why didn’t you congratulate me on my engagement?” You both say in unison, however, he puts on a mocking high pitched voice, attempting to mimic you. He’s amused by the frown that comes into your face. You cross your arms, dramatically turning to leave him, but his hand goes to your arm.

“I thought congratulating Satoru was enough.” He claims, but he knows that isn’t the right response because you roll your eyes. “Oh c’mon–”

“I thought we were friends.” You point out, and Toji chuckles. He hopes that you aren’t all that upset, you should know that he isn’t all that great with congratulating people– Especially about something that he isn’t all that excited about. “I thought of having you as a bridesmaids but it seems you don’t care about me all that much.”

“My bad. Congrats on your engagement.” He says, and you scoff. Toji can drag this on for the rest of the night so you’ll stay by his side. He sees the eyes that are searching for you, waiting to congratulate you and talk about your future plans. But your back is to them, your attention fully on him.

“Congrats? If you were anyone else I’d say you’re mad about this.” You claim, and Toji nods in response. He’s being serious, he’s never been more serious in his life before but he knows that you won’t take him seriously.

“Totally.” And he sounds sarcastic. There’s no reason for you to doubt him, Satoru and him are like brothers. Granted, Toji is a much older brother.

The conversation shifts, and you get carried away. You seem to forget it’s your own party, people are looking for you but you’re joking around with Toji, talking about the latest romcom you’ve watched. He’s never laughed so hard before, but he swears you bring something out of him.

“There’s a sequel coming out, we should watch it together.” You suggest, and he nods in response. He would be a fool to pass up on the opportunity to spend time with you. And he won’t lie and say that he hates the movie that you’re talking about, because he also watched it and he found himself entertained.

You’re so engrossed with him that you’re shocked when you feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist. Your hand goes over your heart, your heartbeat going what feels like a thousand miles a minute. You glance back at your fiancé, who has a smirk on his lips.

“I was looking for you.” Satoru says, and Toji tries not to roll his eyes. He feels as if Satoru does it to show off. The bastard knows just how lucky he is, and Toji hates it.

“Sorry, babe.” You apologize, and Toji wants to chime in and tell you that you don’t have to apologize for that. Why should you? You were just talking to him, no harm in that. “But you were busy too. Too busy showing off, that you forgot about me!”

“I’m sorry, babe.” Satoru kisses your cheek, making Toji’s jaw clench. His chin rests on your shoulder before he finally acknowledges Toji, “How are you doing, man?”

“Bored.” Toji doesn’t really bother thinking of another response. Satoru is taking you away for sure, and Toji has nothing else to do there. “I’m leaving.”

“Aw, no! Stay a little longer.” You protest, and a subtle smile comes onto his lips. It’s nice to know that he’s wanted around by you. It’s tempting to stay a little longer, but he knows he can’t stay by your side. Satoru hums in agreement, of course he does, why wouldn’t he want his best friend around? Toji thinks about it, but you tell him something that makes his decision. “I want to set you up with my friend.”

“I–” Toji is a bit taken back by your words. Right… Why wouldn’t you want to set him up with a friend? He clears his throat before telling you, “I have to pick up Megumi. I’ll see you two soon, congratulations.”

Before you can argue with him more, he brushes past you and makes his way out of the house. You’re left to gather your thoughts before looking back at your fiancé. It’s almost as if he can read your thoughts, and he laughs. “You know he isn’t a big people person.”

“He’s acting weird.” You claim, but you won’t tell him more. You grab his hand, and lead Satoru elsewhere, going to talk to other people that are dying for your attention. After all, you are the ones being celebrated tonight.

“My mom wants to talk to you.” Satoru brings up, and you let out a sigh. You adore the woman, but ever since the topic of marriage came up, she’s been trying to plan her ideal wedding and pushing the ideas on you. Lately that’s all she can talk about, so it’s fair to say you aren’t in a talkative mood.

“How about…” You begin, and Satoru furrows his brows. It’s clear that you’re avoiding his mother, and he knows why. But how rude would it be to just run away like that? Especially since you’re hosting the engagement party in her home.

“C’mon, we’ll keep it brief.” He takes the lead, dragging you to where he last saw his mother. She isn’t there though, and you take it as your gift from the universe. You’re fighting back a smile as you look at him.

“Where is she?” You ask him, and Satoru briefly searches for his mom, but doesn’t care enough to walk around and ask where she is. He shrugs and a smirk comes to your lips before you bring your lips up to his ear, “Do you want to sneak away?”

“You’ve read my mind.” Satoru doesn’t have another reason to stay, and being around so many people has him overwhelmed. Sneaking away is the best idea that you’ve had so far tonight. You’re giggling like children while you run out of the house and into the empty quiet backyard.

“Why did you invite so many people?” You ask Satoru as you run to the sofa that’s on the patio. You sit down next to each other, although Satoru would argue that you’re almost sitting on him with how close you are– Not that he minds. You’ve done worse.

“What do you mean? They’re all people that you want at the wedding, if anything blame yourself.” He points out, causing you to glare at him. He realizes his mistake, and hopes that a peck on the lips will make you forget. “But you’re right, there’s too many people here.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, your hand going to his chest. Your eyes glimmer as you stare at the diamond that you’ve been dying to get for the past few years. It feels surreal that you’re one step closer to your goal.

“It fit perfectly.” Satoru comments, grabbing your hand and staring at the ring. He chuckles before confessing, “I was worried it wouldn’t fit.”

“Good thing that you know me better than anyone.” You respond, as Satoru lets go of your hand. Your hand goes back to your side, as his arm wraps around you.

“You know, no matter how much I get to know you, I still feel like I don’t.” He shares, making you perk up your brows.

“Well, I don’t think there’s anyone here that knows me better.” You answer, and Satoru bites down his lip. He’s not going to argue with you even when he feels otherwise. You’ve spent the past five years with each other, and Satoru’s mind goes blank when he’s asked about your favorite color.

You look up at him, watching how he stares off into the distance. You kiss him, causing a smile to come to his lips. His lips meet yours again, but instead of pulling away quickly, they remain on yours. He kisses you multiple times, he does it until you put your fingers over his lips to stop him. You know it’s a matter of a couple more kisses before Satoru loses control.

“Do you think they’re looking for us?” You ask him, and he looks back at the house. They most definitely are. But it doesn’t matter. He’s out here with you, and that’s all he wants.

You’re all he needs.

“We should go back in soon.” Satoru says, and you hum in response. However, you don’t make a single move.

“Give me a minute. I like it better here with you and only you.”

“You’re back!” You exclaim when your eyes land on Toji again. Everyone is leaving, but Toji makes a sudden reappearance back in the party. His eyes light up when he knows that you cheer up as you see him.

“Your boyfriend called me to come back. It was, and I quote, an emergency.” Toji does air quotes with his fingers as he walks over to you. You tilt your head to the side, curious as to why Satoru called him back here.

Realization sets in, a smile coming to your face, which confuses Toji even more. You grab his hand, leading him to where Satoru is. You correct him on the way there, “Satoru is now my fiancé. Get it right, Toji.”

“My bad.” He can’t help but roll his eyes since you’re not looking at him. Right, your fiancé. That bastard sure is lucky. You can call him out a million times for it, but he’ll still refer to Satoru as your boyfriend.

“There he is!” Satoru points out, stopping his conversation with one of his friends to redirect his attention to the star of the night. That’s what Toji feels like at least, especially after getting a message just as he was getting home. “Sorry about texting you to come back again, I just had something to ask and it couldn’t be over text.”

“What is it?” Toji sounds irritated, which he is. What’s so important that he had to drop Megumi off with the neighbor? Toji would rather be anywhere but here. He’s never really cared about the fact that you’re together, even when he has clear feelings for you. Toji has always felt that you and him act more like a couple than you and Satoru– but tonight, he’s reminded that you’re not together.

You’re engaged to Satoru.

“I had a question for you… And I didn’t want it to be over text.” Satoru says, and Toji cocks his brow. How important can this question really be when Satoru completely forgot to bring it up earlier. Toji doesn’t care to ask what it is, he waits for Satoru to ask the important question. Satoru has a cocky expression on his face, at least that’s how Toji views it. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“You’re the one that has a question, I’m listening.” Toji barely hides his annoyance, but Satoru thinks it’s because Toji was asked to come back, which is only part of it. Toji crosses his arms, waiting patiently for Satoru to speak.

“I was talking with Suguru back and forth about it. In the end, we both agreed that you were the perfect best man.” Satoru shares, and it takes Toji back. Satoru might be Toji’s best friend, but Suguru is Satoru’s best friend. He imagined he would be asked to be a groomsman, but not the best man. It makes Toji furrow his brows, and ask,

“The perfect best man? Why?” Which isn’t the answer nor reaction that Satoru was expecting. Satoru doesn’t know what he was expecting, truthfully. Toji is a very emotionless person, he obviously isn’t going to weep in joy at the proposal, but Satoru expects some sort of reaction that is not this.

“Huh?” Satoru can’t help but reply. You watch the interaction, wondering the same thing as Satoru. Satoru’s friend leaves, not wanting to be caught up in the middle of anything. He trusts Satoru won’t do anything rash, but not Toji. No one in the place really trusts Toji for whatever reason.

“You have other options, and I’m not even your closest friend.” Toji answers, and Satoru laughs. Toji isn’t wrong. Satoru just finds it amusing that Toji doesn’t immediately figure out why he’s asking though.

“Don’t you remember, Toji?” You tilt your head to the side as you look at the man… Well, he obviously doesn’t. Toji looks puzzled, should he know? You look at your fiancé and frantically shake your head, doing a cutthroat gesture at him. Satoru has a mischievous smirk on his face, and you watch him lick his lips. He’s going to let it slip.

“Well, the night that we met, you were the one that introduced us because–” Satoru begins, and you feel your face warm up. You can’t let Satoru finish the statement because you swear you’ll die of embarrassment. Toji clearly doesn’t remember, and he doesn’t need a reminder.

“Don’t you dare!” You cut him off, but it’s too late because a lightbulb turns on above Toji’s head and he remembers the details. He bites his tongue, and mentally curses himself out because he completely forgot that– He probably forgot about it because he regrets that decision so much.

“I remember.” Toji ends up saying which makes you want to crawl in a hole and die. Toji sheepishly smiles before saying, “I guess, I have no other option now.”

“You don’t.” Satoru takes it as a joke, at least that’s what it seems when he lets out a laugh.

“Okay, now hug!” You tell them as if they were dolls, and both men roll their eyes. It’s not the first time you say this, in fact, you tend to do it a lot. But they always listen, and they lean in for an awkward hug.

“I swear she always wants to see us touching.” Satoru murmurs as he pats Toji’s back.

“Just make her happy, man. Prepare for marriage.” Toji responds, patting Satoru’s back as well. They let go and you’re almost jumping in excitement. Toji directs his attention towards you and asks, “Now why are you so happy?”

“I can set you up with the maid of honor! Oh you two would make the perfect couple.” You exclaim, grabbing his hand and dragging him away. It’s what you’ve been doing all night.

“Oh c’mon, I don’t want to.” He says, but he still moves his feet. “I don’t trust your judgment when it comes to setting me up with someone.”

“I know that you two will get along.” You claim as you lead him to your friend. She must be somewhere, but you can’t spot her. You bicker back and forth as you keep dragging him along. You finally come to a stop after five minutes, your hand still holding on to his wrist. “I guess she left.”

“Good.” Toji answers, getting your gentle hand off his arm. He doesn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. The place slowly becomes empty, and the few people there are just staring at the two of you. He didn’t care earlier but now it’s easier to spot you. Toji clears his throat, “Go back to Gojo.”

“I’m mad at him.” You respond, and he wonders why you say it.

“What did he do now?” Toji questions, saying so in a very amusing tone.

“He reminded you how we met, it’s so embarrassing to think about now.” You reply and Toji bites his tongue. You aren’t wrong, he’s thinking of how wrong he was.

“Without me, you wouldn’t have met the love of your life.” He comments, and he can’t believe the words are leaving his lips. He just doesn’t want you to feel self conscious about it.

“I guess you aren’t wrong.” You say, grabbing his arm again so you can drag him back to Satoru. He’s the one that you can’t find this time around though, and you look everywhere in the house but he isn’t there. You end up in the backyard again, and even though he isn’t there, you stay outside.

“Where the fuck did he go? Did he leave without me?” You ask as you take a seat on the same sofa from earlier. Toji chuckles, walking behind you to take a seat near you.

“He wouldn’t. He’s probably in the bathroom.” Toji replies, before you sit in silence. He’s watching you as you’re looking up at the night sky, and Toji wants to look in the same direction, but he finds you more interesting to look at. Satoru really is so fucking lucky.

He thinks of what to say. Conversation flowed so easily earlier, but right now his mind is filled with regret. He thinks of what to ask before looking up at the sky as well. It really isn’t all that interesting, he doesn’t know why you keep staring at it.

He points up at a celestial body in the sky, unsure of what it is, “Is that a planet or a star?”

“Um…” You’re looking, trying to see what he points at. You have to scoot closer to get his perspective. Your head is hovering over his shoulder until you finally see what he looks at. “I think a planet, I’m not sure.”

“What’s the difference between them?” Toji asks, and you look up at him. You’re so close, and you don’t seem to notice; anyone that could walk by would get the wrong idea.

“Like… What’s the difference between planets and stars in general? Or from our perspective?” You respond, and he gives you an unamused look.

“Do you think I’m a dumbass?” He can’t help but answer, and you burst into laughter. Your laugh is infectious, making him chuckle as well. A sudden sadness comes over him, realizing that he’ll never get the chance to have you by his side– Not in the way he wants at least. But it’s okay, he’s happy watching you from afar.

“I’m sorry.” You wipe away a tear that escapes your eye. When the laughter subsides, you end up saying, “Actually I don’t know. ‘Toru is the one that likes astronomy.”

“Then why did you look?” He ends up saying, and you shrug.

“Just wanted to see if I could figure it out on my own.” You say. You realize how close you are to him, making you move away. Your face gets warm again as a question pops into your mind. It’s extremely inappropriate to ask, so you won’t let it slip.

You’re zoning out, staring off into the distance, which is easy for Toji to notice since his eyes are on you. He asks, “Is everything okay? You seem thoughtful.”

“If you weren’t married at the time, would you have still rejected me?” The words slip out of your mouth, and they make Toji’s eyes widen. He didn’t expect that question from you. “It’s nothing like that! I’m just curious because I do get kind of awkward when I remember it.”

“I mean, does it matter now?” Is the best answer Toji can come up with because he won’t risk the friendship he has with Satoru by answering truthfully, but he doesn’t want to lie to you either. Toji adjusts his posture before saying, “Think about it this way. If I hadn’t rejected you, you wouldn’t have ended up with Satoru. Instead, we would’ve had a messy affair, our relationship would be a fucking mess, you would’ve been stepmom to a stinky kid, and we probably would be unhappy.”

“You have to stop calling Megumi stinky! He’s so cute.” You’re quick to defend the child, and Toji laughs. “You’re right. Sorry for asking, it just hurts my ego.”

Toji doesn’t want to keep talking about it in case he says something he’ll regret. He waits a moment before mentioning, “We flushed his fish down the toilet yesterday.”

“Oh you’re awful, why are you smiling about it?” You call him out, not wanting to laugh as well. “Isn’t this the second time this happens?”

“My bad, I’ll get better at reading labels and not feeding the fish powder cleaner.” Is his way to apologize, but he shouldn’t say it to you, but instead to Megumi. It’s not like he knows anyway. No harm, no foul.

“Why did you put those two together anyway?” You ask as you stand up, heading back inside. Toji does the same, not wanting to be left alone.

“My place is a mess.” Toji answers, which isn’t shocking.

“Tell me about it.” You respond, and Toji is about to make a snarky remark back, but you spot Satoru immediately when you’re back inside, and that’s where your direction goes. You yell out his name, and run to him with open arms.

There’s almost a pout on Toji’s face when you hug and kiss Satoru ever so lovingly. He shouldn’t feel upset, so he tries not to. He looks away, reminding himself that you’re engaged to his very own best friend.

In the end, he’s wishing the best for the two of you, hoping that nothing bad happens during your engagement. He wouldn’t want you two to split, as selfish as he is.

626 notes · View notes

chronically-ghosted · 3 months

Text

i wonder if you stopped his world like you did mine

rating: teen

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 5K

summary: watching the woman he loves be with someone else is killing him, but for your sake, he manages. But when Benny's birthday loosens him up, he can't help but bear his soul over a phone call. Too bad you don't pick up and he's forced to leave the evidence in a voicemail.

tags/warnings: pining, light angst, idiots in love, country music as a catalyst, romance, tw alcohol, tw drinking, hangovers, ultimately very fluffy

a/n: Happy Valentine's Day @toomanystoriessolittletime! I hope you receive and give all the love you need and want! I've had this idea for a while, but once I saw that Frankie was your fave, I knew I had to do it!

one day i’m gonna do the series of all of my favorite country songs with a Pedro boy. This is one of them: Singles You Up by Jordan Davis. Had thoughts of Me and My Kind by Cody Johnson for our ever-fantastic Jack Daniels and Hurricane by Luke Combs for Joel. One day, my loves, one day.

🤍Masterlist | Frankie Morales Masterlist

Frankie Morales has a problem.

Given the life expectancy in his line of work – all things considered – it really wasn’t that bad of a problem. Sure, his knees were busted, his shoulder aches when it was cold out, and his ex keeps hounding him for money he doesn’t have. But on the flipside, his little family unit of friends and brothers united by combat are (mostly) all alive and healthy. He has a steady job and his little girl, whom he loves and adores, thinks the sun shines out of his ass. All things considered, there’s not much else he can ask for. He’s far better off than some of the men and women at Will’s talks, or in Santiago’s field teams.

So – really, truly, seriously – all things considered . . . he can’t classify this as a bad problem.

In fact, this is a problem he would willingly have. Gladly even. Not quite joyously, but if it’s a choice between this problem and not having the problem at all, he will choose having this consistent, thorny, kind-of-hurts-to-breathe-sometimes problem every single time.

And right now, it’s wearing a dress.

Uh, well, you’re wearing a dress. An off-white, hinging-on-cream, dress that sits above your knees, cuts flat and wide across your chest, and puffs out into cotton sleeves that remind him of those conchas his abuela used to make. Sweet, fluffy, and absolutely forbidden.

Until the time is right, at least. His abuela always made him wait to eat until the time was right.

He calls it – you – a problem, when in fact, it’s the opposite of a problem. There is nothing he would ever want to change about the warm, engulfing feeling that starts somewhere in his stomach and rises like conchas up his spine until it’s somewhere in his ribs, then under his breastbone, right by his –

He would kill anyone who tried to take that feeling away from him. It’s when he feels most alive, most present, most out of his head – like these things in the dark and sleeping corners of his mind that nip and bite at him can’t find him. He’s thrown them off his scent in his search for you and, even for a brief moment, he can step into the light.

There is no problem, in how you look tonight, how you look every night, with your bright shining smile, sweet-smelling hair, cowboy boots, glass of whiskey – you had such a fantastic taste in –

Wait.

That’s not whiskey. Not even a whiskey glass.

That’s –

“White wine?” Benny yelps as he leans forward and his chair legs clatter against the concrete floor. “If that’s Moscato, I’m calling the cops because you’ve been replaced by an equally hot body double.”

You roll your eyes as you sit down and take a long drink from your glass, as if to make a point. Frankie’s eyes are drawn to where your dress hangs over your crossed legs, exposing the curve of your thigh.

“It’s not fucking Moscato, Benjamin,” you say, eyes narrowed, completely side-stepping his compliment, like you always do. “It’s Chardonnay. Nick recognized the vineyard on the menu so he recommended it. Thought I’d give it a try, because I like trying something new, Benjamin.”

He rolls those beautiful blue eyes and leans forward towards you at the table, that grin that brings grown women to their knees plastered across his face. He knocks back his cowboy hat with a tap of his knuckle.

“Well, excuse the fuck outta me.”

“The fuck outta you is excused.”

You tug his hat back down over his face, smirking back at him, just as Nick saunters over – with what looks to be a wine glass of his own.

Okay, in hindsight, you’re not the problem.

His real fucking problem is Nick.

Your boyfriend.

Frankie, who has decided to only drink beer around you since The Almost Incident, takes three long pulls so he doesn’t have to watch Nick and his stupid hands slide across your exposed back and sit down in Santi’s empty chair.

“Happy Birthday, man, thanks for inviting me out.” Nick says briefly, raising his glass to Benny. “But I gotta say, I was a little worried when my girl here said your party was gonna be at a country dance hall. I’ve never been to one of these. I had to buy cowboy boots just for the occasion.”

He sticks his leg out, and rotates his gator-skin boot back and forth as if to illustrate how important to him this whole thing is.

But Benny doesn’t look down, doesn’t approve the boots, or Nick’s attempt at fitting in. Instead, he just smirks, his smile growing fat and lazy, a bit of the warmth fading from his blue eyes.

“Your first time at a cowboy hoe-down? I had no idea.”

Nick grins, because he doesn’t know Benny well enough to see the dig for what it is. But you do. You know him and you know he’s ragging on your boyfriend. You narrow your eyes and shame coats Frankie’s chest. Because he knows also Benny and he knows why he’s giving Nick such a hard time.

See, the problem isn’t you, or even your boyfriend – not really.

Nick is actually a decent guy. He treats you right, if a little delicately, but he buys you drinks, takes you places Frankie could never afford, in a car Frankie could never ever afford. Sometimes, you’ll say something, or tell a story and it’s obvious Nick doesn’t really understand you or your jokes, but he smiles along anyway. He makes good money and supposedly he keeps in touch with his mom. Nick is the kind of guy any brother would want his sister to date.

So the problem isn’t that Nick is a bad boyfriend, but that he’s your boyfriend.

The problem that Frankie Morales has is that he is painfully, achingly, in love with you.

And he’s your friend.

Maybe that would change, if he ever could work up the guts to say something. For fuck’s sake, he’s killed people – asking you out can’t be that much worse (as Santi often reminds him). But if the guys you’re into are like Nick, or even Nick-adjacent, then what fucking chance does he have? He never thought money was important to you, but apparently it is and that’s something he definitely can’t give you.

Or maybe you like the stability of a high-paying job with fucking miraculous health-care. And that’s two things more he can’t offer: stability and health-care.

So, maybe, maybe his problem isn’t with you or Nick or the fact that Nick is your boyfriend. It’s that he never could be. He, with one failed marriage already behind him and a coke rap sheet, has nothing to give you . . .

And you deserve the world.

You deserve more than he can offer you. You deserve better than him.

That’s his real fucking problem. And one he can't ever fix.

Will couldn’t get off work to come to this, so he owed Benny a beer and a nice steak dinner – according to Benny. Santi, despite absolutely swearing up and down for a week he wouldn’t be caught dead in cowboy boots and a hat, showed up tonight in full gear, belt-buckle included because he lost a bet with Benny over the Thursday night game. Santi, like everything else in his life, researched the hell out of the two teams, their past history, older statistics of both the players and the coach. He was confident, so confident, that he put his pride on the line.

Never a good idea with Benny Miller.

I don’t know, Benny said at the sports bar when his team was whooping Santi’s team’s ass, I just had a good feeling. Presumably, Santi did three shots before leaving and with another two in his system at the bar, all anger and frustration and embarrassment and inhibition had melted away and now Santi was doing what Santi did best, especially when drunk: dancing with beautiful women.

“The son of a bitch can dance, I’ll give him that. ” Benny muses as the three of you watch Santi, who despite having been taught the moves three minutes ago by two gorgeous blondes, complete a perfect line dance of Copperhead Road.

“Oh, shit, I could never do that.” Nick shakes his head. “Not even after a hundred classes.”

“Ah, I find that hard to believe, Nicky Boy. You seem like a natural,” Benny smirks over the lip of his beer bottle. He finds Frankie’s eyes and winks.

You are not amused. You glare at him over Nick’s shoulder for the second time tonight.

“It’s really not that hard,” you smile tightly and squeeze Nick’s shoulder. “I can teach you.”

“Oh, yeah, don’t you know your girl here?” Benny leans back in his chair, balancing against the rung of Nick’s chair by the ball of his foot. “She used to put all of us to shame. Dancing the night away, leading the crowd in line dancing. In fact, if I remember correctly, she and Frankie used to get into all sorts a-trouble on the dance floor. Isn’t that right, Frankie?”

Now he drew a glare from you and Frankie.

Don’t, man, just don’t.

Benny shrugs, swallowing his smirk with another sip of beer, hands raised. Just trying to help out.

Over the speakers, the song winds to a close and the crowd does their final spin. Across the dance floor, Santi bows, his hat sweeping the floor, to both of the girls who giggle like high schoolers.

“I’m gonna go get Boot Scootin’ Boogie over there some water before he up-chucks all over those nice ladies.” Benny stands and fixes his hat. “You guys want anything?”

Frankie shakes his head, his own hat that Benny insisted he wear, making the line of sweat across his forehead itch. You and Nick decline as well. You’ve barely even touched your drink, Frankie notes with a certain level of satisfaction.

As Benny walks towards the bar, the next song starts up and you let out a squeal. Bring on The Good Times has been one of your favorite songs since college. And Frankie should know – he introduced it to you.

“This one is the best! A classic!” You grab Nick’s forearm, but he almost immediately pulls it back.

“Ah, babe, my first line dance is not gonna be in front of strangers! I’ll embarrass you and me. Why don’t you ask Frankie?”

Fuck, why could Nick just be a raging, flaming asshole? This would be so much fucking easier.

Frankie swallows his beer empty, an excuse for a refill prepped. He hates cowboy hats, but he’d fucking set fire to the sky for Benny – he just hopes he immolates himself in the process. The giant brim makes him feel like he’s got a neon sign over his head that blinks, I Am A Giant Dork. Only further proven if he gets anywhere near that dance floor with his two left feet.

Your eyes are unreadable as he tries to coax your boyfriend into taking you dancing.

“Nah, man, you got this. Your girl’s a great teacher.” By some cowboy miracle, his voice is steady as he says those two words. On the table, your fingers curl in, your wine glass still untouched.

Nick makes a face, eyes flitting back and forth to the dancers as they start the dance.

“My feet are already killing me in these new boots. Besides, this isn’t really my song.”

Over his shoulder, you find Frankie’s eyes. He knows that look on you – he knows everything about you – and you’re trying to hide how hurt you are.

He’s on his feet before he knows what he’s doing.

You and Nick stare up at him, surprised by how he practically bounded to his feet.

The sweat at the ring of his hat runs down the back of his neck. Frankie does the only thing halfway-normal and extends his hand.

“Alright, princesa, I’ll fill out your dance card.”

He doesn’t care, or even really register, the darkly confused frown Nick sends him when you stand up, take his hand, and smile at him. He feels warm all the way up to his chest.

“Thanks, Frankie. Let’s boogie.”

That was a mistake.

This whole fucking night is a mistake. God help him, he loves Benny like a brother but he should have just said no and promised to take him out later like Will. He would have bought Benny any drink, any ridiculous chicken wing plate he wanted if Frankie didn’t have to be here, right now.

Because right now, right now, that wall of self-control that he uses to stem the reservoir, to stem the flow of whatever you cause to pour out of him, it’s leaking. It’s busted holes and now he’s drenched with it – with the scent of you, with the memory of hair down the length of your neck, the heat of your skin overworked and flushed, the sweet taste of your breath in his mouth when you leaned forward, into his space, his senses, and whispered,

“C’mon, Frankie, you’re a better dancer than this.”

But in his defense, he couldn’t feel his feet, much less make them move when he watched you with your skirt rucked up high in your fists, your cowboy boots kicking like fish in a stream, and that smile – that fucking smile – brighter and sweeter than all the whiskey in the world.

C’mon, Frankie, you’re a better dancer than this

C’mon, Frankie, you’re better than this.

C’mon, Frankie, tell me you love me.

Kiss me, Frankie. Kiss me now.

His restraint, his resolve that he will never, ever have you – he can feel it throb beneath his palms. Shudder and wobble under the thundering of his heart. It’s so close to breaking. Too close. This is why he doesn’t drink anything harder than beer around you. This is why he rarely drinks around you at all.

When Nick finally calls it a night because he’s already got a blister from the new boots, you don’t put up much of a fight. You’ve danced with Benny, you’ve danced with Santi and his gaggle of girls, Nick himself went up for a slow dance or two.

Frankie only ever asked for one.

He knows he disappointed you, has been disappointing you because you can feel him layering you away, brick by brick by brick. One of his oldest and longest friends, barely visible now, and he’s going over it with caulk to make sure you can’t touch this fragile, weak, emaciated thing he calls a heart.

The instant you walk out of the bar, Nick’s arm across your tense shoulders, he all but rushes for the bar.

“Six tequila shots, please.”

You wake up where you went to sleep: curled up on your couch, your giant Florida Gators blanket wrapped around you like a mentally-supportive straight-jacket, with Golden Girls reruns on the TV. The empty bottle of 19 Crimes explains the sticky, dry feeling in your mouth and the thundering headache accompanying swollen eyes and cheeks. You’d rather get hit by a train than have to move out of this position, but Nick has always been punctual.

Which, you assume, extends to picking up his stuff from your apartment first thing in the morning, his final threat that ended your conversation last night.

The sooner, the better, you mother fucker.

You blindly grab around for your phone, knowing that it’s most likely shoved into the deepest cracks of your couch, hoping against hope Panera delivers on a Saturday morning. There’s a distinct possibility you might start swinging if Nick shows up before you get a baguette and a coffee into your system.

The things he said about Benny and Santi last night on the drive home. This break up was a long time coming, but fuck, if this is what he’d been sitting on about your friends, what the fuck did he actually think of you?

And the things he implied about Frankie – how Frankie was in love with you and you were willingly not seeing it – ridiculous.

You fight the rancid taste of hope that anything Nick implied about Frankie might even remotely be true when you close your fingers around the shape of your phone at the far end of the couch.

22%

Just enough to order then yeet this fucking thing into another room because there is no way in hell you are answering Nick’s calls.

But, as you scroll through your notifications, maybe you should have answered Frankie’s.

He had called sporadically, starting about two hours after you and Nick had left the dance hall, all the way until four in the morning.

One text at 1AM: com e hang out wit us.i mis s you u

You smile, despite the obviously drunken text. Frankie rarely texted, only if it was dire need – and apparently, you continuing to party with the boys at 1AM was very, very dire. Judging by the eight missed calls.

Eight missed calls, but only one voicemail.

Like you’re about to settle down for some good TikTok scrolling, you lean back into the pillows, rubbing your eyes to clear the hazy fog, and press play.

First, there’s noise. Lots of it. Country music and people laughing and singing. Clearly still at the dance hall. You wish for a minute it is a video instead because you’d pay hand over fist to see those guys falling all over each other.

But then comes Santi. Over the years, you’d picked up some Spanish here and there, mostly enough not to embarrass yourself if you ever went to Miami.

But whatever Santi is saying, you’re not entirely sure it is Spanish, or any human language.

“Comotuamiga, teruegoqueselodigas porfavornopuedo hacerestopormucho mástiempo. Estaríasmásfeliz y ellaestaríamásfeliz. Nomemiresasí, sabesqueloúnico quequiereesqu labeses y la beses y luegohagasotrascosas – ¡Estúpido! ¿La llamaste?”

There’s a shuffling, hushed voices, the music still far too loud to make anything out.

“Déjame en paz, dude.” Frankie. Frankie, very very very drunk. “I’m gonna – I’m gonna say – voy a decirle. Ella lo sabrá. She’ll get it. I know–,”

“Then say something now because you’re leaving a voicemail!”

“Ah, mierda – um, baby?”

In two words and two filler words, Frankie’s whole demeanor changes. You can almost picture him curled around the phone, his hand cradling the phone to his ear as he rests his head against a wall.

“Baby, listen – fuck, sorry, I’m starting all wrong. I shouldn’t even call you that – I shouldn’t call you ‘baby’ because you’re not mine. You’re not my baby or anyone else’s because you’re so fucking independent and I love that about you but I wish you were. Mine, I mean. Not a baby.”

You don’t even remember sitting up, but your feet are on the ground. You’ve dropped the phone onto the table in front of you, staring at it as if it’s been dripping poison into your ear. Your heart is pounding.

There’s silence from Frankie for a second, the music still loud, but it’s dampened. You can hear Frankie breathing, swallow, and start again.

“You looked so fuckin’ good tonight. You look good every night but fuck, baby, that dress. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Even for a second . . . he doesn’t tell you that you look so fucking good enough, you know? You should hear it all the time. I wanna tell you – tell you all the time – he didn’t say it once. Not once and that’s a fucking crime. He makes you drink white wine when I know you fucking hate it – I know you, baby. I know you more than I know myself because you’re all I fucking think about. You’re in here, all the time, all up in my chest, my throat, my gut – and you can have it. You can have it. You can have all of me, if you just . . .”

His voice breaks and your fingers clench around the edge of the cushion.

“If you just . . . look, I know this is so fucking outta line and I wanna say it to your face and I’m gonna but . . . when that fuckin’ moron forgets how good he has it, I’m gonna be there. Gonna be right there. Because –,”

And then like someone shoved a speaker right up against Frankie’s phone, as clear as day, you hear Benny yell:

“IF HE AIN’T HOLDING YOU TIGHT, IF HE AIN’T TREATIN’ YOU RIGHT, I’MA BE THE FIRST ONE CALLIN’ HIM CRAAAZY–,”

“Benny, fuck off!”

And then the call drops, along with it your stomach. In fact, it slides out of your body, slouches off the couch and melts into the floor.

Oh, Frankie, do you even mean a word of it?

The hangover rubbing your nerves raw, tears spring into your eyes, the silence and fear and terrible hope tightening like a band around your head and infinitely increasing the pressure in your temples. You want to cry but your eyes already feel too puffy.

You’re stuck, frozen by every single possible outcome or single next step spinning out like chaotic webbing you can easily catch yourself on.

This was a mistake, it had to be. He didn’t mean to call your phone. He had accidentally called you when he meant to call another girl . . . also with a boyfriend named Nick. Frankie, sweet Frankie, who you’ve all but outright begged to take an interest in you – said it with your eyes hundreds of times – Frankie couldn’t actually have feelings for you.

Not like you had for him. Not like the ones you’ve slowly plucked out of your ribs over the years because god, even just looking at him seared a scar across your heart.

Fuck. Fuck!

You snatch up your phone, wiping your teary eyes and frantically hoping he might have said a name or anything – he couldn’t possibly have meant you – when three loud bangs on your front door sends your phone into the air and your heart into your throat.

The way he calls your name is frantic, verging on hysterical. In a daze, you glance at the clock. 9:04. Frankie’s had about four hours of sleep, if any at all.

“Please, open the door! We gotta talk – there’s something – there’s something on your phone you shouldn’t hear – please, baby, open up –,”

You stare at the phone on your floor.

Don’t they always say you can’t tell the moments that irrevocably change your life until after they’re gone?

Not this time.

You open the door and either way, everything changes.

“C’mon, please, let me explain.” His voice has quieted, no longer shaking, softer as though wounded. “Just five minutes and I’m gone. I swear. We can forget the whole thing –,”

You open the door to a hungover Frankie Morales, still in the same outfit you saw him last in, but his eyes are rimmed with black circles, his patchy beard even more patchy as if he had rubbed the bristle clean off. He reeks of beer, peanuts, and cigarette smoke. His shirt is loose, wrinkled, his belt isn’t even on all the way, and he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“What if I don’t want to forget it, Frankie?”

You see the realization strike him through the eyes, the throat, the chest, his gut, his brown eyes swimming with shame and horror. He leans over as if kicked and presses a hand against your doorway. His thumb rubs the corner and he swallows.

“So you listened to it already?”

“Yeah, I did.” He closes his eyes briefly, hanging his head, every apology in every language he knows sitting right behind his teeth. “But did you hear what I said?”

He frowns at you through those thick eyebrows. “What?”

“When I opened the door, did you hear what I said?”

“You said –,” that beautiful bottom lip parts from its sensual top and Frankie blinks at you. The oily blackness of shame has evaporated from his eyes, but that stormy fear rages on.

You inhale, breath getting caught on every knot in your spine, and step back.

“We need to talk.”

He glances once over his shoulder, as if taking in the hallway to your apartment for the last time, and he steps inside. Immediately his height and broadness fill out every empty space in your tiny living room and you’re launched back into the memory of when the boys came over for Christmas and there was hardly enough room for anyone, but somehow you all made it work and after four rounds of DDR, everyone was so tired and drunk, you passed out pillows and blankets and you spent your first adult Christmas at what could have been mistaken for a thirteen year old’s slumber party. It was one of the happiest times of your life.

His thick fingers clench and unclench when Frankie spies your phone on the floor, like a bomb waiting to go off.

Your brain struggles to default to hostess mode because you can’t think of anything to say.

Do you want coffee?

Do you want some cereal?

Do you want to–

“Tell me what happened last night.” You surprise yourself, Frankie, and your whirring brain by cutting right to it. As with the first question when you opened the door to him, there’s something inside of you that has taken on wings, spread them wide, and threatens to soar out of your body. Frankie’s here, he’s here, and he said he wants you –

He called you baby.

You breathe in, trying to scrape up some courage from the bottom of your lungs, wishing in the back of your mind under everything else that you’d chosen literally anything else to go to bed in than your Tweedie Bird shirt from Six Flags.

“I don’t understand, Frankie. Please help me understand.”

With a monumental sigh, he rubs his wide hand across his face and up into his hair, his other hand lifting his cap up off his head so his fingers can dig into his curls. It’s only then that you realize Benny’s cowboy hat he wore last night is gone and his tried and true Standard Oil ball cap is back. Meaning he must have gone home at some point. When did he realize (or remember) that he’d left you that voicemail?

“I’m gonna get my ass kicked,” he murmurs, eyes darting like a fox to your bedroom door. “Maybe that’s exactly what I deserve.”

“He’s not here.” This great thing arcs between you, the emptiness a presence and clarity all at the same time.

“What do you mean? Where is he?”

“We broke up.”

“When? Why?”

“Last night, after we left the bar. We got into an argument. He doesn’t like the way . . .”

Frankie – physically, mentally, emotionally, fundamentally – overwhelms you. He’s across the room in an instant, closer than you think he’s ever been before. But maybe this is the first and only time you’ve ever allowed yourself to enjoy it. Revel in his closeness and let this caged feeling in your chest break free. You touch his chest with the flat of your palm, the size of it, the breadth of him, staggering. You literally feel weak at the knees.

“He doesn’t like the way what?” His voice luxuriates in his throat – warm, deep. He sounds like what you imagine a hot spring feels like against your skin.

“He didn’t like the way I looked at you.” Your fingers make circles where they did into his shirt. His hands have found their way, after all this time, to your waist. “The way I always look at you, Frankie.”

His breath, subsequent to the ghost of his lips, across your forehead is so gentle it makes you close your eyes, to block out one sense to encourage another.

You feel him swallow even though he’s a foot away from you.

“Why –,” he stops, and starts again, just like on the phone call, “why do you look at me . . . when you have him?”

“Oh, Frankie.” His grip on your waist tightens as if you’re about to disappear forever. “I took him because I can’t have you.”

You blame the tears on the hangover, the headache, and the way he takes your chin between his thumb and knuckle.

Grateful.

He’s looking at you, eyes soft, mouth curved into a disbelieving smile, with gratitude.

“He’s the furthest thing from you because I tried to get you out of my system – I did – I promise. I can’t lose our friendship, Frankie, but it’s killing me . . . not having you. Nick said it was obvious the way I felt about you and that was a problem for our relationship, so he tried to make me choose between you and him and every time, without a doubt, I’ll always choose–,”

This is the right time, he supposes.

Hand over your cheek, he holds you still in silence to press his mouth to yours. The final word of your sentence dies on his tongue, muffled by a soft groan of surprise. Your breath is terrible, your skin is oily and damp, he knows he stinks like the bottom of a wet bar, but he can’t find himself to care. Your mouth opens to take him and the hand on your cheek sinks to your neck as you both move past the initial shock of I’m finally getting to do this and you’re not pulling away and into an actual, proper, deep kiss that sends sparks into his toes. Your tongue marks the bottom of his mouth, your arms going around his neck like you want more – you need more – and Frankie pulls back.

Not only because he’s slightly dizzy but because he a) won’t fuck you for the first time on your living room floor and b) absolutely will not do it hungover.

“Breakfast. Do you like . . . uhm, breakfast?” He can’t quite focus on a single spot on your face, eyes half-lidded and gaze blurred.

You giggle, letting his beard tickle your nose as you sneak your face into his neck. He sways a bit with you, his arms around your back, and you don’t think he’s even realizing what he’s doing.

“Yes, Frankie. I like breakfast. I eat it almost every day, in fact.”

He grunts, neck suddenly flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry, I mean –,”

“I know what you mean, baby.” You lean back and run your fingers through the thatch of curls at the back of his neck. Both of you are so grimy but you can’t care. “I’d love breakfast.”

Frankie smiles his Frankie smile and the thing in your chest is illuminated in gold.

“How do you feel about conchas?”

Translations:

Como tu amiga, te ruego que se lo digas. Por favor, no puedo hacer esto por mucho más tiempo. Estarías más feliz y ella estaría más feliz. No me mires así, sabes que lo único que quiere es que la beses y la beses y luego hagas otras cosas. = As your friend, I beg you to tell her. Please, I can't do this for much longer. You would be happier and she would be happier. Don't look at me like that, you know all she wants is for you to kiss her and kiss her and then do other things.

¡Estúpido! ¿La llamaste? = Idiot! Did you call her?

Déjame en paz. Voy a decirle. Ella lo sabrá. = Leave me alone. I am going to tell her. She will know.

#SpaceSistersSecretValentine #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #frankie morales x you #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco morales #pedro pascal characters

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bettysupremacy · 2 months

Note

hi love ! could you write a fluff!rafe where the reader is a workaholic and ends up getting a cold and rafe takes care of her? 💌🍄

my boyfriend!!!!!!!

“I need to go in today.”

You gaze at Rafe, who returns your stare. It feels futile, yet you persist. You try to sit up, pulling the covers off your legs, but retreat under them when the overhead fan reaches. A dull ache permeates your body. The cold seeps into you, but the blanket is suffocating. Your body feels warm, but the air is biting.

You concede. “Nevermind.”

“Yeah.” Rafe moves to help you gently, he’s fixing the blanket.

“It’s fine.”

“Seriously,” Rafe warns suddenly. “I’m gonna make you cut your shifts down.”

“But-“

“No, this is a ‘I want to pass the time’ job, and you’re treating it like you’re employee of the month.” He’s annoyed, with you surely. “Shit, are you employee of the month?”

You frown, ignoring his question. He’s right. Though, he usually is. He already provides for you through the big money of the company his father passed down, you just don’t wanna be bored. You don’t want to contribute nothing, and you’re treating it like there’s rent to pay and mouths to feed. Well, there is, but not in the demand you

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he huffs. “I just can’t stand seeing you like this.”

“I know.”

He helps you sit, moving the pillows behind you. Your chest feels fuzzy and so do your eyes. Dully, your nausea makes you cough.

“I’m nauseous.” You tell him.

“Jeez.” He murmurs, his eyes round and concerned. “You want zofran?”

“Yes.” You whisper.

Tears pool in your eyes as he sits up, collecting at your eyelashes as you try to blink them away. You bring your hand to swipe at them, sniffling. Rafe’s brain lags.

“What?” He asks, kneeling down again, hands in desperate search of your face. “Baby, what?”

“I’m embarrassed.” You cry.

“Why?” His rough hands swipe at your tears gently. “Everyone gets sick.”

You turn away from him,

“If this is about me being upset earlier, I swear it wasn’t at you.” He stresses. “I-I had a bad day, and seeing you’ve succumbed to illness makes me sad.”

You giggle wetly. “Succumbed to illness.”

He beams proudly. “I knew that would get a laugh.”

You smile up at him, fever working through your veins slowly. You shake again miserably, working yourself up into a fit of fat tears. They roll down the hills of your cheek heavily, pooling under your chin. You blink out three at once and Rafe nearly has a conniption. Why are you crying?

“It’s not.”

He works his hand over your hair, gently, but not cautiously. “Then what?” He pleads. “Help me understand.”

“I just love you.”

“You’re crying because you love me?”

“I don’t feel good.” You correct.

“You don’t feel good?”

“And I love you,” You admit. “but you’re here,” You moan. “seeing me like this, and you’re so pretty.”

He laughs, quickly recovering to a sympathetic face when you frown at him.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” He soothes, lips near your ear. “Sometimes I look at you and I want to cry.”

“But you never do.” You wallow.

“Have you ever seen me cry?”

“Once.”

“Forget that.” He grimaces. “The point is, you’re stressed and sick.”

“I don’t see the point.” You murmur.

“You’re vulnerable right now, to your.. feelings. If I were sick, and stressed, and I saw you, I think I might cry too.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Did the people cry when the angels came down in the Bible?”

“Did the angels.. come down?” You ask. “I’ve never read it.”

“I’m not sure.”

You laugh. “Maybe we should ask Scar.”

“Scar?”

“She’s smart.”

“I think she’s Jewish.”

“So?”

“Different book, my love.”

“Duh, I’m not that sick.” You laugh. It drips with sticky sticky cough syrup. “But still, she’s smart, maybe she’ll know.”

Rafe sighs lovingly. “Maybe. We got off track.”

“We always do.”

Rafe snorts. “You’re feeling better.”

“Get on track.”

“I don’t remember the point I was making with angels.”

You laugh, tilting your head up to look at him. “You’re useless.”

“Abominable girl.” He chastises, sitting up anyways.

“Go get me medicine.” You’re smiling. “Useless, useless doctor.”

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cosmicmunsonwrites · 9 months

Note

Can you do rafe x reader and she find out she’s pregnant and gets kicked out so she has to tell rafe

you hurt me pretty good too

pairing(s): fwb!rafe cameron x fwb!fem!reader

warnings: pregnancy, toxic parents, reader is kicked out, talks of abortion, pet names

summary: after finding out you’re pregnant, you parents kick you to the curb, forcing you to tell the father.

authors note: thank you so much for the request! i’ve been so slow with updating because of my writers block but i’m going to finish up all of these requests as soon as i can.

part zero | part one | part two

not edited

do not copy my works. i do not condone rewrites, translations, or edited versions. all my content is my content that i wrote.

not my gif

“dad, please,” you cried. “i tried. i was careful! i don’t know what more you want from me. we used protection and i was on birth control.”

he didn’t seem to accept that answer. “then maybe you shouldn’t be having sex at all. if you’re not responsible enough to prevent getting pregnant, how can i trust that you’ll take care of a kid?”

“i promise i will. i have a steady job, i pay for all of my own stuff, i do everything on my own. i promise this won’t be a problem for you,” you tried to reason.

“if you won’t get an abortion, you can’t stay here,” he said firmly. “and thats that.”

your lip trembled as you turned to your mother. “mom?”

“i’m sorry, honey. your fathers right.”

you choked out a sob before rushing into your room and packing up all of your valuable belongings into a duffle bag you found in your closet. you grabbed all of your stashed money and anything else you needed. you didn’t even bother packing too many clothes, you’d later buy new ones.

without any exchanged words, you walked out to your car and threw the bag into the back, pressing the start button and driving off.

you furiously wiped the tears from your eyes as you sped down the bridge over to figure 8. you hated this. you hated what you were about to do. but it was your only option now.

and when you arrived, you were still in tears and even more nervous than confessing to your parents.

your walked up to the front door and knocked. “coming,” you heard his voice yell. then it swung open.

the first thing he noticed was your teary eyes. “hey, what’s wrong?” he was never this soft with you. but you were more than grateful right now. “come in. we can go up to my room.”

you stepped around him, trying your best not to cry even harder when his hand splayed across your lower back as he led you up to the room as if you hadn’t navigated your way there on your own a million times.

he gestured to the bed, silently telling you to take a seat as he kneeled in front of you, a hand on each of your thighs. “what’s wrong, sweetheart? something happen.”

you broke down now. “you’re gonna hate me.”

“i don’t think i could ever hate you,” he mumbled softly, eyes searching yours for some sort of answer.

you took a deep breath to gather yourself. “my—my parents kicked me out.”

his brows furrowed in towards each other. “what? why?”

you couldn’t look at him anymore. your eyes averted to the ground. “i’m pregnant.”

you heard the breath he sucked in, letting it out seconds later as his thumb moved across your skin comfortingly.

when he didn’t say anything, you cried even harder and stood up. “i’m sorry, rafe.”

he stood up with you and grabbed your hands. “no, no it’s okay, sweetheart. it’s okay,” he said before wrapping his arms around you. “it’s gonna be fine. we’re gonna figure it out together, yeah? i can talk to my dad about you staying with me for a little until we sort it out.”

his hand gently ran through your hair as he kissed your temple. “no matter what, angel, i promise to take care of the both of you.”

#gracie writes rafe cameron 🌺#gracies asks and requests 💌#rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe obx #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks

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serosluv2 · 4 months

Note

obsessed bf x pretty gf trope hcs w sero & shoto pls & ty 😁😁 (seperately pls)

It’s only 7 months late but here u go anon 😘

a/n: I wrote this in an hour in the bathtub so if it is shit- don’t tell me bc I’m just getting back into writing 😭😭

Shoto Todoroki

He fits this trope so well.

He is THEE resident pretty boy of UA so it makes perfect sense that he has the prettiest girl in all of Japan. (The world)

He is the teeny weeny ist bit dense on like how to take proper photos of you for the ‘gram but trust that he WILL be searching up everything about lighting and angles and exposure and zoom- all that nonsense.

If you’re a social media girly he may leave like one or two comments. He isn’t the best about being outwardly obsessed with you, he is all about those private small moments. Not being able to take his eyes off you anywhere. Always needing to be beside you. If he can’t be with you then trust he is texting you at every free moment and expects a response within 5 minutes.

He loves shopping with you and helping you pick out outfits or jewelry or how to style your makeup that day. He has no real opinion on what looks better tho he just loves seeing you get all prettied up. (Yk that tiktok where the girl is trying to decide on a dress color and her bf is just like “wtv u want mama u look breathtaking in both” ?That’s him.)

I feel like he doesn’t really buy you anything in the beginning of your relationship bc he doesn’t really see the point/value or something in that BUT all it takes is for kaminari to get you some product you’ve been wanting for a while for secret santa and seeing how touched you were by the gesture sends him into over drive:

“OH MY GOD! KAMI!!” You exclaim- wrapping your arms around him. “How did you know? I’ve been looking for this everywhere!” Shoto notices how big your eyes got and the slight blush on your cheeks from excitement and he feels, something unpleasant. Jealousy? Envy? Possessiveness? Whatever it is he doesn’t like how grateful you’re acting toward the blonde. I mean sure, he got you something nice you’ve wanted but that’s not his job (he just so happened to get you for secret santa so he kind of had to get you something) he’s not your boyfriend only your boyfriend- HIM- should be gifting you stuff. Then he kinda has a “ohh.” Moment and realizes he has never really gotten you anything just because.

Anyways after that whole interaction he is getting you anything and everything you look at for more than a second. You keep looking at some necklace at the store? Bought. He sees you liking tiktoks about girls getting flowers? Now you’re getting a bouquet every date night. Does he himself have money? No, but that No.1 hero daddy sure does. And let’s be honest he kind of owes shoto for making his childhood - for lack of a better word- awful.

In conclusion, Shoto loves his pretty girl and will do anything she asks of him without question.

Hanta Sero

Clawing at my cage for this man.

Now sero has been… infatuated with you since he first laid eyes on you one faithful morning. You were ordering at some coffee shop he passes by on his way to school and just one glance had him stopped dead in his tracks. The way your hair framed your face perfectly, your face in general because holy shit- you were gorgeous. Straight out of a magazine. He quickly took notice of the little embellishments you made to your uniform.. uniform? The same one Mina has. OH MY GOD YOU GO TO UA AND HE HAS NEVER SEEN YOU BEFORE?

He literally cannot stop thinking about you and boom you appear again in the halls. Your going the opposite direction has him with your friends and he sees you all have a little cafe cup. Did you buy them all a drink before class? So you’re stupidly gorgeous and nice. Great, he, for sure, has no chance with you now.

But oh that’s where he is wrong.

When you guys start dating he actually cannot believe it. He is very guarded at first because- now it’s my personal hc that sero is a bit insecure- he can’t fathom how you, YOU, would actually want to date someone like…him.

But once those walls come down he doesn’t shut up about you. Seriously all his friends are so annoyed:

“Good god soy sauce if you mention your little girly friend again I’m hurling you across the city.”

“You’re just mad you don’t have a girl as pretty as mine- don’t worry baku-man, I’m sure one day some poor person will take pity on your soul.”

Sero did in fact get hurled across the city that day.

Now where he differs from Shoto is that this man is a GOD with a camera. He has that artistic eye and is able to capture you being your baddest/cutest/authentic self.

Literally ya’ll

He also has a good sense of style. He never thinks you look bad in one thing versus another but he will take into account the vibe of where you’re going and what’s you’ll be doing and give his opinion based on that. Because he grew up with sister and knows how to get around the “which one looks better?” Type question without hurting you.

Now sero doesn’t have money to spoil you senseless but what he does have is the forever lasting instinct to put your comfort above his own. It’s freezing and you didn’t wear a jacket because “a hoe ever gets cold”? Don’t worry sero will give you his and be visibly growing icicles on his body to keep you warm. Feet hurt from those impractical shoes? He’s caring you all the way home even if he is still terribly sore from a killer arm workout the day before with kirishima. A no a mudy puddle and you’re wearing your new white shoes :(! Well sero is laying his jacket down over it or simply caring you over the puddle. He isn’t the type to roll his eyes at how “ridiculous” or “spoiled” you’re being. You are y/n freaking l/n. He’ll do whatever you need to make sure nothing in your life goes wrong.

He also is the type to spam comments in your TikTok or Insta post and makes all his friends do the same. Not that you need it- he just loves fueling your ego.

#woohoo first day back after my 6 month leave #not that any of yall care #also I started watching jjk (yeah in late I know)#sero x reader #sero hanta #mha headcanons #hanta sero #hanta sero x reader #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto torodoki

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tinkerbelle05 · 11 months

Note

could you do like a bookworm kinda quiet reader with E42 Miles?????

I Always Got You, Got That?

Characters: E42!Miles Morales x Fem!reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Going on an impromptu bookstore shopping run. (Requested) Thanks for the request sweets 🖤

Warning: none :)

While sipping your coffee, you continued to walk throughout the mall when you spotted the bookstore. It was practically calling your name but you didn’t have enough money and you already took too much from Miles.

You weren’t exactly sure about what his job actually is, but he made a lot of money from doing that. So realistically he wouldn’t have a problem with you asking but you didn’t wanna seem like some gold-digger. Your mama raised you better than that.

“You wanna go in there?” Miles asked you. He caught you eyeing the place but was confused as to why you didn’t go in.

“Oh, no. We don’t have to go on and it’s probably boring for you,” you answer and turn back around.

“Nah, nah.” He takes your hand and starts pulling you into the store. “If you wanna go in, then go in. And don't worry about the price, you know I always got you.”

“But you already spent a lot on me,” you argue. And he has. Last week, he took you on a date to a fancy restaurant and the week before that a concert to see your favorite artist. Both of those were extremely expensive and you felt guilty about it when you searched up the prices.

“Because as my girlfriend, you deserve to be spoiled. It’s how I show my love.” He gives you a playful pout and comes closer to you, “Are you gonna stop me from showing you how much I love you?”

“Of course not,” you're quick to say.

He gives you a smirk, “Good.” He drags you into the store, “Now shop to your heart’s desire, okay?”

You nod and go deeper into the store. You pick up some books that caught your eye and put them back because they didn’t interest you as much as the others. You weren’t that greedy.

Little did you know Miles was behind you and picking the books back up to buy them. He watched as you went around the store, going into different sections; YA, Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Romance, etc.

Miles loved seeing you smile as your fingers glided on the book spines, he loved the way your eyes lit up as they read the summary of the book. He loved how you talked so passionately about the books you’ve read and are planning to read. The ones you loved with all of your heart and the ones you hate with every fiber of your being.

You turned around to see Miles carrying a stack of books that pales in comparison to the ones you have in your hand. When you looked closer, it was every book that you liked but put back.

“Miles…” you narrow your eyes at him and walk back to meet up with him. “Why are you picking up these books? I didn’t take you for a fan of romance.”

“1, don’t put me into a box and 2, you can’t carry all these books so I’m carrying them for you. That’s why you put them back because they were getting heavy,” he explains and lies without any shame knowing damn well that’s not the reason.

“Now Miles.” You say and stare up at the ceiling to combat the incoming headache. He doesn’t have to keep spending all this money on you.

“Hey.” Miles called out to you and lifted your head by your chin to meet his eyes. “Listen I told you this before and I will tell this until you get it through that pretty little head of yours, hermosa. My money is yours, okay. You need something you got, you want something you got. I’ve always got you, got that?”

He was being so intense about this which was unusual for him since he’s probably the most nonchalant guy you knew. You suspected there was more to this issue, but you decided not to push it. With being a nonchalant, Miles is also not the most emotionally vulnerable person in the world.

You give him a smile, “Okay then, don’t come crying when I drain your bank account.” You turn to continue shopping, being more liberal in your choosing. And where do you put all the books you pick up? Right in Miles’ hand.

He chuckles at your response and carries the mounting books with ease, “Trust, you won’t hear a peep outta me.”

Tags: @butterfi, @justbeethings, @jam-skullz, @zomb1te, @dreamxcollide, @shibble, @sleepdeprivationis4coolkids, @somber-starz, @maypersonne, @hoeboat101, @rosebunny, @midnight-the-shadow-wolf, @mur-docs, @eight-cats-in-a-box, @emgavi, @sawi-06, @707xn, @niktwazny303, @nagi3seastorm, @ghostsimp000, @cloudstrifefantatic, @vixqn, @yourtsahik, @angelzira, @im-jisoo-im-okay, @andhdi68a, @itstooearly-its3am, @universallypeanutpizzapersona, @sodapopzds, @sciamachy-after-dusk, @peter-parkers-gf, @liural, @mewzxz, @star-light18464, @gricelovesu, @wraithlueintheirlittleworld, @targaryenstormborn

Taglist & Masterlist & Reqs Info

Reqs are open!!

A/N: Thanks so much for 1K notes guys!! 😊😊

#miles morales earth 42 #miles x reader #miles morales x reader #miles morales x f!reader #earth 42 miles morales #42 miles morales #miles morales prowler #prowler miles fanfic #earth 42 miles fluff #across the spiderverse x reader #across the spiderverse fanfic

2K notes · View notes

teapartyprincess4two · 3 months

Text

Shopaholic- C. Sturniolo

pairing: Shopaholic!reader x boyfriend!Chris

classification: fluff

warnings: use of y/n, established relationship, high maintenance reader, some suggestive content, sexual comments but no smut, small argument, slight cursing, shopping addiction, consumerism, hoarder tendencies, Chris can drive in this (bc I feel bad for him)

summary: No matter how hard you try, you just can’t stop swiping your card.

—

Your shopping addiction began innocently, just you and your friends occasionally going out in search of a new outfit for a party or special event. Slowly it became a hobby and you were spending multiple weekends at the mall trying to find something new. After a while it became your job and you were posting fashion videos on Instagram for other girls to follow and selling clothes on Depop for people who wanted to dress like you. Then it became an addiction, all you wanted to do was swipe your card and you couldn’t stop.

You’re currently on one of your many shopping sprees with your boyfriend Chris who you’ve dragged along against his will. He loves spending time with you, but he really, really hates shopping. In his opinion you do it too often and spend too much money, but he’s not the type to yuck anyone’s yum. Shopping is also socially draining for him, every time he joins you he finds himself dreading every second of it.

He stumbles behind you as you enter the 10th store of the day, his hands struggling to hold all the bags you dumped on him. “Y/n, let’s go home!” He groans, adjusting the bags further up his arm. You ignore him, going straight towards the back of the store where the clearance is. Just cause you love to shop and spend money doesn’t mean you don’t appreciate a good deal.

Chris groans and trudges behind you, accidentally knocking over some of the displays as the bags swing back and forth. He remembers a time when you weren’t such a shopaholic, a time when spending time with you meant going to the movies or out to lunch. Now, ever since gaining this new hobby, all you two seem to do is shop.

“Look at this, Chris! It’s so cute!” You exclaim, holding a red top against your chest so he can imagine you in it. He can’t help but roll his eyes, “you have that exact top already.” You huff, looking at the top again. “Oh you’re right,” you put the shirt back on the rack and continue looking for the next item you’ll add to your closet.

Chris watches as you struggle to find something new, probably because you have everything already. “You have all of this stuff already, babe. You don’t need anything else,” he says, attempting to lead you out of the store, but you’re strong willed and extremely determined to find at least one thing.

“I haven’t checked over here though,” you respond, walking in a completely opposite direction from the exit. He groans in annoyance as you disappear to the back of the story again. He gives up, there’s obviously no getting through to you. So, he sits on a bench outside the store as he waits for you to finish.

Chris occupies himself on his phone, completely surrounded by shopping bags full of clothes that you were sure to only wear once or twice and then resell on your Depop. After 30 minutes you walk out of the store with another 5 bags in hand, a huge smile on your face as you walk over to Chris. He wants to facepalm at the sight of you because he still doesn’t understand your obsession with spending so much money.

“Okay I’m ready to go home now,” you say with a smile, standing in front of Chris as he grabs all your previous bags. Once he gets up, he gives you a quick peck on the lips and immediately leads you out of the mall and to the car. If he takes a second longer you might second guess it and enter another store. He absolutely couldn’t bear the thought of another hour shopping.

Once you’re finally at the car you both load your bags into the trunk, it’s so overfilled that you struggle to close it. You get frustrated and get in the car, allowing Chris to deal with the problem. He’s a little annoyed, but he’s mostly glad to be going home. He works his magic, moving some bags into the middle seat so he can properly close the trunk before hopping into the drivers seat.

“I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” He asks, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the busy streets. “Yeah, I can eat,” you reply, messing with the radio as you connect your phone to the car’s bluetooth. You were grateful that your boyfriend was so willing to spend time shopping with you despite it being his least favorite thing to do. So, you play his playlist for him in hopes that he won’t be too annoyed with you. One of his favorite songs blares loudly through the speakers immediately causing him to bop his head as he merges through traffic.

Chris turns the radio up, belting the lyrics to every song by heart. He is singing at the top of his lungs, looking towards you as he dedicates the lyrics of the love songs that play. You laugh, singing along with him when you know the words. Finally, he pulls up to his favorite restaurant, kissing you sweetly once the car is in park.

“We ate here last week,” you comment, grabbing all your things and shoving them into your purse. He sends you a warning look, a look that says ‘don’t start with me.’ A look that says, ‘I just spent hours carrying around your bags, let me have this ONE thing.’

You get the hint and put your arms up in defense, “You’re right sorry, babe.”

—

After eating, the two of you head back to your apartment. You work together to carry in the multitude of bags you accumulated throughout your shopping trip. Considering how late it is, most people would just dump everything near the front door and leave it for another day. Not you though, you’re too excited to try everything on.

Once you’re in your room, you immediately take everything out of the bags excitedly. Chris watches you attentively from your bed. You look like a kid on Christmas morning. He looks around your room, fully taking in the amount of things you’ve collected ever since acquiring this new hobby. He wouldn’t categorize you as a hoarder, but he can definitely tell that you have a shopping problem.

You sprawl all the clothes out onto the floor, crumpling bags and receipts in the process. Chris decides this is the perfect time for an intervention, “Y/n, you have too much stuff.” You look up from the piles of clothes in front of you, sending him an ugly look, “Chris, there is no such thing as too much stuff.” He rolls his eyes at your sassy attitude, getting up from the bed and walking over to your closet.

Chris opens the closet door dramatically, the slam of the door ringing through your room. Your closet is filled to the brim with clothes, shoes, purses, and you even have boxes labeled with seasonal clothes. “There is such a thing,” he retorts, not even looking into your closet because he knows his point has been made. You knew you had a problem, but you just couldn’t stop yourself from spending money when you found something cute.

“Babe you haven’t even worn half of this stuff,” Chris comments again with a laugh as he begins flipping through your closet. To be fair, you were extremely organized to the point that it felt like he was in a department store, but that still didn’t justify the amount of things you had. “That’s not true! Plus I’m selling some of it… eventually,” you mutter the last part, mostly because you don’t want to get rid of anything yet. “When was the last time you wore this?” He asks as he takes a random shirt off the rack, holding it out for you to see.

You get up from the floor, yanking the shirt from him dramatically. “I wore this on our first date,” you lie, trying to act offended. He rolls his eyes again at your attempt to pull at his heart strings, he knows you’re lying. “Y/n that shirt literally still has the tag on it,” he tugs at the tag, wagging it in your face. You could fool anyone, but not Chris. He knew you well enough to realize that you had a problem.

“Whatever, but I’m still going to wear it soon. I just haven’t found the right time. Plus I kept the tag on in case I want to sell it on Depop,” your words come out a mile a minute as you try to justify this addiction that’s gotten out of hand. He knows there’s no winning with you, especially not when shopping is involved, so he just sighs dramatically and goes back to his spot on your bed.

After a while Chris becomes occupied by his phone, not interested in the previous topic anymore. Since he’s not pestering you anymore, you try on all the clothes you purchased today. Occasionally you’ll ask him for his opinion on something, but he just gives you half-ass replies. Even if he thinks you look great in everything you try on he doesn’t say it because he can’t encourage this behavior or you’ll never stop.

“I’m tired,” he yawns, kicking his shoes off and turning his phone off, placing it on your bedside table. He has to balance it on top of all the other trinkets on your table. Chris was hoping you two would do other things tonight, but you were too distracted by all tour new stuff to care about him. “Sleep baby, I’ll be done in a bit,” you reply as you organize all the clothes into your closet.

Chris groans in annoyance, grabbing some of his spare clothes from one of your drawers. Even his drawer was filled with your stuff. Granted this wasn’t his house, but it was the singular drawer he had for himself here. He quickly changes, throwing his dirty clothes in a random corner of your room before going to the restroom to brush his teeth.

When he returns he finds you dressed and ready for bed. “You finally done being a princess?” He asks playfully, wrapping his arms around your waist slowly so he can pull you into him. You roll your eyes as you drape your arms around his neck, “a princess’s job is never done.” Chris chuckles at this, leaning in for a kiss.

—

“The movie starts in an hour,” Chris says as he walks into your room, taking a seat on your bed. You’re currently doing your makeup, adding all the finishing touches. “I’m almost done, I just have to do my hair,” you reply, popping your lips as you apply a thick layer of lip gloss. You’ve been getting ready for hours, how is your hair still not done? “It looks good like that, babe. C’mon we’re gonna be late,” he replies in a whiny tone as he attempts to convince you that the movie was more important than your hair. In his opinion it actually looked good, but he knows you won’t be easily swayed.

You give him a blank stare through the mirror, “Chris I CANNOT go like this.” You pick a few strands of hair up, shaking them in the air. He laughs at this, deciding to just let you have your way. “Fine, but be quick please.” He gets up for your bed, walking over you and kissing your cheek quickly before heading back to the living room.

After another 30 minutes you’re finally done, tugging your shoes on quickly and grabbing your purse as you rush out of your room. Chris was waiting for you patiently in the living room, the amount of patience that man has for you is astonishing. He takes a quick look at you and before you can ask if you look okay he says, “you look sexy, let’s go.” Of course he means it, but he can’t gush over your appearance for too long or you’ll miss the movie. You roll your eyes, following behind him as he rushes to the car.

You arrive at the movie theater 5 minutes before the movie starts, grabbing a bucket of popcorn and a large drink to share as quick as possible before rushing to find your seats. Despite the lack of time management on your part, Chris is still excited to be doing something that doesn’t involve walking around the mall for hours on end.

“You good?” Chris whispers to you during the middle of the movie, popping a couple of pieces of popcorn in his mouth. You hum in response, leaning in for a quick kiss. He tastes like salt and butter. When you break from the kiss he smiles at you before turning back to the movie.

In reality you were really bored. Chris chose the movie and has been excited to watch it for a long time. You wanted to protest and suggest a different movie, but he’s always putting up with your nonsense so you decided to let him have this one thing. You watch as the characters on screen engage in dialogue and you have no idea what the context behind it is. You look back at Chris, hoping to catch his attention, but he’s too immersed in the plot to notice.

You huff in annoyance, turning back to the screen and attempting to enjoy the remainder of the movie. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to find the movie interesting. Before you know it your hands begin to wander onto Chris’s thigh, lingering there for a while before slowly inching up towards his crotch. He sends you a warning look, squeezing your hand and placing it further back up his thigh. You repeat your actions, but are met with the same response from Chris.

Another huff of annoyance leaves your mouth. You’ll just have to watch the rest of the movie and pretend you know what’s going on.

—

The movie ends and Chris looks like he’s just watched the best thing on Earth. “That was such a crazy ending,” he comments, standing from his seat with the popcorn bucket still in hand. You grab the drink and do the same, holding his hand as he leads you out of the theater. “Who was that big guy? The guy at the end,” you ask, tossing the soda away.

Chris halts in his steps, turning towards you in shock. “The main character?! Y/n were you even watching?!” He exclaims in disbelief, the whole movie was about that specific character. “Oh right,” you reply, pretending to remember the entire plot of the movie. Chris gives you a dumbfounded look, tossing the popcorn bucket away. You smile at him, he definitely knows you weren’t paying attention throughout the entire movie.

He holds your hand as he leads you towards the car, both of you getting in and deciding on your next destination. The night is still young and you’re really hoping that Chris will take you to a new store you heard about. "Baby, there's this new store I heard about on TikTok. Do you think you can take me?" you ask sweetly, batting your eyelashes and everything.

It doesn't work, "Y/n, no."

"Pleaseeeee. I promise I'm just going to look around, I won't buy anything, I promise," you plead as he pulls out of the parking lot and starts driving home. He doesn't budge so you decide to pull out the big guns, “I’ll suck your dick.” This seems to do it because he changes direction before replying with a quick, “fine.”

You’re now in the store, your eyes lighting up at the racks of clothes in front of you. Now that you’re in here you regret promising not to buy anything, it’s not like he expected you to keep that promise anyway. “I’m gonna go this way,” you say excitedly, dragging Chris along with you as you head towards the back of the store.

As you look through the racks of clothing, Chris is talking nonstop about the movie. Occasionally you’ll reply, but you don’t remember enough details about the movie to say anything worthwhile. You’re obviously not paying attention and after a while he becomes annoyed, “Y/n, are you even listening?”

You hum in response, adjusting the stack of clothes that was resting against your arm. “I am, baby. Keep talking,” you reply haphazardly, adding yet another shirt to your growing pile. Chris glares at you, but decides to continue sharing his thoughts on the movie.

You’re still not paying attention. He’s asked you at least 5 questions and has received nothing in response, not even a hum. “I’m going to wait in the car,” he says annoyed. You look up at him briefly with a small smile, “okay, babe. I’m almost done.” Chris rolls his eyes as he walks out of the store and to the car.

After an hour you’re finally done, walking out of the store with 3 bags full of clothes. Did you need any of it? No. Did you want all of it? Yes. You tap on the car window and signal for Chris to open the trunk. He complies with a straight face. You dump all your bags into the trunk before hopping into the passenger seat.

“Thank you for waiting,” you say, going in for a quick kiss. “Mmhmm,” he replies as he dodges you causing your kiss to land on his cheek.

“What’s wrong?” you ask innocently.

He doesn’t hold back, he doesn’t have to with you. “You know what’s funny? How I always do what you want to do and the one time we do what I want to do, the ONE time, you can’t even be bothered to pretend to care.” You two don’t make a habit of arguing, but your recent behavior has gotten out of hand. He feels like you’ve been so selfish lately and he has to get everything he’s feeling off his chest.

You’re about to reply, but he’s not done, “For once it would be nice if my girlfriend treated me like her boyfriend, not like a fucking butler. You only want me around to carry your damn bags and swipe my damn card.” That last part wasn’t true, you never asked him to buy you things, but the thought of him as your butler was slightly amusing.

You decide to stay silent, wanting to see how he really feels. “Like, can you at least try to pretend to care about what I have to say? You weren’t even listening to me in there! I get it if you’re bored, Y/n. I really do,” he takes a deep breath before continuing. “But don’t you think I get bored following you around the stupid mall all the time? That’s all we fucking do!”

You open your mouth to speak, but he still isn’t done, “It’s not like you need any more stuff anyways. You literally have a problem, Y/n!”

The car goes silent for a while as you wait just in case another rant was coming. It would be easy to get offended at Chris’s little outburst, but you understood where he was coming from. He was such a great boyfriend who always worked towards keeping you happy and you were ignoring him in the store.

“Are you done?” you ask with a small chuckle.

“Are you done?” he mocks. “Am I done? Yes im fucking done.”

The whole situation seemed ridiculous, especially considering that you two never argue. If this is the biggest problem in your relationship, it’s an easy fix. “I’m sorry for making you feel like I don’t care,” you start, pausing in case he feels the sudden urge to interrupt. He looks at you expectantly, he knows he deserves an apology and if he deems it good enough then maybe he’ll apologize for being so harsh with you.

“Next time you don’t have to come shopping with me if you don’t want to and if it makes you feel better, I’ll stop,” you say, feeling a slight pain in your heart at the thought of never shopping again. “It would actually,” he mumbles with his arms crossed over his chest. He would never actually make you stop shopping, you were spending your own money and he had no right to tell you what to do with it. You chuckle at his sassiness before continuing, “and you’re right, I don’t need any more stuff.”

“Yeah, I am right.”

“Alright you’re pushing it, buddy,” you chuckle. He looks at you as he tries to hold in his laughter. “I was a little dramatic, sorry,” he admits, offering you an apologetic smile. “A little? You called yourself my butler.” He laughs again at this, but he goes back to his serious tone from before as he says, “Y/n, you actually have a problem though.”

“I know,” you reply in defeat. “Here just take it,” you hand him your wallet, looking away dramatically.

“I’ll hold onto this for safe keeping,” he jokes, putting it in his pocket. You were sure to go through his things later and find it anyways. He knows this won’t last and that’s okay, your shopping addiction isn’t actually harming anyone.

“As you should, my butler. Now take me home,” you command with a clap of your hands. He laughs, putting the car in drive. “You’re going to call me that from now on, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

This was sitting in the drafts for a while.

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo x y/n #christopher sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris x y/n #chris x reader #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfiction #Christopher sturniolo fanfiction

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skylarsblue · 1 year

Text

✦Incorrect C.o.D Quotes✦

(Bros I'm so sorry, I've had the biggest fucking writer's block. I'm hoping some silly lil meme posts will make up for it until I can write something substantial, I'msosorry-)

Y/N: Some of us, I don’t wanna name names, give me a headache when they speak and its- Soap: Is it me?? Y/N: No. Graves: Is it me? Y/N: …it’s not Soap- --

Price: I’m gonna make you a soup. Gaz, delirious with the flu: I don’t wanna be a soup, Captain… Price: …right, how about I give you soup instead? Gaz: That’d be nicer. Price: Right. --

Soap: What the fuck knuckles is this? Valeria: *holding her hyper femme gf in her lap* She’s my girlfriend you intolerant shit. Soap: Whoa! Pump the hate brakes Fox & friends. I’m just surprised anyone would date you. Especially Pinkie Pie from My Little Pony. Y/N, on Valeria’s lap: You know that cartoon? Soap: No comment. Ghost: No, I think you should comment more, Johnny. Soap: NO. COMMENT. Moving on! Gaz: We’re gonna circle back to that. --

Graves: I think the term you’re searching for is ‘current captain’. Ghost: The words I’m searching for, I can’t say. Because there’s a rookie *motions to Soap* present. Soap: No no, say it. I can handle it. Ghost: You sure? Soap: Absolutely, L.T. Ghost: *looks at Graves* Fucking donkey lookin’ muppet bitch. Soap: Brutal blow, sir. Well done. --

Y/N: *comes in* Hey, Gaz, how old is your captain? Gaz: What? Y/N: No not like that…it is, it is like that. How old is he? I came into base, he asked if I needed anything to eat. I said ‘eat what’? Gaz: Okay, first of all, put my plate down and stop hitting on my captain! Y/N: Don’t get mad at me! I don’t even wanna be here. Y’all the ones that want me to be here. --

NPC: Ohhh if I weren’t a lady, I’d deck you! Fem!Y/N: Oh please. Try it and I’d have you on your back so fast you’d think you’re on a date. Ghost: *spits tea* Price, covered in tea: That was so unnecessary- --

Ghost: Mmph. Y/N: Dark room, avoidant, you seem tired despite sleeping for awhile…you wanna try and get out in the sun or do you just need to be in the sadness dungeon? Ghost: *holds up two fingers* Y/N: Would you like some tea for the sadness dungeon? Ghost: …Mhm. Y/N: Tea for the sad dragon coming up! Ghost: Mmph. (Aka “thank you”) Y/N: No problem! --

Y/N: Ya know sometimes there’s times in life where you just have to sit back and go, “ya know what? I’m proud of myself.” Gaz: Is this one of those times? Y/N: No- Soap: *wheeze* --

(Shibari reference)

Price: …alright, when I said we needed to restrain him in a way that ensured he couldn’t get out. This is not- Gaz: These are not military knots. Y/N: No, they aren’t. You all suggested knots that he would know how to get out of. You told me to get rid of that possibility. So, I did. Soap: He is tied…to the ceiling. Ghost: You kinky bitch. Y/N: *shrug* Price: Where did you even learn this? Y/N: That is for me and my daddy issues to know, sir. Don’t worry about it. Just wake him up so we can start interrogating him.

Graves: We can rule the world! Ghost: *turns to leave* Graves:: *watches him pull out something of Y/N’s* Graves: WH-YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO FUCK MY WIFE Graves: GHOST. G H O S T Ghost: *leaves* --

Graves: Let me log into Twitter- WAIT, IS THAT GHOST’S DICK!?! Ghost: I fucked your wife. Graves: AGGHHHHHH- --

Medic!Y/N: Don’t torture yourself Ghost. *snips bandage* Medic!Y/N: That’s my job.~ Ghost, internally: Stayfocusedwecannot- --

Price: We’re you listening to me at all? Y/N: No I was fantasizing about beard burn. Price: Pardon? Y/N: Huh? --

Ghost: He died of natural causes. Gaz: You pushed him off the roof. Ghost: Gravity is natural. --

Y/N: Nuh Uh, no. I’m not doing it. I have self respect, and I will not stoop so low as to- Gaz: *brings out 100£.* Y/N: -oooooo*takes money* I’ll have it done in an hour. --

Soap, looking at Konig: That man is a tree. Y/N: Then I'm a fucking squirrel. Soap: On the hunt for nuts then? Y/N: Famished for them. Ghost: Why do I sit with you two...

#call of duty #simon riley #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #konig #cod konig #john price #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #phillip graves #valeria el sin nombre garza #incorrect cod quotes #incorrect quotes #modern warfare 2 x reader #modern warfare

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darkchocoboo · 1 year

Text

El Jefe| Javier Peña

summary: You work for Javier in Bogotá on Cali case. And he offers you a couch to “sleep”.

tw: penetration, p in v sex, oral (f! receiving), little context mostly smut

(I can’t write smut)

( and I'm planning to write p2)

SMUT! Minors DNI!

Part 2

You were focused on the board in front of you like your life depends on it. Your hips on the side of the table. You were standing there like that for over an hour to solve the puzzle you've been working on since you were sent to Colombia. The air was thick and hot. Your white formal shirt buttons were already half open. Sweat sliding between your breast. You were so focused that you didn't even hear Peña walking in. His lighters little sound snapped you into the real world.

"Working late Agent?" You hummed between your lips while massaging your noses bridge.

"If you gonna say something Peña, believe me I'm not in the mood for a fight." You were expecting a mocking reply but instead he handed you a whiskey on the rocks.

"Wow, who are you?"

"Just relax a little," he said while closing the distance and taking of his vest. "Everybody needs a break."

You took a sip from amber colored drink burning feeling washing over your throat.

"Everybody left. Go to your home, sleep agent." He murmured as he sipped his drink.

"Jokes on you Boss. I don't have a home. Yet." You sat down to the chair next to you. Kicking of your heels you forgot you were wearing.

"What?"

"I didn't have time to rent. I was just staying at an hotel. But they kinda kicked me out for being an agent or a gringo, you choose." His hands slipped to his neck. Scrunched his face.

"You know I have a spare couch."

"OH you nasty man trying to take me home. Jokes aside. I can't accept your offer. No." You got up walking past so close to him that your hips almost touched his front. "I have to work on this anyways," you said under your breath.

He was an attractive man. Known as a womanizer. Just being with him in the same room made your skin hot. Maybe it was the smell. Maybe it was because you were in a vulnerable time in your life. You were afraid you would fell into his trap.

"I can't let you stay here all night without sleep, Agent. No. Let's go get some food and sleep. Tomorrow morning we can search for a house. Okey. C'mon." His cigarette was hanging from his fingers losely. You massaged your nose bridge. After short seconds you were in his car nibbling on the food he got you. You moaned low.

"That's some good shit."

Your low moaning twitched something inside him. He was watching you with a side eye while driving to his place. Your legs in your mini skirt was glistening with light coat of sweat. Bogotá was indeed hot that time of the year. Your hair was in a lose bun low on back your neck. Leaving your neck open. White shirt on you was tight, just like the skirt. Your make up was smudged a little after the day you had at the office, your under eye bags showing. They were dark because the lack of your sleep.

You were working with/for Peña for over a month now. When you walked in to Peña's room the first day you started he thought you were just there for the money but he saw how focused you were over the time. You were focused on the job. That definitely catch Peńa's attention. Longer he watched you work, longer he wondered about different things about you. Your interests, your drink of choice, your favorite music, the color of your underwear.

"Done checking me out Peña?" He snapped in the reality with your words.

"What?"

"You missed two red lights." He sighed.

"Just tired." He took a sharp turn. Killed the engine.

"That's us." Walked into the building. Keys clinging at the door to his apartment. His apartment was neat. Well decorated. You didn't expected a place like this. He walked to the couch. Dropping his body like a bag.

"Make yourself at home sugar."

You went to the bathroom to change. When you walked in to the living room you saw him in his white t-shirt that was clearly too small for him. His little beer belly was showing and the fabric around his biceps was looking like it was gonna explode if he makes a wrong move. You wish he would. He looked at your side and checked you out like it was his first time seeing you. In your spagetti stap top an your little short that made his cock throbe under his clothes.

"Beer?" He handed you a cold one while he sat next to you in the couch.

Your bodies so close that you felt his heat washing you. He smelled like cigarettes and fresh woods that made your head spin. You took a sip from the bottle. The way your lips touched the bottle made him ache.

His hands walked to your cheeks, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. He got closer and closer to you in seconds. His handsome face stopping so close to yours, breaths lacking your face.

"So, cariño, " The way he speaks, tone of his voice... You slowly turned your body to him. Eyes slightly shut with the atmosphere around you two. "What'u gonna do about house?" You couldn't put words together, just let out a sigh and shake your head in unknown.

"I don't wanna think about it right now." Your lips touching with every word you say. Next thing you know is his lips on yours. Passion was the only word to describe it. Like he was burning internally. Hand run down on your shoulder. Grabbed hard like he’s never gonna let you go. Other on your waist, cold from his fingers gave your exposed skin goosebumps. You moaned into his mouth while the kiss got deeper. You grabbed his hair in need. Pulling his dark curls.

Something inside you was constantly whispering that what you’re doing was wrong. Fucking your boss. But the other side, it was crazy for his touch and needed him between your legs, inside you. Wrecking you to a mess. It was wrong but it felt hella fine. You did nothing to stop.

His lips traced an invisible line to your boobs. Ripping the top to leave you naked. He flicked your nipple with his rough tongue. Your nails digging into his scalp more. Moans coming out of your mouth like it was a sacred song. Filling his ears and making him want you more. He left your skin for a moment, looked into your eyes between his long lashes with eyes that hazed from desire.

Your head falled back. Breathing heavily. He got up, undressed in matter of seconds. His hard cock was thick. Thickest you saw in your entire life to be honest. You stared at it for to long apparently he let out a chuckle.

“You like what u saw baby? Want it?” An approving moan filled the room. He got onto his knees.

“Not yet.” His hand grabbed the waist of your shorts and took it off in a fluid motion. Your lace panties following it to the floor.

His lips were exploring your inner thighs. Taking deep breaths inhaling your intoxicating smell.

“Javier, please.” His teeth digging in to your skin, leaving marks.

Your hands found his hair one more time pressing him into your core.

“Good girl. All wet for me.” His trigger finger find your core parting it.

“S’good, corazon. You look beautiful.” His hot breath hitting your exposed and sensitive core with every word he says. Next, it was his tongue, sending shivers up to your body.

“Javi,” He smiled against your skin. His tongue giving you kitten licks, his soft lips pressing your nub and pulling it. A finger went in. And then another followed it. Feeling his fingers inside made you ache for him more. Long fingers brushing your deep spots you never new existed. Clit throbing under his tongue made his mouth water. Wet sounds coming from your core and his finger was filling the room.

Air was thick and smelled like both of you. Stray curls got stuck on his forehead with sweat.

A knot in your belly was getting tighter with every move his tongue did.

“Javier, I’m,” His fingers got faster when you moaned.

“Yeah, baby. Tell me what u want.”

“I’m gonna, gonna cum, please.” His fingers didn’t leave your insides, never slowed down. He leaned to you. Lips touching.

“Cum baby. Cum on my fingers.” His thumb massaged yor nub. You could taste yourself on his lips when you licked his lips with hunger. Your climax getting closer and closer. Your walls tightening around them fingers.

You bit his bottom lip when your high hit you. Your thights started to shake as you clasped his hands between yor legs. In want to feel him deeper in your core. Room started to rotate with the feeling. Juices coming out of you left wet spots on his couch. Your breaths mixing together as you tried to help yourself come together. You looked at him with watery eyes, your mascara runing down on your cheeks.

His hard cock hitting your belly lit another fire inside you.

Legs hugging his waist as you pulled him for a kiss. He used that to grab you from your ass and started to carry you to his bedroom. Never breaking the kiss.

“S’wet Agent. Only if I knew,” You didn’t let him talk, covering his lips with yours. Leaving wet kisses and kitten licks as he sat on the bed.

Dim light from the street light was hitting his face. His skin was glistening with sweat, eyes nearly shut with the feeling of your wet pussy on his lap.

“Beautiful,” you said unconsciously under your breath. He smiled across your lips.

“Yeah.” You started grinding to his lap, hips rotating slowly. He groaned as you kept moving. He reached out to his bedside table for a condom. Gave it to you as he falled back.

You stroke him, his precum spreading all over, your juices from earlier as well.

“You’re doing so well baby.” He whimpered as your hand kept stroking his cock.

“¿Sí, jefe?” Javier’s cock twitched under your touch.

“Don’t call me boss like it doesn’t turn you on.” You felt his climax raising under your hand. Your hand stopped, you put on the condom as you lined him on your entrance. He groaned.

“Corazón-mmh.” You slowly sank on his length as his groans got louder, turning into moans.

The feeling of him streching your walls was something else. Made the knot in your belly thighter. Burning so good that your head spins.

“Javi~” you kept moaning his name as you jumped on him.

“Yeah baby, like that.” His hands on your waist slapped your as, burning feeling washed over your body. His fingers left a red mark on your ass. Squeezing where he hit you. Hard enough to mark you.

He raised from the bed and hugged you, chest to chest. His lips kissing your thin skin, wanting to get under your skin.

“Javi” He turned our back to bed, hovering over you on his arms. His eyes burning with desire.

He moved his hips as lips find yours. Pumping into you as his pace got faster.

“Javier, please.”

“Yeah, baby. So good. Doin’ so well.” He kept chewing on your skin. Like he wanted to mark you, like he wants everybody to know you were his.

You felt your end growing inside your lower belly as his thrusts got sloppy and out of rhythm.

“YN, baby. I’m,”

“Yeah, Javi, me too. Keep going. Right there.” His groans got louder as you walls were thightening around him. His forehead fell over yours. His hot breath hitting your face.

“Baby” He didn’t let your words to end by kissing your lips as he cums inside you. Your walls milking the last drop of his cum as you came with him.

“S’good, Agent. S’good for me.” He fell on top of you as his weight crushing you to bed. Leaving small kisses all over your face.

“Let’s sleep Agent. We have work to do tomorrow.”

#javier pena #javier pena smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos #javier pena x y/n #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you

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cinnamonest · 18 days

Note

Yan childe x teacher reader BUT the reader has a lover OMG I CAN'T-

//cucking + filming noncon, age gap, Ajax is an awful little bastard as usual

(also here's the original Delinquent!Childe x Teacher!Reader post, and the second sequel post)

Oh anon. Anon. I love this, but consider: take it a step further.

The poor boy finding out that his precious teacher he’s been fantasizing about fucking silly is MARRIED.

Typing away on her keyboard when his eyes drift and he stiffens up when he sees the ring he never noticed before. The pain. The horror. Devastated.

He’s never even met the guy, and yet he hates him so much. It’s not fair that he got to you first, just because he was born earlier than he was!

He’s probably not good enough for you. Some old guy who can’t rail you with the vigor and intensity that a young guy like himself can, probably can’t keep up with your drive either. You must be so frustrated and unsatisfied.

Now it feels so awful on his tongue to call you what he normally does. Miss _____, he says, and it feels like he’s spewing poison from his mouth, knowing it’s some other man’s name practically forced on you by dumb traditions and social standards (not that he wouldn’t do the same, but that’s different). It makes his chest hurt to hear it, the name feels like a constant reminder that some other man basically has laid claim to you, that the name marks you as belonging to someone who isn’t him.

He does some digging, finds everything he can on the guy, any online profiles or social accounts. Ugh. You deserve better. If it were him, he would just support you himself, you wouldn’t have to slave away doing paperwork all the time.

Even worse is the fact that the guy has a nice job — you know, the kind you need some higher degrees for, which he definitely won’t get seeing as his behavioral record is pretty much guaranteed to keep him out of any credible institution… still, you don’t need that much money to get by. Sure, he’ll never make that much (without getting into crime, at least, which isn’t an impossibility…), but still, he’s better for you.

It’s so much worse, though, when he stalks your accounts, sees pictures of the two of you together. Makes him feel sick to his stomach, you look happy and he doesn’t like that. He ends up having to close the window, unable to handle any further emotional damage.

He starts to pry, little by little. Can’t be too blatant, but he slips in a question every now and then — how you met, what you two do for fun, so on and so on. It makes him stomach churn to hear you talk about him, but he can’t refrain from continuing to ask, practically a compulsive urge.

God forbid you express any sort of discontentment. Even the slightest frustrated sigh, passive-aggressive comment in regards to the man, and so on, he perks up and zeros in. Oh, so you are unhappy. Typical unsatisfied wife that’s getting pent up from unmet needs and all that.

He’s very attentive to those complaints, the things you mutter under your breath and the implications of it all. He works too long and is never home (terrible, he would never leave you so lonely), he’s never helpful around the home (which wouldn’t be so much of an issue if you were home all the time and didn’t have work responsibilities), he suspiciously disappears sometimes for “work trips” or unexplained entirely (unforgiveable, your suspicions are well-founded, he’s definitely cheating and you shouldn’t forgive it).

Sometimes you sigh and shake your head — ah, sorry, I shouldn’t trouble someone your age with all this… but he assures you it’s fine… also he’s searched a list of local divorce attorneys, you know, if you consider that, which you should.

He’s not the best at being subtle or exercising restraint, so he can’t help but actually mention it out loud — life is short, better to divorce than stay in a miserable relationship! But you sigh and say it’s not that serious. He holds out on the hope that there’s an unspoken “yet” at the end of that, that eventually you’ll get fed up.

But you don’t. You keep tolerating it. It’s somewhat understandable, since divorces are difficult and messy, and you would need somewhere to stay and all that.

But getting one’s own place isn’t that hard. He would know, now — he’s actually been picking up odd jobs recently, all to get his own place. Hard to balance that with schoolwork, but he manages (and he’s in the absolute bottom-tier difficulty for courses anyway, with very little actual homework, and it’s not like he’s prepping for college like a lot of his peers). You’re very pleased with it, say you’re proud of him for being so dedicated and responsible, completely unaware that he only really has one intention for doing it all anyway.

He was planning to take that part slowly, ease his way there, but you push the limits of how much he can tolerate when he’s forced to meet the guy face-to-face. He’s just sitting there as per usual in your after-school sessions, talking a mile a minute as per usual, having a good day, completely unprepared for the psychological gut-punch he’s forced to experience when that same face he saw online comes walking right into your classroom. The sacred space that’s supposed to be just for you and him.

His soul is crushed when you get up to greet the guy all happily, practically ignoring him for several extended seconds before you gesture over to where he’s sitting and introduce each other — with himself as the student I’ve been tutoring, you know the one. The man nods, casts a single uncaring glance his direction.

Right. She mentioned you before.

The hell does that mean. He keeps the smile plastered to his face, but it’s twitchy. What did you say? Was it bad? No, you wouldn’t say anything bad about him… except maybe certain factual statements like the whole behavioral record thing, but he can accept that that’s his own fault.

Still, he doesn’t like the way the guy looks at him. A vague condescending, disdainful glance. Makes him curl his hands into fists and clench his jaw. If it weren’t for the whole “impulse management” thing you’ve been hammering into his head for months now, he might have outright attacked the guy.

It’s practically torture to sit there. You say something about how you’re going out for your anniversary, so he came to pick you up. Awful. Like you might as well have stabbed him. Not to mention it’s cutting into what’s supposed to be his time with you, and now he has to leave early.

So he’s forced to walk to the front doors with you both, listening to you talk all happily about where you’re going, while he’s forced to continue to pretend to be perfectly fine with it. Ugh.

You bid him goodbye, and he smiles and waves and walks the opposite way… and the moment you’re out of sight, he’s scowling and grinding his teeth and kicking rocks on the road all the way home, sulking like a petulant kid, imagining all the horrible ways he hopes your date goes terribly wrong.

It makes him seethe all night long, laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, nausea ruining any chance he had of sleeping. He can’t even go sulk around his parents with the hope of getting attention like he used to do when he was mad, now that he lives in this little apartment by himself.

How is he supposed to live under these conditions, no attention available on demand. You don’t even text him to see if he got home safe like you do sometimes. Probably too busy doing whatever with your husband who’s more important than he is. Hmph. His mind briefly flickers to wondering what you’re doing now that it’s later in the night, but the obvious realization only makes him feel ten times more sick. He doesn’t get any rest.

And the longer the night goes on, the more irritated he starts to feel, the misery and hurt begins to turn to bitterness and anger. He starts to feel like you probably know — no, you definitely do. And yet, you willingly tortured him like that. You've been so nice to him, giving him all that attention and affection, knowing you won't ever give him what he really wants and being totally fine with causing him so much pain. He's hurt, and more importantly, mad.

But he can't hate you… your husband, however, is a different story.

That guy kept his arm around your waist walking outside, rubbing it in his face like that. He’s certain that your husband must realize that he loves you (way more than said husband does, for the record), but that look of disdain — he doesn’t even see him as a threat, does he. Thinks that he’s not even proper competition. That much is painful. Bothersome. Annoying. Rage-inducing.

Well, he’s wrong.

That’s the thought that pushes him over the edge. He’s already had the idea in his head for a long time, he just kept bailing out every time he gathered the gall to go through with it, much to his own shame.

But clearly, continuing to be passive is not going to get him anywhere. Come to think of it, a few months ago, he would never have hesitated to go through with whatever impulse struck him, no matter how violent. It’s not like he hasn’t been expelled or arrested before.

He appreciates the time he’s spent with you, but he’s starting to think that all those little speeches about “self-control” and “thinking before you act” and all that have only really just made him docile and tame. How embarrassing.

A man should just take what he wants, right? Anything less is practically a blow to his pride.

He’s still not the brightest when it comes to formulating plans, but his rather straightforward plan ends up working. You actually agree to swing by when he says he has something to give you, something too big to carry to school himself, so he needs you to come pick it up with your car and all that. You must really trust him. Or you’re just naive, maybe, but he likes to think you trust him, however unwise that may be.

He worries that you might back out, but you show right up to his door. The motions from there are mechanical, putting his brain on a sort of autopilot mode in which he just goes through with it, without thinking too much, lest he hesitate, until you’re secured.

Grabbing you by the shoulder and jerking you inside, hand over your mouth, other arm around your waist and picking you up. It's a short distance to the bed (well, mattress on the floor), since it's just a studio apartment and all.

You being so weak makes it so much easier. He can technically tell you're struggling, but it barely feels like resistance, just weak squirming and thrashing that doesn't even loosen his grip in the slightest. You make cute little noises of surprise and confusion and fear, muffled by his hand over your mouth.

Sadly, he can't afford to have you attracting attention from the neighbors, so he's forced to keep you gagged, pulling your shirt over your head (to which your whimpers turn to full-fledged sounds of panic), and — after the brief moment where he has to detach his hand from your mouth, hearing you stammer out a wait, wait— balls it up and stuffs it into your mouth, quickly grabbing the duct tape (he, feeling very proud of himself for such clever forethought, thought to go ahead and tear some long strips off and stick the ends to the wall ahead of time), and placing it over your mouth, flipping you over onto your stomach.

You're so cute. You make the cutest little noises, your eyes get all teary, you squirm and whimper and try to pull yourself away, but he's got your wrists pinned behind your back with one hand, the other pulling your hips back. The cutest part by far has to be when you feel him jerk your skirt up, his cock pressing against your flesh and pushing inside of you, your squeals get louder and higher pitched and you struggle so hard, to no avail.

So mean, though, to pretend like you didn't see it coming. You know what you did. You led him on on purpose. Knowing full well the sort of things he's done to other people — beating his peers black and blue on impulsive whims, getting into fights because he felt like it, stealing stuff and vandalizing stuff and all those other things he knows you know he did, since it's all on his records… you willingly came all by yourself, in private, with someone like that, who you know full well is so much stronger than you are—

What did you fucking expect?

Up until then, the stream of words from his mouth are all amused and teasing and sadistic, but in those words, and the sharp jerking thrust accompanying them, you hear that underlying anger breaking through. You really hurt him, you know, by being married. He loves you so much, and you had to go and do that to me, he says, as if it was a retroactive choice, as if you should have predicted his presence in your life years in advance, as if you willfully did it to spite him years before you knew he existed.

Is it irrational? Sure… but it isn't going to change that he feels that way, and he’s mad and you can't do anything about it anyway, so he's going to keep blaming you for what you did wrong.

He keeps muttering about how stupid you are — for coming here so naively, for choosing your dumb fucking husband over him when he's so much better and loves you so much more, for all the little things you did to lure him in and make him want you so badly, for being so nice to him and having a body you should have known would make him want this so badly.

It's all your fault.

The words get more and more muffled and slurred as the movements get faster, harsher, you squeal with each thrust that makes the springs creak and the whole mattress itself move back and forth against the floor. He points out that you're leaking all over him, fluid drooling out of your hole and spilling onto his hips and thighs, satisfied by the shameful little whimper you make and the way you hang your head. You must not get fucked good enough at home, huh.

And then, he starts to slow down. There's a pause. You see him reach over, to where he tossed a few things that were on you when you came in onto the floor. Fishes something out of your purse.

You made a confused, panicked little sound when you notice he's holding your phone. Easily unlocked, whatever method you use — he holds it up to your face or forces your thumb to press against it, or, most alarmingly, even if it's protected by password or pattern, he enters it with a single try. Shouldn't have opened your phone around him so much, of course he would pay attention to that.

You're flipped onto your back, reeling from the sudden harsh movement, grunting and squirming when your bra is pulled up to your collarbones and your skirt pulled up even further, exposing your body completely before shoving back inside of you, and oh, what a euphoric sound you make — and this time, you visibly clench down on him when he does. Perfectly timed, too.

Your stomach clenches in dread and panic as you see your phone’s front side facing you.

Smile.

You cry out louder than ever before, struggle so hard, so good. His hand latches onto your throat and squeezes hard, and your hands, now no longer in his grasp, reach up to claw at them, all entirely futile. The sound of skin slapping skin reverberates around the room, and you see him tilt the camera downward, ensuring he captures the sight of his cock pounding into you, stretching you apart, all the slick fluid now coating everything from your thighs to his hips, and the sweet, precious sounds you make for him.

He wonders if anyone has ever made you react like this before. If your husband is going to be torn apart by the realization that he's made you feel better than he ever has, that he's better and bigger than him. The sheer fear on your face would suggest that. The thought feels euphoric.

He re-angles himself, leaning forward a bit, ensuring his body presses against your clit — you start to tense up, push back, your heels dig into the mattress and your body writhes with greater force than ever before. Your eyes squeeze shut and you shake your head but he doesn't stop, and you hate yourself so much in the moment for the sensations your body feels, the guilt and despair overwhelm you, you feel a cold chill in your gut — but you finally spasm and shudder on his cock all the same, clearly trying so hard to minimize it and hold back the sounds and movements, but the involuntary shudders and soft little cries are unmistakable all the same.

Normally, he would want to stay inside you longer — but there will be plenty of chance for that later. This time, the prospect of pulling out and capturing it is too tempting, and God, is it satisfying when he does. The squelching sound, the way his cum starts to drool out of you onto the mattress, the way your hole twitches from the sudden absence, slightly agape from the intrusion. It's so, so perfect, better than he could have even imagined.

You rip the tape off your mouth, gagging and coughing from the strain on your throat, and the overwhelming sensation leaves you in a dazed stupor for a few moments… your head slowly drags over to him, and an ice-cold spike of fear strikes through your heart when you see that he's still on your phone.

Slight movement from you as you try to push yourself upright takes his attention away from it, eyes flickering over to you.

Ah, right.

You make a scared little sound and pull your hands close to your chest (very cute!) as he looms over you again, but you're helpless to do anything as he puts the phone down to flip you over again, this time taping your wrists behind your back, adding a new layer over your mouth, and finally one on your ankles. Your struggles barely faze him.

You see him zip his pants back up and pull his shirt back on, standing and making his way over to the door, shuffling his shoes back on before grabbing your car keys.

I'll bring these back. Your place is only five minutes away if I drive, you know. I won’t get into any wrecks this time.

It occurs to you that you've never told him where you live, but it's the least of your concerns then and there. Your heart sinks to your stomach as he takes your phone again, grinning as he types and, after a pause, makes one distinct, final tap that you know can only be hitting 'send.'

His head turns over to you, that same dopey, carefree smile on his face as always, that now seems so much more sinister than before.

Don't worry. He won't have enough time to call the cops.

Your muffled words don't stop him. You writhe pathetically on the ground as the door opens and closes before you, listening in dread and despair as his footsteps slowly fade away.

#lord forgive me but this is the GOOD stuff #like taking reader from her lover/husband/bf by force... hnnnnng

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janeyseymour · 2 months

Text

Love Thy Neighbor

saw a prompt from @givethispromptatry

So... here we are... as usual, not edited in the slightest and hoping it's alright!

WC: ~3.45k

After your (not so amicable) split from your dirtbag of a husband, you packed your things and moved back to Philly. It was the city that held a special place in your heart, you knew the area like the back of your hand, and your parents still resided in the place that you grew up. It only made sense now that as a single mother to a six year old girl, you would move to be closer to your parents so they could help bear the load of being a working mom. Elizabeth, but you usually stuck with the nickname Ellie, was a rather easy child. But moving from across the country and leaving the life that she knew and loved behind was rather hard for her- and it was even harder knowing that Mom and Dad had split, and that Dad didn’t necessarily want anything to do with either of you anymore.

So, after about a month of living with your parents, making trips from Utah to Philly and back multiple times to gather all of your things from the house, show the house, sell the house, and deal with the divorce lawyers… the two of you have finally found a little apartment that should be an appropriate size for the two of you while still staying within your budget.

You had been granted full custody, not that your ex would fight you on that, but you also managed to get him to fork over a decent amount of child support- and you would need it. You still haven’t found a job in Philly, and while little jobs here and there were helpful (you mostly did DoorDash on your bike, Ellie’s bike trailer attached so you could bring her along and hold the food), you knew that you absolutely needed to find a job- and quick.

In between attempting to unpack all of your things, get Ellie settled, looking for a new job, and Doordashing, you haven’t been able to take a breath at all. You don’t even know who your neighbors are or what they look like. And you feel a little guilty at that, but none of them have stopped by to introduce themselves to you either. You remember though, that Philly folks aren’t nearly as kind as the people that you had surrounded yourself with in Utah… so them not introducing themselves to you isn’t the most unheard of thing in the world.

Today was brutal. You had signed Ellie up to start school next week, searched and applied for a few teaching jobs (one of which would be at your daughter’s school if you could land it), gone grocery shopping, and then done a nice load of Doordashing with your daughter in tow because your parents couldn’t watch her.

The little girl had missed out on the nap that she usually takes after a day at school, so she’s absolutely miserable the entire time that you bike around. You had tried to placate her by bringing along her iPad so she could watch videos while you navigated the city, but she wanted nothing to do with it. All she did the entire time was whine about the fact that she wanted to go home and cuddle.

After hours of delivering food, you’re satisfied with the amount of money that you made today.

“Okay, little love,” you turn and look at your daughter. “Are you ready for home?”

“I’ve been ready,” she grumbles, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

You give her a soft smile. “I know, sweet girl… but Momma has to make money so we can stay here.”

“Why can’t we just stay in Utah where I like it?”

You bite your lip. “I want to be closer to my parents, baby… and this way you get to see Gram and Pop more than you used to. I think if you give Philly a chance, you’ll learn to love it like I do.”

She huffs a little.

Deciding that you probably aren’t going to get much more out of her, you turn and start biking in the direction of your apartment. As you’re doing so, you silently thank God that you’re in good shape. At least if anything comes out of this, your legs are going to look incredible.

You chain your bike to the bike stand in the garage of your apartment complex, only to remember that you had forgotten what you needed to make dinner tonight. With regret, you begin to unchain it- much to Ellie’s dismay.

“Momma!” she stomps her foot.

“I know,” you say softly, but you gesture for her to get back into her trailer.

“No!”

You take a shaky breath. You really don’t want to have to put up with a trademarked Ellie tantrum, but it seems that’s what is in store for you tonight. “Love bug, please. We just have to go to the store, and then we can come home, I’ll make dinner, and we can cuddle.”

“I want to cuddle now!”

“Well, we have to fill that belly of yours with food first,” you poke her stomach gently, trying to elicit a giggle out of the little girl.

It absolutely does the opposite of that. She bats your hand away, and you raise an eyebrow before standing back up straight. “Ellie, you know we do not try to hit.”

“I don’t care,” she tells you defiantly.

A redhead that lives in the building comes into the garage, eyeing you and your child. You hope she isn’t judging you for the fit your child is currently in the middle of having. She climbs into her car and rolls down her windows, but she doesn’t quite pull out yet. She glances at her phone instead.

You blow out a breath, eyes closed and trying to ground yourself, before looking at her again. “Elizabeth, we need to get food for dinner. All you have to do is sit in your trailer while I bike us to the store.”

“Why can’t I stay home?!”

“Because you are six and too little to stay home by yourself.”

“This isn’t home!” you daughter stomps her foot and bursts into tears.

The woman that lives in your complex is still sitting in her car, and you know she can hear your daughter’s and your words. Why hasn’t she pulled out yet?

You soften immediately, crouching back down and opening your arms for her to hug you if she needs to. She does. She immediately curls into your arms and clings to you. “I know, love bug. I know it doesn’t feel like home right now… but no matter what, Momma can’t leave you in the apartment alone. So, I need you to get into your trailer so we can head to the store. The faster we get there, the faster we can come back and curl up on the couch together, okay?”

Your daughter clings to you a little tighter, but you feel her nod into your shoulder.

The woman pulls out of her spot and gives you and your daughter a small wave as she drives past.

You hold your little girl until she begins to pull away, and then you wipe her tears with the pads of your thumbs. “I love you, Ellie.”

She climbs back into her seat before mumbling back the same sentiment.

You’re able to do your quick run to the grocery store, and Ellie refuses to walk but also refuses to sit in the cart like she usually does. So, you carry her on your hip the entirety of your walk through the aisles. As you’re strolling up and down, you see the redhead that you had seen in the garage earlier, and she gives you a questioning look at the sight of you carrying your daughter when she could be in the cart that you’re pushing along.

You just give her a little shrug and continue on your way. Ellie is getting heavier and heavier by the minute though, so you pick up the pace and are out of the store.

You make your way back to the complex, bags around your arms and in the trailer with your daughter. When you lock your bike to the rack, you look in, and the little girl is fast asleep. Shit.

“Ellie,” you crouch down and whisper. “Sweetheart, we’re back. You have to wake up and carry the bread and juice in for me.”

The little girl stirs slightly before repositioning herself and closing her eyes again.

“Baby girl,” you say softly. “Please wake up for Momma.”

You see headlights, and the car that has the redheaded woman in it pulls in. Great. You get to make a fool out of yourself in front of her yet again.

Not being able to hide your stress, you decide to grab a few of the lighter bags, put them on your arms, and then wiggle Ellie out of the trailer. She’s asleep on your shoulder as soon as she’s in your hold. You silently take a moment to pray that your produce won’t get stolen in the few minutes it will take you to get Ellie upstairs before making your way into the building.

The elevator is broken. Of course it is. So you’re forced to carry three bags of groceries and your six year old daughter up four flights of steps. By the end of it, you’re wheezing. You manage to unlock your door before gently setting her on the couch. With a sigh and a wipe of your now sweaty brow, you lock the door behind you and begin to head down to get the rest of your groceries.

There’s that woman again… and she lives in the apartment across the hall. You give her a friendly nod of the head and a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes before you continue your trek back down.

After your second trip up, your body is entirely exhausted. You hardly have it in you to cook dinner, but you dragged Ellie out, so you have to make the meal.

You’re able to wake her with the scent of her favorite meal, but as soon as she’s finished, she’s curling up against you and falling asleep.

After your daughter lays on top of you for quite some time, you know you have to put her in her own room. So, you silently make your way into her bedroom and tuck her in. With a quick kiss to the forehead and a soft “I love you”, you make your way back out to the kitchen.

Ellie is out for the night- she was exhausted halfway through your DoorDash shift- so you grab a glass and fill it with wine. The sweet drink helps to melt away some of the stress as you clean the dishes and settle on the couch for some much needed adult time.

That time is interrupted though when you hear a few rough knocks rattling your apartment. Instinctively, you grab the baseball bat that you keep behind the couch and make your way to the door.

Who the hell could be at your door at this hour? You don’t know anyone here, it wouldn’t be your parents… Could it be your ex-husband? No. He’s out in California with the woman he was cheating on you with. So who the hell is it?

“Who is it?” you yell, gripping the bat so tightly your knuckles turn white.

“You the woman that just moved in?” a gruff voice calls back.

You move a bit closer as you call, “What’s it to you?!”

“Saw you have a kid. Was wondering if you needed help with anything. You look real stressed.”

At that, you move closer to the door and glance out the peephole. It’s the woman that you ran into in the garage and at the grocery store. You open the door just slightly, still unsure of her.

“I ain’t gonna bite,” she teases. “You looked really stressed, so I thought I’d come over, introduce myself, and see if you needed any help.”

You lessen the grip on your bat as you open the door a little further. You take in the woman’s full appearance now that you aren’t trying to calm your daughter and aren’t terrified of being mugged. She’s… she’s really pretty.

You don’t realize that you haven’t say anything back until she’s waving a hand in front of your face. “Hello?”

You shake your head to bring yourself back to the present. “Hi. Sorry… today’s just been… a lot.”

“I could gather that. Can I help?”

You shrug. “I think I’m good at the moment, but I appreciate it.”

“Well,” the redhead purses her lips. “You ever need anything, I’m just across the hall.”

She turns to walk back to her apartment, but she stops when you call a gentle, “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“I uh, never got your name,” you say quietly.

“Schemmenti. Melissa.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smile at her. “I’m Y/N, and the little girl you saw me with is my daughter, Ellie.”

She looks at you thoughtfully before nodding. She heads back to her apartment after that.

You run into her a lot in the following few days after that encounter. She sees you haul Ellie with you pretty much everywhere, and she has quite a few questions that she just can’t seem to work out on her own. So, one day after you’ve brought up Ellie and the groceries, she can’t help but knock on your door.

“Who is it?” you call, not bothering to move from your place on the couch with your daughter.

“Melissa,” the familiar voice calls back.

You sigh before making your way over to the door. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Just checkin’ in on you,” the redhead says. “I saw you hauling up Ellie and your groceries.”

“All good,” you chuckle. “Just about to make dinner for the two of us.”

“You haven’t had dinner yet?” She looks concerned.

“About to get the microwave pasta going now,” you admit sheepishly. “I was gonna have it made earlier, but El decided that she would die without Momma cuddles… and who am I to deny my sweet girl of such a request?”

“When’s her bedtime?”

“In about an hour,” you tell her. “Why?”

“Let me make youse two dinner,” she offers. “I’m a damn good cook, and I can make a pasta dish way better than the packaged sh-stuff.”

“Oh,” you say softly. “You don’t have to do that.”

“No, please,” she argues gently. “I insist.”

“O-oh,” you rub your collarbone nervously. “Are you sure?”

“I haven’t had dinner either,” she lies through her teeth. “So let me make us all a meal while you relax and hold your daughter.”

You finally manage to nod- she does not seem like the type of woman who would lose an argument.

“Just give me a couple minutes to gather some ingredients, and I’ll come back over?”

You smile in lieu of an answer. You close the door gently once she’s back in her apartment before making your way to Ellie.

“Sweet girl, our neighbor, Miss Melissa is coming over for dinner tonight. Can you be the polite little girl I raised?”

She nods, but she reaches for you. You pull her into your lap and hold her close until the redhead knocks on your door again. You pull yourself and your daughter off the couch to go open the door.

In her arms are a few different cans, some produce, and pasta that has clearly been homemade.

“Baby,” you tease the ends of you daughter’s locks gently. “This is Miss Melissa. Can you say hi to her for me?”

“H-hi,” Ellie manages to squeak out. “You’re really pretty.”

Melissa smiles at her, and when she speaks her voice has turned to butter. It’s much softer than when she’s speaking to you. “Thank you, hun. I’m Melissa. It’s so nice to meet you, Ellie.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I’ve been talking to your momma,” the woman chuckles gently.

The little girl’s lips form into an ‘O’ shape, and you can’t help the gentle kiss that you plant on her temple.

“Miss Melissa is going to make us dinner,” you tell your daughter softly. “Does that sound alright?”

She nods against your neck.

“I’m gonna make spaghetti,” the redhead tells Ellie. “That sound okay?”

“You might become her new favorite person,” you joke. “Little girl eats so many noodles, she’s gonna turn into one someday.”

You girl giggles against you. “Nah uh,” she scrunches her nose and makes a funny face at you. “That’s not possible, Momma.”

“I know, my love. I’m just teasing,” you chuckle before returning your attention to the woman in your doorway. “Well, come in, come in. Make yourself at home.”

She carries her things to the kitchen before starting her prep. The way that she gets everything done so efficiently is mind blowing to you, and you can’t help but watch in awe as you continue to hold Ellie.

“Sit down, hun,” Melissa instructs softly as she stirs her sauce. “Take a load off. I got this.”

“Are you sure you don’t want any help? Maybe a glass of wine for your troubles?”

“I won’t say no to a glass, but you absolutely are not helping. I got it.”

You pour her a glass and offer it to her before quietly sitting down and continuing to watch as she makes her way through your kitchen effortlessly.

Dinner is placed in front of you before you know it, and Ellie is nearly wiggling with glee at the plate in front of her. She dives in, and her eyes light up.

“This is so yummy!” your little girl cheers as she takes another forkful to her mouth.

“I’m glad you like it, sweetheart,” Melissa smiles. She gestures for you to take a bite as well, and when you do, you can’t help the small sigh that comes out of your mouth.

“Wow,” you say softly. “This is… incredible.”

“Thanks,” she chuckles as she take a bite of her own creation. “It’s a family recipe.”

Dinner is pleasant. The woman does her best to ask Ellie all about herself, to which your little girl answers delightfully. She’s even able to ask Melissa a few questions of her own. But once her plate is cleared, Ellie climbs into your lap and lets out a yawn as she fiddles with the chain around your neck.

“Is my little girl tired?” you coo softly.

She nods against you.

“Why don’t you start getting ready for bed, sweetness? Momma will be in in a few minutes to say goodnight,” you tell her. She nods again. “Well, off you go. But first, what do you say to Miss Melissa?”

“Thank you,” your daughter smiles brightly before climbing off your lap. Surprisingly, she makes her way over to the redhead’s side of the table and hugs her. Melissa wraps her arms around the little girl gently.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Get some good sleep tonight, yeah?”

Ellie nods before wandering down the hall to get to her bedroom, leaving you with Melissa.

“Thank you for dinner tonight,” you say softly.

“Any time.”

“No, seriously. I usually cook, but I was not feeling it tonight. So, thank you.”

“I’m sure. I saw you biking all around today, starting with this morning when I was heading to work and ending with you coming back from the store.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I’m a busy woman.”

“Where are you always biking anyway?”

“I’m in between jobs at the moment, so I’ve just been DoorDashing with El until she starts school next week,” you sigh. “Hopefully I get a job soon… I need all the money I can get to keep this place and give El everything she needs or wants.”

“You’re doing great,” Melissa tells you honestly. “She adores you.”

“She likes you too,” you say quietly. “You’re really good with her.”

“Well, I have some experience with children,” she chuckles quietly. “I guess I should head out so you can get the little one to bed and get some sleep yourself, but I’ll see you around?”

“Next time, dinner’s on me,” you tell her.

“We’ll see about that one,” she laughs as she heads for the door. “If you need anything, don’t be afraid to holler.”

“Thank you, Melissa. Goodnight.”

You see her out, and as you close the door behind her, you sigh. You lean against it for a second, a little confused with the way you’re feeling after this diiner.

Maybe this new neighbor will become a close friend of yours… maybe something else. Only time will tell. But for now, you have to get back to your daughter.

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