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tonycries · 1 month

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Initiation!

Synopsis. “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.” Couldn’t be too hard, right? So why are you - the all-new frat sweetheart - being pinned to the bed and stuffed full from all ends by your frat brothers?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader, Geto Suguru x Reader, Fushiguro Toji x Reader, brief Nanami x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, fratboy! JJK men, gangbang, frat sweetheart! reader, cumplay, choking, oral (male + female), anal, double penetration, cunnilingus, Suguru is MEAN - so is everyone else, some heinous things idek how to tag, unprotected, no curses! AU, marking, pet names (princess, darling, doll), swearing.

Word count. 4.8k

A/N. Am not the same person I was before I wrote this…

Art by @_3aem on X.

Tequila was your best friend when Suguru and Satoru weren’t around.

Which is probably why you were five shots deep before 9pm, heavy bass thrumming through your veins and sleek tabletop steady under your rocky heels.

Everything was a blur. The pulsing neon lights, cheers following your every sway and twirl, and the atmosphere heavy with beer and laughter in that heady Jujutsu Phi frat house.

You almost miss that familiar flash of cloudy white locks and those narrowed black eyes greedily watching your hips to the beat. Almost.

An excited exclamation of “There’s our all-new sweetheart!”. And the world tilts.

Falling down really does feel good. Especially when the ground is so warm - and smells faintly of overpriced cologne.

“Careful, there, Satoru. Wouldn’t wanna hurt the sweetheart right before initiation.”

A pair of strong arms underneath you, and a deep voice hot against your ear. “Havin’ a lotta fun without us, huh?”

Oh, you’d recognize those devastatingly handsome faces anywhere. You blink, eyebrows furrowed slightly at your best friends as you tried to focus on their words. “Sweetheart? Me?”

To your right, Suguru nods slowly, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Absolutely. Who else? No one better we can think of, darling.”

Satoru’s eager voice chimes in, “As presidents, and the only men to binge Bridgerton with you, we love you. The frat brothers love you too, especially our supervisor.”

“Mmm, I dunno. What do I hafta do?” face heating and words slurring together, in your alcohol-induced haze, you miss the devilish glance shared between the two.

Satoru chuckles, a dark glint in his eyes, “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.”

Your laughter is infectious, and without much hesitation you raise your empty shot glass in toast, “Hmm, deal! To the newest frat sweetheart! How hard can it be?”

---

The consequences aren’t half as fun as the chaos.

Wincing at the dull ache reverberating in your head, you struggle to make sense of your surroundings in the dim lighting. Still disoriented and bleary-eyed, you sink into soft navy bed sheets.

Ah, soft. So soft. Warm, with a tinge of candied apples.

Satoru.

Slight panic setting in, and Satoru’s room swaying ever-so-slightly, you try to will away the overplayed pop pounding from the party still raging below - focusing on the whispered conversation at the foot of the bed..

“---blast at the party------”

“------frat---sweetheart.”

Head snapping up in a daze, the word “sweetheart” echoes in your ears.

Something heated and prickly pools in your stomach as fragments of memories from not too long ago begin to piece themselves together.

Your dawning realization - and sense of impending doom - is interrupted by a soft hum of delight

“Well, well, look who’s finally awake - our dear sweetheart.” Satoru teases, while Suguru, with his arms crossed, chuckles.

Liquor suddenly nowhere on your mind, your heart races - something about the suggestive gleam in their eyes doesn’t exactly ease your nerves. Your cheeks flare, the room feels suddenly smaller, the air thicker.

You sit up, rubbing your temples, and the two of them exchange loaded glances that send shivers creeping down your spine.

Satoru pushes himself off the wall with a devious smirk, taking a deliberate step closer. “How’s our sweetheart feeling? You knocked out for a good hour or two, y’know. Was almost worried you’d miss the initiation~”

“What the fuck did I agree to?” you mutter to yourself. Yet, Suguru answers anyway, his voice a dangerous purr, “Just a little test of courage, darling. But don’t you worry; we’ll take very good care of you.”

Satoru nods, his gaze intense. “It’s all in good fun, princess. You’ll see.” His warm breath grazes your face as they tower over you, inching closer and closer. “Now, you wouldn’t go back on your word, would you?”

Goosebumps erupt along your shoulders at the proximity - and the realization - all the way down to where your thighs were desperately squeezing together. Shit.

Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. It was hard to be best friends with them for years and not hear about the whispered rumors of how they were in bed. Enough to send a woman to heaven - or the hospital - they said. And you couldn’t deny that ugly little part of you that was sinfully curious.

A beat passes in the suddenly charged air. As if they were waiting. Studying your reaction - like predators stalking their cornered prey. Will you run away? Will you fight? Will you submit to them completely?

The room is silent, except for the distant thump of the music below, seemingly miles away.

One. Two

Finally - not trusting yourself to speak - you manage a nod.

Darkened blue eyes meet Suguru’s half-lidded ones, a silent understanding passing between them before resting on you - splayed out on the bed and tight dress hiking up so enticingly.

Oh.

Oh, shit. You were in for it.

Without warning, Satoru surges forward, lips catching yours in a bruising kiss. You whine against his soft lips, the distinct taste of Baileys and Satoru completely filling your senses - you almost don’t register the slow, purposeful trail of kisses Suguru leaves down your heated neck. Almost.

Skin searing where his lips linger along your jawline, Suguru murmurs, vibrations sending a jolt of electricity right to your core. “Shhh, relax, darling. We’ll take care of everything.”

Maybe it was the way Suguru’s words were dripping in lust and something dangerous, tongue darting out to lick a long, sensual stripe up your neck.

Or maybe it was the way Satoru was sloppily licking at your lips, thumb pushing your chin down to suck on your tongue with his candy lips. But the room was spinning - and this time, it wasn’t the alcohol.

“T-Toru- Sugu-” a muffled whine you barely even recognize rips from the back of your throat - and it was like something snapped. Maybe their restraint, maybe their sanity - definitely you by the end of this.

A hand hot on your thigh - Suguru’s or Satoru’s? You don’t have the time to wonder, the sequins hit the ground before you even realize what is happening.

Skin-tight dress now in tatters on Satoru’s carpeted floor, you shudder as the cold air hits your heated skin. Large hands everywhere. Cupping your ass, tweaking your hardened nipples through your bra. Leaving your underwear in such a disarray as if it killed them to see you clothed.

“Shit. Suguru, look at this.” Satoru’s groans lowly, predatory gaze transfixed on the sight of your dripping cunt..

“Oh fuck, darling. Were you all ready and expecting this, hm? Our perfect lil’ slut.” Suguru’s smiles sinfully as he looms closer, a long finger playing teasingly with the thin fabric of your now-soaked panties.

You buck your hips, desperate for more fiction, as a manicured nail lightly grazes your swollen folds. Shit, and you thought Suguru would be the nicer of the two. “Please, Sugu.”

“Now now. Behave, darling. Wouldn’t want to get off on a wrong start to the initiation.” Suguru hums, pulling off your panties completely as Satoru’s iron-hold grip on your hips pin you helplessly to the bed. You struggle pathetically, leaking pussy aching for more more more.

And Satoru - your ever-merciful Satoru - listens to your desperate keens. Because, agonizingly slow, he drops to his knees, eye-level with your quivering pussy.

“I’ll be taking this as payment, princess.” he hums, hot breath hitting your cunt in a way that almost makes you miss the way he snatches your wet panties right out of Suguru’s hands. As if a prize to be won.

Your face burns at the humiliation - or maybe at the way strong hands wrestle your thighs open. You gasp at the burn of the stretch, tense air grazing your throbbing clit as Suguru lets out a low whistle in appreciation.

You were so exposed. So vulnerable. And these fuckers hadn’t even taken off their goddamn shirts yet.

Mouth opening to retort - or maybe beg for an ounce of friction, just anything that would-

Bang!

Dazed, you whirl your head towards where the door had now slammed open. In your lust-induced haze, you barely register the notion that someone else was going to see you so spread so shamefully and dripping all over Satoru’s sheets. Ah, they were going to scream. They were going to run away-

“Aww, already started without me?” a deep voice rumbles, raspy, dangerous. “Shit, these two brats weren’t kiddin’, you’re such a doll, aren’t you?”

Satoru’s smirk grows at the slick pooling at your core as you make out just who it was that stood so imposingly at the door.

Toji Fushiguro.

Someone you’d heard of more than you’d seen - for several reasons. Known around campus as the long-standing supervisor for Jujutsu Phi, but known more popularly amongst students as the man with a dick to die for.

The shutting of the heavy wooden door reverberates across the electrifying air inside. Your mouth drops into a soft oh as you spot the rock-hard cock straining furiously against Toji’s trousers, a dark patch of precum already pooling at the tip.

Oh. No wonder they say his dick can split you in half.

Eyes following his every purposeful step towards the bed, you absent-mindedly wonder whether your best friends were hiding a matching achingly hard cocks.

“Oh, fuck yes. Such a pretty pussy.” Toji appraises your cunt, greedily eyeing the way your walls flutter around nothing, slick pooling where Satoru was but a few inches away from where you needed him the most.

“Yo, old man. Catch.” Satoru’s voice rings in the loaded air. Muscled arms flexing, Toji easily catches the flimsy piece of fabric thrown at him, a lecherous smile growing as he realizes what it is. “M’gonna have a lot of fun with you, doll.”

“Don’t count us out now, Toji. I’ll be making sure she’s absolutely ruined.” Suguru’s slow, sinful drawl has your head spinning.

Probably for the first time in his life, Satoru doesn’t speak.

Instead, he dives nose-deep in your cunt. Pretty ruby lips meeting your swollen ones, urgently lapping up your sweet juices, as if a man dying of thirst.

“Hah- Oh! Toru!” you whine, hips bucking up into his hot tongue as he bullies past your folds and into your quivering entrance, hurried yet methodical. You could feel Satoru’s lips curling at the lewd whimpers ripping from your throat. Bruising grip on your hips pulling you impossibly deeper onto his greedy tongue.

He wastes no time - stretching you out on his tongue so sinfully, dipping in and out of your dripping hole at a merciless pace. In and out in and out in and-

“Hope you didn’t forget us, darling. I’d be heartbroken.” Suguru’s mocking words ring in your ears. Not completely present with Satoru’s dizzying abuse on your cunt, you can do nothing as Suguru snakes a hand down to your heated core.

“Don’t move, doll.”

And before you know it, two more sets of hands are unforgivingly on you.

All you can do is just lay there and take it as Suguru’s cruel, slender fingers tease your folds, up and down up and down - pointedly skipping your throbbing clit. A languid, sadistic smile spreads across his face as you whine in desperation.

Where Satoru was generous and impatient, Suguru wanted to make you cry. How could you ever have thought he’d be the nice one?

Hasty lips are on yours now, a small scar rubbing your lips in a way that so obscenely reminded you of the tongue still ruthlessly fucking into you right now. Pulling away mere centimeters, Toji murmurs lowly, “Open your mouth.”

As if on auto-pilot, you groan as Toji's steady stream of spit hits your ready tongue. Eyes rolling to the back of your head at the warm feeling, tasting of sin and everything you shouldn’t be doing.

Thick, calloused fingers squeeze your cheeks together, his spit now drooling down the corner of your mouth. “Now, show me what those pretty lips can do.” Toji grits out.

Your eyes widen as he pulls down his pants just enough for his furiously hard cock to spring free, sculpted thighs straddling the side of your face.

Thick and unforgiving. A prominent vein twirling delicately down his monstrous length. Precum leaking onto his sculpted abdomen, dripping erotically down to mix with your soaked underwear in his veined hand gripping the base.

Nervous eyes flitting between Toji’s bulging cock in front of you, to the slick dripping down Suguru’s wrist, and Satoru’s hooded eyes, miles away, and grinning devilishly around your cunt - you’re sure of one thing - you’d be damn lucky to make it out alive.

Toji’s throbbing head pokes your kiss-bitten lips, precum salty on your tongue. He spares no mercy.

“C’mon now. If you’re actin’ like such a cockslut then learn to take it like one.” Searing grip on your hair, Toji pushes his cock all the way down your ready throat, using your mouth as if it was nothing more than his favorite fucktoy. Maybe you’ll become his favorite fucktoy.

Your pathetic, wet gurgles mix with the lewd squelches of your cunt as Toji’s heavy balls hit your chin. Fat head hitting the back of your throat and your nose pressed into the tufts of thick, black hair at his pelvis. “Mmm fuck yeah.” he groans, thick fingers pressing around your neck to feel his dick down your throat.

Drawing low hisses as you tongue at his slit, you breath in the heady scent of Toji and you on your panties and Toji-

“Look s’pretty gagging on his cock, darling.” Suguru’s voice is still silken smooth, mockingly pressing a kiss to your cheek. Pooling the trail of spit and precum on his tongue, before licking a long, languid stripe.

“F-fucking freak.” Toji huffs out a laugh, relishing the way you moan so lewdly around his cock. “Oh? You like that, doll? Little slut, aren’t ya?”

A dangerous chuckle, and he’s thrusting animalistically into your poor, pretty mouth. Balls tightening each time his thick cock disappears into your mouth, lips stretching almost-painfully to accommodate him. Toji’s hand closes tighter around your throat, blocking your airway. Making you choke and gasp for air around his cock, blood roaring in your ears.

Shit, he was going to break you.

Suguru’s clever mouth was on your aching tits now, jolts of electricity going straight to your cunt as he tweaks and teases your hardened nipples. Thumb rubbing harshly over your sensitive tip the way he wouldn’t with your clit. Over and over-

“Suguru, gimme the bra.” you whine, hips bucking as Satoru’s muffled words send vibrations exactly where you wanted.

In a flash, your bra is unclasped and thrown to Satoru. Wrapping it around one large hand, it disappears where you cannot see. Yet the jerky, impatient movements of his hand below - up, up, up - and down have your walls clamping down desperately on Satoru’s tongue.

Ah, he looked so pretty when he was shut up with his mouth full of your dripping cunt. Fucked out whimpers leave Satoru’s throat at each flick of his tongue, fucking your pretty pussy with his mouth till you felt raw.

Suguru - the ever-graceful Suguru - had his brows furrowed desperately. Lips messy with spit as he bites and teases your nipples hard, making you cry out in wet, little gurgles that muffle around the throbbing erection in your mouth, fucking into you with reckless abandon. Toji’s heavy balls stinging your face as he bottoms out with each harsh shove down your throat.

He didn’t care if you could breathe - as long as you sucked the ever-loving soul out of him.

The heady air is urgent now. Hasty movements now becoming more and more frenzied. Mindless with lust. Filthy. Debauched. It was so fucking sinful.

So it only made sense that your orgasm was the same.

You see white as you cum - or maybe that was the hot, thick ropes of seed that Toji painted your face with. Moans muffled and hips bucking deliriously, you moan breathlessly as neither of the three men give up their relentless abuse.

Your head shot up blindly in pleasure, sharp teeth digging into your shoulder - hard enough to break skin. Suguru.

Wrestled down onto the bed by three sets of strong arms still groping the expanse of your body, you ride out your white-hot high on the taste of Toji slipping down your throat, Satoru’s still merciless tongue, and Suguru’s index finally pressing down on your throbbing clit. Hard.

Blood roaring in your ears, your vision blurs as you sink into the mattress. You think you’re in heaven, and it was only fitting that these demons with angelic faces were the first things that you see there.

“You alright, darling? Can’t have you go passing out on us mid-initiation, now.” Suguru tuts, sharing a glance with Satoru, who was absolutely dripping in satisfaction - and your slick, prettily glossing his lips and nose.

“Mmm- s’fucked out. Ah-” Your violent climax leaves you limp, and you feel like a fucking ragdoll with the way Suguru wraps a steady arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly close against him. You whine as your stinging tits meet his toned body, sticky with the heat of the room. When did he even take his shirt off?

Satoru isn’t too far behind, with little care for the buttons flinging across the room as he rips his shirt open - creamy chest peeking out in all its chiseled glory. Shit.

You almost miss the bed shifting as Toji sits on the edge, watching the three of you with greedy eyes as he fists his cum-covered cock with your panties. Teasing, purposeful movements up his length.

Suguru’s hand stroking your face, Satoru’s on your hips.

“After all that princess, you deserve a little treat.” Satoru purrs lowly, lips glistening with your juices and breath hot against your ear. Shivers run along your spine - right down to where he was groping and playfully swatting your ass. Darkened eyes narrowed at the way it jiggled against his large hands.

“T-treat? Wha-”

Your disoriented stammers are stuck in your throat as Suguru shoves two long fingers into your mouth. Whatever moans leaving your lips are choked and muffled as he forces you to taste yourself.

Fingers intertwining with your tongue, you’re delirious with the want for more more more - and evidently, Suguru is too, throbbing and leaking with need as he pushes his soiled boxers down. Something cold makes you flinch as your quivering thigh grazes his clothed erection.

Oh. Who knew your best friend had a dick piercing?

“Fuck, darling. Really should’ve done this sooner.” he murmurs, voice thick with lust and more to himself than you. “Mhm. You don’t know how hard it was to not bend you over and stuff you till you can’t speak, princess~” a whisper from behind you - Satoru.

Before you know it, Satoru’s lips find yours in a fiery kiss amidst it all. As if he couldn’t get enough of the sweet taste of your cunt - and probably never will.

Suguru is languid and unhurried where Satoru is impatient and starved, rutting desperately against your ass.

Every twirl of Suguru’s finger is deliberate, leaving a trail of lingering electricity in its wake. And with searing passion, Satoru’s tongue tastes you in all the ways he possibly could. The three of you tangled in an unholy act.

Fuck, it was messy. So fucking messy.

Delicate strings of saliva and slick connecting you to the two as drool drips down the corner of your mouth, eyes scrunched closed at the sinful pleasure.

“Fucking freaks.” Toji spits out, eyeing Satoru’s fingers inching closer and closer to your ass, deftly prodding at your quivering entrance. Yet, his movements only grow more urgent, fucking his fist in desperate need to cum - to cum all over you once more.

Satoru pulls away, and you shiver at the cold feeling of his saliva hitting your rim. Once. Twice. Thrice just to watch the way your hole quivers so obscenely for him.

In the haze of the pure want of the three men around you, it slowly dawns on you that they won’t stop until they’ve fucked you half to death. And you cunt clenches in anticipation.

Maybe you really were a little slut.

Suguru only has his flushed tip kissing your folds, but you already feel so fucking full. Maybe it was the way Satoru was now bullying long, pale fingers through that first, tight little circle of muscle. Scissoring you open, hooking a thumb to stretch your slutty hole till he was more than satisfied.

Through the corner of your eye, you watch Toji. Eyes half-lidded, gaze locked with yours, and looming closer towards you.

Before you knew it, a rough hand grasps yours, wrapping so daintily around Toji’s fat, leaking tip. Guiding your hand, thumbing his slit to pull his dick in harsh, mindless pulls to get off. It has your sensitive cunt so heated and dripping, slick trailing down your shaky legs.

“Suguru, think our little sweetheart is ready? Don’t think I can hold back any longer, all her pretty holes are begging me to fuck her.”

You weren’t going to make it out alive. Maybe you didn’t want to.

He doesn’t wait for a response. Your surprised yelps are gagged on Suguru’s fingers as Satoru sheaths himself in your ready hole. A low groan ripping from his throat as you clamp down on him, struggling to bear with the delicious stretch. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, despite the panic setting in, as he pushes deeper and deeper. Inch by inch. “Fuck s’tight. So tight, princess.”

Was he even halfway in? He had to be, right?

Arm now burning with the feeling of Toji fucking his throbbing erection into your fist, you risk a glance behind you, catching a glimpse of the deliciously flushed cock pressing into you. Long, pale, so pretty - so Satoru.

Chuckling at the dilemma on your face, Suguru hums. “Now, Satoru. That hardly seems fair. Don’t be greedy.” And at that last word, Suguru’s leaking tip pushes past your entrance - thick , with a long vein running down the middle, cold metal of his piercing making your walls twitch - grunting at the resistance that came with being so fucking full from both ends.

“Just getting to fucking her already. Look at the pretty doll, so eager to please. She’s begging for it.” you moan at Toji’s impatient comment, his precum coating your hand a pretty gloss. You’re fucking yourself in mindless, shallow, bounces that have you split open on both throbbing cocks.

Satoru’s hand snaking down to wildly draw circles on your clit, jolting at the overstimulation, whine deliriously as both Satoru and Suguru bottom out inside of you.

Deep moans bouncing off the walls - tight, so tight. You were going to make them pass out. Or worse, cum before you.

“S’alright hah- Fuck!” Suguru can barely get the words out, you’ve never seen Suguru - all grace and poise - lose his composure like this. A slave to desire. And if Suguru was losing control then Satoru was on the edge of absolute insanity, darkened eyes blown-out and short, broken whines leaving his mouth at each breath.

You, on the other hand, have never felt more awake.

“Oh- oh fuck. Can’t- Too much. Hngh-” Raspy moans ripping from your throat at each little movement, hips moving in a mindless tandem with your best friends’ as they start thrusting in slow, experimental thrusts.

You felt so unforgivingly full - organs secondary to the cocks splitting you apart till you could barely form sentences.

Filthy. Fucking filthy.

And the only place you wanted to be right now.

Pulse banging against your throat, sight spotty, you don’t even know if what you’re feeling is pain or pleasure. Head only full of Satoru and Suguru and Toji and Satoru and-

“Awww, look at her- hah- Cock-drunk little whore can’t even speak.”

Bruised tits bouncing as Suguru and Satoru move in sync, fucked-out, animalistic ramming of their cocks into your stretched out little pussy. Delicate tears stream down your face. Your pace on Toji’s twitching dick now jerky, desperate movements to keep your sanity. “Jus’ like that, doll. Yeah-”

You could feel the burning stretch as their throbbing cocks rubbed against each other through your walls. Balls smacking against your stinging skin and their prominent veins massaging your snug cunt just right. The slapping of skin and Toji’s squelching have your head spinning.

A wolfish bite on your exposed neck - Satoru - as he tried to keep himself together. Arching you deeper into him, thrusts stemming from a carnal, depraved part of him. Faster.

“Oh. So good, princess. Hole sucking me in so good. Ah- fuck. Could do this for the rest of my life.”

“Nasty girl. You love this, don’t you?” Suguru purrs, amusement evident in his tone.

“Y-yes! Love it! Love it Sugu- Toru-”

With a harsh slap to your clit, both men speed up their pace in your sloppy holes. Relishing in the precum and slick dripping down their sensitive lengths, and the creamy rings forming around their bases.

More. More. More more more more-

This orgasm is more obscene than the last. Supported by Suguru and Satoru’s strong arms, spread open and stuffed so shamefully by their throbbing erections. Your head is thrown back, voice-shot as broken moans leave your swollen lips. Fist moving in a mindless rhythm - no reason or rhyme.

“F-fuck, darling. Gonna-”

All it takes are your half-lucid, fucked out mewls, walls wrestling with the effort to clench around them, for Suguru and Satoru to slam into you purposefully. Once. Twice. Before spilling into you in unison.

“Hngh- M’cumming. Oh, god m’cumming, princess. Ah! Milking me so good.”

Thick, hot ropes of cum that fill your snug holes. You could feel your stomach inflating, enough to make you feel like you’ll explode.

Cock-drunk, you’re dead weight in their arms as Suguru and Satoru moan in relief, riding out their highs. Endless spurts of their seed splashing into you. It dribbles out of your overfilled cunt and ass, soiling the wet bed sheets beneath you.

Soaked in their cum, barely conscious, body aching all over. Ah, this was heaven.

“Switch. Wanna cum in her pretty hole.”

You jolt as Satoru snarks under his breath, pulling out his still-hard head with a lewd pop! A wave of his hot cum gushing out of your abused hole, pooling so sinfully beneath you.

Your knees buckle, brain not catching up yet. Too fucked out, your ready ass barely resists as Toji presses his rock-hard tip inside, pulsing with need.

“Yeah, that’s right. Take it.” Grunting lowly, veins popping out as his thick cum spurts uncontrollably from his twitching cock. Once. Twice. Thrice. Missing your hole slightly, splattering on your ass. Pushing his leaking head inside in desperate, shallow thrusts. He just needed it inside you.

Slowing to a stop, “Now, what do you say?”

“Th-thank you, daddy.”

Vision blacking, you barely even register the words. It’s all that is muttered out before Toji pulls out in one, fluid motion and you’re thrown around like a ragdoll. Suguru’s hand firmly pinning yours behind your back, glistening cock still in you, legs spread sinfully open.

He licks a long stripe down your cheek, your tears salty on his tongue. “Don’t think the initiation’s done yet, darling.”

Cum leaking helplessly out of you, Satoru’s hungry gaze - blue eyes barely recognizable - meets yours. “Oh, fuck. Just look at you princess. So defiled. Makes me wanna eat out all the cum inside you before pumping you full of mine again.”

“Don’t cream yourself just yet, Satoru. I think we’re about to have another initiation coordinator.”

What?

Sure enough, distant footsteps steadily approach. Growing louder with each passing second, thick with anticipation.

Closer. And closer.

The door is suddenly thrown open, light filtering in through the door, illuminating the stern figure standing in the doorway.

Nanami Kento.

The frat treasurer, infamous as the devastatingly handsome impersonation of a stick up one’s ass, known for rejecting any and every advance left and right.

His sharp gaze sweeps the charged room, dark eyes revealing nothing, catching on your teary, fucked out gaze, miles away. Body covered in cum and spit, marked like you were thrown to the wolves. Satoru grits his teeth with an impatient huff, looking like he’s ready to positively devour you, irritated at the interruption.

“What are you doing? This is an embarrassment to Jujutsu Phi.”

In the twinge of disappointment, you can’t help but feel a brief glimmer of hope. Ah, Nanami Kento. Maybe he will be your savior - a temporary respite from the men who seem ready to eat you alive. And won’t stop till you’re not.

“If you’re going to initiate her then show no mercy.”

The door slams behind him as he steps inside the heated hellhole. A cold shiver runs down your spine. Satoru’s burning whisper in your ear.

“Welcome to the brotherhood, sweetheart.”

A/N. Whew this turned out longer than expected. Tried a new formatting thing, how we liking it??

Plagiarism not authorized.

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utahimeow · 5 months

Text

cw — reader and gojo have a daughter, established marriage, gojo is sad but reader comforts him

satoru gojo is not a man of many fears. heights, spiders, needles, death—fearing these is alien to a man who’s looked death itself in the eye and refused to let it touch him. however the words that his five-almost-six year-old daughter just uttered send shivers down his spine.

he’s frozen, eyes wide, face pale. he thinks his lungs stop working and his heart stops beating.

big, blue eyes round as a bug’s stare up at him, oblivious to the implications of it all.

the sentence echoes in his head like a taunt. he thinks he’ll hear it in his nightmares tonight.

then, her little hand as she tugs on his pant leg yanks him back to reality.

“daddy, i said my tooth fell out!”

satoru gulps, gaze falling to the crumb of bone in her hand, then to the tiny gap that’s now in the front of her mouth.

he didn’t think it would happen so soon.

you’re home from work not long later and the girl rushes to greet you at the door, screeching with delight to announce the loss of her tooth to you.

you’re gasping dramatically, gathering her up in your arms as she gives you a gummy smile so wide her eyes scrunch shut. staring at her is like looking in a mirror, a perpetually perfect reflection of you and your love combined into one small being.

“it didn’t hurt, did it?” you ask her.

“nope! i didn’t even cry,” she tells you, beaming with pride.

“oh, how brave you are,” you tell her, kissing her soft cheeks, grinning as her giggles bubble throughout the entire foyer.

she wriggles out of your grasp and then she’s off again, bounding back upstairs to her room to the pile of plushies upon her bed so she can continue to brew up tales and backstories for each of them. now that both her mother and father have heard her big news, she’s satisfied enough for it to no longer need to be on her mind.

you’re not surprised to find satoru in the kitchen, rummaging through the snack cupboard. you are surprised at the fact that he doesn’t turn to greet you like he always does. with a pout, you stride over to his towering frame and snake your arms around his slender waist, pressing yourself flush to him.

“hi, lover,” you hum.

in your embrace, satoru becomes lighter. the tension in his hard muscles lifts, his shoulders dropping, his back shedding the weight of the world.

“hi, pretty,” he replies, uncharacteristically quiet, yet somehow his voice still drips with affection for you.

“what’s the matter?” you ask him. you’re well aware of your husband’s melodramatic nature, and it’s because of that that you don’t find yourself worrying over his state of despair. still, you’re rather filled with a curiosity—what minuscule nonsensical issue has him down today? did they discontinue his favourite kitkat flavour?

hands migrating up his torso and finding his chest, you squeeze your fingers into the fat of his pectorals. in the blink of an eye, satoru is facing you and his cold hands have grabbed hold of your wrists. he grins down at you softly, amused by your antics as always, but you blink again and his face drops, growing almost grave.

“talk to me,” you urge, prying. his soft grasp leaves your wrists, moving to envelop your hands which drown in his. he brings them to his lips, kissing at your fingertips, making your heart beat in your ears and your face grow hot. it’s strange to think he once shrivelled away from your affection, convinced he was not worthy of it.

“how was work?” he asks.

“fine. good. same as always,” you tell him. “but you’re avoiding my question. and your feelings.”

he shakes his head, a child through and through. “tell me about your day.”

“satoru,” you say, stern, and it feels like you’re scolding your daughter for not listening to you. “i hate it when you’re… off like this.”

his eyes pierce through yours then, filled with unspoken apology. then, he exhales, long and hard, a sigh that’s heavy with weariness. for you, he’s learned to surrender.

“our daughter losing her tooth today made me realise that she’s getting older and i can’t stop it,” he admits.

you sigh along with him, half relieved that your conscience had been right in believing that it wasn’t anything serious. well, in the sense that no one had died. the rest of you knows he’s not being irrational. since becoming a father, and even before that, when having children was just a distant fantasy for him, an anxiety had lived inside of him. an anxiety of fucking up, of being inherently unsuited to fatherhood, of the idea that she may suffer the consequences of him being her father.

and now, a new anxiety sprouts.

“true, but we get to watch her grow, satoru. don’t you think that’s amazing?”

he stays silent, mouth forming an absentminded pout.

“i just keep thinking about when she was a baby… how tiny she was, how she would waddle around, and drool on my chest. soon she won’t be my little girl anymore, you know?”

“satoru,” you say firmly. your hands curl around the back of his neck, scratching at the snowy hairs of his undercut. “she’ll always be your little girl. i know that because she’s your whole world, and you’re hers. she may never be that little baby again, but she’ll never be as little as she is now either, so love and cherish her now instead of moping about the inevitable passage of time.”

satoru smiles a dopey smile at you, the same one his daughter has.

“i’m so glad i married you,” he says. his hands are warm now as they settle on your lower back, dipping down, down, down.

you roll your eyes at him, opening your mouth to reply with something witty, but he beats you to it.

“i’m being serious now, baby. you always know what to say when i’m being stupid.”

“when you’re being overdramatic, you mean,” you say, grinning playfully.

“hey, it just shows that i care, doesn’t it?”

you pull him down to your face by his neck and kiss him, moulding your lips against his, tender and warm and home. it’s not just his thoughts that melt away when he kisses you, it’s his entire head, until all that’s left is a man with nothing but his wife on his mind, heart beating for no reason other than to keep him alive so that he can keep thinking about you.

briefly, you pull away, in spite of how he chases your lips with his, because he could kiss you until the end of time and you could do the very same, but there’s something weighing on your mind suddenly.

“if you want a second baby i can make that happen, by the way,” you tell him, your hips pressing against his.

“oh, now you want another one? but every time i ask for one i get an earful? heh,” he says, quirking a brow, but unfortunately for him he’s hard in his pants in an instant.

“yeah, but now i feel bad for you.”

“babe, i don’t want a kid out of pity!”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo imagine #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru fanfic #jjk imagine #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #꒰ lovers. ꒱ — gojo

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dilfartist · 10 months

Text

A foolish endeavor

Pairing; Yandere Miguel O’hara x reader

Synopsis; You manage to snag Miguel’s gizmo and escape to another universe. How long will it take before he, or the spider society, find you?

Word count; 2.8k

Reader description; Female/GN

TW; kidnapping, probably terrible spanish (i did use sources Spanish-speaking users suggested), non-con touching, yandere themes, dark writing.

Notes; {if i mistranslated any of the spanish please do contact me in my DMs. I wanted this fic to be better but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Did not proofread.}

Midnight coated New York in a dark blue hue. Most nights the city lights illuminate the darkness, providing the ability to see. However, the motel you find yourself ambling to is the more isolated part of the city.

Rain poured down heavily, producing cacophonous echoes of raindrops slamming against the concrete. Clad in a drenched hoodie and damp black yoga pants, you scurry to the other side of the street just in time to avoid being hit by the passing truck.

Cigarette smoke and frigid rain overwhelm your senses, mainly due to the cigarette buds scattered on the motel parking lot.

The motel is okay looking. By no means does it look nice, but it isn’t a hard no.

“Guess this is where I’ll sleep tonight,” you mumble to yourself. You take a brief glance at your surroundings. Night overcame the sky, giving the atmosphere a dark hue but the lights gave you a clear standpoint.

Numerous lights hummed irritatingly, not even a minute passed and you found yourself obtaining a headache. You navigate the main office, which is on the left side of the horseshoe-shaped building, and a blue neon sign points in the direction of the office. You started sauntering over, putting pep in your step when the cold rain declined heavier than it did the last five minutes.

Six months ago, you wouldn’t be having this problem. At least that’s what you believed. You could’ve been at your apartment, catching up on a show you’ve failed to complete thanks to your busy work schedule.

Unfortunately for you, doing a task as simple as watching your television, in your home, was truly impossible. Why? Because the earth you roam isn’t yours, to begin with. Your apartment isn’t yours. The job you work isn’t yours. You aren’t certain you even exist in this universe.

You can’t find the strength to complain. Honestly, you’re delighted to be away from the man who stole you away from society.

Miguel O’Hara.

Otherwise known as Spiderman 2099. You know, the superhero.

It must be confusing to hear that a superhero kidnaped a poor civilian. Superheros don’t normally commit unforgivable acts. Regardless, Miguel didn't care. Miguel is aware he is different from other heroes given his beliefs. Abducting you was just one of the many wrongs Miguel fulfilled.

You just wished you knew his motives at the beginning. If you did, you wouldn't have to search for sanctuary. You wouldn't have to lie low in a different universe.

Before Miguel, you lived a decent life that included a decent job. It was a Tuesday afternoon with sunny weather and clear skies. Your friends invited you to a picnic at the park and, for once having a clear schedule you agreed. You recall the sun beaming down on you, overheating your body to the point shade was a necessity. You moved from the picnic blanket to a nearby bent tree. One moment you're enjoying the shade, the next you're falling. Then something transpired. You jerked in the air, something white clinging to the front of your shirt. You felt your body floating in the air, legs thrashing in fear when your body conceded it was in mid-air.

You must have fainted because you have no recollection of what transpired next. What you do remember was watching through bleary eyes as four strangers hovered over you clearly disputing. Currently, you know them by Jessica Drew, Peter B. Parker, the iron spider, And Miguel O’Hara.

The accountability for your well-being somehow landed in the hands of Miguel. In the beginning, Miguel had such a short patience for you, not that he didn't possess an attitude with anyone else, he just happened to have a really short fuse with you.

His explosive temper with you was undeserving. You hardly gave him any reason to blow up. Your presence alone just pissed him off, at least it appeared so.

You avoided him as much as possible; Departing a room when he entered. Ensuring any errands were accomplished before he arrived home, so you didn't have to leave your room to aggravate him.

Then he began to seek you out; popping up wherever you were in his apartment. Alone watching television on the couch? Not anymore. Miguel joined you on the other side silently watching as well. Sitting silently in the dining room eating lunch? Miguel enters with a bowl of cereal, starting a conversation about the day’s news. Enjoy video games and decide to play by yourself? Miguel grabs a controller and questions the rules and certain controls.

For someone who was as snappy at you as a feral dog, he sure did like to invade your solitude.

By the second month of staying at Miguel’s, he found solace in your presence. He became relaxed. Nice even. And then by the fourth month, you became friends. You never visualized being anything other than friends, but unbeknownst to you, Miguel did.

When you first caught the news of Peter figuring out what universe you belonged to, you were ecstatic. After all, the mystery of your universe's number had been the sole reason for crashing with Miguel and not immediately returning home.

You turned to Miguel, asking when was the appropriate time to drop you off. To your astonishment, Miguel’s brows furrowed, and his lips morphed into a grimace, “you will not be returning.” he affirmed.

Miguel shocked not only you, but everyone witnessing the scene. A gauche silence conquered the atmosphere.

You and Miguel stared at each other for a beat, then you voiced your perplexity. “What do you mean “I will not be returning?” Miguel, I need to go home.” you took a step closer to Miguel.

Miguel gazed at you with an uninterested stare. “What I say goes, (Name). And I say you're staying here.” he spun around, returning to whatever he had been working on before. “We all have a busy schedule and dropping you off will only alter it.”

“It’s not worth it,” he said like he was ending the conversation.

“Okay, then Peter can take me home when he needs to drop off Mayday.” you insisted, looking over at Peter to see if he’d be alright with your plan.

No expression was needed for you to catch on to the attitude Miguel began to gain. “(Name), I won’t tell you twice. The answer is no. Now, Peter take her back to my apartment. We’ll speak about the matter later, at the moment there are more important issues happening.”

You found it laughable. To think the minute you stepped into the man's sight he wanted you gone, but now Miguel was fighting you to stay with him. Ironic, isn’t it?

That night you and Miguel, the very moment he came inside his apartment, quarreled for an hour in a half. Your argument being you did not belong to him and could do whatever you pleased. Miguel’s argument was the insignificance of the matter to him.

You detected Miguel’s temper was starting to get out of hand. The way his fists began to clench, the way his brows creased, and the frown deepened after every sentence he uttered. You’ve seen his strength. His fierceness. And you’d rather leave than have any of his tantrums directed at you. Doing what any rational person would do, you attempted to leave the room. You advised him to de-stress before speaking to you again.

Miguel was having none of it. Not even a second passed before you were yanked back by the forearm.

You’re face-to-face with Miguel. Miguel towered over you, looking down at you with his signature red piercing stare. He bends down, momentarily staring at you until he finally speaks. “I can't allow you to leave.” The way he talks is low and if the room weren't already quiet, you wouldn’t have heard him. “I love you,” he confessed, voice cracking, closing his eyes as if it pained him to say it. He opened his eyes again. “And I won't allow myself to lose any other person I care for.”

Pulling twenty dollars out of the torn-up wallet you found on the side of the road, you slide it forward on the mahogany brown table. The fatigued receptionist glances at the money, then gazes at you with an irked expression.

“This isn’t enough.” She states matter-of-factly. She slides the twenty back to you.

You purse your lips, staring down at the cash. Twenty dollars is all you had. What were you to do now? The next nearest motel could be miles away; it was a miracle you made it to this.

Your eyes flicker back to her. You take two fingers pushing it back to her, giving her your best puppy eyes. “Please! I don't have anywhere else to go tonight. If I can’t stay here I’ll have to sleep on the streets.”

You were lying. You would’ve taken off by dawn, needing to be on the move after getting rested.

Her hardened expression softens. She takes a deep breath, eyes studying the money. Shaking her head, she takes the cash. “One night only, alright?”

You propose to her a smile, nodding with gratitude. She allotted you a key. A small golden-greenish key, with the number five engraved on the head. Tonight you’d sleep on the grounded floor of the motel.

The inside was decently prepared, having a dingy tone that gave off a haunted vibe. You hum in displeasure. Two queen-sized mattresses are positioned on the right side of the wall. They appeared stiff, and the blankets laying upon them looked thinner than a sheet of paper.

Sighing, you softly booted the door shut. Flopping down on the nearest bed, you groan at the sensation of the rough mattress.

When tomorrow comes you’d have to find a fresh location. Miguel could continually find your locale, thanks to not only Lyla but the whole Spider society. Perhaps you postponed his search this time. His watch or gizmo- whatever the hell it was- rests on your wrist.

Shifting your head to the side, pulling your hand out of your pocket, you glance at the gizmo.

Tightly clutched in Miguel’s hold, you stare quietly at the ceiling. You debate acting on your next actions. There were times Miguel slept lightly, aroused by creaks in the floorboard. Other times when the sound of glass shattering did not bother him even a little.

Glancing down at the arm wrapped securely around your midriff, you endeavor to gradually lift his arm up. He unconsciously retaliates, arms consolidating, resulting in a small gasp slipping from your lips. You’re quick to rub his arm, to offer him comfort, and to calm him.

It works. Miguel grumbles, his grasp faulting. You carefully move his arm aside, then unhurriedly get up from the bed.

Before leaving the room you observe Miguel. Miguel sleeps soundly, an angry expression inscribed on his face. But he is asleep, so you take your chance while you are able.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, you immediately spot the gizmo on the marble counter. Compared to the technology you have at home, it was top-notched, a huge improvement. Of course, he lived in the year 2099. Obviously, there would be a difference in technology.

You grabbed the gizmo, examining the complexity. From monitoring the spider people using them, you know it’ll take you wherever universe you request. Great. However, you weren’t a spider person. If you teleported in the middle of the air, you couldn't grapple on the closest object with a web. Or claw your way down a building

Fuck it.

If dying meant escaping him, then so be it.

You didn’t really mean that. Every time you went to teleport to a different universe, you cringed retreating your hand.

“Jesus! Alright, I'm doing this!” you softly berated yourself. Bracing for the impact of the possible fall you might face, you shut your eyes tight and twisted the gizmo. “Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground!” you cried.

How long would it take them to find you? How far could you get?

God, being on the run was stressful.

Your eyes flutter closed, plush pillows luling your tired mind. ‘I should get some sleep’ you thought. Warmth spread throughout your numbing body, as you finally permitted yourself to sleep.

When you awake gasping for air, almost as if you’d been suffocating. Instantly you arise, a hand rushing to your chest confirming it still thumped with a beating heart. Your skin is sticky with cold sweat, making your clothes uncomfortably cling to your body. “What the fuck?” you barely uttered, mouth arid.

Suddenly you had a gut feeling to check the window. You stand, groggily walking toward the large window adjacent to the front door. Pinching the hem of the curtain, you haul it aside.

The night is still pristine, the stars glowing in the dark sky. Nothing seems out of place. And yet you continue to have that gut feeling. Look outside, there’s something outside. Your eyes move to the parking lot.

You see it.

Blue and red. Something blue and red is making its way toward the motel. Squinting, you can make out what it is. Miguel. It's Miguel!

“Oh, shit!” you expressed, dropping the curtain. Wasting no time you locked the bottom and top locks. You veered around, frantically searching for a place to hide. You are no fool. Locking the door was simply a distraction; Miguel would tear the door off its hinges in a second.

Hiding underneath the bed is a childish strategy. That and hiding underneath the covers. Still, you drop to your knees, squeezing underneath the bed, using the blankets to cover any spaces revealing you. Pressing the palm of your hand against both your mouth and nose, you listen closely to everything around you.

At first, all you hear is the air conditioning blowing cool air, and the people next door’s baby weeping. Then you hear it. The doorknob oscillation. Your eyes widen, fear causing your breath to hitch. When the door refuses to open, the person behind the door commences kicking in the door. One kick achieves them access to the room. The door slams against the wall, shaking the ground, sending a vibration under you.

“¿Qué carajo?” you know that voice anywhere. It’s Miguel speaking in his native language. A habit Miguel has when he’s angered or stressed. “¿Dónde está ella?” Miguel snaps, striding into the room with anger-powered steps.

You can see through the tiny slit in the blankets, Miguel turning to the table where you placed the gizmo. Miguel picks up the gizmo, putting it back on his wrist.

He shifts his concentration to finding you. He calls out your name, malice dripping from the way he shouts it. He disappears from sight, presumingly moving on to the bathroom. Many things are heard being tossed around. Miguel probably was looking for evidence of you staying here, apart from the gizmo.

You gather the courage to, oh, so carefully stretch your leg out, then proceed to quietly shuffle from under the bed. You waste no time, rushing out the door, feet bare without socks or shoes. The gravel burns the soles of your feet, scraping and imprinting on the skin.

You practically succeeded in leaving the lot until you caught a glimpse of what stalked behind you. On all fours, Miguel sprinted at you, claws scuffing the concrete, like a predator running after its prey.

“Holy shit! What the actual fuck!” you panic aloud, taking your eye off what was in front of you, your mind solely focusing on the man hunting you. Big mistake on your part. A concrete parking block is in your way, but you don’t see it. You jolt forward, tripping over the block, your other foot catching you before you hit the road.

Just when you thought you still had the chance of running away, you’re sorely mistaken. Miguel pounces on you, and the clash of your bodies colliding results in Miguel tumbling down the road, you secure in his arms.

The tumble ends; you’re struggling not to vomit, head resting on Miguel’s firm chest. The world spins. It’s easy to forget your position when the urge to throw up is fresh.

Miguel holds your head, pressing a myriad of kisses on every part of the skin visible, muttering with his eyes closed. “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.” He sounds so frantic, reciting those same words, his tongue stumbling over the utterances.

His eyelids raise, uncovering his red orbs. He presses his forehead against yours, staring deeply into your eyes. It’s a domestic stunt that makes your stomach churn. “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.” he huffs, then continues, “I’m happy you’re alright. I don’t know what I'd do if I lost you, mi alma.”

Taking your hand, he places a soft kiss on the back. “Had an anomaly harmed you, I would have ripped their fucking throat out!”

————————

Translations

- “¿Qué carajo?”/ what the fuck?

- “¿Dónde está ella?”/ where is she?

- “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.”/ I should be furious with you, but I'm not.

- “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.”/ thank god you’re okay.

- mi alma/ my soul

4K notes · View notes

tasteracha · 1 month

Text

a/n: my comeback in the form of a disorganized half silly half poetic felix. thing. inspired by him looking divine enough to lick after walking the runway.

warnings: lix is a little mean and condescending, fem!reader

your lips are on his before he makes it through the door, a sweet smell from the roses crushed between the two of you erupting into the room. you’d been all but waiting at the door since he left for paris, too busy with work and life to take him up on his invitation to join him, though it hurt more than it should have to see him there without you.

“you looked so good, still do, oh my god,” you say against his lips, kisses complimenting every word.

“thank you, darling,” he pulls away to set the flowers down, and there’s so many. what were you even going to do with all of that? a problem for later, you decide, instead prioritizing entering his personal space once again.

you take his face in your hands, gentle as to not smear the careful swipes of makeup there - that would be a task for later. it seemed like he didn’t have the opportunity to change and shower before he came home to you, and in your head it had more to do with his desire to see you than the timing of his flight following the after party. you take in the browns brushed across his eyelids, the gentle flush of blush highlighting his cheekbone, the shininess of his eyes as he lets your eyes feast on the delicacy of his features. he’s dressed smartly in a crisp white button-up shirt and high-waisted black slacks that sat around his waist and curved perfectly around his ass. you brush one hand through his wavy, iridescent hair and it’s so feather soft that you can barely feel it passing through your fingers. specks of glitter fall out of it like angel dust and the urge to call him pretty passes through the forefront of your thoughts. you don’t think you will ever get tired of telling him how beautiful he is.

“never cut your hair again,” you demand, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and twirling the strands between your fingertips. “you look like an angel, lix.”

“okay,” he grins, nuzzling his hand into your palm. “you might have to work it out with the stylists on that, though.”

“i’ll fight them with my bare hands,” you’re completely serious, and fondness takes over his features when he sees the sharpening of your brow and the set of your mouth. “if they bring a pair of scissors near you they’ll face my wrath.”

“down, baby,” he chuckles and removes your hands from his face, holding them in his and keeping you close. “let me get out of these clothes and i’ll let you tell me all about how you’re going to dismantle the stylist empire, alright?”

“no,” you whine, and you’re almost embarrassed at how needy you sound. you were desperate for him, sure, but you weren’t a child. “wanna stare at you forever. everyone else got you for so long, now you’re mine.”

“i’m yours,” he echoes, love and affection dripping off of his words like syrup. “but in five minutes, i’ll be yours but wearing a hoodie. how does that sound?”

“fine,” you relent, releasing him completely so he could scamper away at the chance he was given. he was smart like that.

five minutes, he had said. it took you about one and a half to lose patience and pad over to the bedroom. the door was open, all thoughts of privacy gone after you had reached the first year of your relationship.

you find him in his boxers, wiping his shoulders with a damp towel and you pounce, trapping him underneath you on the bed. your hips are lined up with his from where you’re straddling him and you can feel his cock jump with interest against your core.

“this is surprising,” he starts, and you have snark waiting on your tongue about how he should have expected this before he continues. “i thought you would have come in earlier, at least i had time to get undressed.”

“lix, you’re just so beautiful,” embarrassment rushes to your cheeks as you duck your head, ashamed and delighted at having your desperation for him verbalized like this. “can you blame me for wanting you?”

“of course not, darling,” he soothes you with fingertips to your forehead, brushing off tufts of hair that fall back into place right after. “i want you just as much.”

“good,” you grind down on him, savoring how he hisses at the contact. you get a moment of satisfaction before he switches, flipping the both of you over in one practiced move. you end up beneath him, your wrists pinned over your head and his thigh wedged between yours.

“but i think you may benefit from learning a bit of patience, hmm?” he ghosts his lips over your cheek, running the top of his nose against yours. his hands leave your hands to wander over your sides, running up the hem of your shirt and towards your breasts; you weren’t wearing a bra, so he had easy access to your nipples and he took full advantage of this.

the sensation isn’t enough, heat already pulsing in your core at just the look of him. you try to buck your hips up against his thigh but the angle is all off and you give up in frustration after a few attempts. you hated and loved when he got like this - teasing, controlling, edging on condescending. it was so unlike him in any other way that it sent sparks of excitement tingling up your spine.

“giving up so easily?” he smirks, and even that is soft around the edges in a confusingly adorable way. you never know what he wanted, and that made it even more fun. did he want you to act desperate or be patient?

you voiced as such, and he tutted and moved to get off of you with a shake of his head. his hands leave your shirt and you grasp for him, nails scrabbling against his bare chest and leaving lines of red in their wake. he pauses, leaning over you like a fallen deity and you almost falter, but the need to get one over on him wins over.

“if you don’t touch me, i’ll just do it myself,” you reach one of your hands towards your shorts, fully intending to go through with your word. it wasn’t much of a threat, but you knew it would work on him. or well, you hoped it would.

“but darling, i am touching you,” he moves his thigh, still flush between your legs and you jolt. of course he would get the angle right. “you’re this worked up and you haven’t even told me what you wanted from me yet.”

“you know what i want,” you mumble, fire rushing to your cheeks again at having been outsmarted by him again. you should be used to this by now, but it ignites feelings inside of you as if they were the first time you were experiencing them, time and time again.

“i want to hear you say it,” he purrs, falling back against you and pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. “i want to hear how badly you want me. i want to know what you were thinking about when you were touching yourself while i was gone.”

you want to deny his words, want to tell him that you didn’t think of him at all, but you knew he would see right through you. you loved him with every aching beat of your swollen heart, you couldn’t deny anything even if it was just to keep up the dynamic he had started.

“i thought of you inside of me,” he pinches your side and compliments it with a nip to the shell of your ear, his breath hot on your skin. not good enough, he says with his actions. “nothing else feels like you. i couldn’t finish without you- ah.”

your breath is pushed out of your chest as he begins to kiss down your neck, his lips finding every sensitive spot on your skin like he was tracing a line that he had drawn on you.

“t-thought about the first time we had sex, when i knew i wouldn’t fuck anyone else for the rest of my life,” you might have been laying it on a little thick, but you knew he would fall for it. he might have teased you for being possessive, but he returned every inch with a mile, even if he was better at hiding it. he groans against you, tightening the hold he had around your waist, and you knew you had him.

“flatterer,” he says, less of a tease and more of a statement. he rewards your efforts by slipping his hand into your shorts, rubbing at your pussy through your panties. you had a second to worry about the wetness that had been collecting there, but it fizzled out with the pressure of his fingertips.

“wanted you to be here, to keep me full all day,” you were babbling now, saying anything to keep him going. as slow as he was being, you had no doubt that he would walk away just to keep up the act he had put on tonight. he was stronger than you in that way, one step ahead just by sheer force of will. “was hearing your voice in my head, telling me how good i was, how good you felt.”

“my darling is always good,” he murmurs, pushing aside your panties to slide his fingers against your clit. you never understood how a man who couldn’t tell the difference between a fruit and a vegetable was such an expert in your anatomy, but you weren’t one to complain, at least not about that. “even when you’re being a brat, you’re good.”

too soon, he removes his fingers from your core, wiping them against your shorts and shushing you when you open your mouth in protest.

“i’m not going anywhere,” he assures, staying close as he kneels over you. “just let me get you undressed, unless you want to stay like that?”

“dick,” you narrow your eyes, “i’m not going to answer that.”

“do you want my dick or am i a dick?” he pauses his hands, shorts and panties halfway down your thigh from where he had pulled them and you huff out a laugh.

“you’re hilarious,” you deadpan, kicking your foot to urge him to keep going as you lift your shirt off to quicken the process. you needed his dick inside of you like, yesterday. preferably.

he pulls off his own briefs and they float to join yours on the floor and you can finally see his cock, half hard and pink and flushed and perfect.

god, everything about him was perfect.

you spread your legs a bit, smiling when his hungry eyes land on your pussy, now fully on display. you could see the fight in him fizzling out; for all his talk, he was apart from you for so long, and as strong of a man he was everyone had a weakness.

he crawls back over you, stroking himself until he’s fully hard and leaking. he braces himself with one hand by your head, the veins on his arm popping at the exertion of keeping himself held up, the other hand guiding his cock into your folds to swipe against the wetness that had built up there.

“c’mon, lix,” you turn your head to press a kiss to his wrist, the delicate flesh feeling fever hot against your lips, and you can feel him trembling. “i’ve unintentionally edged myself for days, take me.”

“what did i say about patience?” he grunts out, but there is no bite in his words and despite their implication he presses the head of his cock against your hole.

you can’t help but tense up in excitement, the one thing you’d been craving for several nights finally within your grasp. he ducks his head to kiss you, mumbling a relax, baby against your lips and at once your body melts into the mattress.

when he finally slides into you it’s like coming home, the feeling of two imperfect pieces slotting together to create a masterpiece. everything else in the world fades away and it’s just him, the feeling of him inside of you and on top of you, his face taking over your vision and his scent invading your nostrils like a drug.

on another day he might have spent hours taking you apart with his mouth, teasing you with his fingers in ghosted touches and playful dancing. on another day he may have prolonged the game, made you recite every single thing you wanted him to do to you before doing it. but today, he stays like this for a moment, buried inside of you and panting into your neck, savoring the feeling of your tight heat around his aching cock. when he starts moving it’s like fireworks are bursting beneath your eyelids, sparks shooting out every time he hits your spot.

you try to match his thrusts with your hips, lifting up to meet him halfway, but you end up exhausted after just a few moments. his movements were getting more intense, quicker and harder until he was fucking into you without abandon and you couldn’t keep up even if you wanted to. this is what you were waiting for, the wildness of his body and the sharp possessiveness glinting in his eyes, the teeth he bared before sinking them into your neck and the harsh grip he kept on your waist.

you both finish fast, but what else could one expect from two beings completely obsessed with each other? time was fickle in the face of the two of you together, every minute felt like an hour. and besides, now that he was home you could do this over and over.

he fucks you through your orgasm, whispering i love you’s and my darling’s into you as he follows you soon after. he ends up collapsing against you for a moment, and the breath you lose is worth you feeling his chest heaving with exerted breaths and the way he nuzzles into whatever patch of your skin he can find.

“lix,” you mutter out, totally spent even though this may have been the tamest sex the two of you have had in a long while.

“hmm?” he scootches over to the side and gathers you in his arms, holding you like you’re something precious.

“do you still want to teach me about patience?”

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #lee felix smut #felix smut #lee felix x reader

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strnsvt · 1 month

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yoon jeonghan — pineapple's kiss and dad's wisdom.

dad!jeonghan ; mom!reader

jeonghan was greeted by the sound of laughter echoing through the house. a smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he kicked off his shoes, the familiar warmth of home enveloping him.

making his way into the living room, he found you and ara sitting on the couch, your faces lit up with joy.

"what's all this laughter about?" jeonghan asked, kissing you and ara on the cheek before settling onto the carpeted floor, leaning his back against the couch, loosening his tie.

"go on, tell your papa what happened at school today," you prompted.

ara's laughter bubbled over as she leaned forward, eager to share her story with her father. "pineapple kissed me on the cheek!"

jeonghan's eyebrows shot up in surprise, "pineapple kissed you on the cheek?" he repeated.

you nodded, adding "a boy in her class, she calls him pineapple cause he looks like one,"

jeonghan's eyebrows furrowed in bemusement, "first of all, how does one look like a pineapple?" he stammered, trying to wrap his head around the peculiar nickname.

"and secondly," he continued, his tone shifting to a more serious one, "you can't let a boy just kiss you like that, ara. you need to set boundaries,"

you nodded in agreement, placing a comforting hand on ara's shoulder. "your papa's right, ara. it's important to respect yourself and make sure others respect you too."

"i know, ma, papa. but i like him. and i liked when he kissed me. just like how you kiss ma,"

jeonghan sighs. his heart softening at ara's innocent nonetheless. "ara, sweetheart," he began gently, "i'm married to your ma, which is why we can do things like kiss each other. but for you, you're still very young,"

"that's right, honey. when you're older, you'll understand more about relationships and what's appropriate," you say, offering a small smile.

jeonghan paused, his thoughts swirling as he considered how to proceed. he recalled ara's innocent confusion about the concept of boyfriends, and he didn't want to inadvertently introduce more confusion into her young mind so he avoides using that word.

"ara," he began, "see, papa will be very upset if you allow a boy to kiss you," he says, his tone soft yet very firm.

ara glanced at you and then jeonghan as she nodded solemnly with a smile, "ok ma, papa. i'll listen," she said, her voice filled with sincerity.

jeonghan's heart swelled with pride as he reached out to gently ruffle ara's hair. "that's my girl," he said softly, a warm smile gracing his lips.

as bedtime approached, jeonghan lifted ara onto his back, ready to give her a piggyback ride to her room. ara giggled with delight, wrapping her arms around her father's neck as they made their way down the hallway.

once ara was tucked into bed and drifting off to sleep, jeonghan returned to your room, he noticed you chuckling to yourself, a mischievous glint in your eye.

"what?" jeonghan asked, his brow raised in confusion as he undos the buttons on his wrist.

"it was just a kiss, jeonghan," you replied playfully, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you watched him.

jeonghan chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. "i know, i know," he said, his tone light and affectionate. "but you know how protective i can get when it comes to our little girl. she's five. she doesn't need a boyfriend,"

"boyfriend? do you think she knows even the meaning of it?"

"she doesn't. that's why i avoided using that word infront of her," jeonghan smiles, scoffing, "pineapple," he muttered, the corners of his lips curling up into a fond smile.

you chuckle too, "that was the nickname me and my friends had for you,"

"huh? when?"

"when i was crushing on you, of course,"

jeonghan's eyes widened in surprise at your revelation. "pineapple? really?" he asked, a mixture of amusement and curiosity evident in his tone.

you nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. "yeah, it was just a silly nickname we came up with," you explained, your cheeks flushing slightly at the memory. "but it's funny how things come full circle, isn't it?"

jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head in fond disbelief. "i never would have guessed," he admitted, his gaze lingering on you with newfound warmth. "but i'm glad you stopped calling me that."

you grinned, reaching out to playfully poke his arm. "well, you'll always be my pineapple," you teased, a hint of affection in your voice.

#strnsvt's writing #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt x reader #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x y/n #jeonghan x you #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x you #seventeen

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luveline · 1 year

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𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

part five | chapter list

summary you’re a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. queue sleepy kisses, baby kisses, cheesecake and cherry ice pops, and dinner with uncle wayne. [8k]

warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie’s birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a girl dad (<3), tw for mentions of not having much money, new established relationship! idiots in love!! and junie being the sweetest baby ever

𓆩❤︎𓆪

You don't think you've ever seen Eddie asleep before. You rack your brain for a memory, even the suggestion of one, and come up blank. Maybe I dreamt it, you think to yourself, hesitating with your hand held aloft above his peaceful face.

He looks like a dream.

What he'd said last night — before the kiss, and after — echoes. You can feel his hands on your face if you close your eyes, the heat of each gentle palm, the scratch of a silver ring. He's missing his jewellery now, because he takes it off before bed. You can't believe you hadn't known that. All these details. His lashes kissing the delicate skin of his under eye, the way his lips thin in sleep from being pressed together. You reach toward him with a shy hand and brush a bundle of curls from his cheek, exposing the ridge of his cheekbone, begging to be kissed.

You'd been tired, so tired, and then he'd come back, and he'd crashed hard. You understand it. It'd been the most exciting moment of your life, and on top of that, he'd taken care of Junie for most of the day beforehand.

You've slept sparingly. The sun leeches in through the window one small ray at a time. Junie makes a small sound behind you, stirring in her toddler bed. You nibble your lip guiltily, wanting one more minute, just one, to look at Eddie uninterrupted.

You turn around and your reluctance melts, Junie a picture of a good long sleep. Her hair is a mess, her lips still pouting, and her eyes are partly open. She sees you're awake too and smiles, and the guilt of wishing she'd sleep in intensifies. She climbs down from her bed and rushes up to yours.

"Hey, baby," you say softly, holding out your arm.

She grabs the sheets and you help her up, folding her into your chest with a contented sigh.

She's tired, and she lets you move her around with little protest. Which isn't to say she's despondent: her hands latch onto your t-shirt, and her tiny chin rises as she stares you straight in the eye.

"How did you sleep, bubby?" you whisper-coo, hand spread over the breadth of her shoulders, the other crushed under your own weight. "My hand's going numb."

You pull you arm out and hold her face. "That's better. Good sleep? Do you feel happy?"

"Good," she says. "Feel good?"

You huff out a delighted sound and drop your nose to hers. "I feel super good, Junie baby. I'm so happy, because you're happy, and you're so smart."

She smiles more.

"Can you say that, baby? Say, 'I'm so smart."

Junie wiggles against your torso, hands at the neckline of your sleep shirt. "Smart," she says.

"Yeah! Yes. 'I'm so smart.'"

"I'm so 'mart."

"Yay!" you cheer again, your inflection celebratory even though you're still speaking in hushed tones. You don't want to wake Eddie, but maybe you do — is this the kind of thing he's interested in being a part of? "You're so smart. So so smart, and pretty and kind and soft."

You stroke her cheek with the back of your index finger, hoping to tickle her into giggles. "So soft," you murmur, "my lovely soft girl. You know why you're so soft? It's 'cause you're such a good girl, and you let me wipe your cheeks after dinner even though you hate it." You're speaking quietly enough that some of the words sound worn, syllables lost.

Junie doesn't need to hear them to know they're dripping in love. She rests her cheek against your upper arm, chub against chub, and you sink down with her, closing her in for a cuddle.

Your fingertips brush over the nape of her neck.

"Love you," you say, kissing her head absentmindedly.

"Love you," she says back.

She'd been a slow-learner, and she's still behind the majority of her age group, but none of it matters. Hearing her say anything at all is a gift. Hearing her says she loves you?

You laugh. There's nowhere else for all the happy to go.

Your hopes of sleeping again are dashed when she sits up and sees the lump of a body behind you. If she's confused she doesn't show it, hands pressed to your tender side as she climbs over you and onto Eddie's stomach.

He doesn't rouse at first. He sighs, his arm lifting where it's trapped under the sheets, your faded cornflower blue quilt that he'd praised unnecessarily. It's pretty, he'd said, back flat to your mattress as you'd imagined him a hundred times before.

You're pretty, you'd said. He'd opened his arms to draw you in for another hug. They'd felt endless all night.

Junie gets to his chest and her face fills with recognition.

"Eddie," she says happily.

He hums but still doesn't wake. Junie pulls down the blankets, and he raises his arm. Eyes closed, he wraps it around her, pulling her to his chest with a contented sound. She giggles, tiny baby giggles, and starts to play with his hair.

“June,” he mumbles.

“Eddie,” you say, apprehensive, forcing a lightness, “we have company.”

“I can feel that,” he says.

To your — your pleasure, your elation, he turns onto his back and his free hand finds you. His fingers curl around yours and he holds them, thumb pressed to the knuckle of your index finger.

His eyes open slowly, his lashes parting, his face dipped down to take Junie in.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he repeats with a laugh. “Aw, Junie, your hair! I’ve never seen you before mommy gets you dressed. Uncle Wayne would say you look like me when I wake up, when I was a kid he,” —Eddie talks through a yawn, smoothing the baby hairs out of Junie’s eyes— “used to say I looked like Linus from the Peanuts strip.”

“That’s so mean,” you say. You're relieved. You should've known Eddie wouldn't care. He loves her.

"You know who you look like?" he asks her.

She shakes her head. His face lights up.

"Animal! Grown up Animal, not the baby."

Your stomach rumbles. Eddie looks at you with concern, though that concern is a mild, soft thing. He sees you properly for the first time since he woke up, Junie held to his chest, hair as messy as hers, as yours probably is, his t-shirt neckline rolled from wear, and he visibly melts.

"D'you wanna go out for breakfast?" you ask.

He shakes his head. "Come here."

"What?"

"Just come here. Lie down."

You ease off of your elbow and slide toward him. You rest your head very carefully beside his, and are immediately delighted when he kisses your cheek.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, pulling his arm out of hiding to steer the side of your face to his. Your noses smush together, eyes closing on instinct. "Hey, how are you?"

"How are you?" you ask back. He sounds super tired.

"Y'always do that. You can't just answer me? You're–" He kisses you, then, softly but with a sluggish imprecision. "Impossible."

"I'm impossible?"

"You're impossible," he promises.

You try not to squish Junie as you wrap your arm around her and bring a hand to his cheek. The tiniest rebirth of stubble scratches your fingertips as they rove up his cheek to the smoothest plane under his eye. You turn your finger until the nail is flat to his skin, stroking a fascinated back and forth.

"I can't believe you're real."

Can't believe you're real, and you chose me, and you're here now letting my baby pull at the sweat curls tight at your neck.

"Do I look bad?" he asks.

You roll your head back enough to see his smile. It makes your heart skip in the best way, how handsome he is, and you have to dive in again to kiss the line between his lips and his cheek. He's really warm. Before him, you'd forgotten how this could feel, the heat that another person can give you and how protected it leaves you.

"You look really nice," you say, your finger rubbing up and down his cheek. A teardrop to his chin that falls and climb over and over.

"Eddie," Junie says, weaselling under your arm.

"What, baby?" he asks.

She tucks herself up under his chin and lifts her head. It's awkward, but babies are like that. Always wanting to be where they aren't.

"Junie?" he asks.

She looks up, dishevelled hair especially fierce.

"You said my name, remember? Did you have something to ask me?"

She giggles at his tone but doesn't answer. Your stomach makes some more aggressive sounds and Eddie shoots up like bamboo, baby held to his chest and hand behind your head.

"Mom's dying."

"Eddie."

"Mom's super duper hungry," he says, stroking your forehead apologetically. "Now move, mom, so we may enter your kitchen and make super duper breakfast."

"Oh, no, let me change her first," you say. "Poor girl, I slept through the entire night."

He passes her over to you and you stand so he can slide out of bed. His smile grows. "Hair fairy got you both," he says.

You glare. "You are not exempt."

"Can I use the bathroom?"

"Don't ask! Since when do you ask?"

"Do you want to go first?"

His caring is sweet but unnecessary. "No. Please go, and spend like ten minutes in there? I promise we'll be much prettier when you get back."

"You're beautiful now," he says, though he obeys your ask and treks out of the bedroom with a wanton groan and a stretch that shows a lot of back. It's more than likely on purpose.

"I'm with my baby!" you yell, laughing.

"Don't know what you mean."

You strip Junie down to her smalls, change her diaper, and rub a nice lotion all over. She loves the skin to skin and stays still until you offer her today's options, two dresses, one blue and one a lighter green. She chooses the green, so you put green butterfly clips in her hair to match, and white socks with lace in black shoes. She looks awesome.

"Girls?" Eddie shouts. "Can I come out now?"

"I was kidding," you murmur to yourself, laughing.

You comb your fingers through your hair and meet him in the bathroom doorway with Junie's hand held in your own, glancing at each other through the gap.

"I wasn't serious."

"Sweetheart," he says, bending at the waist like he's been punched, "look at you. Juniper the Beautiful, holy sugar."

She only smiles.

"I can take her, yeah? I'll make breakfast. Do you want to get dressed?" he asks you, concern again softening the lines of his face.

"Sorry," you say.

"For what?"

He takes your face into his hand, cupping your cheek. You meld into it like you're one and the same, two pieces of the same puzzle clicked back into place. Junie’s hand in yours makes three.

"Alright, Junie, breakfast," he says, pulling apart and away with a humorous brevity, stealing her little hand from yours.

They walk together down the hallway, hands swinging.

"We'll go get breakfast!" you call. That's why you'd put her shoes on.

"I can make it," Eddie says, voice carrying in the quiet. He shoots a smug look over his shoulder. "I can make it, seriously. Just have a minute for yourself, why don't you?"

You wonder if that's code words for you look like shit right now, but you firmly believe Eddie wouldn't tell you that even if you did. You wash up in the bathroom and then get changed into a new-old skirt that you sometimes wear to work though you're not supposed to and a nice shirt that doesn't go. You take it all off and try again. And again.

You pull on a pair of tight sweatpants and the band t-shirt he'd bought you all those weeks ago. For a moment you stand there, face in your hands, and then a big hand presses to your shoulder blade and scares you into flinching.

"Oh, shit," you say.

Eddie laughs a storm and gets his hand under your armpit. That's worse, and you squirm, but he doesn't budge, pulling you toward him for a tight-boned hug.

"You're taking for ages," he says, parroting one of Junie’s newer phrases.

"Well." You shove your face into the top of his shoulder. "I think I'm nervous. Do I look stupid? Nothing fits me."

He hears your embarrassment and your panic and hoists you backward, hands curled around the tops of your arms as he gets a good look.

"You look pretty, and like you need something to eat." He presses his lips together, a funny picture of nervousness to mirror your own. "I know we should probably talk about it, but I don't really know how to do that. Just. Are you still– You don't regret it?"

It sounds clunky in his mouth.

"I don't regret any of it," you say sincerely.

"Good," he says, recovering quickly from this show of vulnerability with a good heaping of bravado, "'cause I was really hoping to get to do this again."

His hands climb your shoulders, settle neatly in the curves of your neck. He holds your face. You wait for him to kiss you.

"What? I brushed my teeth."

He presses his lips to yours all wonky with laughter. It's fleeting, not nearly as long as you want it to be, but Junie shouts something from the kitchen and draws both of your attention.

"It wasn't about you brushing your teeth," he says, back of his hand rubbing yours as he overtakes.

Junie stands in the kitchen with a spatula, a whisk, and the rolling pin, an array of items from the bottom drawer she's in the middle of relocating.

"Sorry I left her, I just wanted to make sure you weren't, like, trying to think of ways to let me down easy. I put the TV on. Not that you can't let me down easy," he says, bending to face Junie.

You shake your head as he starts to help her take things out of the drawer. You don't keep anything sharp in it for this exact reason, Junie's enthusiastic upheaval.

He catches your look. "I'll put them back! Promise."

"It's fine, you know she does it all day anyways."

And really, he should know you won't mind because whenever he's here he helps. Cleans, cooks, soothes her small tantrums and her bigger distresses, like when you won't let her eat laundry powder with the tiny shovel that comes in the box.

He's even started playing the bad guy sometimes. It sounds crazy, but having someone who's willing to say no for you is a sharp relief. To get to be the comforter rather than the nag, and to share a smile over Junie’s distraught head.

"This is positive reinforcement."

"I know both of those words, and yet," Eddie says, closing the now emptied drawer with his foot.

"You helping her take stuff out teaches her that those things should be taken out." You pull open the fridge. "But it doesn't really matter, I'm just saying. Do you want orange or apple juice? June?"

You hold out the carton of apple juice and the gallon of orange. The orange juice is awful, a concentrate with too much sugar, and it's delicious, so Junie picks that one without hesitating. You give her half juice half water in a sippy cup.

"Is mine watered down too?" Eddie asks, accepting the glass you press into his hand.

"I even mixed in some pedialyte. You're welcome."

He nods with more genuineness. "Thank you. Now sit down! I'm making breakfast. I'm gonna make it. What do you want?"

You look at him, fresh but still sleep rumpled, and you think about how hungry you are, and you really like him so much and you get why he wants to do this, but.

"Listen, let's go out. Let's get waffles and syrup and strawberries and nobody will have to do the dishes."

He buckles way too fast. It feels like a big compliment, how quickly you can erode his resistance.

"Alright. Fine, but not because I couldn't have made all of those things."

"Of course not."

"You look crazy pretty when you ask for things, you know? All this time I've been begging you to ask for things and now I'm a little worried. D'you always smile like that? I could be in trouble."

You boo at him and he smiles all the way to the car. He's still smiling as he drops his hand onto your thigh, pulls out of the driveway, and starts down the street leading out of the trailer park. It takes you a minute, but eventually you realise you can touch him back, laying your hand on top of his experimentally.

"Do I look stupid?" he asks.

He's stolen one of your hoodies to hide his slept on shirt. His jeans look messed up from sleeping in, but they're baggy.

"You don't… You could start leaving clothes at my house, you know? If you wanted to– stay again." You swallow a nervous giggle. "I mean."

"Of course I want to stay again. I'd love to. I love being with you."

He squeezes your thigh. If it weren't for his pinking ears, you'd assume him unaffected.

"Okay. Good. You can stay the night whenever you like, handsome, 'cause I love being with you too."

You wonder and worry if your declaration is too close to an I love you he doesn't want. You do love him, have loved him for a while, but you have no clue what you even are. Last night, you'd said best friend. He's more than that, he has to be.

You're in sync, or he can read your mind. He says, "We'll talk about it. After you get some breakfast in you. Your stomach's so loud they just put a weather warning on the radio."

"They did not."

—

Wayne puts a beer down in front of his nephew and doesn't pull any punches.

"If you get that poor girl pregnant, I will disown you. Not her, mind you. Just you."

Eddie thinks this is a very weird thing to say, but he also knows that Wayne is mostly kidding.

"I'm not going to get her pregnant."

Satisfied, Wayne sits down next to Eddie on the couch, the two of them tired from a long day at work, the TV on quietly in the background. It's the same thing they do everyday, or everyday before Eddie met you and your baby.

"I get to meet her, or we just gonna meet at the wedding?"

"Funny," Eddie says. "You can meet her whenever you want to. I kind of didn't think you'd be interested."

Wayne sighs, scrubs his jaw.

"Son, I want to meet her. Her and the baby. I didn't know if it was gonna work, but…" He smiles at Eddie. Eddie thinks that it's a mix of pride and love, and it has a lump forming in his throat near instantly. "I should've known, huh?"

Eddie makes himself scoff.

"Yeah, you should've."

"Only thing you ever half-assed was high school."

"You had to get that one in there."

Quick wit and nipping comments aside, Eddie knows Wayne truly does want to meet you and Junie, and that he should've a long time ago. It had been a cop out to say he didn't think Wayne wanted to meet you, because he knew his uncle had been curious and — he's family. Wayne is Eddie's family, and you and June have become the same.

When he brings it up to you, he does it carefully. With flowers.

You open the door and throw your arms around him, smashing the flowers unapologetically. He chuckles into your neck, pulls you tight to his chest. You smell like the diner.

"How come you never used to do this before?" he asks.

"You never did either."

You take his face into your hands and kiss him, before your usual shyness takes over and you pull away. He's having none of it, grabbing your wrist before you can escape to offer your flowers.

"Here. You'll have to give me one back for Junie, though."

You give him the biggest flower of the bunch, a huge pink carnation with perfect petals and a thick stalk. Your fingertips brush his as you do, and his eyes are drawn to them, your hands, the bump and bone of your knuckles. You still have a scratch from work down the length of your pinky, and they're scrubbed raw as usual from cleaning. He worries you're a little compulsive about cleaning, but he supposes you'd had to have been, all by yourself. He resolves to treat them kindly at the next possible opening.

"Thank you."

You don't blink at his bag from Bradley's. You try not to look at it; Eddie won't accept a thank you and you're trying to let him give you things, as per the arrangement.

As in, you, with Junie in your lap and fresh cream on your cheek, had agreed to be his girlfriend three days ago in the booth of a diner that wasn't Benny's. He hadn't been as brave as he could've been. It felt unreal to him to be with you, to have kissed you more times than he could remember, and to have you smiling back.

"Listen, I know you said we're best friends, and we are, you're my best friend, but I– we're more. I want to be your boyfriend." He rolled the word around so you'd know how strange he though it was. "But if you've… changed your mind–"

You'd reached across the table, pads of your fingers stroking the back of his wrist. "Why would I change my mind?"

"You realise, if we're together, you have to let me take care of you all the time?" he'd asked, full of nervous energy and really, really pleased. Proud to have you.

"I think I can deal with it."

He'd rubbed the toe of his shoe against your ankle and finally told you about the cream on your face.

"Junie?" he says now, eyes searching for your lovely daughter.

"She's in the bedroom."

"What for?"

You squeeze your hand through the crook of his arm, press your cheek to the top of his shoulder, and laugh. "She's making Eddie's bed, apparently. I tried to explain that you won't be sleeping here all the time but I might have made it worse."

Did you make it worse, or had your toddler misunderstood? He hates how even in the small things you'll blame yourself. This feels like a completely blameless situation, and, if anything, it's his fault, he's the one who stayed the night, and then another night, and another. He'd gone home between those days, had even gone to work, and really didn't mean to spend the night each time. It's addictive to get to sleep with you so close by. Getting to kiss you with your arm slung over his chest, your tired eyes staring up at him lovingly — he's a good person but he's weak, too.

He knows it's a little improper to stay this close so soon. If he thought for a second you weren't okay with it he'd be out the door.

"Eddie?" you ask.

"What?"

"You're staring straight through me," you say, sounding both amused and concerned. "What are you thinking about?"

"You, mostly. You and June. You know, Wayne wants to meet you."

You shake the bouquet at him, brows furrowed accusingly. "Is this a bribe?"

"'Course not… Are they working?"

"I don't need flowers. I want to meet him too. It's weird we haven't met before. You keeping us apart?"

"I absolutely am. I was a gross kid, I don't need him to tell you all of that now I actually got you."

Eddie draws away from you reluctantly to put his bag on the table, as well as June's flower. He pulls out the dinner he's brought for tonight and his most important purchase, a vase big enough for your flowers. It's simple clear glass with dainty enamel flowers around the circumference.

"For you, my sweetheart, a vase for the flowers. You want me to cut the stems?"

You beam at him, a shining smile that makes his chest feel fizzy, a can of soda on a rollercoaster as the sound of thumping comes from the bedroom, small footsteps racing to the door.

"Think she heard you," you say. You smile, take the vase, and kiss his cheek in a silent thank you.

Sure enough, Junie appears down the hall and Eddie's barely taken three steps when she's laughing and pawing at his legs, having raced all the way.

"Eddie," she cheers, arms up in the universal sign for 'grab me before I start screaming'.

He's more than happy to get his hands under her arms and pull her to his chest, your mini me breathing hard as she settles. Her hand presses into his collarbone, her lips puckered up for a kiss. He doesn't usually kiss her, doesn't really know where the line is, but denying her feels cruel. He kisses her cheek and feels her lips press to his cheek at the same time.

"Thank you," he coos, "thank you for the kiss, baby, I'm happy to see you too."

"See you," she says, patting his neck.

"How do I look? Handsome?"

She tangles her fingers in his hair.

"So, Uncle Wayne, does he like me?"

Eddie leans against the countertop you're facing so he can see your face. "He's never met you."

"Duh, but does he like me?"

"Probably. He has a bunch of reasons to like you and none not to like you."

"Doesn't hate me for stealing his baby boy?"

Eddie wonders if he's going red. "No, god, he'd thank you for it. Man hasn't had a quiet night in a decade and a half." You laugh softly, fingers weaving through flowers to arrange their leaves and stalks, and he catches a flash of uncertainty as it twists your mouth. "Seriously, he'll like you. I know everybody says it 'bout everyone, but Wayne's a good man."

"I know he's a good man, just…" You frame the flowers with your hands and step back. You smile at him to unsuccessfully hide an insecurity he can spot a mile away. "I'm not the girl people would pick for their son, you know?"

He raises his eyebrows, feels bad and drops them. Eddie lives in a trailer park, and has done for most of his life, it's not like the people around here are prudent about love and partners: Eddie's obviously not the first guy to ever date somebody who already has a kid. He doesn't wanna brush it under the rug, though. Your worrying worries him.

"I think you're exactly who he'd pick." He smiles at you in warning. You asked for this, sweetheart, buckle in. "Gorgeous girl with a perfect body," —you snort— "'n' a heart of gold." He pats between Junie's shoulders where she's oh so quiet in his arms, an affectionate slump over his heart. "And her pretty baby, too. I'd choose you for my kid. You know, if I was old. And I had one."

You wrap Junie up with one hand, the other placed sweetly over his shoulder. Your thumb strokes into his skin. "Thanks, Shakespeare," you say, letting your head dip down until your lips are flat to his shirt.

He drops his head into yours.

"Do you think he should come over for dinner?" you ask quietly.

"What, today?"

"It's gonna make me nervous thinking about it otherwise. What did you bring? Or maybe I can get pizza?"

He encourages your head back, palm to the side of your head. He strokes down until his hand covers your ear and curls around the curve of your neck. Insanely, he thinks it is a privilege to get to see you upset and to get to try and fix it.

"I can ask him, and he's not fussy. You're sure you want to do this today? I could host, you know, or we could go out."

You shake your head, looking grim. Dread clear in your eyes, you say, "I'll obsess over it. Can you call him before I lose my nerve, please? Do you think that would be alright?"

You ask like he genuinely might say no. He hasn't had the power to say no to you for months.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I can call 'im."

You offer to take Junie and it's funny because she doesn't need to be held right now and yet neither of you want to put her down. She's relaxed and Eddie doesn't see why she should have to be anywhere else but in his arms, hiking her up his chest in one arm to use the phone. He slots the receiver between his shoulder and his head and types in Wayne's number without having to look. He's typed it hundreds of times, at friend's houses, at the school nurse when his Mom's didn't work anymore, at the Hideout. Just to say, I'll be home late, but don't worry.

He extends the invitation with a teasing tone. "You wanna come around for dinner? Old lady's asking."

"You can't call her your old lady, son, not yet. That's a privilege you gotta earn."

Eddie laughs down the line. "What's wrong with old lady? I'm keeping it respectful, classy, aren't I? She's making burgers."

"You better be helping her."

"How can I help her? I'm on the phone to you."

"What time am I expected?"

"Let me ask." He pulls June back up where she's slipping, mouth lifted from the phone to grab your attention. "What time are you thinking, sweetheart?"

"It can be done whenever he wants it," you say, elbow deep in ground beef.

"Give us an hour, okay? Don't fill up on shit."

"Yeah, boy, I won't. Better leave me alone to wash up, or I can come in my overalls–"

"Alright, Wayne." He hopes it sounds like 'love you'. "See you in an hour. Don't forget."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm that old," Wayne says, followed by the sound of the phone on the hook.

Eddie passes it to Junie where she'd been dying to have a turn. He can't let her play too long, guilty already watching you chopping and dicing and washing. He sets her up on your couch with her army of teddies and a peach juice box from Bradley's. He'd picked them up thinking they were weird, and that he'd wanted Junie to try them if she hadn't before. She seems pleased with it, back and legs straight across the pillow, head bent in a way that would give a grown up a sore neck for the foreseeable future, socked feet wiggling along to the music playing on her show.

He returns to find you washing your hands. Eddie wants to kiss your neck but doesn't have a clue in the world if he's allowed to do that now or ever, so he folds his arms over yours like a hug.

"Can I get some of that?"

You squirt dish soap into his palm. He's expecting grumbling and complaining at his weird position, but you say nothing, only laugh. You wash his hands for him, thumb rubbing down the small hills of his fingers until he has to wash off the suds, squishing you to the countertop edge with a feigned apology.

You squeal with laughter. "Get off," you plead.

"I'm so tired, suddenly, I don't know what it is."

"Eddie," you moan, well and truly sandwiched under his weight.

He pecks your neck and stands properly in search of a hand towel to dry off your dripping hands. He towels his, passes it to you, and uses his dry hands to cradle your face. He thinks you look beautiful but admittedly very tired, and lowers his voice to an adoring murmur.

"You can go sit down, if you want to."

"Oh, no, there's too much to do," you say, and though you're denying him, your face lists heavily into one of his hands. You close your eyes for a moment before looking up at him through your lashes. "I can do it."

"I know you can do it, I just don't want you to have to."

He pulls you closer, his elbows pushed into your shoulders.

"I'm really good at making burgers. S'like, my signature dish. That's why I got stuff for burgers, 'cause I wanted to cook tonight."

You still don't budge.

"Go on," he murmurs, "go get your cuddles."

Junie, upon realising Eddie would be sleeping in your bed, has taken to climbing on top of him and insisting she get to stay in the big bed. She's hogging him, and it's clear you're not unaffected. Not jealous, not bitter, but missing your baby.

You're in mild withdrawals, and it makes sense. After all, she gets her extreme need for affection from you.

"You're sure?" you ask, frowning softly.

"Yes," he says, laughing and pushing you away gently, "trust me, sweetheart, I can make dinner. You gotta take my flower for June, though." He picks it up off of the counter and twirls it under your chin. "I forgot all about it, you distracted me."

You take the flower but hesitate in front of him.

"Kiss?" you ask, eyebrows popped up.

He bends backward, hand coming up to cover his mouth. "You have it bad, huh?"

"Forget I asked," you faux-threaten, spinning on your heel to leave.

Eddie follows, spins you right back around with a hushed, "Where do you think you're going?" and kisses you, hand sliding up your cheek.

One kiss turns to two, your lips parting slightly under the pressure. He grins and goes in for a third.

—

You don't sit down for long. You steal a Junebug cuddle, in which she insists on sharing her juice box with you and kisses you upwards of twenty times. You giggle giddily, the petals of the flower you've tucked behind her ear almost blinding you with each one. They're drooly and gross and lovely to begin with, less wet when you leave to find something for her to wear.

The dress she wears now is dirty from daycare, and the applesauce, crackers, and peanut butter you'd given her earlier stain the neck. You pick out a simple matching set of not-quite pyjamas. You want Wayne to know you dress her well, but you'd feel bad if she had to suffer any longer in clothes with buttons and zips.

Once she's changed, she's somehow even happier than she was. Now she's settled into daycare and your routine, she's over the moon all the time. She's finally settled in, and you have Eddie to thank for a good chunk of it. He's a great part of her routine, another person who wants to love and dote on her. While you know you'd been doing a great job by yourself, any extra love at all is welcome. You could love him for how he loves her and nothing else, only there's a thousand other things about him to love.

Like his singing. You can hear him humming, then riffing, spatula scratching the frying pan as he rocks out to a song you can't hear. You're playing with Junie's toes, as strange as it sounds, wiggling and tickling the sole of her feet.

"Mommy?" she says breezily.

"What?" you ask, leaning to her eye level, fluffy bed socks in hand.

"Special treats for dinner?"

You can't believe the improvements in her speech, though it's natural, and it would've happened eventually. And it blows your mind because you'd known she was in there, she's a great listener and she's so patient for a toddler, but knowing she's having these thoughts and then having her voicing them now is something else completely. It's amazing.

You tuck the sock under her pant leg and beam at her. "Yeah, baby, we're having special treats after dinner. Eddie's making burgers with the cheese," you hum, offering your open hand for her to hold. "And… his Uncle Wayne is coming by for dinner. So we're gonna meet him and say hi to him and be super nice, okay?"

"Okay. What's for treats?"

"I don't know, you'll have to ask Eddie. Should we go ask him?"

She nods enthusiastically and slides off of the sofa, gand in yours. She walks with a wobbly confidence into the kitchen, where the smell of searing hamburgers and black pepper is cloying.

Eddie turns with the spatula, slouched with one elbow on the counter. He perks up when he sees Junie in her fresh clothes.

"Hey, bub, look at you!"

"She has something to ask you."

Eddie crouches down. "Anything. What do you want to ask me, Junie?"

"What's for," —her voice is small, high-pitched and clumsy but sweet— "... have for…"

"Dessert," you whisper. "For treats."

"What's for treats?" she asks, smiling.

You sigh with pride and Eddie mirrors your expression. "Well," he says, reaching out to readjust the flower peaking in front of her hair, "I brought two things, cherry ice pops and cheesecake."

"Oh," Junie says, "my gosh."

You leave them in their love bubble and change into your nice (bleach stained, agonisingly bleach stained) jeans, rather than meet Wayne in your waitressing skirt and blouse. Eddie wolf whistles as soon as you emerge, Junie now happily perched on his hip as he moves the burgers onto a plate to wait in the oven. Junie turns and drops the slice of cheese she was holding, startled at the noise.

"Is this awful?" you ask, pointing to the thin line of bleach across your thigh.

"'This' is killer," Eddie says.

"No, but can you see the bleach?"

"Not really. If you need new jeans, we can go get some."

The I can't afford it begs to be said, though you know exactly what he'll say in response.

"Not right now," he amends. "They look fine, okay? He won't notice. I had my first tattoo for three weeks before he saw it."

You lean over the sink to open the window and let some clean air in. Eddie goes back to the plate, and Junie drops another slice of cheese.

The knock at the door startles you. You're unprepared, terrified, and you haven't wiped down the dinner table yet. Eddie sees your panic and shakes his head at you.

"It's fine. You want me to answer?"

"We should both answer," you say, with a confidence you are not feeling.

You hold your hands out for Junie. She's a safety blanket.

Please like me, you think, letting Eddie pull you to the door.

—

You have nice shoulders. Eddie feels like he's had this thought before. Often, he looks at you, and he finds something new to catch onto and to obsess about. This hasn't changed in the few days you've been together. It's gotten worse.

He can see the top of Junie's head against your shoulder but not her sleeping face. You sway her from side to side and he can see you arms shaking with the effort it takes to have been holding her for this long, your quiet humming now a whisper of sounds. The gentle thudding of your hand against the bottom of her spine stops, and you turn to look at him, a question in your eyes.

He nods. Looking good.

You ease her down into her toddler bed and spend some time pulling the blankets over her legs, tucking her small army of teddies in beside her.

Finger to your lips, you and Eddie creep out of the bedroom and back into the kitchen. There's nothing to clean. His Uncle Wayne is a stickler who couldn't not help clean up.

Wayne had definitely liked you. You're still glowing with it. It had been a great time, not nearly as awkward as you'd feared, and Eddie's feeling pretty content right now. You waste no time collapsing on the couch. A sippy cup under your hip, cushions in disarray at your head. Eddie grabs the half of the cheesecake that's left and two spoons and sits right next to you, thigh to thigh, no need for friendly space anymore. He forces the spoon into your hand, slides the cheesecake onto your thigh, and moves the sippy cup out of the way.

"My arms are too tired," you mumble, dropping back into the cushions. Junie had piled them all up behind Wayne's head. She was extra, extra nice.

"Want me to feed you? I can baby bird you."

"Ew. That image never gets any less disgusting, Eddie."

It's been Eddie all day. What's a guy gotta do to get a 'handsome'? A 'baby'?

He laughs around a spoonful of cheesecake and twists his foot behind your calf, linking your legs. You've managed to finally get cable, and an episode of Jeopardy plays on mute across the room. There are toys everywhere, the kind of mess that you'll spend three hours putting right, sorting and spritzing and wiping with Junie behind you pulling things back out.

Eddie's already got the clothes here to stay, and Wayne had said, "See you tomorrow," when he left, but Eddie asks anyway.

"Can I stay over?"

You sit up to drop your face heavily into his shoulder.

"Please, handsome. Don't want you to go home."

There's the pet name he'd been searching for. A warmth climbs all over, a twinge in his stomach. He heaps cheesecake onto your spoon and presses the handle into your fingers. You eat it slowly, tip of your tongue making an unexpected appearance when a crumb sticks to your lip.

You make a sound that should probably be illegal and drop the spoon into the cheesecake casing, freeing your arm to wrap it around his chest. You nuzzle your nose into his skin, sniffing.

He laughs from happiness and nothing else, making good work of the cheesecake while you doze. He's not an animal, leaving some for you and June if you want more tomorrow, but he isn't temperate, either. He's thinking this might be the perfect life, you and your baby, Uncle Wayne laughing at your kitchen table, Junie in the high chair beside him trying to make a babbling conversation. She'd managed a couple of proper words and an impressive sentence, much better at answering than asking but trying either way.

"You're a ringer for your mom, kid, you look like twins," he'd said softly.

"Ring-ring," she'd said happily, excited to have understood. She'd offered her hand to him, pinky and thumb stuck out.

Wayne, grinning, had answered the phone.

"June loved Wayne," Eddie says conversationally.

"Junie loves everybody," you say through a yawn, hand soothing up and down his side greedily. "Not like she loves me and you, but she does. She keeps hugging all the other babies at daycare and they don't know how to stop her."

"What? You've never told me that."

"I didn't know 'till this morning." Your fingers find and breach the hem of his shirt, pads tracing to the small of his back.

"God, you're cuddly tonight. Here, let me–" He moves the cheesecake. "Come here."

You groan, "No, this is fine."

"Sit on my lap, loser."

"I'm heavy."

True or not, Eddie wants you in his lap, and he's selfish, pulling at you like a kid not getting his way. You end up flopping over his lap to stop him, curled into an uncomfortable but darling position. He gets his hand behind your ear and turns your face, wanting to see your eyes and your nose and your lips.

Your eyes are bright in the lighting.

"Wayne liked you," he says, stroking down the shell of your ear with his thumb.

"I can see why you're so kind," you say.

You smile at each other.

"I don't know what I did."

Eddie leans down, tilts his head to line up with yours, his eyes flicking between the lightness softening your gaze or the curve of your top lip, calling him in like a siren. "What did you do?" he murmurs.

"To get so lucky," you say. "I don't know. I must have been a saint, in a past life."

"A past life," he repeats.

Your eyes find his and narrow. He knows where you're looking, that little dot of dark hiding beneath his eyelashes. You move over his lap carefully, hands behind his neck to anchor yourself. Your thighs against his thighs, ankles locking him in, your hands always so gentle where they play in his hair.

He thinks there's a kind of melancholy to moments like this. He panics, in his way, in his head, because there are no guarantees. This perfect night with a perfect girl could be it. There are many bad things that could happen, unspeakable, and he gets this trip in his chest like a fuse shorting out.

He should slow down and tell you what he feels. How you're his and he's the lucky one, goddamn, he's never had luck like this in his life.

He smooths his thumb across your lips and stops at the corner, momentarily ashamed of his big, clumsy hand, and permanently in awe of your softness, your goodness, how it lines every feature on your brilliant face.

You lean in for a kiss.

Your lips are parted, and he thinks you might've read his mind, the hunger and the fear he'd felt, the heart-pounding reverence, that split second of wanting to say something he shouldn't yet. It feels like you read his mind; your lips kiss and kiss and your hands tremble minutely behind his head. The heat of your tongue shocks him like the first drag, has his hand bawling in the fabric of your shirt, a low sigh smothered by your attention.

Your nose touches his. In the days since his confession you've endured a frankly overzealous amount of his kissing. He's had you in bed, in the kitchen, just outside the front door. Some heavy handed, some sweeter than sugar, none ever for anything but kisses. Your ardency surprises and excites him — his pulse is a freight train, pounding in his veins as you yield. Your head tips back slow, your gasping breaths a golden sound he endeavours to keep forever.

When you lay back, it's quietly, hand at his front and encouraging you to lay with him. He props himself up on his side, one hand feeling for your upper arm, wishing you'd worn something with shorter sleeves so he could feel your skin. The other covers the column of your throat. He can feel your too-fast breathing in his palm, your shallow gasps.

Your eyes close again as he ducks in. He rubs a line with the tip of his nose next to yours, the heat emanating off of your skin thickening the air. Or, that's what it feels like.

"Kiss me," you say under your breath. This close, you might as well have shouted it.

He kisses you until not one of you can breathe properly, and a little after that, too. His thumb ghosts under the curve of your breast and he can feel the tightness of the question between you, a string pulled taut by your hand and his.

"Sweetheart," he says, trying to pour all of his affection and something deeper into the word, "do you want to…"

"What?" you ask.

He lifts his head off of yours and waits. You open your eyes in confusion, though that confusion quickly turns when you hear what he's hearing.

Movement. Little feet.

He pulls his weight off of you and helps you up, brushing down your hair, your hot cheeks. You move away from his hand without malice, and when he turns he's not at all surprised to see baby Junie in her pyjamas, the ear of a teddy clasped in a small fist.

You press your arm to his.

"Sorry," you whisper.

He turns to you, blinks three times quick. "Baby, it doesn't matter." It's unfortunate, but not as unfortunate as your mortified expression. He holds his hand out to Junie where she's meandering toward you, exhausted steps unsafe but determined.

She reaches his knees, and Eddie helps her up to sit between you both, his arm behind her head.

You stroke her hair. The look you give him is pensive and loving at once. You lift your chin, and he presses a saccharine, chaste kiss against your kiss bitten lips.

Junie falls asleep again near immediately. Eddie finds your hand in the mess of limbs and gives it a good squeeze.

"Bed?" he asks.

You slouch down. "In a minute?"

He slouches down with you, letting his temple drop against yours over Junie's sleeping figure.

"Whatever you want."

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you for reading! im so happy they’re together this is my fave part of every fic, aimless adoration <3 im not sure what to write for part sis so I’d love to hear what you want to see there, thanks so much

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fanfiction #fem!reader #mom!reader #eddie munson x mom!reader

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 4 months

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Studious VI (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+ FINALE

Five months after your reconciliation, you and Aemond have grown ever closer. When he returns from his first time away from you, you have a surprise ready for him.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: kissing, oral sex (M and F receiving), p in v sex, fluff

Author's Note: And with this, the series is complete! I want to thank you all so much for all the support y'all have given my silly little story. I truly cherish every reply, comment, or like it receives.

And fear not! This isn't the end of the journey for our lovely, stupid couple. On the 21st, I will be releasing another short fic as part of my 12 Days of Smuff event. If there will be anything more beyond that, it remains to be seen!

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here - Read Part V Here

My Masterlist

Taglist is in reblogs

Studious VI

It was the middle of the afternoon, and though the sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky, there was still a chill in the air. You had uncovered all the windows in the room, so it was quite cold within the stone walls. Therefore, you were curled up on a large, plush chair – Aemond’s reading chair – contentedly snuggled within your oversized robe.

And only the robe.

Vhagar’s mighty wingbeats had thundered above the keep not long ago. Thanks to the open windows, you’d heard it clearly – the chill was well worth it. A rush of excitement flowed through you, and you immediately traded your warm dress and stockings for the robe and took up your perch.

Aemond had been gone for four long, lonely, torturous days, and you were determined to be there the moment he walked through the door to his chambers.

It was the first time he’d left King’s Landing since your wedding five months ago and the first time the two of you had been apart for more than a few hours since your ‘reconciliation,’ as you had come to call it. Both of you argued passionately against it.

Neither of you could bear to be parted only two weeks after Grand Maester Orwyle confirmed that your nightly activities had resulted in the child now growing within you. Aemond wanted nothing more than to be by your side every moment until the babe was born. You weren’t opposed to it, though you did wonder about the practicality of such an arrangement.

But the Queen and the Hand insisted on Aemond going, rather than one of his siblings. The unfortunate result of his being the dutiful and trustworthy son, you supposed.

So, you had gone with him to the edge of the woods and watched as he mounted Vhagar and flew away. Of course, he had kissed you deeply before he left. Long enough for both Vhagar and the Dragonkeepers to begin subtly voicing their impatience. Had they not been there, you likely would have shared a more thorough goodbye.

Still, the four days felt like four years, four decades, four centuries. You would have gone mad if you hadn’t found something to do to fill the Aemond-shaped hole in your life. So you filled your time with planning how you would welcome him home.

You were sure he would be very pleasantly surprised.

Time passed quickly while you were held in suspense. The sound of soft, steady footsteps soon began echoing from the hall, and you just barely contained a squeal of delight. You readied yourself to leap, standing atop the chair to give you a better chance of actually landing on your target.

Then the door opened, and you pounced.

Thankfully, Aemond caught you easily. His strong, lithe arms wrapped around your hips and rear as if on instinct, and you were once more safe and secure.

You didn’t get to see his reaction to your leaping upon him, which you only regretted slightly as you pressed your lips hard against his

Aemond made a choked sound of surprise that soon faded into a low, passionate moan as he teased your lips open with his tongue to deepen the kiss. It still wasn’t your favourite sensation – a taste you had to acquire – but after days without it, it was almost enjoyable. Almost.

“I missed you so much, Aemond,” you whispered between kisses, strained and desperate as your fingers clawed at him, seeking to touch every inch of him. Every inch you had missed.

Aemond’s brow furrowed, but he did not stop kissing you. “I was only away four days, my love. Could you miss me so much in so short a time?”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eye as you touched the tip of your nose to his, widening your eyes and making a show of pouting. “Did you not miss me as well?”

He gave you the slightest glimpse of his startled fish face before kissing you again. “No… I longed for you every minute we were parted. It took all my strength to resist the temptation of forgoing my duty and returning to you. I missed you so much I ached.”

“Show me,” you commanded, smiling against his lips as you watched the realisation that you had never doubted his missing you dawn on his face with an affectionate, put-upon smile.

You squealed as he pulled you closer to his chest – you had not thought such a thing possible – and brought the hand that had circled your waist to cup your neck as he began kissing you again. Fiercely. Passionately. Lovingly.

The rooms were a blur as he began to blindly carry you into the bedroom, depositing you squarely in the middle of the bed. You were granted only a moment to catch your breath before he was on you again, his welcome weight pressing down on you as his heat continued to soak into your bones.

“If you were wearing anything else,” Aemond growled as his hands started furiously fumbling with the tie of your robe, “I would tear it to pieces.”

You bit down on his bottom lip, ever so slightly harder than you normally did to scold him. It did not work. It only prompted him to kiss you deeper.

“Were you ever to tear even a single thread of this robe,” you panted. “I would return to my father’s keep and never speak to you again.”

“Then I will be very careful, and…” Aemond trailed off when he opened your robe and realised you were bare beneath it.

His eye raked over you slowly, studying you as if you were a master artwork. His chest heaving, he slowly traced his hand from the base of your throat down to your navel, and when you shivered at the sensation, he shivered too.

He splayed his hand over your still-flat stomach, his eye sparkling as if he could see the babe within. “How is it possible that you become more beautiful every day?”

You laughed, reaching up to cradle his cheek in your hand. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Aemond. And I dare say that your eye is quite biased towards me.”

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head ever so slightly. “Your beauty is utterly indisputable. Any who behold you and do not see it must be truly blind.”

You could not suppress the smile that came over you, wide and unyielding. “I will remind you of those words when I have grown as large as a bear and have the temper of a taunted goose.”

Aemond chuckled lowly, moving his mouth along your jaw and onto your neck. “Then I will say them again, for nothing could alter how I feel about you, my love.”

Any smart reply you had was quickly forgotten as his mouth followed the path his hand had just taken. Your only complaint was that his mouth was far slower. He would press a kiss or two against your skin, then momentarily lose his grip on whatever restraint he had. Then, he latched on, laving his tongue upon you as if he wished to devour you. Sometimes, he even lightly nipped you with his teeth, but he never failed to soothe the pain with more gentle kisses.

You could have happily let him continue for hours. But you had made plans, and you were going to follow through. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him close enough for you to whisper against his cheek. “Jiōrna mazumbilloti, ābrazȳrys.”

Your use of the Valyrian mother tongue surprised him, breaking him immediately from his lustful haze. He sat up and leaned over to kiss your cheek swiftly enough that you could only catch a glimpse of a mischievous smile.

“So close, but…” he apologetically kissed your nose. “You are ābrazȳrys. I am valzȳrys.” He pressed his finger on your skin just above your heart. “Ābrazȳrys – wife.” He moved the finger to his chest. “Valzȳrys – husband.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up and fuck me, valzȳrys.”

He obliged, his mouth continuing its path down your front after a brief return to your breasts. The closer he came to your center, the louder your moans and pleas became.

He pulled away slightly when he finally reached your dripping cunt, chuckling slightly. “Oh, how I’ve missed this beautiful thing,” he mused.

You spread your legs as much as you could in a show of impatience. “Well, then you should do something about that, shouldn’t you?”

“I suppose.”

A desperate gasp escaped you as you felt him gently blow a cold breath onto your heated core. Your back arched as he did it again, tracing a line of cool air up and down your folds.

“Aemond,” you breathlessly begged, “I’ve already waited so long. Please, don’t tease me like this!”

You watched as he looked back up at you with a wicked grin. “I’ve waited just as long, my dear. I want to savour this. Make up for lost time.”

“Fine,” you grumbled, though you could not deny his plan sounded quite pleasant. “Savour me, then.”

He did.

Aemond’s mouth was thorough. In the five months since he’d first pleasure you like this, he’d become as skilled and precise with his tongue as he was with his sword.

His tongue found your pearl almost instantly and began teasing it ever so slowly, as if it were a game for him. He alternated between pressing on it, drawing circles and various shapes upon it, and sucking on it like a candied lemon.

He did not stop until he’d pulled two releases from you. Only then did he finally acknowledge your entrance beyond merely pressing against it with his chin while he focused elsewhere.

Had he not been so eager to lap up every bit of wetness from you, you were sure the bed linens would have been ruined for how much slick spilt from you. But he was voracious in devouring you – moaning and gasping nearly as much as you were. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he came simply from being buried in your thighs. He’d done it before, after all.

Your hands found their way into his hair as his tongue delved inside of you, his wonderful, glorious nose still giving your pearl the attention it craved. Holding onto him was the only way you could withstand the intensity of what he was doing to you, to keep it from overwhelming you.

It also helped that when you tugged on his hair or slightly dug your nails into his scalp, he groaned in pleasure, sending delicious vibrations through you as his hips bucked into the bed. And when your release barreled through you, and you pulled on his hair like it was the reins of a dragon, he nearly screamed against your cunt.

Aemond gazed up at you, his face glistening and flushed. “My sweet ābrazȳrys,” he hummed before ducking his head back between your thighs again.

“Ah, ah ah!” You scolded, using the hands you had in his hair to drag him back to your face, causing another satisfied moan to escape him. “By my count, I’m at three, while you’ve yet to have even one. Unless…?”

A glance at the front of his trousers confirmed that he had not come simply from pleasuring you, and you sighed dramatically. “Still at none, then.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Aemond placed shortcut soft kisses all over your face before retracing his path downwards. “Let me give you more.”

You yanked him up again, kissing him fiercely. “No. My turn.”

He rose onto his knees as you pushed on his chest, his eye never once leaving yours. You smirked as you sat up with him, your legs still between his.

“I’ll rid us of these,” you said as you began unlacing his trousers – fortunately, he’d removed the belts for his sword and dagger before he’d even come to his rooms. You nodded to his doublet. “If you get rid of that.”

You had still yet to master the ridiculous clasps and buckles on the damnable thing. And Aemond resisted all your efforts to have a new, less complicated garment made for him.

At least he did not tease you about it this time and began to remove it swiftly.

Still, you accomplished your task before he did his, and he fumbled slightly as he threw the rest of his clothes on the floor as you grasped his red, weeping length in your hand and began returning his affections.

“Oh gods,” he groaned, forgetting his doublet entirely. “Oh, dōnus riñus… sȳros. Sȳros!”

His hands flew to your head. He didn’t pull at your hair or dig his fingers in. Aemond never did; he was always gentle. He simply cupped the back of your head with one hand while the other held your cheek, stroking you with his thumb in time with your ministrations.

He had been right when he said that learning to please a man was substantially easier than learning to please a woman. There were some things you had to remind yourself of the first few times you’d done this – don’t squeeze too hard, don’t take him too deep, and never use your teeth.

But you’d had plenty of practice and knew precisely what Aemond liked.

You knew how much he liked it when you used the tip of your tongue to trace his slit before swirling it around the head of his cock.

You knew the way he liked you to play with his stones – caressing them lightly with just your fingertips, and every so often giving them the gentlest of tugs.

You knew exactly how to pace yourself in a way that drove him wild without speeding him towards an early end.

He begged. Several times, he begged you to go faster, to let him finish. But after he’d told you what he meant by “practice” in his diary, you knew he could take it. Knew he enjoyed it.

“Please,” he said breathlessly. You looked up to find tears streaming down from the corners of his eyes.

For a moment, you slowed, worrying that you’d pushed him too far, until he pulled you back down onto him so far your nose nuzzled into the silvery hair at his base.

Your hands went to his hips, bracing yourself while he pulled you forward and back. Always gently, but with more speed than you’d allowed him thus far.

It was the first time he’d ever taken charge in this particular scenario. He was always dominant in all other intimate moments, but never with this. Whenever you held him in your mouth, you commanded the prince.

The thrill of it sparked a burning heat of desire in your core, and you moaned around him.

It was enough.

Aemond pulled you as close as he could until your brow rested against his stomach, and he reached his peak. His entire body shook as he spilled himself down your throat. And he did not release you until he heard you struggling to keep him so deep.

“Oh, my darling, did I hurt you?” he asked as he again laid himself atop you.

You laughed, kissing him deeply. “No, Aemond. Well, maybe a little bit, but it’s a good hurt.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“Don’t be, please. It was less of a hurt than you being gone.”

Aemond rolled onto his side to kiss you once more, languidly, now that the initial rush of lust had faded. You could almost feel his adoration as if it were a tangible thing. You held it tightly, and would never let it go. When he finally pulled away, his lips only left yours for a moment before he was again trailing his mouth along your neck to your chest.

“Well?” You asked. “Do you like your surprise?”

“It was wonderful, my love. Would it be indelicate of me to ask for more?”

You narrowed your eyes, tugging on his hair just enough to draw his attention away from your breasts and back to you. The moment he saw the confusion on his face, it was reflected in his own.

“This was not the surprise, Aemond.”

“Then what is?”

You smiled, looking dramatically over the bedchamber. Aemond only stared at you, waiting for you to speak, until you were forced to seize his chin and turn his head.

Then, he finally saw.

As his eye roved across the walls and shelves, he rose until he was kneeling in the center of the bed. You laid back against your pillow, watching him admire what you had spent the last four days doing.

The bare walls were no more. Now, they were filled with paintings, tapestries, and even a few little sculptures. By the bookshelves – which you had filled with as many trinkets as possible – you’d hung paintings depicting some of your favourite stories from fiction and history. A wrought-iron dragon flew across the space above the doorway. On another wall, a tapestry depicting your home keep surrounded by a field of dog roses hung proudly. And above the head of the bed, a new tapestry you had made in secret these past few months.

“Vhagar,” Aemond whispered when he saw it.

You let out a sigh of relief – you had not been sure whether he would recognise her. After all, the only time you saw the dragon was when Aemond took you to visit her. Making sketches on those few occasions would have swiftly given away your secret. Fortunately, Helaena was more than happy to help you in its creation.

Aemond moved closer to admire the tapestry, one leg falling off the bed. He started, looking down to find his foot had landed atop a plush blue rug. When he looked up to gape at you, his eye caught on the bursting of colour atop the armoire.

His plain stoneware and metal vases had been joined by others more intricate and brightly coloured. All of them were now filled with a vibrant bouquet. The one you’d painted yourself when you were young and thought yourself the next great painter was filled with bright pink dog roses, much to his delight.

“You decorated,” he said in awe as he faced you again. While he’d been surveying the room, you’d sat up, holding onto his arm and resting your head on his shoulder.

“No…” you teased, savouring that quick moment of his confusion before continuing, “I moved in.”

His face crumpled with an affection so strong you hardly knew how he contained it all.

Except you did know.

You did it, too.

“My dearest,” he sighed, “I – ”

“I love you, Aemond.”

The colour drained from his face, and you swore his breathing halted.

A roiling storm of emotions passed over his face. Unbridled joy, sweetest relief, depthless love, and a single moment of fear beneath it all. He’d told you only to say those words when you truly meant it with all your heart. His worry that you didn’t was clear.

You held his face in your hands and pulled him forward until his brow rested against yours. “I love you, Prince Aemond Targaryen. Not only with my whole heart, but with all that I am.”

A tear fell from his eye, and a soft whimper escaped his lips. “Oh my love,” he murmured like a prayer, “my love…”

Then he was upon you again. His mouth against yours, his comforting heat warming you. He wrapped his arms around you – one on your waist, one at your shoulder – and pulled you against him so tightly there was nowhere you were not touching.

“I love you, Aemond,” you repeated every time your lips parted from his. Each time, he nearly sobbed at the words.

You kissed for a long while, until you at last felt him hardening against you. For only a moment, he pulled away, his eyes still damp as he looked down at you.

“May I?”

Your only response was a smile and another kiss.

Aemond entered you in one long, gentle thrust.

That moment of stillness and adjustment was no longer strictly necessary, but you both still enjoyed it.

Just a moment to look at each other. To see the joy and now, the love within them. A moment to revel in the connection you shared and bask in the feeling of being whole with each other. Aemond kissed you again before he started thrusting into you. Both were gentle and slow, allowing you to cherish each other. You were not fucking to find release, but to simply be together.

There were times when Aemond was completely still as he ravished you with his mouth or hands rather than his cock. There were times when he rutted into you like a beast, only stopping so he could prolong the connection. And there were times when both of you were still, just embracing each other, breathing together, and knowing that you were loved.

Eventually, you could hold off your instincts no longer. You squirmed against Aemond to seek more pleasure – more of him. And he happily obliged. He braced one hand on your hip as he began to move. Faster and faster. With smooth, practised thrusts.

He was so familiar with your body that it did not take long for him to have you gasping as you approached your peak. He was already brushing against that wonderful spot inside you with every movement of his hips, and when he brought a finger to gently tease your pearl, you could not hold back.

Nor could Aemond. He buried himself in you entirely, his face falling into the crook of your shoulder as he moaned your name, along with several High Valyrian words you did not know.

You lifted his head to bring his lips to yours and kissed him until his breath steadied again.

“No,” you whined as he moved to sit up and pull his softened cock out of you. “Stay. Please.”

Aemond smiled as he understood your meaning, again pressing his hips against yours to keep himself inside you as he rolled you onto your sides. “If I could stay forever, I would.”

“I know.” You nuzzled into his neck. “In fact, I’d quite like it if you did.”

“Then so I shall.”

A long, peaceful silence passed between you. Your flushes faded, your breathing calmed, and the evening air began to blow through the windows and cool your hot skin.

The day was not yet over. There was still dinner to attend, and Aemond likely needed to meet with the Small Council to discuss his trip. Yet neither of you moved. You simply laid there, basking in the bliss of holding the person you love.

You loved him. You loved Aemond so much.

He’d said it so often to you in the past five months. You had a lot of catching up to do.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you,” he replied.

“I love you.”

“I love you…”

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 4 months

Note

Harry and yn and there two kids on holiday and fans come up to them and harry asks them to respect there privacy and all that?

Caribbean Privacy.

my masterlist || ask my anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here !!

authors note - first blurb of 2024 people and it’s based on the brand new photos we got, so enjoy my loves.

word count - 1.7k

in which, you and harry decided to go for a little family holiday to start the new year off on the right foot, and went to a caribbean island, where your just trying to enjoy yourselves, and spend some quality time with your two children, when a couple of fans spot your husband.

As the first light of the new year streamed through the curtains, you woke up to the sweet realization that your partner had planned a surprise holiday to the Caribbean.

The joy in your heart was mirrored in the excited expressions of Kai, your energetic five-year-old, and little Lexi, who had just turned six months old. The promise of sun-soaked beaches and turquoise waters made the early morning hustle of packing bags and herding the family to the airport an adventure in itself.

Arriving at your tropical destination, the sound of gentle waves and the warmth of the sun embraced you. The resort's palm-fringed surroundings set the stage for a family retreat filled with laughter and cherished moments.

The holiday would be lasting a total of two weeks and so far the four of you had been there for four out of a possible fourteen.

The first day was spent chilling and getting the kids into a routine, the second day was filled with sunbathing and the third day you took the kids to do some activities so that they wouldn’t get too bored.

It was the afternoon of the fourth day at the resort, for a majority of the morning you had all gone for a walk, trying to get your bearings of where you were going to be staying.

It was nearing one pm now, and the four of you were making your way to the hotel outdoor restaurant, where other families, friends and couples were currently sat, all decked out in summer clothes just like you and your family were.

The rhythmic roll of the stroller, carrying the enchanting Lexi, created a soothing background to the lively atmosphere. Harry, with Kai perched on his shoulders, exuded paternal pride as his son's tiny fingers playfully explored the newly sprouting hair after a recent buzz cut.

The infectious giggles from Kai echoed through the space, forming a symphony of joy that seemed to harmonize with the clinking of cutlery and murmurs of other guests.

Just moments later, a courteous waiter approached, exuding the charm of the Caribbean hospitality.

"Good afternoon! Can I start you off with some drinks?" he inquired with a warm smile.

Harry, with a chuckle, ordered a beer for himself, emphasising that it was a well-deserved vacation treat.

Kai, his eyes sparkling, announced proudly, "Chocolate milkshake, please!"

You joined in, opting for a refreshing mojito to complement the tropical ambiance. The waiter, noting down the orders, promised to return shortly with the concoctions that would add an extra layer of delight to your family gathering.

The backdrop of the restaurant's tropical charm provided the perfect setting for a moment of connection.

"This surprise vacation was a brilliant idea," you remarked, a smile playing on your lips.

Harry, his eyes filled with satisfaction, responded, "M’figured we all needed a break, and what better way t’start the year?"

Kai, still perched atop his father's shoulders, chimed in, "I like the beach, Mommy! Can we build a sandcastle tomorrow?"

His enthusiasm was infectious, prompting laughter from both you and Harry.

"Absolutely, buddy! We'll build the biggest sandcastle the beach ‘as ever seen," Harry promised, ruffling Kai's hair.

November 2019, you gave birth to Kai Robin Styles, at a home birth in yours and Harry’s London home.

As the conversation continued, you found yourselves reflecting on the year that had passed and the excitement of what lay ahead.

“ ‘Member when Lex was just a tiny bump?" Harry mused, glancing affectionately at your baby girl. "Now look at her, enjoying her first vacation. Time really does fly,"

You had gone into Labour with Lexi Anne Styles after Harry’s Show in Warsaw, the birth wasn’t very traumatic but the fact that you have birth in the backstage area of a stadium add a million different stress levels.

The waiter returned with a tray of drinks, delivering a frothy beer for Harry, a velvety chocolate milkshake for Kai, and a refreshing mojito for yourself.

The clinking of glasses marked the beginning of a shared toast.

"To family adventures and new beginnings," Harry proposed, raising his beer.

It wasn’t long before you had placed your food orders, and then it was back to chit chatting.

Lexi began to express her hunger with soft whimpers from the comfort of her stroller. Harry, always attuned to his children's needs, suggested, "Looks like someone's ready f’a meal. How about I feed her?"

Agreeing with a smile, you watched affectionately as Harry gently lifted Lexi from the stroller. With practised ease, he retrieved the pre-made bottle from the baby bag. Cradling Lexi in his arms, he began a tender dialogue, showering her with words of endearment.

"Y’know, Love bug, y’the most perfect baby in the world. Mom and I are so lucky t’have you," he whispered, his words infused with a genuine warmth that mirrored the love you both felt for your little one.

As Harry spoke to Lexi, your gaze shifted to Kai, who was deeply immersed in coloring his book. His tiny fingers danced across the paper, creating vibrant strokes that mirrored the lively atmosphere of the Caribbean surroundings. The restaurant transformed into a canvas of family moments — the quiet focus of an older brother, the nurturing presence of a father, and the unspoken connection between mother and daughter.

Amidst the lively ambiance of the restaurant, you couldn't help but notice a group of girls at a nearby table who seemed to have recognized your husband. Whispers and excited glances were exchanged among them, and you could see them mustering the courage to approach him for a photo.

Sensing their intentions, you leaned in to Harry and discreetly warned him about the approaching fangirls.

Harry, with a resigned sigh, glanced over his shoulder and nodded.

"Just ignore ‘em, love. It happens," he reassured you, his eyes reflecting the weariness of a man accustomed to such encounters.

The prospect of being in the spotlight, even during a family dinner, was not a new experience for him. Grateful that your kids were facing away, oblivious to the attention, you both focused on enjoying the moment together as a family.

As the girls behind you worked up the courage to approach, you and Harry engaged in casual conversation, attempting to divert attention from the brewing fan encounter.

"Remember that time in Paris?" you teased, trying to lighten the mood. Harry chuckled, because he knew exactly what you were talking about.

"Good times," he agreed, sharing a smile with you, appreciating the effort to shield your family from the attention that occasionally came with his public persona.

“H, there definitely coming.”

Harry, glancing over his shoulder, nodded in acknowledgment.

"Yeah, I see them. Just give them a friendly smile if they approach, and I'll handle it. S’not let it bother us," he suggested, his voice carrying a hint of resignation.

He was no stranger to such encounters, having navigated the challenges of fame before. The weariness in his eyes reflected a desire for a quiet family dinner undisturbed by fan interactions.

The restaurant buzzed with activity as the group of excited fans approached your table.

"Harry, we're such huge fans! Can we get a quick photo and an autograph?" one of them eagerly requested, holding out a notepad and a pen.

With a gracious smile, Harry acknowledged their enthusiasm.

"M’grateful f’your support, but at the moment, we're trying to have a quiet family dinner, so I won't be able to do autographs right now," he gently explained, a polite refusal delivered with a sense of understanding.

Despite his explanation, the fans persisted, urging for both a photo and an autograph. The atmosphere at the table shifted as Lexi, nestled in Harry's lap, started to express her unease with a few whimpers.

Sensing his sister's discomfort, Kai moved closer to your side, seeking comfort in the familiar presence of family. Harry, noticing the subtle disruption, addressed the fans with empathy.

The fans, eager to capture a moment with their idol, continued to press for both a photo and an autograph. Harry, maintaining his composure, gently reiterated, "I really appreciate y’support, but right now, We're just trying t’enjoy a family dinner without any interruptions."

The fans, realizing the impact on the children, paused for a moment. Harry, sensing the need to reinforce the boundary, continued,

"Thanks for understanding." His words were delivered with a blend of gratitude and a protective instinct for his family.

As the fans reluctantly stepped back, a mix of disappointment and understanding painted their expressions. Your family returned to the rhythm of your evening, attempting to reclaim the sense of tranquillity that had been momentarily disrupted. Lexi, still cradled in Harry's arms, gradually settled, comforted by the familiar presence of her parents and brother.

Harry, with a reassuring smile, turned his attention back to the dinner table.

"Sorry about that, m’love," he whispered to you, the gentle apology carrying the weight of the delicate balancing act that came with his fame.

"It's alright," you responded, understanding the complexities of navigating public and private moments.

Kai, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, looked up from his colouring book with a curious expression.

"Why did those people want pictures, Mommy?" he asked, his innocent curiosity breaking the momentary tension.

You looked down to his eye level, offering a simple yet honest explanation, "Sometimes, people recognize Daddy from his work, and they want to say hello or take a picture because they really like what he does."

Harry, appreciating your delicate handling of the situation, chimed in,

"That's right, buddy. Daddy's work makes people happy, and sometimes they just want to share that happiness with us."

Sensing his sons discomfort, Harry gently ushered him over, placing him on the other side of his lap.

"Hey, Kai, come here, sweet boy," Harry said softly, creating a protective space for him. As Kai nestled in closer,

Harry continued, "I want you t’know that no matter what happens, Daddy will always keep you safe. Those moments might be a bit strange, but we're a team, okay?"

Kai, his big brown eyes searching for reassurance, nodded in understanding. "

Team," he echoed, a small smile breaking through the remnants of unease.

Harry wrapped his arm around Kai, holding him close to his chest.

"Exactly, little man. We're a team, and nothing will ever change that," Harry affirmed, his voice a soothing melody of love and comfort.

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churipu · 3 months

Note

omg hi! can i request jjk men with a girlfriend who loves acting! she goes to a drama club and all that (๑>◡<๑)

thanks I love all your posts (๑❛ᴗ❛๑)

JJK MEN AND A GIRLFRIEND WHO LOVES ACTING 𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖

featuring. gojo satoru, nanami kento, toji fushiguro x fem! reader

warning. gojo being dramatic

note. hi nonnieee :< sorry for the late update on this, and i appreciate you saying that, it means so much to me <33 i hope you like this one! and believe it or not, i'm like — sick again??? i don't get it, i swear i was just fine an hour before and now i'm sneezing like five times after every ten minutes. pls save me. okay and ngl, this gave me ideas of musical actor! gojo and reader.

GOJO SATORU. he will absolutely be thrilled, and he is your number one fan. he gets very giddy when you tell him that you'll have a performance — but gets upset when he realizes that your character has a love interest (who isn't him).

but gojo doesn't try to ask you to switch or quit, because he knows this is just acting. as much as he hates to see other people touch you intimately, even for an act; the male knows how much acting means to you. it's your dream to perform for people for gosh sake.

gojo will make sure he gets the front row seats to be able to see you act. and the male drops by your practice to see how you were holding up, and sometimes, he helps you by going over the script together. the male finds your acting very very delightful, there's this flutter in him whenever he sees his girlfriend performing on stage.

proud, euphoria, love. everything all at once. he cheers the loudest when the performance ends, giving a loud clap and telling people beside him that you're his girlfriend. as soon, as people starts leaving the theatre, he finds you and tells you how proud he is of you.

as the rowdy theatre soon turns empty, gojo and you would spend some time performing the same act. where this time, he's your love interest — performing rather perfectly since he knew the script from going over it with you before.

"this 's the part where you jump into my arms and i twirl you, right, princess?" he asks, taking off his suit, tossing it aside so he could move better.

you nodded, "ready, 'toru?"

"'m always ready for you, baby," he opened his arms towards you and you laugh freely, throwing yourself onto him.

the male wrapped his strong arms around your waist and twirled you around on the stage inside the empty theatre, both of your laughs echoing in the large room. it's always a routine to end the day like that after every performance of yours.

"maybe i should consider acting, hm? so i could be your love interest instead of some . . . guy." he murmurs into your neck as he puts you down onto the ground gently.

"you could try, baby. i'd be glad to act with you."

gojo tries out, and he miraculously landed an act after his first audition (and he gets to be your love interest).

NANAMI KENTO. doesn't like crowds. but when it comes to your performances — he'd push that aside, because it isn't about him, it's about you. he promises to watch you, and he kept his words.

the first time he finds out about your passion for acting was when he sees you go over a script on your third date with him. of course he wanted to know what you were doing, and when he finds out that you were going to be performing for an act, he was astonished. he just needed to be there to see you.

believe it or not. nanami even went out of his way to cancel a meeting to go watch your show, and the first time he saw you live on act. he just gets so entranced by the way you move and act on stage — how you stayed on character despite the constant eye contacts he had with you during the play.

and after that, he always comes to see your performances; it never stopped even after you both started dating. he's always there, a flower bouquet sitting on his lap as he intently watches you perform with such elegance and professionalism. sometimes nanami wondered why you haven't tried out to be an actor on tv yet.

"kento, how did i do?" you'd ask him after every performance, sweat dribbling down the side of your head and the male wipes it with his bare fingers.

"amazing. as always. i'm proud of you," he slipped the bouquet into your arms and pressed a brief kiss onto your forehead, "you look beautiful."

nanami makes sure to pamper you after your performance, helping you clean the make up off — spoiling you with the best food, snacks, and anything you want. and when you tell him that it's too much to spend on you, he insisted on it. nanami won't even regret spending much on you.

TOJI FUSHIGURO. the first time he met you was from a cliche fiction type of bump, drop things, apologize and picking up. right outside a theatre where you were practicing a few days before the big performance, toji picked up your script and he asked you if you act — and you said yes.

an odd thing to say, but he admitted that he'd be watching and he's interested on it since it would be his first time watching an act (he didn't have a ticket, he just said that so he could actually come see you act).

and when you told him you'd be happy to see him on the big day — toji was internally telling himself that he screwed up big time since he didn't have a ticket. that day, the both of you exchanged numbers and got to know each other through exchanges of messages.

toji tries hard to find an available ticket, and was so happy when he got one (even if he didn't, i swear he'd force himself inside the theatre to see you). and front row too nonetheless. he tells you about where he was going to be sitting and that he has high hopes from you as a joke.

and when you finished the performance, honestly, he didn't know what to say. frankly, he finds acting a bit boring — but with you on stage, his eyes were intent. every single time you popped onto stage, he finds himself stupidly smiling.

even after you both started dating, he'd always come to your performances. even if he didn't get a ticket, he lies to you and tells you that he's coming — which he did, by letting out some meaningless threats to the security guarding outside.

"hah, knew y'were gonna be great, doll." he approaches you as you were wiping off the eyeshadow gently, and you chuckled, "y'look hot in that dress."

"oh, hush. how did you get in here? this is an actors and actresses only zone," you tell him, not even bothering to kick him out because he'll probably find himself back in anyways.

"i have ways," he stood behind you, watching the mirror, specifically at your reflection. the way your lips parted slightly at every brush of the dirty cotton onto your skin.

he's proud of you. but wouldn't tell you with words, but he will give you a kiss or two to tell you that he is indeed proud of you.

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moonlight-prose · 7 months

Text

✧ LOOKING AT ME ✧

a/n: my first ever solo jake fic! it's been a long time coming and what a better way to drop it than during kinktober. he'd be honored honestly for such a debut. this fic goes out to the anon who asked if i'd be writing for jake this year. i hope you especially enjoy it babes.

day four - cockwarming + dirty talk | kinktober 2023

summary: "perhaps it wasn’t the best idea. but you never said you were smart when it came to jake seresin."

word count: 1.2k+

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, mean!jake, dom!jake, cockwarming, edging, a lot of jealousy, cumplay but not really, biting, dirty talk.

“What was that honey?” Jake’s voice echoed smoothly in your ear, but you barely heard them. The deep husk of his tone sent you reeling as his hands slid down your torso—pressing against your hot skin. “Did you say something?”

You keened, gasping for breath as he toyed with your nipples, delighting in how they hardened against the rough pads of his thumbs. For an hour you had been perched on his lap completely naked and pressed against his clothed body. Except he was buried deep inside you—keeping you still as you cockwarmed him. Although you were pretty sure this was more about driving you to the brink of insanity.

“Could have sworn you said…” His fingers dropped down, tapping lightly against your throbbing clit. You cried out, your hand latching onto his wrist in an attempt to keep him there. “Sorry.”

It wasn’t your idea to go out dancing. In fact it was Phoenix who had brought up the suggestion to the rest of the Dagger Squad. You joined thinking it would be a night to remember—some fun to counteract the stress of the week. But things hadn’t gone according to plan. In fact you were pretty sure things would have been better if you had stayed home altogether.

Thirty minutes in Jake’s mood turned sour for some reason or another, and he seemed intent on souring yours as well. Except instead of joining him in his melancholy, you decided to push his buttons further. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea. But you never said you were smart when it came to Jake Seresin. Shit, you weren’t even prepared to suffer the consequences of what your actions would ensue.

Another twenty minutes passed and you found yourself drunk, on the dance floor, and with someone who wasn’t Jake. He was nice enough. Certainly not there to hit on you, but more so there to enjoy the music and nightlife. Facts that apparently hadn’t crossed Jake’s mind.

It took him five minutes to grab you, call a cab, and whisper your punishment in your ear on the way home—his hands never leaving your body, even as you practically sat in his lap.

“What did you think would happen?” His lips dragged along your shoulder. “You think you could find someone else?”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes as he thrusted up into your dripping pussy. There was no doubt that you had made a mess in his lap. With the way he’d been edging you—dragging you right to the edge, but pulling away the second you tipped over. His arms locked you down, keeping your hips from wriggling even as he dragged you towards yet another lost release.

“J-Jake—”

His teeth clamped onto your neck, silencing you quickly as a throaty moan ripped from your chest. “Tell me…” He tugged on your nipple, feeling you shudder in his hold. “Did you think he was handsome?”

That’s what this was about.

Whether he liked to admit it or not Jake didn’t like when something infringed on what he had. He didn’t like that you went to find another person to spend your night with. It didn’t matter that you saw it as perfectly innocent. To him…you were choosing someone else. For as much as he acted cocky and self assured, Jake was quite the opposite. Unable to see past his own fears.

“N-No,” you choked out, digging your nails into his forearms. “Please…fuck, fuck—”

He grinded up into you, striking perfectly and causing your eyes to roll back in your head. “No, of course not.” His fingers slid through your slick, spreading around his cock that filled you. “He couldn’t fill you like this huh? Couldn’t make you drip like this?”

You shook your head, teeth digging into your bottom lip. Except that wasn’t enough for him—it would never be enough to appease the flare of jealousy that stuck to his chest. He gripped your throat, pushing your head back—his lips pressing against your ear.

“Use your words honey.”

“No!” You sobbed, legs trembling as he thrusted up into you again. “H-He’s not you.”

He grinned. “You’re damn right he isn’t.”

“L-Love you.”

Gripping your hips, he rolled them down, the wet squelch of your slick echoing in the room. “Yeah? You love me?”

You nodded, your mouth dropping open. You could feel it. The burning sensation growing with each shift of your hips. Only this time it was stronger than before; nearly melting you from the inside out. For a brief moment you wondered if you would survive this—if Jake had pushed your body to a limit neither of you knew existed. But you found yourself hurtling towards it faster than you could comprehend it.

“Can feel you squeezing me,” he grunted, shoving his hips up. “You gonna soak me? Make a mess of this couch?”

A garbled echo of what you assumed to be yes tore from your throat. Or at least that’s what both of you guessed it to be. Your nails scratched down his arms with earnest, chest heaving with each stunted thrust into your pussy, and that’s when you heard it. The soft press of his words against your throat. The words he’d been wanting to say all night.

“Was gonna ask you to move in,” he gasped, teeth scraping along your throat. “‘S why I didn’t want to go—fuck you feel like heaven.”

Your heart fluttered, heat spilling through your body and consuming you completely. Until you could no longer tell up from down—your mind a jumble of I love you and yes please. But you couldn’t get any of the words out. They were stuck in your throat. Coherency being traded in for utter bliss.

“Want to feel you—” His fingers slid to your clit, swirling fast circled to shove you off completely. “I’ll give it to ya.” His teeth scraped your ear, breath hot against your cheek. “Gonna cum so deep I’ll drip outta ya all night.”

You broke with a scream, your body completely lost to your own control. He held you close, latching his teeth onto your shoulder and following you with a pained cry—his cock filling you so full you swore you felt some leak into his lap. Except you could barely even focus on your own name. Jake had fucked all the sense out of your head, leaving you with nothing but thoughts of him.

For you a few minutes that’s where you remained. Spread out on his lap as he kissed every part of your skin he could reach; his palms cupping the weight of your breasts, thumbing gently at your nipples. He let you remain that way. Content in his arms until you slowly began to feel his promise come to light. The sticky warmth of his cum began to pool at the base of his cock, sending sparks up your spine.

“Yes,” you breathed, turning your head to catch his lips in a soft kiss. A complete difference to how he fucked you before. “I’ll move in with you.”

He grinned, his nose dragging along your cheek. “Even with my bummer attitude?”

You snorted, pulled away and laughed when he nipped at your jaw. “I never said that. But yes. Even with that.”

“Hm,” he sighed, his chin making a home on your shoulder. “Love you honey.”

“I love you too Jake.”

#jake 'hangman' seresin #hangman x f!reader #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #hangman smut #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin smut #top gun: maverick #my writing #kinktober 2023

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setsugekka · 1 year

Text

❥bad idea (m)

↳ stuck in a vacation home with nobody but the most annoying man in your friend group, there’s not a lot offered to help take the edge off.

a couple of glasses of wine and a crazy idea might, though.

lee minho x fem!reader — enemies to lovers (kinda), explicit sexual content. [3.6k wc] cws: alcohol consumption. sexual cws: penetrative sex (unprotected), oral sex (m), facial, hair pulling, hatefuck (hardly cuz he’s kinda sweet), praise, dirty talk.

The saying is that “bad things come in threes.”

So, when your bus arrives and leaves all of five minutes before you get there, forcing you to rebook a ticket and wait an hour and a half in the cold, windy weather for the next — that’s one. At the time, not something you spend much thought on, it happens.

And when your friend calls you to inform you that the weather is so bad coming from her side of town that she and the car load of friends meant to accompany you at the rental home for the weekend getaway won’t be arriving until some time tomorrow morning — there’s the second. It’s not the end of the world, you think to yourself, as she explains that she’s already contacted the rental host and changed the name of the reservation into yours so that you’re able to get inside safe and sound — after all, there are worse things than having a whole, lavish, five bedroom, three bathroom house to yourself for a night.

The ‘worse things,’ of course, being the third and final 'bad,’ as it were — hauling your bags up the brown and grey cobble stone walkway and close enough to the front porch for the motion sensor lights to finally illuminate — frankly, you’d have been happier to find a stranger, and you’re already wondering if there are any axe murderers mulling about these parts that you could contact straight away, perhaps their schedules are free and could do you a solid.

“Not you—“

You’re unsurprised that he’s the first to speak, and to say something irritating at that. Hair slightly damp and windswept, it looks as though he’s been standing out in the elements and against the door for far too long — a thought that brings you much delight; the misery of one Lee Minho.

It’s not that he’s ever done anything particularly wrong, not to you, or to your other friends, which is why he remains inside of the friend group, but some people simply don’t click, and the two of you are certainly evidence of that — between snide remarks in relation to any innocent going on, and Minho’s insistence on having something to say about everything you say or do, the last person you’d have wanted to meet here tonight without the buffer of the other handful of people, was him.

But here he is.

Slinging a bag up and over your shoulder with a huff, you toss the keys to the front door at him with a tad bit of aggression — the act brings a curl to one side of his mouth, as if enjoying the annoyance he’s already brought into your life.

“Didn’t know anyone else was here, I just got off the phone with them, won’t be in until tomorrow.”

“Bummer,” Minho sighs, turning the key into the lock and pressing the door open at the clicking sound. “Guess you’ll just have to make me dinner tonight, then.”

“Stooping down to sexism now, are we? Ol’ run of the mill being an annoyance not enough for you anymore?” you chime out as you walk past him and inside, kicking your shoes off and carrying forward with your belongings.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you being a woman, you psycho,” he rings back. “You’re the only other person here. Other people can make me dinner, too.”

“I’m sure they’re all fighting for the chance to.”

“Anyway,” Minho ignores you to instead toss his things to the closest doorway that appears to lead into a bedroom. “We do have to eat.”

“And I will, mind your business,” you answer, voice now echoing down the hall and throughout the otherwise empty home — tall ceilings carrying the sound much further than it would otherwise. you find a room that seems suitable enough despite them all appearing more or less the same and chuck your bag onto the bed inside before coming back out and resting eyes on the bizarre sight before you now. “You’re not going to look at the other rooms?”

“They’re all just empty rooms with beds what difference does it make — now who’s not minding their business!”

Rolling your eyes, you opt out of giving him any more of your verbal time, stepping towards and into the open layout kitchen — a lavish display that no doubt has cost millions in the renovations, you jostle open the refrigerator door in hopes to find something that may sustain you as far as intake goes — original plan having been that as a group you would all head back into town and go grocery shopping, but with that now off the table, it’s up to you and Minho to figure it out until morning.

Glancing back towards Minho’s poorly chosen bedroom, you watch him unpack boring t-shirts and clear, plastic bags of skincare items. You think to yourself how annoying to find it, before immediately following up the line of thought with how completely normal it is and that you only find it annoying because it’s him.

But self-awareness if half of the battle, after all.

“They got cheese, some condiments—“ you look around yourself again in an attempt to locate more items that might allow for you to put together an actually reasonable food source as you talk through it. “—Some bread it looks like, some deli meats…I mean, assuming all of this is still good I think we can at least get by on some dinner sandwiches.”

Minho doesn’t answer back, something else you find irritating. You’re talking to him, after all.

Then, your eyes lock onto something else hidden further back into the cold and mostly empty container. “Oh, looks like there’s a bottle of cheap white wine in here, too. There’s that.”

“Finally, some good news!” Minho finally replies. Of course, it’s the alcohol that does it.

When “dinner” concludes, the two of you shake on trying to be normal human beings to one another for the remainder of the evening, even going as far as to exchange a few testing chuckles over half eaten sandwiches.

But with the last bit of wine poured into both of your glasses, and downed just as quickly as it had appeared there, that’s when the real trouble starts.

Naturally.

A bottle between two, hardly enough to get either of you drunk but enough to make the head a little fuzzy, and the people a little flirtier than usual, when Minho leans an elbow onto the table and leans in closer towards you — you don’t hate it, not as much as you might usually. Where your normal instinct would be to immediately pull back and away from him, scoff, laugh off the intrusion of personal space — now, now you find it to be borderline welcomed.

“Why are you such a bitch to me, anyway?”

Well, there goes that.

You roll your eyes right in front of him, eager to turn your head away but it’s a strong hand that cups at your chin and brings you right back to his eye sight. And again — in most cases, a man putting his hands on you in such a way would not be accepted and would likely result in a hospital trip for him and him alone, but tonight, things are a little different.

Minho is no stranger, nor is he any danger to you. He’s pretty fucking irritating at worst —

But have you considered the hatefuck? Absolutely.

“Don’t look away from me when I’m talking to you!”

The words come out of him in a chuckle, as if the both of you are well aware that this is a game and not any serious act of violence. You laugh along with him, pressing the tip of your tongue out just a bit to tease him and how upset over nothing he’s getting.

“You’re kinda handsome when you’re trying to act all tough and brooding,” you tease, tugging your face from his grip with little effort required. You watch the way Minho’s eyebrows pull upwards at the words, as if intrigued by the confession.

“Oh, is that so?” he asks, almost sing-song in manner. “Is that why you’re so mean to me? You want me so bad? Want me to fuck you into this dining room table? Will that fix you?”

Minho is already standing up next to you and unbuckling his belt — it’s obviously a humorous display, the two of you bantering and joking about, but you’d be lying if the thought wasn’t running through your mind currently, now that he’s put it out there.

Is that an option?

“Why would we fuck on the table? There’s plenty of beds in here,” you reply dryly, now testing how far you can flirt with this idea before he rescinds it. Or you get dicked down into next Tuesday, either/or.

And you watch as Minho stills finally, perhaps much slower on the uptake than you would have ever expected him to be. Busy hands that once playfully tugged at his belt and pant button now pausing at the realization that you might actually be coming onto him, and not simply playing with him to pass the time. Eyes dropping down to meet yours as you stare up at him, still seated at the table next to — it’s that familiar curl of the the lip once again, devilish and sly — that let’s you know he’s finally getting what you’re serving.

“Get up.”

The words come out sort of quietly, a little under his breath, as if also testing the waters of the situation — a demand that the both of you are aware of not having to go along with, that you can simply tell him 'no’ and it calls off everything that has otherwise been built up towards this moment.

But instead, you choose to do as told, and just as quickly Minho wraps a hand around your arm and yanks you out of the kitchen and down the hall — towards a bedroom, any bedroom.

Finally settling on one based on what you can only assume to be pure luck, it’s just as quickly that Minho has your back flush against it with teeth and lips hard against your own — it’s aggressive, a little rough — perhaps filled with years of pining that otherwise only found an outlet in being petty and childish towards you in the most ridiculous, unnecessary, ways.

But for now, who cares?

“Can you at least get me into the bedroom?” you ask between energetic kisses, the request brings him to grin into your mouth.

“Of course, darling, how rude of me,” you feel him reach down and behind you for the doorknob, twisting and pushing it as the both of you fall towards the newly emptied space behind you. “Well would you look at that — there’s only one bed, what will we do now?”

You can hear in his voice that it’s a sarcastic reference to the popular trope, because quite obviously given the circumstances, one bed is plenty for the activities that you’re about to engage in — but taking it a step further, Minho presses a hand to the back of your neck and urges you towards the edge of the bed, bending you onto your knees and over the side of it. “Any other fun little tropes we can play with tonight?”

“You want to roleplay on our first time?” you laugh, finding the idea of it a little endearing.

“If you want me to fuck you missionary with the lights off I’m more than happy to oblige that, as well.”

“Yuck,” you answer quickly. “Enemies to lovers? Seems apt.”

You can’t see his face given your position, but you can hear it in the way his oh sounds out, as if you’re a total genius and it’s the best idea he’s ever heard in his entire life. Squeezing ever so slightly onto the back of your neck, Minho leans down and over your back towards your ear. “So, you want me to hatefuck you then?”

“If you’d be so kind.”

The juxtaposition in relation to the negotiation of terms, as it were, and the sex you’re hoping to engage in that evening making you laugh a bit internally, it’s not long at all before Minho flips you over and onto your back, roughly pulling at the button of your pants and wasting no time pulling the fabric down your legs — tossing it aside and remembering that his own pants remain long undone from the joking just earlier in the kitchen, you watch as he palms himself through his boxer briefs as he allows his jeans to drop further down and expose more of himself to you — eyes lidded and heavy with lust, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he might actually hate you in that moment.

And in spite of everything, you truly do feel safe with him. Besides, if anything goes wrong he’ll be a dead man in the morning, anyways.

“Anything I can’t do, like, in particular?” he asks suddenly, still lazily touching himself for your viewing pleasure as you hastily take the moment to pull your shirt up and over your head.

“Umm, don’t hit me, don’t call me mean names—“

“Holy shit, I wouldn’t do that if you asked me to, this is the first time we’re having sex!”

“Okay well you asked! I don’t know!

“Alright lemmie think,” Minho says, finally pulling his length out from it’s confines. You sit up upon it’s reveal, already wanting to put your mouth on him before he even requests it. “Suck me off? I’ll think of some stuff…hopefully.”

But you’re already up and with an eager hand wrapped around him, gently pumping him just in front of your face as he gazes down at the sight — tongue out and pressed to the underside of him, Minho’s eyes roll back only to pull tightly shut at the feeling of your hot mouth enveloping him whole.

“God, okay, can I cum on your face?”

You pull off only long enough to answer. “Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, sold. God, it’s kind of hard to hate you when you’ve got your mouth on my dick like that.”

And so you pull off of him entirely, lying back down again and with legs spread wide, as if presenting yourself for him to fuck. “Then, fuck me like you’re mad that I don’t anymore.”

“Fuck,” he says suddenly, looking around the room as if for something but quite evidently not going to find what it was that he would be looking for. “I don’t have condoms.”

“I don’t care, oh my God, just fuck me already.”

“Are you sure?”

Darting a hand up and into his t-shirt finally to bring him down and on top of you, it’s no time wasted between his hands catching himself on the mattress just next to your head and you reaching down to rub his cock again, pressing the tip of him against your pussy as if to entice him even further — insist that he stop thinking and talking and start fucking.

“Are you gonna fuck me or are you gonna continue being as worthless as I always thought you were?”

What you didn’t expect, was for it to be that easy. Minho’s hand sliding up the bed and entangling into your hair, a hard grip into your scalp as he takes it upon himself to press his hips forward and bury his thick cock into you — it’s not all in one fluid motion, two, three shallow pushes and pulls before he’s completely and fully inside of you but he gives you little time to adjust to accommodate his girth before he’s rocking against the apex of your thighs — teeth gritted and head dropping down into the juncture between your shoulder and your neck — it’s the groans and growls escaping him that really do a number on your want for him, paired of course with the intense drag of him against your unprepared walls.

“Feel worthless now?” he asks against the skin of your neck before latching teeth there, biting and sucking into the skin with intent to leave bruises. Whimpers and moans falling from your own mouth at the feeling, along with the intensity in which his pounding into you grows — your throat feels dry, words caught somewhere in between their origin and destination at the question. “Can’t even talk, like my cock that much? You wanted it all this time that’s why you’re like that?”

You decide to play along, nodding as much as his grip into your hair permits as he chuckles against the skin at the admission. “Why don’t you be good for me and rub yourself off a bit, if you come pretty enough on my cock I’ll consider painting your face with mine.”

And you’ve always known Minho’s had a mouth on him, that much is no surprise, but this filthy is coming as quite one, and in the best kind of way — the words immediately pooling between your legs, walls firmly closing in against him as he fucks you hard, fast and with intent.

Minho pulls up and off your body, letting free your hair and allowing you the range of motion to bring a hand down between the both of you to circle fingers into your clit as he settles on his knees — hands bracing on your waist as he fucks you further — less momentum in his hips and more in his arms as he effectively pulls your body down and onto his cock, you have full view of the way the veins and muscles in his arms flex and move with every motion — the way his eyes lock onto the exact place where he disappears into your cunt repeatedly for extended periods of time, before eventually looking back up and making eye contact with you in a sort of way that almost silently asks if everything is still going okay on your end, but with orgasm threatening you, you couldn’t answer him verbally right away had you even tried.

“Look so pretty, like touching yourself with my dick in you?”

You nod pathetically, the dirty talk still doing you in just as before and the familiar quake of your thighs sneaking up on you.

“Yeah, I can feel it, bet this isn’t the first time you’re going to come to me, either.”

Good guess.

“F-fuck, Minho, I'm—“

“Close?” he asks, but it’s less in character than before, as if genuinely concerned about being able to get you over the edge. You nod again.

“Don’t stop, please, please, don't—“

Taking the command, he carries on and into you, shutting up long enough to focus on the task at hand as he watches your body tighten and shake beneath him with the promise of release — it doesn’t take you much longer to get there, either — teeth and eyes clenched together hard as your orgasm rips through you.

“Yeah baby, yeah come for me, you sound perfect—“

But you’re barely even able to process the words before Minho pulls out of you suddenly — and probably too close for comfort, but given his desire to fuck you through your own orgasm as much as possible taking it upon himself to trust his own judgment — you feel a familiar hand dipping down and into your hair again, pulling you into a sitting position at the end of it with Minho fisting his cock fast and just in front of your face. Jaw hanging slack and tongue out, you take the tip of him — wet with you and precum between your lips as you gaze up at him.

“So obsessed with having my cock all this time, could have just asked, but I’ll give you what you deserve, you earned it.”

He barely gets the whole sentence out before he’s pulling from your mouth and groaning loud into the first rope of cum that empties from him and onto your face — your thankful for the choice to have your eyes closed as the feeling of warm, wetness splashes across your eye and cheek, followed by another, strong string, and slowly finished by the gentle pooling of his cum against your lips and chin as he drags his cock across your skin to make a mess of the job already done.

Chest heaving, you open your one available eye to watch Minho as he slings his t-shirt off, bringing it to your face and gently attempting to wipe away the mess he only just made there. You giggle at him, appreciating it but shortly thereafter taking the fabric into your own hands to do the job yourself.

Kneeling down in front of you, the man looks at you from between your knees and with bright, wide eyes — like a puppy dog expecting praise for doing a good job. “So? How was it?”

“You’re kind of a lousy hatefuck, I’ll be honest,” you laugh, handing him back his cum-soaked shirt and realizing you’ll have to elaborate based on his dropping expression. “What I mean is, you were kind of nice about it, don’t you think? The praise?”

Minho scoffs, but in a way that you know that he knows that what you’re saying is the truth, coyly crossing his arms over his now bare chest and huffing as he makes a display of looking away from you. “It’s the first time and we barely got to discuss anything! What am I supposed to do? Put you in a choke hold and call you a slut? You said no mean names!”

Thinking about it for a moment, you figure he’s probably right, and it generally best to err on the side of caution, but it certainly does present itself to a flurry of other potentials in the future.

“Well, we’ve got all night.”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

#lee minho smut #stray kids smut #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #lee minho x y/n #lee minho scenarios #lee minho imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #lee know x you #lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios

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wonbokkies · 1 year

Text

☆ because, its funny - nishimura riki

pairing: dance captain riki! x dance captain gn! reader!

genre: academic rivals in public, lovers in secret 🤭

word count: 2k :>

synopsis: you and riki bicker a lot, but behind closed doors, more than just teasing smiles are shared.

mi's note🎧: i love niki.

“five, six, seven, eight, and one!”

your stern voice echoed through the room, voicing the counts of the final parts of choreography your team had to learn. the loud, but synchronized screeching of shoes was the only thing being heard in the dance room, your commands added into the mix.

“eunchae, try to sharpen your moves a lil! it'll make you look even broader, especially when we perform onstage.” the said girl nodded and playfully saluted at you through the mirror, you grinning back at her.

you continued to give feedback and critique to your peers, creating some small talk between yourselves as you slid around.

practice continued, the repeating chorus of jay park’s all i wanna do booming through the schools empty halls. (you swore that you'd never listen to the song the same way again).

your team always practiced hard and never took your critique to heart- which is something you admired about them. being nominated as dance team leader was such an honor, your enthusiasm for the style of art showed every time you performed, whether on stage or alone. this didn’t go unnoticed by the public, you and your team being well known, even among other teams from other schools. but your team wasn’t the only one in decelis high.

suddenly you heard loud knocking and booming voices outside the room, causing all to halt their steps. you sighed once a group of yapping kids barged in, being led along by a tall boy with black hair falling over his eyes, a small smirk plastered on his face.

your team was extremely popular in decelis- but along with your school's second team- which was the loud group that walked in on your precious practice just now.

all led by the cunning senior, nishimura riki.

pausing your playlist, you called a desired “water break!” and made your way to stand in the middle of the room, right in front of the smirking boy. the others scattered behind, watching or chugging their beverage, eyeing the way your face contorted into a frown.

“why knock if you're just gonna come in anyways, nishimura?” crossing your arms you glared straight up at the boy's towering figure, rolling your eyes when he grinned in response. he shrugged.

“what? it's our turn to use the room.” glancing at the imaginary watch on his wrist. “we agreed on 4:30. it's already 4:35.”

“and your point is? you couldn’t even spare a few minutes, couldn't you?” you asked, annoyance visible in your tone. riki bent down to your height, gradually moving his face closer to yours, your eyebrows furrowing at the sudden close proximity. he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, causing shivers to go down your spine.

“hmm... nope.” his deep voice traveled through the canal of your ear, causing the brims of them to heat up. you slapped his arm and shoved his face away, disgust displaying on your own.

“ew w-what the hell?. don’t ever do that again.” you stuttered out, frowning at the boy who was cracking up in front of you. to your dismay, your cheeks were turning the color of the peach sunoo fed you prior this morning.

“what? your reaction is funny.” he shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark blue jeans, his smirk now turning into a cheeky grin. at this point it's about to haunt you in your sleep forever.

“whatever, you can have the room. i can't look at you without wanting to commit a crime.” riki chuckled and clapped his hands in delight.

“thanks y/n-shi you're the best!” he sent a thumbs up and a cunning smile, making you roll your eyes for the umpteenth time and curse under your breath.

“shutup.”

“aye aye captain.”

“alright guys, since nishimura over here is such a mope, we’ll continue tomorrow!” you called your group together and claimed practice over, getting some relieved sighs and thank yous in return. you too were tired and had planned to end it anyways, until the infuriating boy arrived.

☆ ★ ☆

“can't go a day without arguing with nishimura, huh?” jo questioned, you and a few others leaning against the school's rusted front gates.

“i think he likes you.” eunchae mentioned, eyebrows wiggling up and down teasingly. the others immediately agreeing with her.

“pfft, yea right. he just likes making me mad.” you took a chug of your lukewarm water and groaned in dissatisfaction at the temperature.

“because he likes you!” the group yelled synchronized like some sort of harmony. you could only laugh and shake your head, denying their assumptions. the topic soon died down like a flame as you all discussed the upcoming midterm exams, sharing some laughs and complaints here and there as everyone waited for their rides to arrive.

“you both fight like those married couples on tv. it’s horrendous.” taki, being the last one to leave, said, scrunching his nose and clenching onto the strap of his training bag.

“oh shush. go now, i think your mom is here.” and she was. taki waved you goodbye- of course not without sending a knowing grin getting into his car. you let out the breath you were holding in once the shiny white mercedes-benz was out of sight.

“yikes, that was close.”

“what was close?” you flinched hard hearing a deep voice behind you, and by instinct, you swung your arm, hitting a firm body and hearing an immediate groan. whipping your head around and ready to confront whoever was there, you were met with the surprising sight of your boyfriend holding his stomach.

nishimura riki.

“what the hell! you gotta stop doing that!” you said in a hushed tone, slapping him once more as he laughed at you in pain, eyes creasing in amusement (but in pain).

“what? like i said, it’s funny.” you scoffed and scanned his appearance. “but you didn’t have to hit me!” he exclaimed, holding his arm.

“i was gonna say sorry but you deserved it.” you stated and turned around, your back facing him, ignoring his presence purposely. riki held his hands out, attempting to reach for you.

“hey don’t do that! i’m joking baby, im joking!” he tried walking in front of you, only for you to turn the other way around and start walking towards the direction of the exit of the school.

“y/n, stop that. i’m just jokingggg,” riki whined, following you around like a lost puppy.

“shutup.” you shot back, pretending to act stubborn, knowing that your tall boyfriend craves your touch and hates when you ignore him. your pace increased as you walked down the sidewalk, making riki groan.

“we just had practice, don’t make me run now,” well now that just encouraged you to start running. straight away, you dashed down the sidewalk towards your neighborhood, letting out a breathy chuckle at the annoyed curses exiting your boyfriend's mouth from behind.

“hey, wait! y/n, stop running” you cackled at him once more and cut the corners, taking a shortcut that led to the back of your house. looking behind, you cheered when the boy who was once trailing your tail was out of sight. you made one last turn and arrived at your home, entering through the back door and locking it. you ran up the stairs and made your way to your room, giggling at the thought of riki’s lost face.

but soon, you were snapped out of your thoughts and a loud squeal left your lips as someone pulled you by the arm into your room, closing the door, and in less than a millisecond, you felt yourself getting pinned against the hardwood.

“holy crap- what the- how did you get here?” you said out of breath, holding your hand against your pounding chest. in front of you was riki, caging you between him and the door, one hand holding your shoulder and the other placed next to your head. how cliche !

“did you forget that you gave me an extra key for my birthday?“ he said, rolling his eyes. your mouth formed an O and you mentally facepalmed, mind picturing the silver key you gifted him with your face printed on it. letting out an oops and a shrug, riki shook his head and smiled down at you.

“why did you make me run you rat. i almost passed out because you're so damn fast.” he complained and you just grinned.

“because- it's funny.” you mimicked his words and chuckled at the growing pout forming on his lips.

“i thought you were actually mad at me until I heard you laughing,” you frowned once again.

“of course i’m not mad. i could never be mad at you.” your tone softened to reassure him. grabbing his arm that was placed against your head, you intertwined your soft fingers with his calloused ones, tugging him towards your bed and taking a seat, him following your actions right next to you.

wrapping your arms around the boy, he sighed in content, engulfing your small body into his and whiffing the calming scent of your perfume. he buried his face into your neck, causing an unconscious smile to grow on your features.

“riki my prince. what are you thinking of now?” you asked him softly, hands making their way to his soft, black locks. he immediately melted into your touch and let out a whine.

“i just realized your next performance is a couple dance.” he replied, voice muffled due to his face being shoved in the crook of your neck. you hummed in response and continued to comb your fingers through his hair, helping him relax.

“hush. you know its all a part of dance, there's no need to get jealous” you spoke out gently, hearing him whine.

“but you’re mineee,” he voiced out from your neck, and you couldn't help but giggle.

suddenly standing up from your position, riki frowned at the loss of warmth and contact.

“calm down baby,” you said, slowly moving onto his lap and wrapping your legs around him, immediately clinging onto him like a koala as you tackled him onto your soft sheets.

“there, better?” he nodded and pulled you in closer into his embrace (if that was even possible).

“who knew the captain of the rival decelis dance team would be so clingy?” you teased, causing him to groan, generating vibrations against your neck as you heard a small shutup leave his lips. now it was your turn to smirk.

“don't act like you're not deeply infatuated with me either. i know you get jealous of my fangirls.” riki said leaving his hiding spot, his deep voice reaching your ears like a sonata.

“whatever. i know you’re mine at the end of the day.” you said, holding his face between your palms, grazing his cheek with the pad of your thumbs. he shivered at the feeling of your cold fingertips against his skin. looking into your star-filled eyes, he smiled. oh, how lucky he was to have you. how endearing you were.

slowly leaning in closer to his face, you started to pepper kisses all over, your tinted lips leaving slight heart shaped marks on his sunkissed features. starting to feel ticklish, riki let out a giggle and squirmed under your hold.

you placed a kiss on his right cheek. one on his left cheek. one on his chin. several on his neck. one on his forehead. one on each of the moles speckled on his pretty face. you made sure to place your lips on every single piece of his skin, except for his own lips.

because the best is always saved for last, right?

and finally, you smiled down at your entranced boyfriend, his glowing skin adorned with your marks. you catch sight of his adoration-filled eyes gazing straight into your own, before swooping down to place a chaste kiss on his pretty, pretty lips. but before you could pull away, he held the back of your head gently against his and locked his plush pink lips with your burgundy ones, rubbing the hair behind your neck softly.

“and you’re mine too,” he mumbled against your lips, causing you to smile and connect your mouth with his pillowy ones once again. you laughed in your head knowing that tomorrow, none of these loving looks or affectionate touches will be exchanged with each other until the bright, exhausted sun decides to rest. but throughout the teasing, you were both loving each other unconditionally.

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oharababe · 6 months

Text

why didn't you tell me; miguel o'hara

🕸️ premise: miguel notices that you’re not your usual self. it concerns him that the sunshine he knows you as is losing your light. he decides to get to the point of it and checks on you. 🕸️ tropes: tired sunshine reader, concern and strict miguel, light hurt/comfort 🕸️ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem. reader 🕸️ word count: 3,600 words

a/n; this piece is reposted from my old blog and originally was supposed to be in two parts. but i've decided to just combine them into one. this fic is a sign to make sure to include self-care in your routine! should have taken my own advice bc now my mental health is delincing. but i am slowly regaining my strength and forcing myself for self-care ♡

“Hey, do you think she’s alright?”

Miguel glares at the young variants of Spider-People from the holographic screen. As the leader of the society, he’s expected to oversee things. The multiverse and Spider-People are in the building and on missions. He sees Miles, Gwen, Hobie and Pavitr in the hallways. Miguel assumes they're going to his office to deliver their mission logs from the mission he gave them.

Miguel turns to look at the screen; there should be five of them coming back. He stares at the screen a little longer, red eyes hoping to glimpse a familiar figure. You are not with the young variants.

Pavitr mentions your name and adds, “Perhaps she’s feeling unwell today.”

“I don’t think I would use ‘unwell’ to describe her today,” Gwen says. “It’s more like she’s—”

“Angry?” Hobie guesses. “On edge? Like the way I would express my anger and hatred to the PMs and oppression of society?”

“Pretty much,” Gwen’s voice trails. “She seems more tired than she usually is. It’s not like her, you know?”

“Maybe we can get her something and check up on her after this.” Miles suggests.

This shouldn’t surprise Miguel; the mission he gave you wasn’t an easy one. He assigned you to lead the team this time, trusting your abilities and judgement. Outcomes of every mission you come back from bring him neutrally satisfied and at ease. You’re usually the one who updates him about the mission. Hiding nothing from him, even with things that someone in your assigned team has done will make his blood boil. You’re a person Miguel relies on and trusts a lot. He depends on you to keep the multiverse safe, and depending on your presence, to remind him of what he’s fighting for.

Hearing the young Spider-Heroes talk about your unusual behaviour keeps him attentive. He knows you. Well, everyone in the Alchemax building knows what you’re like. The bright and cheerful spider-heroine, your presence and energy, lightens the room. Everyone in the building would believe that you are a ray of sunshine in human form. Delightful to be around, and everyone comes to you because you give people some sort of comfort. You might as well be the Spider Society’s very own Spider-Sunshine.

Miguel slowly descended at his preferred pace. He knows that the youngsters are coming to see him, but you’re not. It troubles him and hides it by being inquisitive; “Lyla, what’s the status of her? Has she been injured during the mission?”

His holographic assistant appears next to him. “There hasn’t been a report of major injuries based on the mission’s footage.”

“Is she still in the building?”

“Yes, she is. In her room. She’s asked not to be disturbed.”

“Miguel!” A female voice echoes. Miguel withholds himself from sighing at being interrupted to ask his assistant more. “We’re back.”

“Reporting for duty!” Pavitr adds.

Miguel turns around to see the younger Spider-Men and Spider-Gwen. Though the platform has reached its lowest stop, he’s still towering over the four of them. Looking at Miles, Gwen, Hobie and Pavitr from above. “Mission report?”

“It’s all good, Miguel! We caught the anomaly as planned.”

“The clean-up team arrived on the scene and there were no casualties,” Gwen says. “Though I think I might have to check myself for a chiropractor.” She mumbles, and slowly rotates her right arm, touching her shoulder.

“Hmph.” Miguel’s eyes bore mindless. Seeing there’s no sight of you irks him a little. After a few seconds of silence, he glances at the four of them. “How is she?”

“She?” Miles’ voice echoes. His eyes widen in realisation, probably because he’s intimidated by the way Miguel is glaring. “She’s uh… she’s okay. She just needs to recharge herself after a hard mission.”

“Oh, and she said that she’ll send you the log missions,” Gwen says.

“Good,” his response is simple. The air goes quiet, thoughts in his mind running at the thought of seeing you. Though you didn’t say how she would report back to him about the mission given you’ve retrieved as soon as you got back. “Will she be coming soon in person?”

“Don’t know about that.” Hobi glances. “It seems that she wants to be alone for the day.”

Miguel lets out a dissatisfied hum. “Alright. You all may go now.”

The young spider-heroes variants take their exit and soon the room belongs to him alone.

He was hoping to see you after the mission. And, strangely, he hasn’t seen you in person for the day. The last communication he had with you was when he told you about putting you in charge of a mission to investigate and capture any anomalies in a different Earth multiverse. You sounded as fine as you normally are to him.

Miguel thinks back to the conversation earlier, about your unusual behaviour. A part of him feels that you are almost acting closed off. Withdrawal. He knows that feeling all too well. “Lyla, are you sure no one was hurt during the mission?”

Lyla gives him an apologetic look and shakes her head. “Nothing, boss-man. Or else the medical team would report it in their system logs.”

Suddenly there’s a look on her face; her eyes twinkling coyness as her smile widens into a grin. “Are you that worried about her, Miguel?”

Miguel grumbles and looks away, hoping that his assistant doesn’t see his face twisting in annoyance and somewhat flustered. Today doesn’t seem to be his day that goes according to plans. His mind finds himself back to you again for the nth time. He hates to admit it, but he is concerned about you. Especially when the youngsters said. He just hopes that it’s just your tiredness that could be the reason for it.

“If she hasn’t sent the mission logs by tomorrow, remind her again of it,” Miguel instructs. “And make today her day off. Make sure no one disturbs her until she’s ready.”

“Hey Miguel, Peter B. is on the call for you.”

Miguel didn’t bother to throw a glance at Lyla next to him. He is anticipating him to call him anyway. Peter is the team leader for the particular mission he was assigned to to save another dimension. “Put him through.”

Peter B’s hologram appears in front of him as Miguel keeps an eye on the surveillance. He can hear his friend’s voice without looking at him. “Hey, Miguel. The mission has gone well today. There’s a bit of damage control that needs to be sorted out, so could you call the Damage Control team?”

“What happened out there?” Miguel’s voice was stern. Even though he can see everything from the Spider Society, he wants to hear it himself from Peter Parker. He notices that a mishap happened that almost changed the canon event. Even though it didn't happen, Miguel couldn’t help but feel annoyance rising in him.

“Well,” he sees Peter touching the back of his neck. There’s hesitation in his expression as Peter glances at him once again. “We managed to dodge the bullet of what happened. You know, prevent the disruption of the canon events. But, Sunny has taken a bit too much at heart. I think she’s having a hard time, Miguel. It looks like she’s struggling.”

Miguel can’t help but raise a brow at him when Peter brings up your name. He tries to conceal the troubled expression on his face. Red eyes stare at Peter for an explanation. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, she’s not, you know, sunny. Not like herself.” Peter says.

Miguel is certain that this isn’t the first time he’s heard about you like that. He remembers the younger Spider-Heroes talking about you the way Peter is talking. About how you seem different. More withdrawn, and quiet, and he noticed that you weren’t as engaging as you usually are during missions.

“Alright, thanks, Peter. The Damage Control team will be with you shortly.”

Peter B. nods then his hologram disappears. Miguel looks back at the surveillance footage and watches you on the screen. Swinging from one place to another and throwing punches and kicks at the enemy. You’re a fighter and a well-trained one too. But he notices something different about the way you carry yourself in the fights. It’s swift, aggressive, and full of anger from the movements of your body. Miguel has never seen you fight like that before. You look unstoppable.

He needs to see you and have a word with you.

* * * * *

The mission you were given annoys you greatly.

Even though you and your teammates have captured another multiverse villain, you do not still feel well about it. You mess up on several things; the villain was close to escaping, a child who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time almost got killed on the crime scene, and you snapped at one of your Spider teammates over the littlest things. Which you rarely do and you don’t usually do .

But today you’re in all sorts of places and you hate it.

The portal opens up to a familiar environment of the Spider Society HQ on Earth-928. You’re the first one to walk out, followed by your teammates. The heavy silence and brooding air feel too thick and you feel that you’re part of the cause for it.

You walk into the headquarters intending to head towards a place that you’ve been frequently to the past few weeks. The training has become your haven to take out whatever you’re feeling. Except that with every punch, force, kick and flinging things around, you feel vexed—agitated and aggressive. And it’s been becoming more of that recently.

You punch the bag harder. Faster. Harder and faster until you let the aggression take over you as you hit the bag simultaneously. Gritting your teeth as you focus on nothing but the urge to hit something.

Bam, bam, bam! Why can’t you get your head in the game?

“Hey, girl!”

The bag hits you in the face and almost knocks you over. That snaps you from your torturing thoughts but you just want to be alone. You don’t bother looking at the person, recognising their voice. “Blowing off some steam?” Lyla says in a fun and playful tone.

“What do you need, Lyla?” You ask, breathing shallowly. Your head spins a little – it’s been like that for a while – but you ignore the feeling. Thinking about what to beat up next.

“Miguel wants to see you. He’s in the surveillance room.”

You freeze when Lyla tells you that; he’s the last person you want to see right now. A gut feeling tells you that you know what this is all about and it doesn’t make it any better. You know you can’t avoid this especially if Miguel wants to see you. The week is getting worse for you.

“Tell him that I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” You say, needing to take a shower and freshen up for another dreadful day for you. You glance at the holographic assistant. “How is he feeling today?”

“The usual– grumpy and serious.” Lyla nods. “Make haste then.”

You let the cold water run down your skin and body. The time you spend in the shower did help you a little to mentally prepare yourself. When you’re done, you make your way to the surveillance room, where Miguel usually copes himself. The room starts dark but soon there are orange and red fluorescent lights emitting from the screen as you walk deeper into the room.

Miguel has his back on you. His muscular, broad shoulders are the first thing you catch sight of as you enter his territory. You can never read Miguel and right this moment, you wish that you could.

“Sunny.”

You stay still, hearing your name being called out. Miguel’s voice booms in the large room. “What happened? A disruption of canon almost happened.”

“I–” You begin, but nothing comes out of your mouth. You’re not sure how to explain yourself to him as you think back to what happened during the mission. Deep down, you know that you lost focus back there and nearly jeopardised the mission. And potentially the livelihood of others. “I’m sorry.” You lower your gaze, your voice like a whisper.

“Don’t make the same mistake next time,” Miguel stearns. His red gaze feels sharp on your skin. His tone doesn’t help either and adds fuel to your unsettling emotions.

“It won’t.” You glare at him. A tone of determination and subtle displeasure that you can’t help but feel. And yet, you have to keep your emotions in check or else you will be questioned. You feel yourself on thin ice with Miguel at this moment.

The Spider-Man leader narrows his eyes down at you. You don’t look at him just yet but you can tell that he’s looking at you. Gawking at your body language. “Is there a problem?” Miguel asks.

“It’s nothing.” You say once again. This time you look at him in the eye with a solemn stare. Hoping that he wouldn’t press on further. You just want to be left alone at this point and one of your hands starts to tremble slightly. With another beat of silence, you force yourself to speak up more, this time hoping that it would sound convincing. “I’ll do better next time.”

Miguel could only look at you before he turned away. His back is facing you. “You can leave. And I want you to send over your report of what happened.”

You didn’t say anything more, only giving him a nod. And you leave the room feeling even worse than before with a pounding headache and palpating heart.

* * * * *

Your behaviour certainly sets him off.

Miguel couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation he had with you earlier. Something is off with you. He thinks about what Peter B. had said to him earlier and he’s starting to see what the man means. His thoughts dwell further back to a week ago when the young Spider-Heroes also talked about their concerns about you. He can see that something is bothering you and that it’s affecting your job.

But Miguel knows that it’s better not to ask until he gathers more information on why you could be acting this way.

After spending a couple more hours in the surveillance room, Miguel decides to grab something to eat. He usually doesn’t go to the cafeteria when it is busy and packed. But today, he’s particularly in the mood to move around. And he can feel himself getting hungry for empanadas (he’s told that he gets hangry when he doesn't eat something).

Miguel makes his way to the headquarters’ cafeteria, walking along the corridor. From a distance, he can hear the crowd of Spider-Heroes socialising. A couple of them notices him and greets Miguel as he joins the queue to be served. He waits in the line as he minds his own business in mental peace as much as possible. But that’s when he hears a commotion nearby and Miguel turns to look at the scene happening in front of him.

“Goodness, darling!” Jess frowns. She says your name softly and holds your arms. Her voice laced with worry, “I think you’re having a burnout.”

Miguel goes still. His red eyes gaze at you from afar, looking at your reaction closely. There is fatigue on your face and your eyes don’t shine like they used to. Your shallow breaths and they sound deep and heavy. His eyes stay on you. Miguel watches as she holds onto your arms to help keep you steady.

You exhale a sigh, brows furrowed a bit. He can see how you’re trying to brush off the worry. “I’m fine. Just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Make sure you get a proper rest,” Jess tells you. “Take a day off for today.”

You let yourself go from her grip and only nod. But Miguel knows that you would do the opposite of the suggestion. He’s been there before, especially when he first started out learning about the dire consequences of the Multiverse. He knows the signs of burnout too well and you are certainly demonstrating it. Miguel curses under his breath for not picking up the signs of your struggle– of your burnout when he spoke to you earlier. It was right there in front of him and it went under his radar.

He watches you leave the cafeteria once the other Spider-Heroes have decided to move on with themselves. You blend in the crowd before disappearing out of sight. His eyes met Jess Drew who was looking at him with a sympathetic expression when their eyes met. You’ve kept quiet about your feelings or whatever you’re going through from everyone. It seems that you don’t wish to talk about it– the dismissive attitude and withdrawn answers. He knows what Jess is trying to tell him.

Miguel nods in agreement. And he leaves the cafeteria, trailing behind you. He follows you back to your universe when he sets the coordinates to your Earth. A part of him tells him that what he’s doing is out of line. But he tells himself that it’s fine; he’s only doing this to look out for you. That’s what a leader is supposed to do— to check on their subordinates, even though you’re more than that to him. But that’s not the point.

Miguel continues to stay on his trail behind you. He sees that you’ve gone inside a red-bricked building. He swings himself up to the roof of the building, watching you through the glass roof. There’s no one in the building but you and Miguel spot you walking towards the ringer in the centre of the room. The banging sound of a bag being punched by you echoes in the space. He notices how you seem to take off steam by letting out your physical aggression since this is your second time in the gym. Your punches become faster, so frequent that they ring in his ears a little.

Miguel sneaks into the building through an open window. You’re still focused on your punches and kicks but knowing that you have spider senses, you must have noticed his presence by now. He sees you break a sweat from the combat exercise as Miguel approaches the boxing ring. He lets you continue throwing punches until you come to a stop and catch your breath. Miguel studies your expression and body language. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were struggling?”

You stay silent, seemingly lost in your thoughts. Your tone sounds soft and vulnerable, almost hesitant too. But it’s still loud enough for him to hear. “I didn't want it to determine my worth. Or to have it determine my future. If people knew, it would seem as if I'm holding everyone back.”

Miguel can see in your eyes that you’re pushing yourself despite the neutral facade you put on. The daze looks with the ambitious, strong and tough facade in your eyes. It’s familiar to him because he is like that too.“I would be a liability to the team.”

He studies your face a little longer, the signs of fatigue and shallow breathing are apparent. You’re even fighting against yourself to keep your eyes open. Scrunching your face as you pinch the bridge of your nose whilst softly panting for air. Shaking off the fatigue, the brain fog.

“Mariposa tonta.” Miguel sighs. “You’re not a liability to the team. You never were one.”

You sit on the ground and lean back against the ropes of the ring area. You’re too tired to pretend, too tired to put on a mask that you’re not okay. Your mind spirals in thoughts of self-loathing at how pathetic you look in front of Miguel. You try to hide your face from Miguel by looking down, not wanting him to see your current state. You feel pathetic in front of him.

“Lyla, put my alerts to ‘do not disturb mode’ unless it’s a live emergency of the multiverse,” Miguel says.

“Roger that,” Lyla responded. Her physical form materialises nearby with a worried look on her face. “Should I call for the medical team as well?”

“No need, I'll take it from here.”

You push yourself up to stand on your feet the second a shadow towers towards you. Your head may be spinning but you still have the capacity and energy to muster whatever thoughts you have. “I don't need help, Miguel.”

The harsh, cold tone that you jab doesn’t phase him. Knowing that it only comes in a place of stress and guarding your feelings. Miguel remains patient with you, putting on a neutral yet there’s a subtle empathy in his red eyes. “You may think that you don’t need the help, but I want to.”

You see Miguel holds out his hand in front of you. The mask on him is gone and his red eyes are staring down at you. “Take it one day at a time.”

His words bring a sense of solace that warms up your heart. You finally take his hand – taking on his offer – your fingers and his interlaced together. You stand up on your feet as Miguel pulls you up, neither of the both of you letting go.

“Thank you.” You whisper. “For not judging me. Or pushing aside my feelings. ”

“I’ll take care of you, whether you like it or not.” Miguel tells you in a stern tone. But there’s a hint of soft affection in his words. “I promise.”

TAGLIST gang: @99matterss @tojishugetiddies permanent taglist for more miguel o'hara fics.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x you #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #fic: wdytm

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silverzoomies · 3 months

Text

Turkish Delight

peter maximoff x reader smut

chapter 1: sweet talkin'

warnings: shameless smut, porn without plot, phone sex, mutual masturbation, best friends, dirty talk

word count: 6,368

a/n: hiyaaa !! i'm back with more filth !! peter speaks russian in this one. i've seen people use russian in place of sokovian language before. and since i've been learning russian for a while, i thought i'd give it a shot !! if you're familiar with the language and anything seems off, please let know asap !! as usual, apologies if peter seems ooc, or if my writing isn't up to par !!

tag list (if i forgot you, please remind me !!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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Chillaxing on the sofa in his mom’s basement, Peter drew out a sigh. His hooded eyes gaped at the TV screen. As he channel surfed, his thumb tapped lazily on the remote. Peter stopped to check each channel in abrupt intervals. Afternoon cable was boring as hell today. It failed to grasp his short lived attention span.

Seinfeld reruns? He saw just about all of ‘em. Soap Operas? Those were more his mom’s thing. Huge pass. Nature documentaries? Could be cool. Guess it depended on which one, though.

Oh. It was the one about the polar bear’s great journey across the arctic! Nifty enough. Except, Peter saw that one three or four times already now. Скучный (boring). Так скучно (So boring).

‘Kay, soooo…TV was kind of a no-go. Instead, Peter popped on the PS1 and settled for a game of Metal Gear Solid. The game’s opening intro was a little too slow for his liking, but Peter forced himself to focus. It sucked he was so antsy today, so fidgety and impatient. He needed some kind of distraction. Any distraction. And he needed one fast.

Peter bounced a leg, half invested in the game’s dialogue. His fingers absentmindedly flicked the controller buttons. Not even five minutes into playing, he found himself frustrated and bored again. This time around, he figured some company might ease his ennui.

He darted across the arm of the couch to a side table. Over a stack of comic books and empty cans of soda, he snatched the receiver to a Garfield phone. Peter dialed a number in less than a second. Too fast, at first. The phone didn’t even register his request. Rolling his eyes, he dialed the number again. Slower this time.

Peter kept the vibrant hunk of orange plastic between his cheek and shoulder. Buzzy ringing echoed on the other end of the line, as he waited for the recipient to pick up. The time it took for a voice to finally respond felt like fifty billion years. Your voice. One of Peter’s closest comrades. The pal he shared most, if not all, of his free time with.

There were days when you visited, and you laid back on the sofa with him. With your legs stretched over his lap and a magazine in your hands, you relaxed. Peter would always do his usual, playing whatever game he ‘bought’ from the local K-Mart. Every time he cursed himself for making a misstep, you giggled. You knew how frustrating it was for him, if he wasn't a hundred leaps ahead of everything. And just to get back at you - but also to hear you laugh again - he’d reach over and dig his fingers into your belly.

He loved that it took such minimal effort to make you laugh. You always had an easygoing warmth about you. And maybe you were also pretty cute too. Sometimes, the crook of your smile made him blush. Oh, and you didn't mind duking it out in Mario Kart sometimes. That was also kinda cool. What more could a lonesome guy ask for? Просто друзья. Ничего больше (Just friends. Nothing more). Yeah. He could be content with that. No problem.

Ten minutes into conversation with you, Peter breathed a yawn into the receiver.

“You know, I’m surprised you have the patience for talking on the phone.” You joked.

The speakers roared with a soft buzz in his ear. Peter didn’t register your words at first. Blinking lazily, he tapped the PS1 controller buttons at rapid speed. In the game, Snake fought off an onslaught of bad guys. Peter faked his offense with a scoff.

“Seriously? Man, what’s up with that? It’s like everyone thinks I can’t do stuff at normal speed without goin’ berserk.” He said, cursing under his breath as Snake got gunned down again.

A small part of him wished you were there, with your legs over his lap, cracking jokes at his expense. Over the phone, you emitted a gentle laugh.

“Because you have? Multiple times, dude!” You said.

Surely you could hear Peter’s eyes roll in his skull.

“Oh, yeah? Name five.” he pressed.

The fast paced clicking of the buttons echoed like a trill in the basement. He overheard the sound of rustling as you shifted in place. If Peter had to guess, he’d bet his left foot you were still lazing around in bed. It was a Saturday, after all. With the hour tipping on the edge of late afternoon. You always moved at the slowest of speeds on your off days.

“I’m just saying! I totally get it. Even I don’t have the patience for chats on the phone sometimes.” You said, and a squeaky yawn followed.

More rustles scuffed from your end, as if you moved to stretch. Keeping his gaze fixed on the flickering, CRT screen; Peter followed flashes of light from each grunt’s gun. His reaction time proved effortless as always. His methods, not so much.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Peter mumbled after a beat, “Doesn’t bother me much if I’m talkin’ to you. You’re not boring, first of all. And on the off chance I do get bored, I can just say - hey, babe, I’m gonna hang up. And you won’t get-uhhh…” He lingered on his next thought, distracted with gunning down more masked baddies, “You won’t get, like, butt hurt over it."

“Why would I?” You laughed, “Did someone seriously get offended by that?”

“My aunt did once. She got mad pissed ‘cuz I told her I was ‘kinda bored’ on the phone. She made me pass it to my mom, so she could rat me out. Said I showed a ‘lack of consideration'; ‘er whatever.” Peter paused, brows furrowed. In Metal Gear, Snake perished yet again. Peter rolled his eyes once more, “She’s kinda mental, though. это возмутительно (it’s outrageous).”

Your only response was a quiet hum of acknowledgement. Peter broke the silence that followed.

“Hey, you’re not busy today, are you? Wanna do somethin’ later?” He asked, knowing full well you had jack shit to do.

“I don’t know. I’m feeling soooooo lazy today.” You playfully teased.

The soft pattern of your breathing sent electric tingles down Peter’s neck. Shuddering, he shook off those unexpected chills. Another beat, and Peter groaned, as Snake perished over a low poly landscape. You gotta take it slow and stealthy, man - Peter reminded himself.

“Хорошо (okay)? So? Come be lazy over here then.” He replied, “Tell you what. If you do, I’ll go ‘n snag some of those Turkish delights you like. The same ones my mom gotcha for your birthday. Remember? From Sokovia?”

Your voice perked up instantly, bringing a cheesy smile to his face. Homely fondness simmered in his chest, and Peter felt himself blush. He pulled his lip between his teeth, pausing his game to focus more on conversation. Leaving Snake stranded in the middle of the snow.

“Oh my gosh!! No way?? I haven’t had those in forever! Seriously, the ones from Sokovia?” You chimed.

“Hell yeah! But you gotta get outta bed first, dingus. C’monnnn.” Peter whined, “I’m so bored here, babe. Oh! I totally forgot. I finally got my hands on a Gameboy Color too. Swear on my life I paid for it this time. You could come over ‘n try it ouuuuuut.” He teased in a sing-song voice, wiggling his brows.

“Gameboys and Turkish delights? You’re spoiling me today, Peter! What’s the occasion?” You joked over the line.

He shrugged, forgetting you couldn’t see him, “Bored outta my friggin’ skull. That’s what.” After a beat, he awkwardly added, “And maybe I like hangin’ with you? Do I even need a reason?”

“Well, I gotta admit…you had me at Turkish delights.” You feigned a dreamy tone.

Peter chuckled again. Under his breath, he muttered softly, “ Это все, что тебе нужно, да (That’s all you need, huh)?”

“Huh?” You asked, oblivious to his comment, “What’d you say? I didn’t catch that last part.”

Peter ran a hand through his silver locks, leaving his hair loose and messy. Cradling the phone in his other hand, he knitted his lips to one side.

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You want me to come get you? ‘Cuz I can.” He checked his digital watch, decked out in a Star Wars theme, “I can right now, if you-”

“It’s fine. I love going out with you, but I really don’t wanna deal with motion sickness today. I just had lunch too. No offense!” Another yawn rang over the phone, hitching into a squeal at the end. Peter didn’t realize he was smiling so big until his cheeks started to hurt, “I’ll just drive over. Sound good?”

Peter rolled his eyes, sarcastically groaning. He threw his head back into the sofa cushions, playing up his fake frustrations.

“Auuuuuuugh! But that’ll take years.” He dragged a hand down his face, pulling his cheeks under his fingertips, “Is this ‘cuz you blew chunks last time?? You know that doesn’t bother me, right? Everyone does it, babe.”

You made a noise of disgust. Something like an eugh , “Please, don’t remind me. That sucked so much. Yeah, no, I’d rather not. I really need a break from it.” You sighed again. Kind of a bummer, but he could deal.

“It’s whatever you want, I guess. So, when are you gonna head out?” Peter asked, sitting up on the sofa and putting the controller aside.

He bounced a leg at rapid speed, his knee moving in a flesh tone blur of motion. Less from agitation, more due to anticipation.

“I’ll leave soon. Just give me a few minutes. Think you can wait?” You chuckled in that sweet, quirky way again. The melody gave Peter butterflies. Ignoring the fluttering in his belly, he pushed himself off the couch. Grabbing the base of the Garfield phone, Peter cradled the lil guy in an arm. He figured he may as well get dressed, and freshen up before you arrived, “It’s so cold today. I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet! I’m still bundled up in my undies. Got your jacket on too. You left a Game n Watch in the pocket, by the way. I didn’t even know they still made those!”

“Yeah. I totally called that one. Get up already, ya slacker.” Peter joked trapping the phone between his cheek and shoulder again. He scratched his bare chest. His fingertips grazed the sparse covering of white hairs there. Yawning, he nodded, “Okay. Okay. Okay. Sure, just-”

Something about your last statement finally clicked in Peter’s brain. He rapidly blinked, shaking his head fast enough to give himself whiplash. Peter did a quadruple take.

“Подожди (wait)! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, waiiiiiit …hold on a sec.” He narrowed his eyes, “Say that again?”

“Say what again? The part about the Game n Watch?” You asked, and Peter’s brows furrowed.

“N-Nah. The…did you just…have you been lyin’ around in your underwear this whole time?”

“Uh, yeah? Why? Is this revolutionary information?” You chuckled.

“In my jacket? Like, I didn’t hear that wrong? What’d you like…sleep in it ‘er somethin’?” Peter arched a silver brow, pressing the phone handset closer to his cheek. As if doing so might somehow help him hear you more clearly.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal either way. You borrowed his jackets all the time. Peter never thought anything of it before this conversation. Aside from the fact that - when you did return them, he loved the sweet scent you left behind. The smell of your perfume, with the added bonus of your natural pheromones…

Ебать (Fuck)! Why was he even thinking about this? The two of you had such a casual thing goin’ on. But now, Peter thought of you in a different light. Something friskier. Not that he meant to. Maybe killer boredom + cute friend = horny speedster. Or perhaps the planets aligned in some totally off-the-wall way.

Whatever the case, Peter’s mind raced on autopilot. He pictured the way you might look right now. In your room, spread across your bed in nothing but your underwear and - Ебена мать (Holy shit) - his jacket. With your long legs bare, your knees bumping together as you squeezed your thighs shut. Tummy exposed. And your tits-

Woooooooah there! Slow down, casanova! Peter shouldn’t be…nah, he really shouldn’t be wondering what your breasts looked like. Ppfffbbbbt …’kay, so, maybe in the past he thought about it once or twice. But what dude wouldn't contemplate the hidden mystery of a pal's titties sometimes, ah?

“Well, so what if I did? That doesn’t weird you out, does it?” You asked, a careful waver in your voice.

“Uhhhh…nahhh, babe. Just…” Peter shifted in place, rerouting his thoughts, “Just…got one hell of an image in my head. Might’ve pictured you like that for no particular reason at all.”

Lucky for him, you didn’t seem to think anything of his confession.

“Not much to imagine…” You replied. Сомнительно (Doubtful).

“I mean…pffbbbttt…sure, yeah. Maybe not.” Peter awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of his neck. His voice dropped, a little more hushed, “Unless…you’re wearin’ some really cute panties over there.” Again, he laughed, rushing out a quick, “I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m totally messin’. Just bustin’ your balls, babe.”

Except…he sorta wasn’t. Peter found himself oh-so curious. Twisting the phone's orange wire around his finger, he anticipated your reaction. Anxious you might think him weird for pushing things too far. Never had the two of you charted this kind of territory. It was a minefield, with a 95% chance neither one would make it out unscathed.

“I guess? I think they’re kind of cute.” You added, innocent as ever. Awesome. You weren’t peeved at him, at least. Peter brought the phone to his chest, exhaling an anxious breath to calm his racing heart. When he put the phone to his ear again, he figured you’d moved on. But your cadence shifted. To test the boundaries of your friendship, you teased, “They’re pretty small on me, though.”

Ah. Ah. Интересно. Очень интересно (Interesting. Very interesting). What an unexpected but totally wicked development. Peter lowered himself slowly onto the couch, setting the phone's base on the side table. He eased backwards into the cushions, and tightened his twisting of the phone wire. Swallowing hard, Peter found he had difficulty focusing. Especially with his imagination running so goddamn wild.

“Yeah? …How small is pretty small?” He dared to ask.

Long seconds of silence ticked by at the pace of a narcoleptic sloth. If Peter weren’t so eager to hear what you had to say, he may have torn his hair out. Over the line, you laughed.

“Small enough they barely cover my ass? Why are you so curious all of a sudden?” You cooed.

Peter fluttered his inky eyes, nibbling chapped skin on his lip. Fuzzy pink swarmed the rest of his face, as his mind conjured images of you so effortlessly. Clear as day. Heat stirred to life in his groin, and Peter pictured the way your plush cheeks might hold in tight painties. His breath hitched.

“I-uh…” Peter felt the heat in his cheeks creep down his neck, flustered at lightspeed, “Just thinkin’...maybe you should do somethin’ about that?” He gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. What a lame response, “Черт возьми (damn it)!” He huffed under his breath, too quiet for you to hear.

Toying with this newly discovered sexual tension, Peter humorously asked-

“Sooooooo…what color?”

You giggled into the receiver, airy and light. His body registered the noise somewhere , down south of his belly. He wondered if you were as flustered as him. And the visual of your bashful face and shy smile had his heartbeat ramping up to mach 10.

“What? A-Are you for real asking me…oh my god, dude!” Your giggles turned into goofy snorts. Which he found so endearing. Once you composed yourself, you spoke again. Though, your tone came off as more flirtatious, “If you really wanna know so bad…then fine. They’re black. Lacy. With a little bow on the front.”

Дерьмо (Shit)...

His silver brows soared high, disappearing under his bangs. Paying little attention to his instinctive actions, Peter guided his free hand between his thighs. Inwardly, he told himself he was only adjusting his uncomfortable hard-on. ‘Cuz it’d be totally weird if he did anything else…right? Best to ignore the movement of his thumb, as it absentmindedly circled his bulge.

“Huh…that’s so…” Peter blinked, clearing his throat and masking his nerves with a chuckle, “‘Kay, I’ll be up front with you, babe. That sounds cute as hell. Very nice.”

“Really? Oh, please, Peter. They’d be cute on anybody.” You scoffed.

“Uh huh…” He smirked, dropping his tone even lower, “‘Cept, now that I’m really thinkin’ about it? I’m bettin’ they look criminally cute on you.” Peter lazily smirked.

You laughed, breathless like you ran a thousand miles, “Wh-...what are we even doing right now? Seriously, why am I talking to you about my-” The uneasiness in your voice bled through the line.

Your concern was for good reason. Nevertheless, Peter interrupted you mid-sentence.

“Easy there, chuckles. We’re just chatting. Nothin’ too unusual, right? We’ve had some seriously raunchy conversations before. Remember? That time I got laid on a golf course? You told me about that time some dude shot a load in your eye. What’s the difference, anyway?” Peter grimaced, as he recalled your story from eons ago.

You giggled yet again, “Peter, you know damn well what the difference is!” You clarified with a sigh, still playful. The phone wire went slack around his finger, as Peter second guessed himself. He parted his lips, on the cusp of apologizing. Bringing one hand up to the phone, he held it loosely. Your sugary voice chimed again, “I’m kinda wondering, though…what would you think if I told you I’m topless right now?”

His grip compressed around the handset.

“Topless, huh?” Peter cast a quick glance at his hard-on, twitching painfully under his boxers. His mind jumped straight to sinful places again. Peter thought about what your tits probably look like, embraced in his jacket. Nipples hard, grazing the inner-lining. He swallowed, “What’re you tryna tell me? You gonna drive over here in nothin’ but that?” Peter quipped.

A more sultry laugh melted through the receiver. Peter trembled, as your smooth voice coaxed him like a tempting song. His free palm squeezed his bulge, putting pressure to his length over fabric. Peter’s brows turned inward, and he fluttered his eyes shut.

“I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, if it wasn’t so cold outside. It’s freezing today. I don’t know how you can run as fast as you do when the weather’s like this.” Your tone disguised itself with lighthearted innocence again, “It’s not any warmer in my room either. My nipples could cut glass. They’re, like, soooo hard.”

Peter adjusted himself on the sofa, giving the swell of his bulge another teasing squeeze.

“ Ты маленькая соблазнительница (you little temptress)...” His hot breath fanned the phone.

“I love it when you talk like that…” You replied, “Even if I have no idea what you’re saying. It sounds really hot, to be totally honest.”

“Oh, yeah?” Peter teased his lip with his teeth, speaking in a more flirtatious voice; buttery smooth, “ Я забыл вынести мусор (I forgot to take out the trash)...” For added effect - just to embarrass you more - he tacked on a husky moan.

Peter made himself blush, as the sound came out far more pornagraphic than he intended. The rasp of his voice scraped through the line in a hushed, “ Oh, yeah, baby. ”

The erotic tension you felt from his teasing was palpable, even over the phone. Peter could sense the shift in the way you gasped. So faint, so shy, so cute.

“Oh…oh, wow...uhm…” You tried concealing your bashfulness with more of those candy coated giggles. But Peter could practically hear the blood racing to your cheeks, “What’s that mean? Something good, I hope.”

Peter bit his tongue, lips turning in a cheeky grin.

“It means you’re really turnin’ me on…”

Another hesitant pause fell between the two of you, before you scoffed.

“Oh my god, no it doesn’t! I can hear you laughing!” You griped, snickering along with Peter. A few more tension heavy beats pulsed over the line. You spoke again, “Hey…I’m sorry. Can I put things on pause for a sec? I just wanted to ask…are you okay with this?”

“Are you?” Peter gently asked, giving you ample time to think about it.

“I don’t know…maybe…” You whispered, “Isn’t this, like, super weird for you?”

“I mean…suuuuuuure. It’s totally weird. If you kept goin', I wouldn't be into it...at all...” He bullied you with a playful edge, hoping you could read the flirtatious undertone in his voice.

“Ohhhhh…you wouldn't be?” Judging by the saucy lilt in your voice, you most definitely caught on, “You know what would be even weirder?”

Peter adjusted on the sofa again. Getting comfortable, he laid on his back. His taut legs stretched across the cushions, and Peter propped his head on the couch’s arm.

“Whazzat? Enlighten me, babe. I’m listenin’. You got my full attention.” He teased.

“Your full attention, huh? I must be doing something right.” You snickered, “So…you know how I said I love it when you talk…like that?” Your voice wavered, “What I really meant was-uhm…when you do that on the phone…it makes me kind of horny.”

His brown hues burst open, wider than ever. Peter’s pupils dilated, expanding as far as the universe itself. He swallowed again, his mouth falling open. Your filthy confession set his arousal ablaze, making his dick twitch. As heated desire took over, Peter couldn’t restrain himself. He snuck his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, fingertips gliding over silver hairs. A small piece of him almost felt guilty for doing so.

“It does, huh? Хорошо знать (Good to know).” Peter whispered, tenderly grasping his shaft.

You made a naughty squeak of a noise in response, “Y-Yeah, Peter, I’m serious. You really have to stop doing that.”

“Почему (Why)? Are you soakin’ yourself over it? Gettin’ a lil wet? It’s cool. You can tell me…” Peter heckled, expelling a breath as he gave his dick a single tug.

“Oh, I bet you wanna know all about that, huh? You’re so bad, Quickie...” You teased, clicking your tongue.

Peter’s ears burned, turning pink as he took in the coquettish nature of your voice. Scoffing, he feigned his indignance.

“What?! Hey, nah nah nah! You started this! Это несправедливо, черт возьми (it’s not fair. Dammit)!” Peter laughed, carefree with you as always, “You can’t seriously drop a bombshell like that and expect me not to-”

“Not to come running?” You hummed, sweet tempered, “I’m just messing with you, baby. But since we’re on the topic…I made such a mess of these little panties. Just from listening to your voice.”

Peter couldn’t even pretend he didn’t like the sound of ‘baby’ on your tongue.

“Oh, man…anything but the panties…” He joked, “You should-uh…you should save yourself some trouble. Y’know…take ‘em off, maybe? Might be more comfortable.” Peter hinted, playing nonchalant, “Just tryna be a good friend. Give you some advice. You should for sure take it.”

“But I’m already so cold…” You whimpered, “Your jacket’s so warm. Smells good too. Really good. But it’s not enough to keep me covered.” You spoke with flirtatious innocence, and Peter played along.

“No harm done, принцесса (princess). I’ll warm you up if you need me to.” He reassured, sweet talking you over the phone, “Ты думаешь, что я не позабочусь о тебе? (Do you think I won't take care of you)?" Peter mumbled again. He listened to your sickly sweet laughs, before asking, “So…do you get like this every time we talk on the phone?”

“Mmmm…maybe.” You hummed, “What if I said yes?” You shuffled around again, and Peter’s mind jumped elsewhere. He imagined you shed yourself of damp, black lace. Leaving you wanton and needy in nothing but his jacket, “You know…we’ve been talking about me a lot this whole time. You wanna tell me what you’re wearing? I don’t really have a visual.”

“Oh…me?” Your request caught Peter off guard.

“Yeah, you. Who else, blockhead?” You playfully quipped, smoothing your voice to say, “You don’t have to be shy. I just wanna know, so I can think about taking it off of you.”

Peter didn’t know he could blush this much. Puffing a bashful laugh, he looked down at his body. Mostly nude and toned enough. He had his x-gene to thank for his pecs and hard abs. A fluffy bouquet of silver hairs peeked out from his boxers. Underneath, his dick throbbed, pressing eagerly into fabric.

“Uhm…I’m not wearin’ a lot? Nothin’ special. Just some black, boxer briefs, I guess. Wait, no-” Peter lifted a foot, his lips curling in a goofy smile, “Got my Star Wars socks on too.”

A sensual moan graced his ears, “That’s so hot.” You softly whined, “Star Wars socks? Peter, just take me now.”

Despite the fact you were totally messing with him, that playful comment made his chest tight.

“Nothing else though?” You pressed.

“Nnnnnnnnnnope.” He drew out the word, popping the P, “Just the-uh…yeah. Boxers ‘n sexy socks. Not much to take off.”

“And you’re pretty fit, aren’t you? You always looked really jacked to me, so-” You said.

Peter cocked a brow, snickering to cover his embarrassment.

“Wooooahhh…you been checkin’ me out, babe?” He asked, darting his dark hues across his athletic bod. Peter flexed an arm, “Sure, I guess I’m in decent shape.” He found he couldn’t dismiss your compliments. Peter looked good, and he knew it. But he preferred hearing it from you, “Hey, you wanna know somethin’, like, way crazy?”

“This? What we’re doing right now is so crazy, right?” You laughed, sounding as bashful as him.

Peter snickered, “True. Truuuue. But, uh…” He shrank in his spot on the couch, pressing the vibrant handset closer into his cheek. Pre-cum seeped through his boxers, as Peter tugged his dick steady and slow. Careful not to stimulate himself too much yet. He dropped his voice to a hushed rasp, “I’m kinda in the same spot you are right now. If you-uh…if you catch my drift.”

The two of you knew each other for a long time. Several years, in fact. But never once did Peter think he’d hear his closest pal say-

“Ohhhh. Are you hard right now, baby?”

Oh. Yeah, this buddy-buddy friendship was in major trouble. Doomed to crash and burn. As soon as the words fell from your lips, spoken in your honeyed voice; Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. He sank his teeth so hard into his lip, he almost broke skin.

“Y-Yeah. Since you-uh…started talkin’ about your panties. I’m sorry, babe. Just been kinda bored and worked up all day.” He sheepishly chuckled.

“You poor baby…” You coddled him over the phone. And while he should’ve been embarrassed, Peter had no problem with you talking like that, “Can I ask how big you are?”

Peter stalled for a moment, before pulling the front of his boxers down. His hardness flopped against his belly, pulsating and ruddy from his teasing. Taking his aching length in his hand, he rubbed the underside with his thumb.

“You mean my dick? It’s-uhhhh…like six, maybe seven inches almost?” He squeezed his cock, milking beads of pre-cum, “But size doesn’t matter, yeah? It’s the motion of the ocean, babe.”

“Noooooo, baby. You’re so perfect. Wish I could see how good you look like that…” You cooed over the phone.

Your kindly words and airy tone made the veins in his dick throb with electric heat. Peter clutched his cock tight, pumping the velvet skin a touch faster. Giving himself just a simple taste of relief. His stomach clenched, hardening his abs.

“Не так идеально, как ты выглядишь (Not as perfect as you look)...” Peter muttered, drawing in a shallow breath, “Babe, I gotta tell ya, I’m really feelin’ this. I’m so into you right now. W-Want you to keep talkin’ like-uh...”

His imagination took his depravity to the next level. Now, Peter thought about joining you in your room. He wondered how soft and smooth your skin would feel. Supple and hot under his fingertips. What might you look like writhing under him, whimpering as he played with you? As he teased you? Man, you were both so screwed.

“Never thought dirty talking with me would turn you on so much…” You giggled.

Peter secured the handset between his cheek and shoulder. With both hands free, he raised his palm to his lips. He drew a long stripe with his tongue, bringing his damp hand to his cock. The slick lubrication pulled a gentle moan from his throat.

“M-Maybe a little bit. Ебать (Fuck), maybe a lot.” Peter groaned, labored in his breathing, “Can you - Ебать (fuck) - you wanna do somethin’ for me? Just a little favor between friends? S’all I’m askin’, baby.”

“Anything you want, Peter.” You mewled.

“Can you- mmmmohgod -” Peter choked up. He almost chickened out, but pushed himself to ask, “Can you touch yourself for me? Please? Пожалуйста, моя маленькая принцесса (Please, my little princess)...” His foreign whispers weaved pretty whimpers from your lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, if you want me to. But you have to do the same for me too. It’s only fair, right? Equal exchange?” You whispered, acting playful again.

Peter breathed a guilty chuckle, “Uhm…yeahhhhh…about that…”

You softly gasped, “Have you been-”

“Playin’ with my dick this whole time? Maybe.” Peter admitted. His thumb caught another pearl of pre, spreading the slickness over his sensitive head, “But I’m not, like, totally jerkin’ it yet…” He lied, pressing you to encourage him.

“Oh, you’re not, huh? What are you doing then?” You asked, “Are you being a bad boy, Pietro?” The abrupt drop of his given name shocked him into silence.

Peter felt his groin tighten, and an exhilarating rush electrified his nerves. For the thousandth time, you giggled. And for the thousandth time, Peter’s heart leapt. Dumbfounded, he gathered his composure and played along again.

“Y-Yeah. So bad. You gotta help me, babe. I’m just-...I’m so hard. Don’t think I can stop myself if you keep talkin’ like that.”

Through the receiver, Peter’s ears caught wind of a needy mewl. He gripped his cock hard, guiding his fist in firmer strokes. His legs quivered, and the heels of his Star Wars socks slid across the couch.

“Does it feel good when you touch your pretty cock like that, sweetheart?” You cooed.

Peter almost went straight into cardiac arrest. He jolted in place, feeling his cock stiffen in his grasp.

“Святой трах (Holy fuck)..." Peter suffocated on his own groans. For an instant, his words failed him, “Uhmmm…hah…wow-uh…Ебать (fuck). Feels good, yeah. Don’t think it’s enough. I need-...uhm…I want-uh…”

“Yeah? What do you want, baby. It’s okay.” You spoke so sugary sweet again.

“I-...Я просто хочу увидеть тебя (I just want to see you)...” Peter’s veins tingled under his touch, as he tugged his dick with more urgency, “Shit! I-...how come I never knew you could be like this-” And to Peter’s ultimate humiliation, he whimpered your name. Along with another whiny, “ Ебать (Fuck). ”

“Like what?” Your coy voice teased him over the line.

“I dunno…so-uh…so damn nasty.” He joked, and even through the phone; he knew he had you flustered again.

“I guess we all have our secrets, hmm? Tell me more, Pietro. When you touch yourself like that. With those big, strong hands…how’s it feel?” You asked, driving him to keep going.

Peter snorted a laugh, “Strong hands? What??” His endearing playfulness took a backseat, as he grunted into the receiver, “God…feels like my strong hand’s not enough. Мне реально тебе нужно прямо сейчас. Нужна так сильно (I really need you right now. I need you so much).” His voice fell to a whisper. Pumping his slick, crimson cock through his fist, he breathlessly pleaded, “Talk to me, baby. Please. Tell me-ohhh…tell me what you’re doin’ over there.”

You squealed a sultry giggle, further igniting Peter’s pleasured frenzy. He squirmed in his spot on the sofa, forcing himself to stay put. Battling the forces of the universe, it was all Peter could do not to race to your room. Just to spread your legs and hump you like a speedy bunny.

“Mmmm…I’m just doing what you asked me to…I’m being so good for you right now.” You whimpered.

“Oh. Okay…uhm…far out. Uh…wanna gimme the steamy details?” He heckled again, fumbling his words in his nervousness, “Please, don’t hold off on me, baby.”

“I’m…” Your precious voice wavered, teeming with awkwardness as your confidence dwindled, “I’m playing with my little pussy. Just for you. And I’m so wet. I can’t stop thinking about your hands…so big…”

“Боже мой (my god).” Peter muttered. Combating impatience brought upon by his genes, he willed himself to take things slow. His strokes became steady and teasing, as he edged his aching cock, “Holy shit, babe. Yeah? Keep goin’...”

You moaned soft squeals into the receiver, “I want you so bad, Quickie. Please, baby, don’t make me beg. Can you touch this little pussy for me? Please? Your fingers are so big. I don’t think they’d fit all at once. It’s been a while, and I’m so tight.” Your naughty voice pleaded.

“God, I wanna touch you so bad. Я хочу прикоснуться к этой сладкой киске (I want to touch that sweet pussy).” Peter’s impatience got the better of him, and he quickly gave in. He grasped his cock hard, wringing himself fast enough to make his balls bounce. Creasing his brows, he groaned, “Ohhh..What’re you tryna to do to me, babe? Talkin’ about how tight you are…Ебать…”

“But I ammmm.” You whined again, “I’m squeezing my tiny fingers so tight. It’s so soft and hot for you. Bet it’d feel really good if you stretched me. With your fingers, with your cock - fuck, Pietro. I just need you, baby.”

“Please, baby, oh, please? Wanna be inside you. Wanna feel you. I promise I won’t go too fast. Я обещаю (I promise).” Peter whimpered. But as you mewled again, another forceful wave of carnal heat crashed over Peter. In a quieter tone, he choked, “Нет, я могу. Я пойду так быстро (No, I can. I’ll go so fast).”

“Pietro, you can go as fast as you want, baby. I won’t stop you.” You pleaded, your broken voice so kittenish and wanton, “F-Fuck. I’m rubbing my clit. So sensitive. Thinking about you. Thinking about your mouth on me.”

“Ебать!!” Peter moaned through clenched teeth. His self control rapidly abandoned him. Speedily rutting his sore cock through the squeeze of his fist, his body refused to slow down, “Говоря о скорости (Speaking of speed)...” Peter craned his neck back, raising a hand to keep the handset to his ear, “You gotta stop makin’ all those cute noises, baby. Please…I can’t-”

As surges of horny pleasure circulated through his body, Peter thought of you again. He imagined you on your bed, caged under him between his arms. In his daydreams, he kissed you intimately, touching your pretty, naked body. Peter wanted to feel how wet you were for himself. And hell, the danger of pushing your friendship past its limits made you more tempting. Such a lewd, risky thought pushed him closer to the edge of something righteous.

“Baby, I wanna see you. Can I? Can I see you stroke that thick cock? Would you let me? Ohh, fuck, Pietro.” You whimpered. And your noises were so shamelessly lecherous, you could’ve made a pornstar blush, “Can I kiss it, please? Can I kiss your big cock?” You whimpered.

“О боже мой, пожалуйста (Oh my god, please)!” Peter choked, every word hitching in his throat, “Baby…babe, you can’t do this. Ya really can’t be-” He laughed lazily, his dark eyes falling half lidded. His cock throbbed, bright red and turning purple at the tip. He rutted in a speedy blur, “Stop. Stop. Stop. I’m gonna…babe, I’m gonna bust-” He slurred.

You squealed his name as loudly as your hushed voice would allow. And Peter swore he could hear the slick sound of your fingers. As they played with your pretty, little cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Please cum with me. Please? Pietro, OH~!”

“я кончаю, я кончаю (I’m cumming, I’m cumming)! ‘M Gonna-” Peter’s moans seeped through the receiver, his wet lips parting and mouth hanging open.

His swollen cock erupted in white-hot jets, coating his pecs and belly. With all his muscles tensed, Peter’s legs trembled. He rode out those lusty waves in tandem with you. The pleasure of orgasm sounded leagues more intense on your side. You took longer to cruise through it, whimpering and moaning Peter’s name. As you did, Peter basked in his momentary afterglow. Keeping the phone pressed to his ear, his head resting on the arm of the sofa; he listened to you with a smirk on his lips. At the end of your journey in ecstasy, your moans turned into flustered giggles.

Peter's thoughts reeled him in again. Imagining you, looking so sheepish and fine in his jacket. Now, he desperately wanted the real deal. To see you in all your post-nut glory. Mere seconds later, his sore cock pulsed to life again. As his hardness squirmed on his belly, Peter breathed another sigh.

On his end, you heard nothing but silence. You kept calling his name, your tired voice infused with anxiety.

“Uhm…Peter? Hey…are you there?” You asked.

And he didn't say a single word more.

#peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff #txt #im terrified this is like...not as decent as my usual but whatever !!

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