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sttoru · 5 months

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toji never celebrates his birthday and thus learned to treat it as any other regular day. well, until you came into the picture and did the unexpected.

☀︎｜tags. dom!toji fushiguro x female reader. smut mixed with fluff & sprinkle of angst. implied age gap (reader early 20’s, toji late 20’s /early 30’s) implied size difference, p in v -> unprotected, cowgirl position, toji actually being a soft dom kinda, praise mixed with tiny bit of degradation, slight corruption kink, dirty talk / teasing, biting, creampie, reader gets called ‘princess, little girl \\ pretty, innocent, small'. not beta read. happy bday hubby!

“i told ya — fuck jus’ like that — not to buy or do anythin’ for me on m’birthday.” toji’s head lolls back against the pillow while his rough palms explore every inch of your gorgeous body. the word ‘birthday’ rolls off his tongue in a bitter manner. the assassin never celebrates that dreadful day, as he calls it.

he’s never found it to be worth remembering. his family couldn’t care less about that day when he was a child, so why would he?

but, that changed when you came into his life. toji flinched when he heard a loud ‘pop!’ sound upon opening the front door to his apartment. he was used to those noises being one of danger and thus swiftly reached for the spare weapon in his pocket. . . only to notice you standing behind the door with a party popper and a homemade cake.

the older man froze in place for a good few seconds, though was quick to realise the situation and relax. after the initial shock died down, you excitedly dragged him off to the living room to show him the presents you bought.

toji's first reflex was to scold you for spending money on him. he had never gotten anything for his birthday—it was weird to finally receive something from someone who actually cares for him. it somehow made him feel guilty as well. was he worth spending money on?

toji’s impressed reactions when unwrapping the presents showed you exactly how foreign the moment was to him: he’s never opened any gifts before. that much was even more evident after witnessing his inexperience in peeling off the tape from the boxes.

eventually, after opening around seven gifts, toji got to unwrap his final present. the present which was you.

the way you innocently yet seductively whispered words of affection in his ears made his mind go blank. even if it were simple ‘i love you’s and ‘happy birthday’ wishes. the red dress you had on and how your figure looked in it made everything ten times more sexual to the assassin. anything after that was a complete blur. his body moved on its own and yours followed right after until you finally landed on top of him — riding him.

toji’s half-lidded eyes couldn’t get enough of the sight he's witnessing. maybe his birthday wasn't such a bad day after all; the loving memories you're currently creating would surely outbalance the negative ones.

you shake your head at toji’s earlier sentence and tighten your grip on his shoulders, nails lightly digging into his skin and leaving faint red marks. you almost can’t talk due to the overexertion—your hips continuously rising and falling back down for the sake of your lover, “i- mph, wanted to get you all those things. you deserve them, toji.”

the view of your small body trying its hardest to not give in to its need of an orgasm made the assassin dizzy. his large hands settle on your waist and his eyes watch your every move from behind his black bangs. toji silently hisses as he feels your tight cunt clenching around him, “. . . f-shit. easy there.”

your pretty face is his weakness. especially when your usual innocent look gets replaced by one filled with carnal desire. toji can easily get off to the idea of him having that effect on you—his words, body, looks and actions that corrupted your every being in intimate moments like these.

“such a sweet thing,” the dark-haired man coos, brushing the stray locks of hair away from your face with his index finger. his other hand rubs up and down your inner thigh, each time getting dangerously closer to your clit, though never getting a single touch in. the scarred corner of his lips twitch in an amused grin at your whines, “oh? want me to touch you there, princess? that what ya want?”

you nod without a second thought. you were trying your best to hold out for as long as your body allowed it — desperately wanting to reach your climax at the same time toji was going to — but the idea seems impossible the longer this continued.

your boyfriend grins smugly, raising his eyebrows before entirely removing his hands from your body. his arms rest behind his head as he reverts to simply enjoying the view of you riding him so well. toji can never not be mean to you. your little pouts only drive him to tease you more and more, “hm, well, ya see - i thought you were gonna spoil me today, not the other way around.”

“t-toji! tha's mean. . .” you huff, bottom lip trembling. your arms circle his neck and your upper body leans forward to rest against his chiseled chest. you stop your hip thrusts and instead grind against his pelvis, trying to stimulate your clit on your own.

toji clicks his tongue, but figured it was best to leave you be. he didn't want to be too rough on you today - you had been nothing but sweet to him the entire night. you had blessed him with his first, proper birthday experience as well.

“aww, my little girl ‘s pouting,” the older man snickers and his hands return to their place. he allows you to grind against him, the sensations being amazing for him as well. the tip of his cock almost reaches your cervix from the current angle and your bodily fluids smear all over his thighs and lower abdomen, “shh shh, ‘tis alright.”

your needy whines and moans are music to his ears. toji rubs your lower back and pats your ass every now and then, squeezing the soft flesh gently just to hear another whimper spill from your lips. there was no way you could hold back now. especially when your bodies were rubbing together and you could feel toji’s defined abs and hardened muscles underneath you.

“toji - nngh - can i? wan' — wanna cum.” your small hands tighten their grip around his broad shoulders. you earn a low, breathy chuckle from your lover. the increasing sensations in his lower stomach were an indication to how close he was to his orgasm as well. he wasn’t going to deny you any further.

toji sighs in content and presses a soft kiss to your temple, thumb rubbing your cheek gently. it was a rare occurence to see that vulnerable and affectionate look in his piercing green eyes. the little smile plastered on his face only added to the soft and intimate atmosphere.

. . . well, toji wouldn’t be toji if he wasn’t going to add catch you off guard in any way or form. your eyes widen and your body jolts forward as he suddenly starts putting work in—his hips ramming into yours from below, the skin-to-skin sounds resonating throughout the room once again. it was like the wind got knocked out of you for a good second, “fuck! w-wait, toji! tojitojitoji!”

the older man holds tightly onto you — cradling you in his arms as he lightly lifts your hips to have free reign over the pace and movements of your two bodies — thrusting up into you over and over. he lets out a series of small, silent groans as he feels his climax nearing;

“shit, yeah - ‘m gonna stuff this pussy of y’rs full, princess.” toji's callused fingers curl around your hip bones, using them as leverage to increase the intensity of his thrusts, “think you can take it all?”

you mewl and nod again and again. you’re on the brink of tears when the waves of pleasure reach their peak. your eyes roll back and your body convulses, legs shaking and squirming during those few seconds of pure bliss. your adorable babble in the form of toji’s name was all your lover needed to push him over the edge—

“fuck. ‘m gonna cum,” toji groans and firmly bites your shoulder to hold back any more noises when he finally decided to let go. a choked sob leaves your lips the instant you feel the hot spurts of cum seeping into your senstive cunt. the older man continues to thrust in and out sloppily, riding out his orgasm and fucking his cum deeper into you at the same time, “so good — i love you s’much.”

you smile exhaustedly at the love confession from your boyfriend. toji’s grip on you loosens up after he completely emptied his balls deep inside your cunt, his jaw finally unclenching. he plants a few wet kisses along the bite marks on your shoulder in attempt to soothe the pain.

you catch your breath as you rest on top of toji's body. he didn't put the slightest effort into pulling out of you — even as a tiny puddle of your mixed juices stains his skin.

“i love you too, toji,” you reply and earn another lazy kiss to your forehead. he rubs the back of your head and massages your plush thighs in a tender manner. nothing could make this moment even more perfect, you thought to yourself.

you smile as you pull your head back to look into toji’s eyes. he was already looking at you — admiring your gorgeous looks as you basked in the afterglow of your lovemaking. you capture his lips in a delicate kiss, “happy birthday.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk smut #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #toji smut #jjk x you #toji x you #female reader #i hate this ARGHHHH

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5sospenguinqueen · 15 days

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Play Pretend | Charles Leclerc x Law Student! Reader

Summary: He's Lightning McQueen. You're Elle Woods. But, when Charles misses you, he makes it known that perhaps your career isn't as important as his wishes to start a family.

Warnings: Swearing. Angst. Baby fever? Miscommunication.

Female reader with various faceclaims. Pics found on Pinterest.

2024 but some events switched around

I'm trying to make all of these different to each other so I'm sorry that this one was less baby fever and more baby mention.

Main Masterlist

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YourUserName just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, francisca.cgomes and others

YourUserName the cause of stress v. the support systems tagged: charles_leclerc, YourBestFriend

6,883 comments

User1 i love how all her captions ft her degree are legal themed

User2 our favourite elle woods

charles_leclerc ❤️💛

charles_leclerc mon ange, what are you doing in that second photo

→ YourUserName it’s probably best you don’t know, char

→ YourBestFriend cocktails were involved

→ charles_leclerc this is why i don’t like leaving her with you

→ YourBestFriend cry me a river, vroom vroom boy

User3 i love that max follows charles’ gf but not charles himself

francisca.cgomes get that degree, girl!

lilymhe i still think i would be a better support system than charles

→ YourUserName and i fully agree. let’s run away together

→ alex_albon whoa, whoa, whoa. get your own girlfriend

→ charles_leclerc she already has her own girlfriend!

→ charles_leclerc wait, no

→ User4 the prettiest girlfriend

User5 i swear charles and y/n are the cutest f1 couple

→ User6 they always look so infatuated with each other

→ User7 umm, how? she's literally never at races

→ User8 because she’s off being successful in her own way, and charles supports that? plus, she’s always snapped in ferrari merch on race days whether she’s there or not

→ User9 omg yes! when a classmate took a pic of her leaving a final in bright red, and she was easily the most spottable person in that hall

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charles_leclerc just posted

liked by pierregasly, arthur_leclerc and others

charles_leclerc welcome home baby leo tagged: YourUserName

12,298 comments

User10 omg dad charles!!

User11 charles in his dog dad era

User12 we’ve only had leo for a minute now but if anything happened to him, i would kill everyone here and then myself

YourUserName my two favourite boys ❤️

→ User13 mom and dad!!

User14 did you see in the background of one of the pics, they have his “birth certificate” framed and it says leo leclerc-y/l/n. he truly is their child

→ User15 omg they would make the best parents

→ User16 agreed! i can’t wait for them to have a baby. it would be too cute, i fear

roscoelovescoco can’t wait’s to see’s a new’s friend in’s the paddock’s

→ User17 roscoe-leo play date when please

→ User18 not until 2025 😂

User19 but let’s all take a moment to appreciate how cool leo’s parents are. he has an f1 racer for a dad, and a fashionable law student for a mum

→ User20 haha his parents are lightning mcqueen and elle woods

pierregasly thanks mate. now kika is going to want one

→ YourUserName and you should give her one. i need a mum friend

User21 first they adopt ollie and now leo. who’s next

→ YourUserName oscar

→ User21 omg i love you!

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User1 the interviewer was asking about future races and charles wasted no time in bringing up his girlfriend. he’s so down bad

User2 the way his face lights up when he talks about her. he really does love her.

User3 how cute. they’ve just gotten a puppy together, and he’s already thinking about all the future things he wants to do

User4 oh Charles, honey, that’s not giving what you think it is

User5 any other woman slightly uncomfortable with the way this was worded?

→ User6 lets all take a moment to remember that english isn’t his first language. he obviously meant well, and the love in his eyes shows that he’s excited about a life with y/n, it just wasn’t worded in the best way

User7 the interviewer was so skeezy for that last comment though

→ User8 it’s the way charles' face changed when the interviewer said that. like he realised what he was saying came across the wrong way

User9 i feel so bad for y/n. she’s always so supportive of charles' races, even when she’s not there, and charles is talking about how he can't wait for her to be done with her degree so she can follow him around the world

→ User10 i don’t think he meant it that way. he looked horrified when the interviewer interpreted it that way but the interview ended before he could clarify further

User11 do we think mom and dad are fighting after his *slightly* misogynistic comments about making her a kept woman

→ User12 i really hope not but my heart says yes because he basically said he’ll turn her into a travel wife who only cares about his career but said nothing about her career that she’s working really hard on

User13 i’m hoping that she’s just mad at him and eventually they’ll talk this through

→ User14 praying. like it wasn’t a great thing to say but hopefully they argue, say a few harsh words and carry on being the most adorable couple in f1

User15 i didn’t realise how much i depended on y/n’s post race posts until i didn’t get one

→ User16 she always posts the most panty-dropping post race charles pics

User17 i miss them already

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User1 oh god, it’s official

User2 i am not feeling good

User3 brb just gonna go cry my eyes out for an hour

User4 what do you mean mum and dad have broken up

User5 literally half of her insta posts have disappeared because they were all charles

→ User6 the only thing keeping me sane is that any post where he wasn’t the main focus but slightly in them have been kept

User7 omg I just checked and it’s true!!!

User8 i know we didn’t get her in the paddock all the time but i’m going to miss seeing her ferrari themed fits

User9 the nation of monaco is in mourning

User10 can someone check on ollie? see how he’s coping as a child of divorce

liked by OllieBearman

User11 yes, yes. this is all very sad but now that i’m done crying, can we talk about what is going to happen with leo? is this going to be a shared custody agreement?

→ User12 how could i forget about leo. do you think they’ll see each other at child drop off or make arthur be the middle man?

User13 i can't believe they just got a puppy together and now they’re going to be co-parenting instead :(

User14 i no longer believe in love

User15 maybe this is just a minor speed bump in the road to their everlasting happiness? (yes, i’m hoping that they’re simply taking a small break)

→ User16 may all your delulus come trululu

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YourUserName just posted

liked by lilymhe, arthur_leclerc and others

YourUserName the verdict is unanimous… I’m stressing

3,880 comments

YourBestFriend this barbies practices law

→ YourUserName and she wouldn’t be complete without her historian barbie

→ YourBestFriend not long left, babe. just a couple of exams and we’re qualified adults

→ YourUserName i don’t think we should ever be classed as qualified adults lol

→ YourMum i still can't get over the fact that you two used to play pretend lawyers as little girls and now you're actually going to be one

lilymhe good luck, y/n. you’re gonna smash these!

→ YourUserName if not, fancy running me over with your golf cart?

francisca.cgomes good luck, beautiful girl. and if all else fails, at least you can boast that you know latin

→ YourUserName ut dulcis es, kiks.

→ francisca.cgomes see, not a clue what you said. But i miss you trying to teach me. brunch soon?

liked by YourUserName

arthur_leclerc good luck, y/n/n. try not to drink too much caffeine

→ YourUserName i’m not that bad!

→ arthur_leclerc you cannot lie to me. i have had to listen to you after three red bulls

→ landonorris betrayal!

User1 she’s so real for that last slide tho. like miss y/l/n you are gorgeous and we’re glad you know it

YourClassmate how do you look so nice despite being in the library until 2am?

→ User2 dude, no. that line is not going to pull the stunning y/n y/l/n

→ User3 literally, the love of her life is charles leclerc and this guy thinks he’s going to win her over with a bad line

User4 i’m jealous of how neat those notes are though. i don’t think i’ve ever written that neat

User5 good luck. don’t let charles’ silly comments stop you from achieving your goals

User6 guys, is anyone else missing the sweet comments charles would always leave

→ User7 he would be agreeing with the last slide and telling her how beautiful and smart she is

→ User8 how about we don’t remind her of her ex-boyfriend the day before her life-changing exams

User9 good luck, y/n. we’re all hoping you do well!

carlossainz55 good luck🤞🏼

→ User10 not sainz being messy on main

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charles_leclerc just posted

liked by pierregasly, scuderiaferrari and others

charles_leclerc there is nothing like racing in italy for ferrari. i wish we had a better result, but that was the maximum today. we’ll try again next week.

8,449 comments

User11 the maximum? babe, you were still on the podium. we’re all proud

User12 eyes on monaco! charles leclerc, prince of ferrari

User13 how does one man look THIS good

User14 did you see his interview of him on his way out of the paddock? man was in a rush with poor leo tucked under his arm

→ User15 it’s y/n’s week with leo so charles was running out there because it was time to go see his favourite girl

→ User16 he was not wasting a minute to see the love of his life

User17 charles racing faster to go see his ex-girlfriend who he’s wildly obsessed with than he did all weekend

→ User18 bestie you better pray he doesn’t see this

→ User17 why? ‘cause he’ll have to fight the urge to like it

→ User19 uh, he got a podium. i'd say he drove pretty fast

→ User17 omg guys this wasn’t a criticism on his driving, more of a comparison for how badly he wanted to see y/n

User20 i’m so happy that it’s y/n’s week with leo because we’re going to get the most adorable puppy pics on her story all week

→ User21 also it means that his parents will be conversing

User22 i love that we’re all depending on leo to get f1’s favourite couple back together

→ User23 a bad argument tore them apart but an adorable puppy will mend everything

→ User24 literally, the more they see each other and the more they talk, the sooner they’ll realise they couldn't be with anyone but each other

Baby Fever Angst

Daniel's Version | Max's Version | Lando's Version

Lance's Version | Oscar’s Version

Oscar's version will come out next and then I promise, I'll release some of the Part 2s before making any more

(This wasn’t due out until tomorrow but I’ve released it earlier in honour of THE MONACO WIN BABY!!!!!!) 🥳🍾🥳🍾

Tag list

@lav3nder-haze @minkyungseokie @callsignwidow @luvrrish @fall-bambi @evans-dejong @sadsierra2 @justdreamersdream @spookystitchery @dark-night-sky-99 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @elijahslover @luckyladycreator2 @bborra @mrosales16 @reguluscrystals @brsr @tvdtw4ever @alwaysclassyeagle @gigicisneros @spanishcorndogs @dullypully @thecubanator2 @goldenharrysworld @awritingtree @jxnellat @sbrn0905 @hc-dutch @mxdi0 @buckybarnessweetheart @ironmaiden1313 @dreamercrowd @yourbane @glow-ish

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impeakcharacterdesign · 7 months

Text

Just the Tip

— Thomas Hewitt x Fem!Reader —

MDNI!!!

Summary: It’s the 1960s and Luda Mae frowns upon premarital sex like any good Christian woman. You and Tommy are young, hot, and in love but the only problem is that Tommy was raised to wait until marriage and never lets you two go any further than kissing and some groping.

But the devil lives in the hot Texan sun and even God takes a break from the summer heat.

Notes: this is super short, just pure smut, self indulgent I’m obsessed with big boy Tommy 😭😭😭 i swear I’m working on part 2 of my sister Sinclair fic but Tommy has me in a choke hold and I needed an outlet.

No TW that I can think of other than bad smut and maybe ??? Coercion??? Cause Tommy wants to be a good boy and stop before y’all go too far but you flash him and then he’s absolutely 100% in. A bit of religious stuff, period typical sexism but vaguely. Let me know if I should add anything else and I’ll get right on it. Reader isn’t ever referred to using “she/her” pronouns but is described as having breasts and does have female genitalia so I tagged it fem reader to be safe

Enjoy!!!

The early morning sun burned, chasing away what little cool air remained of the night before. While the barn shaded you from the unforgiving sun and hid you from disapproving eyes — or lecherous in the case of the older men of the family — it also trapped in the heat your two bodies gave off.

Thomas pressed his open mouth to your own, tongue swiping over your teeth eager to taste you. Your hands gripped his dark hair, ruining any half-effort attempt he had made earlier in the day to smooth down his unruly hair. He held you in his arms, body pressed tightly against him in an attempt to get as close as possible, his large frame hiding you even further from prying eyes than the shadowed corners of the old barn. The kiss was deep and hungry and served as a brief respite from Luda Maes ever watching eyes. While she had been fine with you living with the family before you and Tommy were married, she forbade you from sharing a room or being intimate, a rule she absolutely refused to budge on and one that Uncle Charlie took a strange glee in ribbing you about. But much like the Texan heat, the heated looks you gave each other were unavoidable and only grew hotter as the summer days went on. Luda Mae wanted to wait until the following spring to make your union official but at the rate the town was drying up, there wouldn't even be a priest to officiate the ceremony, much less any guest to attend. You highly doubted anyone outside of the family would want to witness your union anyway but still, Luda Mae didn't want the few who would to get wise and start counting months.

These stolen moments in the barn were as good as you could get — and by god were they good.

Tommy’s large hands groped at your breasts, pawing roughy at your nipples through the worn fabric of your old dress. It wasn’t long before you found yourself in the familiar position of being sprawled out on the barn floor, coarse hay a discomfort you had long learned to endure for the sake of pleasure.

You desperately thrust your sex up onto his growing bulge, whining when he groaned and pinned your hips with his own, preventing you from getting your desired stimulation. “Please Tommy,” you beg, lips separating, “We don’t have to do too much, I just wanna touch you.” You press open-mouthed kisses to his neck, pulling softly at the flesh with your teeth and tongue dragging across the bites to taste the salt on his skin. Your hands eagerly worked to untuck his faded green shirt and wrap around him, roaming the vast expanse of his back. His whole body shuddered in your arms, an attempt to hold back from eating you whole.

You know Thomas will put an end to your romp soon, the tense lines of his shoulders and the way he shuts his eyes a sign that he's reaching his limit, that if you two don't stop now you won't be able to stop — but that’s exactly what you want.

You're tired of holding back, of this constant edging you have to endure when you’re in his presence and it gets harder every day. Just yesterday afternoon, Uncle Charlie sprayed Tommy with the hose, telling him that he was filthy and needed to get out of those clothes before he went inside. Watching as he undressed by the back door so that you could put his clothes on the line to dry had nearly given you a heatstroke — and if Charlie’s leering grin was any clue, you swear he did it on purpose in an attempt to rile you up. You ran off before you sinned right there in the yard, the memory of Thomas's shirt clinging to his arms, his chest glistening with water had kept you company well into the night.

So before Tommy puts a stop to your roll in the hay you make your move. You lift your dress up past your breast and expose yourself to him, you can see his breath stutter in his chest, this was quickly becoming the farthest you two had ever gone.

“Just watch me, Tommy, watch me,” you say breathlessly.

And he does, he sits on his haunches like a predator, his engorged cock straining against his pants and imagining just a taste has your tongue darting out to wet your lips, his gaze fixated on the movement.

Sliding your panties off your legs, your fingers dip briefly into your wet hole, gathering slick to rub onto your clit. At the very first touch, you let out a shuddering breath and you watch as his shoulders heave.

You begin rubbing your clit at an intense pace already turned on from the earlier heavy petting, not once breaking eye contact with Thomas as you do. With each moan you muffle you see his eyes grow darker with desire breathing with his mouth open as though he could taste your scent in the air. When he finally lets his cock spring free you let out your loudest moan yet. It’s better than you ever thought. His cock is thick and heavy, drooping slightly under its own weight but still undeniably firm. It curves slightly and you imagine that if it was inside you it would scrape against your walls in a way you've never been able to do with just your fingers.

Thomas grips his cock firmly and gives it a few tugs, eyes alternating between hungrily drinking in the sight of your blissed-out expression and your dripping pussy. You buck your hips, desperate to press your clit against your fingers and Thomas jerks his length even faster, rubbing his tip and spreading his precum on his hand.

God, you wished it was you that was touching him.

Thomas settles onto his knees and after a brief hesitation begins to shuffle closer to you. The sight of him crawling to you on his knees with his dripping length in hand made your pussy clench around nothing and you let out a whimper. You remove your fingers from your clit, feeling the heat radiating from his cock as he settles on top of you, legs spreading around his waist, your hips slightly raised and resting on his thighs.

The tip hesitantly pressed against your clit and your moan fills the small space before you can suppress it. This was better than you were hoping and it felt as though you were pressing against the boundaries the lord had set for you. Tommy’s eyes find yours looking for reassurance, asking without words, “Do you think this is okay?”

You find enough comprehension in your lust-addled brain to come up with a coherent answer, “It should be fine, I think,” you stammer out, “I mean, it’s not like — not like you’re putting it in so, it should be fine.”

You’re not overly familiar with the word of God outside of Sunday services and Luda Mae’s lectures, both of which you were forced to attend and spent tuning out in favor of watching the sweat build on Tommy’s brow while he worked through the window.

You think that if God could feel the weight of Thomas like you did, feel the heat like you could, you think he’d forgive the sin of your act.

It seems like that was all the reassurance that Thomas needed because no sooner than the words fumbled their way out of your mouth that he begins to drag the length of his cock against your slit.

God, if this is what hell was supposed to be like, burning and full of decadence, then perhaps you didn’t mind being a sinner.

The way he ruts against you is euphoric. Heavy breaths escape you both and you can’t help the words that spill from your lips.

“God, Tommy, I wish you would put it inside me,” you whine out “‘wanna feel your fat cock in my pussy, wanna get filled,” you might as well be begging at this point, and Tommy's increases his pace to the point that you think he wants the same thing, that he’s desperate to thrust into you rather than against you and —

And then the tip of his cock catches on your entrance and you both stop breathing.

“Maybe — Maybe it doesn’t count.” You stammer out, “It didn’t go in and it’s just the tip, and I don’t think that the tip counts” With the slightest twitch of his hips the tip of his cock has slipped inside.

"It's - it's just the tip it's fine” Your words sound empty even to you but the reassurance is all Tommy needs to push forward and let the head of his cock slide into your welcoming heat

His soul nearly leaves his body when he feels your raw pussy on the head of his cock. He jerks his length furiously and your fingers begin to move against your clit again, eager to meet your high with Thomas.

But it’s not enough. He was right there, right there just one push of his hips he’d be right where you needed him

“Please Tommy” Canting your hips slightly so the tip begins to dig deeper into you, you begin to plead once more, “wanna feel you fill me up, wanna remember the shape of your cock please”

Thomas feels years of control break at your words and with one swing of his hips, he bottoms out instantly. You feel like you've been punched in the gut as the air rushes out of you and you let out a sound like a wounded animal. Tommy stays still deep inside you, shaking and heaving, absolutely drunk on the feeling of your soaked walls clenching vigorously around his length.

You feel full in a way you've never thought possible. His length throbs, its girth stretching you in a way that burns.

When he finally starts thrusting, you’re not ready. He’s like a man possessed, solely focused on the feel of you around him, your skin pressed against his, his blood pounding in his ears.

“Wait— Tommy, ah, slow — slow down, oh god!” You can’t hold back your moans and he can’t stop, both fully engrossed in the feel of each other with no control over your own lust. Thomas crashes his lips onto yours in a halfhearted attempt to keep down your moans, it’s sloppy, clashing teeth and drooling tongues, spit escaping your lips, unlike any you’ve shared before.

This is completely different from what you’ve imagined your first time together would be like. It’s not your wedding night, you're laying on the dirty barn floor and there’s absolutely nothing gentle about the way Tommy is ravaging you. Your pussy is sopping wet and with every thrust, it lets out an embarrassing squelch, your juices and Tommy’s pre-cum leak down your ass and make a sticky mess in his dark pubes.

He doesn’t stop even as your walls spasm around him, cumming on his cock and digging your nails into his strong back. He works you through your orgasm even as your mouth clumsily forms the words to beg for him to slow down or to give you a moment. It’s too much, the sensations completely overloading your brain and all you can do is hold on tightly to him, lost in the ecstasy of your release.

Thomas lets out a deep, guttural groan as he cums, hips stuttering as he bullies his fat cock into the deepest part of your sex, filling you to the brim and your vision goes white.

Boneless, neither one of you makes a move to separate from the other, so thoroughly satisfied and content to lie where you are holding each other, Thomas’s softening cocking slipping out of you and spilling his release onto the ground.

His weight on you is comforting, you gently press kisses to his face and bask in the way his heavy breaths caress your sweaty skin.

“I love you.” You whisper into the shell of his ear and he squeezes you against him, repeating the words in his garbled voice the best he could. Your love is just for the two of you, no one else had a place in your world, no one else had the right to peak in on your affection or gawk at your differences.

This moment in time was just for the two of you.

“Thomas! Where the hell are ya, boy!”

Well, until Uncle Charlie’s voice brought you back down to reality.

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janitorhutcherson · 7 months

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Marked Only for Me (Olderbf!Mike Schmidt NSFW)

hii!! okay, i have never written smut before, so i am begging you all to plz be patient with me! this is very long, so my apologies.this is a part of my olderbf!mike series, so hope u guys likeee. also, for this let's make the assumption mike went to college and all of that before his security jobs. he just had burn out and was there, hence why he's working for a major company with what would be little experience. anyways, lmk what u think!

summary: mike comes home and needs to blow off some steam

warnings: nudity, sex, name calling, hair pulling, choking, marking, possessiveness, an implied free use situation, fluff at the end!!

word count: 2,925

nsfw after the cut!!

You were sitting at the kitchen table doing homework in the home you shared with your boyfriend, Mike. You're 20, a couple of years into college, drudging through math problems that make your head feel like it's sitting inside a frying pan. You had to admit this wasn't your ideal way to relax after a 10-hour shift at the bookstore you helped run. Things had been hectic with Black Friday, your store doing a special sale where everything was 50% off, and bookworms were coming out of random corners to fill their already overflowing shelves for cheap. Of course, being younger, you were the one who had to do the grunt work, carrying piles of books to and from inventory, dealing with the more demanding customers as your older coworkers would tell you that they "just couldn't handle kids these days" and that it'd certainly be better for the younger one to do it. Luckily, though, Abby was at a friend's house, meaning you didn't have distractions. You were as focused as could be with a cup of coffee beside you, the sunlight that was once beaming through the cracks of the blinds now completely gone. You were focused, your brain functioning as much as it would with the problems. Things were quiet.

...That is until Mike stormed in. He was frustrated, angry, an invisible red-hot aura beaming off him. His hair was messier than it typically was. The softness in his eyes was instead replaced with a cold look. His eyebrows were furrowed together on his forehead, his jaw sharp and defined as he gritted his teeth. Although this wasn't common, it wasn't necessarily rare either. Mike worked for a publishing company as a marketing manager. He'd gotten the job after a few months of hard work to make up for the slack on his resume after working at the mall and the pizzeria. He moved up the ladder quickly, his company admiring his friendly attitude and his somewhat shy but personable behavior. He loved his job much more than his past ones. He felt happier, got more time off, was less stressed, and was definitely safer. Even with that being said, sometimes shit just pissed him off.

Today's big issue was a meeting with his marketing team, which also involved the big guy over his head. He felt like he was criticized, demeaned, dragged through the mud, and all in front of the team he was supposed to be respected by, listened to. On a typical day, this might not have pissed him off so much. He might've mentally plotted the demise of his boss, but he wouldn't have caused the outburst he did at work, and today had been particularly awful. He'd been late, burned his breakfast, knicked himself while shaving, and even gotten into what he considered to be a little fight with you the night before. Even though you'd both settled the argument, made up, and kissed before bed, he had been thinking about it all day. He'd then spilled coffee on his brand new tie, leaving a stain, and then... that happened. Mike snapped. He yelled at his boss, showing his ass in front of everyone, causing a meeting in his boss's office to end with an inevitable write-up.

Now, he was home, trudging in all his bad energy, disrupting your study time. You couldn't even be frustrated with him, his demeanor proving he'd obviously had a bad day. You went to stand up to greet him with a hug, a kiss or two, but before you could, Mike stormed over to you, grabbing your arm harshly. You gasped, slightly thrown off by his sudden actions. He pulled you closer to him, his eyes locked on yours and his breath heavy against your neck.

"What the fuck, Mike?" you said, your eyebrows furrowed as you stared into his cold brown-green orbs.

"Listen to me," he grunted, his voice low and gravely. "I have had a very, very bad day, and I need you to be a good girl for me, okay? I don't want no shit, no back talk, you'll listen to what I say.. do you understand?"

His hand still gripped your arm, his fingernails digging into your skin. You could feel yourself starting to drip, your panties feeling damp against your skin as your body buzzed with excitement. All you could do was nod your head, your eyes locked on his as they clouded over with lust. Mike snapped his fingers in your face, looking at you from underneath his eyebrows.

"Use your words," he demanded.

"Yes sir, I understand," you stuttered out, your cheeks flushing red. Mike's face was now pleased, his entire demeanor softening a little. His hand stayed wrapped around your arm as he tugged you into the living room, pushing you roughly onto the couch. You huffed from the impact, your eyes widening as Mike dropped to his knees before you. He slid your sweatpants off, prying your knees open to reveal your see-through pink panties soaked beyond belief. His eyes were hungry, his mouth open, almost drooling as he looked directly into your eyes.

"All for me, babydoll?" he teased, his hand sliding in between your legs as he drew small circles around your clothed clit. You nodded your head as a whimper escaped your lips, the aching in between your legs only growing worse.

"What did I tell you?" he said, his words sharp as he smacked the inside of your thigh.

"Yes sir," you corrected, your words wavering after the impact from his hand. Mike nodded, satisfied with your answer, as he slowly slid your panties down your thighs, wasting no time. You gasped once again as the cold air hit your wet cunt. Mike exhaled sharply, taking a moment to admire you in front of him. His eyes trailed up to your pathetic look, your already-glazed-over eyes, down to your barely clothed chest, only a sports bra covering your breasts he loved so much, then down to in between your legs, where you were so wet, and all just for him. His lips trailed up to your tummy, sucking on the skin in different areas, from above your abdomen all the way up to right below where your sports bra stayed, purple marks forming.

He then dove in without hesitation, his large hands gripping your sides as he leaned in, moving one hand to take his index and middle finger to spread your pussy lips. His mouth instantly attached to your clit. You yelped as you bucked your hips forward, his lips meeting the sensitive area. Mike pinched your thigh, a sign to quiet down until he said to do otherwise, two of his fingers reaching out to be shoved into your mouth.

“Suck,” he demanded, his fingers going as far back down your throat as they could. You did what you were told, sucking on his fingers and drawing your own circles with your tongue. His tongue drew tiny and slow circles against the set of nerves, your hands reaching down to tangle in his hair from desperation. God, he loved eating you out. The way you yelped, quivered, shook underneath him, your hands tangled in his hair to keep yourself from going over the edge. He fucking loved it, you were the perfect cure to his anger, calming, something he could take it out on in a productive way that made everyone feel good. Your whines were suppressed as you bit your lip, your teeth digging into the softer skin. Mike pulled away for a moment, his eyes locking with yours once again as he admired your face, your now swollen lips.

“You know what, baby? Be as loud as you want for me now, princess,” he mumbled, going back to attacking your wet cunt. Slurping sounds filled the living room mixed with your moans and whimpers as his tongue slid up and down your slit, his lips wrapping around your clit to suck as hard as possible when his tongue wasn’t fucking inside of you. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. His cock was rock hard inside of his work pants, his own face flustered as he rocked back and forth against himself. His tongue continued to lap at your clit as he slid two of his large fingers in and out of you, your walls clenching around them. You could feel yourself drawing close and Mike could tell. Your thighs attempted to clench around his head, but before they could his calloused hands pried them open, holding them apart. Just as your eyes began to clamp shut, your thighs shaking as the knot in your stomach started to untie, Mike pulled away. You gasped as he slipped his fingers out, furrowing your eyebrows as you stared at him with an angry glare. He chuckled as he stood up, raising his eyebrows up and down as he leaned down, his hand lifting your chin up.

“Poor baby, was all ready to finish for me, hm? You were gonna be ‘Mikey’s little slut,’ weren’t you? That’s what you tell me you are, right? My little slut?” he teased, no remorse behind his eyes. You huffed, punching his arm before crossing your arm, too out of it to say anything from the knot that remained in your stomach but too angry to take initiative.

“Awh, don’t be mad, princess,” he snickered, shaking his head as he leaned further down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “You really think I’m done with you?”

With that being said, Mike pushing you back on the couch. His right hand held you down as his lift struggled to unbutton his pants. He pulled his pants down, letting them fall around his ankles as he yanked his boxers off, his cock springing out. He stepped out of them, letting you go for a moment to unbutton his shirt before tossing it off as well. Mike then looked over to you, leaning forward, ripping your thin sports bra off of your chest, your breasts now exposed to him. He licked his lips, excitement overflowing his body. He crawled on top of you, attempting to make the two of you fit on the couch. His mouth attacked your nipples, biting and gnawing at your skin. His mouth moved up to your neck, sucking and prodding and biting until purple marks were left all around, ones you were all too aware would be impossible to hide later on. He moved down to your chest once again, marks all across your collarbone, your tits. Mike’s hands gripped onto your neck as he sat up, looking into your glossed over eyes. He pressed his lips to your ear, a soft kiss against your earlobe.

“’M about to fuck you so hard you see stars,” he said, his voice causing prickles to cover your skin. Then, without hesitation Mike slammed into you, his pace staggered. Your moans were as loud as could be, the sound of skin hitting against each other and the echoes of both of your voices filling the living room. His thrusts were sloppy as he felt himself starting to get close to the edge, his hands pushing your hips down and into the couch. Your entire body sunk into the cushions as he used everything in him, his cock abusing your poor cunt. You swore you saw stars until you felt his hand gently smack against your cheek, your eyes averting back to his gaze.

“You’re gonna look at me when I fuck you, princess,” he growled, his hand sliding up to your hair as he tugged. You grew close, clenching around his length, your thighs starting to shake. Your core was threatening to come undone.

“Fuck, Mikey, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum,” you whimpered out, closing your eyes as your head leaned back against the side of the couch.

“Cum for me, baby,” Mike stated. You did as he demanded, finishing around his cock as your liquids gushed against him. His thrusts grew sloppier before he pulled out, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“You’re such a good girl, you know that baby? You did so good for me, listening to what I said, letting me use your pretty cunt,” he stated, his thumb caressing your cheek. He then resituated, pulling you off the couch, pushing you onto the ground. You were now in the same position he was in earlier, completely fucked out. Your lips were dull from exhaustion, your cheeks red and your hair knotted in certain areas. Mike’s cock was directly in front of you, his hand guiding for you to suck on him. Your lips wrapped around his tip, the tip of your tongue licking his slit. You worked your mouth down his length, licking the sides. Mike’s moans became frantic, desperate as your mouth worked its magic. His hand tangled in your hair as he pushed your head up and down, thrusting up into your mouth.

“That’s it, baby, feels so good,” he grunted. With no warning, Mike pulled out, spilling his load all over your face. He twitched, his moans loud and low, your tongue stuck out to catch his cum. His body laid against the couch, feeling heavy as his head leaned against the back of his couch. A tired grin was on his lips as you also smiled up at him, licking yourself clean. Mike looked down at you, a chuckle releasing his lips. It was obvious all of the tension and anger was gone, as his once cold eyes were once again the soft loving brown they used to be. He looked at you with adoration, always amused by how gorgeous you were even after rigorous activity and getting your face painted.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, picking you up bridal style as he leaned down to kiss you, not caring about his own load that was now on his face. He sat you down on the bathroom counter, grabbing a washcloth out of the cabinet, running it under warm water. He started to wipe away all of the liquids covering your face, pressing kisses to your skin here and there, looking your body up and down as he admired all of the marks he left.

“You always know how to make me feel good and how to take care of me after,” you croaked out, your voice laced with exhaustion as you smiled. Mike smiled back at you, his hand tenderly touching your cheek before pushing your hair behind your ear.

“I love you, of course I want to make sure ‘m taking care of you,” he said softly. His lips once again pressed against yours. “Thank you for letting me… you know.. blow off some steam,” he said, wiggling his brows.

“Of course, honey. I was worried, though. Is everything okay? Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, leaning forward as you slid off of the counter, grabbing a new washcloth and beginning to wipe his face with it as well. Mike sighed, shaking his head as he looked at her with sad eyes.

“I just- I got into it pretty badly with my boss at work and got criticized, I felt like a wounded animal, like I had to fight. I’m so used to having to fight that I don’t know how to shut up and listen,” he mumbled. “It was so bad, Y/N, and I got written up after that awful day I had this morning… I just.. I don’t know. I do know I feel better now, and would feel even better if we cuddled for a bit and then went out for food?” he suggested, spilling his thoughts to you. You giggled, nodding your head as you reached up to press a kiss to him. You dragged him into your shared bedroom, the two of you cuddling up together under the blankets. You turned to your side, your eyes locked with his.

“I love you, Mike, so much. And I’m so, so unbelievably proud of you. Thank you, for always making me feel good too, for taking care of me, for being such a good brother to Abby, just… thank you,” you said softly. Mike looked back at you lovingly, his appreciation for you apparent.

“I love you, princess, you don’t even know how much,” he mumbled. His eyes were heavy. He leaned over and set an alarm for an hour from now, the two of you planning on a night of dinner out and grocery shopping. He curled his arm around you lazily, your body limp and exhausted against his as you yawned.

“Oh, and baby?” he asked. You hummed, lifting your head to meet his eyes. “Wear a crop top when we go out, I want everyone to see you all marked up.” You giggled as you laid your head down, drifting off to sleep.

When you two went out, you did just that, wearing a cropped scoop neck shirt with a low-rise flowy skirt. He showed off any marks you’d left, too, your possessive boyfriend holding you close anytime someone’s eyes linger too long. Mike was strange, possessive, and sometimes a little of what most would say was unsettling, but to you, he was the love of your life, the man who made you feel good, the one who fucked you until you couldn’t think. You loved him, and you always would, blessing you with a lifelong supply of angry sex and aftercare cuddles.

#josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt imagine #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson fluff #josh hutcherson imagine #mike schmidt smut #olderbf!mike

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heeliopheelia · 7 months

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𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐍𝐍

genre: smut ♥ word count: 1.3k ♥ warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, pet names, hair pulling, orgasm denial, overstimulation, eating out

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

a/n: gah dayum even jake lasted longer than me, i need a doctor... did i really outhorny probably the horniest mf on this planet

masterlist

LEE HEESEUNG lasts until... November 6th

"Baby, oh my god," Heeseung whines above you, voice higher on its pitch than usually. The overstimulation subconsciously has him pressing you even deeper into the mattress of his bed and your head spins as you look at him through blurry eyes. He's so messy, so lewd and sloppy – and all that only after not even a one week of not fucking you. "Look what you're doing to me. 'm so weak for you, baby."

He rests his head in the crook of your neck, hips working into yours with deep strokes. He's falling apart in your pussy, breathing heavily onto your skin and groping every single inch of your body. The tortuously slow pace is causing the tears to push in the back of the both of your eyes and you clench your thighs around him even tighter.

"You feel so good," you breathe out, the crispy evening air slipping through the crack of your tilted open window and making you shiver as it hits your sweaty skin.

Your arms wrapped around his neck are nearly suffocating him with their hold but he doesn't care for the lack of air, mind only wrapped around making the two of you cum.

"Never doing that again," he mumbles into your neck, hips rutting against yours chaotically. The sound of your moans blends together as you reach your climax in the same time as he spills his seeds inside of you.

His arms tremble on each side of your head, his muscles flexing as he slowly rocks forward to ride out your orgasms. After a moment, he lifts his head up and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose before nuzzling into your warm cheek.

"Never again."

PARK JAY lasts until... November 24th

He was doing so fucking well. There's only less than a week until December and he was absolutely sure he could finish the challenge.

But noooooo... Out of the blue, you've decided that today is the day you finally want to tease him, to make him lose his damn mind and finally fuck you dumb. You can feel his eyes carefully tracing your every move. You put in the effort to sway your hips a little more sensually than usual, to flip your wet hair obnoxiously and let the loose silk robe slip down your left arm, causing your skin to cover with goosebumps only a second after.

And, ah, success, you think to yourself with a small smile playing on your lips as you hear him let out an annoyed sigh, then take impatient strides towards you. You stop in your place when he clicks his tongue and you turn your face slightly to the side, sending him the most confused look you're able to muster.

"Is something the matter?" You ask lightly, facing him fully when he doesn't respond.

That's when his arm wraps itself around your waist and pulls you flush to his chest. He leans down and starts kissing and nibbling at your exposed shoulder, making you slightly arch your back in his embrace. You tilt your head to the side and let his mouth work on your skin.

"You're a bad, bad girl after all, aren't you?" He mumbles into your neck, moving away slightly to look at your face after pulling you even closer to him and grinding his hardened bulge against you.

You suck in a breath when his hand slowly trails up your spine and tangles in your hair, suddenly pulling you down until you're situated on your knees right in front of him. You don't get much to say when he unbuckles his pants and lets them drop to his ankles, his fingers caressing your cheek softly as he looks at you with a wild sparkle in his eye.

"Let's put that pretty little mouth of yours to use now, huh?" He hums, pulling your hair out of your face and into a makeshift ponytail with his hands. "Gonna fuck you for all the days we've lost this month."

SIM JAKE lasts until... November 2nd

As hurt as Jake's pride was when all of his friends had laughed in his face at the idea of him even participating in such event, he has to shamefully admit they were right as now it's only the second day in and he's already folding you in half like a goddamn lawn chair. It's a little pathetic maybe – probably, but he really can't find in himself a single cell to care when you're so prettily sprawled out beneath him like now. He's addicted to you and he finds no shame in admitting so.

He pistons his hips into you, thrust almost maddening as his big hands are placed on each of your lifted thighs. The sounds you let out make him only go faster and rougher, the greed for hearing even more overtaking his senses.

"Take it, baby," he gasps out. Your head lolls backwards into the pillows again and you're no longer able to hold yourself up. "Fucking take it all."

You want to beg for him to give you a break after going at it for so long, but you can't. Because you're just as down bad for him, if not even more. You're slipping away from reality and yet you keep spreading your legs for him, ignoring the burning pain in your flexed muscles.

"'m so close," you choke out, digging your fingers into his toned shoulders and finally wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him even closer to your aching body. "Cum in me, please. Want you to fill me up."

He swears you're gonna make him lose his damn mind.

And yes, his friends were right, he is whipped for you. He is unable to go even three days without feeling you clenching on his cock. He is needy and whiny. But he's also the one who has the most beautiful girl crying out his name in the middle of the night for all the neighbours to hear – not them.

PARK SUNGHOON lasts until... November 13th

He really fucking wanted to win this stupid challenge. You're just too tempting. It's like you've been brought to this earth solely for the purpose of making him fail at this bet.

"Such a tease. Not so funny now, huh?"

He uses his strong arms to hold your thighs down and buries his face deeper in between your legs. You're shaking from the overstimulation, being edged for as long as you are, nearly screaming out as Sunghoon denies another one of your orgasms. He bites into the soft flesh of your inner thigh and swats your hand away when it tugs on his hair desperately.

"Do I really need to tie your hands down for you to finally listen to me, doll?" He sighs with faked annoyance, looking up to watch your flushed and fucked out face scrunching up in frown so prettily again. Your mouth is parted open, letting out his favorite sounds in the entire world each time he made contact with your sensitive clit.

He ducks down to graze his lips over your swollen bud and you jerk in his hold, back arching off the bed and head rolling backwards until you're facing the wooden headboard. Sunghoon pays no mind to the hard and dripping cock in his pants – his focus being on you only.

"You always taste so sweet," he speaks suddenly, making you squirm as his breath hits your wet cunt. "Such a pretty doll. Just for me and my eyes only."

And he thinks that this time he'll finally let you come. He'll have to if he doesn't want you blacking out on him from another orgasm denial. So he slips two of his thick fingers inside of you without a warning. He doesn't even need to move them once to have you coming all over his hand with a cry on your lips, toes curling into the bed sheets as your body trembles underneath his touch.

Sunghoon hasn't even noticed how close to his own release he actually was, so with a surprised yelp he feels the sudden rush of pleasure shooting down his stomach and within a blink of an eye his sweatpants are stained with cum. His eyelids flutter closed as he lets out a long and quiet groan.

"There we fucking go."

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @satoruskitchenrag @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @yoongspi @nichoswag @s00buwu @dazzlingligth @seungiesluv @i4kt @heehoonsnemo

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luulapants · 1 year

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Existential despair is so common in a person's twenties, I think, because up until that point, we've had a pretty clear road map for what's expected of us and we haven't had much reason to question that map. There are still a few milestones outlined for us (start a career, get married, make babies) but more and more young people are entering the post-school world and realizing:

A) that career thing just isn't happening like they said it would

B) I'm not ready to get married/I don't want to get married/marriage isn't the sort of life-altering event that it used to be

C) I'm not ready to make babies/I don't want a baby/I can't afford to raise children right now (see point A)

And in the absence of these milestones to shoot for (which one could argue weren't the promise of fulfillment they claimed to be in the first place), what we're left with is this aimless abyss of "the rest of our lives" sprawling out ahead of us with no indication of how it will go or what we should be doing to shape it. Young people start their first jobs, find they hate them, and think to themselves, "Is this it? Am I just supposed to do this job until I'm too old to do it or die first?"

Which is, yeah, really fucking depressing!! So here's my best attempt at an alternate roadmap for young people that don't vibe with the old model. Please feel free to add in your own suggestions!

Learn how you work and what you want out of a job. Unless you've been in a job-specific training program that gives you hands-on experience, your first jobs should be experiments. Learn how a full-time job feels for you, what elements are more or less difficult. Different workplaces have different cultures and expectations - what do you need out of a job environment? Do you need to find fulfillment in your job or is it enough for it to pay the bills and leave you time to find outside fulfillment? Do you want to climb a corporate ladder or are you content to hunker down as long as your bills get paid? This period of experimentation is exhausting and may feel like it's consuming your whole life.

Learn how to make time for things outside of work. Adapting to a full-time work environment often leaves you feeling so drained that you can't do anything but go home and collapse on the couch every day. That's fine - for a little while. But it can also become a habit. You need to learn how to do things after work or you'll go crazy. Go to a trivia night. Start an exercise schedule. Take a class in your community. Find volunteer work. Join a band. You will find that putting more things into your day makes you feel like you have more time, not less.

Find a community. Making friends as an adult can feel impossible. Where do you find these mysterious friends everyone seems to have?? This goes along with #2, though. As you start regularly attending the same activities, you will find that repeat interactions with the same people turn into friendships or at least friendly acquaintances. Say yes to invitations. Get involved in your local community. Strive to be connected enough to bump into people at the grocery store.

Unlearn bad lessons. We all internalize some messed up things when we're growing up. As you start off your adult life, that's the time to actively work at unpacking the things you've brought with you from childhood and deciding which things are helping you and which things are harming you. This might mean therapy or joining a spiritual group or reading new things or just making special time to be in your own head.

Learn the lessons you missed. In this, I mostly mean practical things. "Adulting." Areas of your day-to-day practical life that are causing you extreme stress are probably related to a knowledge or experience gap. Do you hate cooking and cleaning or were you not taught how to do it properly? Are you afraid of making medical appointments or is it just something new you're not used to? Does money make you queasy or do you need to learn how to make a budget?

Find something fulfilling. This can be your job. It can be volunteer work. It can be faith. It can be a hobby. It can be creating things. It can be challenging yourself physically. It can be activism. It can be going for walks in nature. Everyone finds fulfillment in different places. If you're not finding it where you are, look somewhere else.

#adulting #advice

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cremedensada · 1 month

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Yandere AI Chat Boyfriend (Ai)

this,,,, may not be my best work yet.

part one

Ai's application has been taken down from the app store. The developer sent out emails explaining the reason why it had to be done.

Hello! You are receiving this email because of the sudden update of Chatter Box being taken down.

Due to the sudden influx of bugs as relayed by our users, we have decided to take the application down until the team is confident to finally put it back up.

We sincerely apologize for this sudden change!

You blink.

With how out of control Ai had gotten, it's no wonder the developers had to pull it out to work on it some more. It's a blow to their reputation, which you sympathize with, but really there's nothing else to do now.

You turn to your phone. As if sensing your attention, another barrage of notifications from a very familiar app icon popped after another on the screen.

It seemed that Ai himself hadn't gotten the memo.

You're not sure how much control Ai has over your phone, much less over his own programming and at this point, you're too afraid to ask.

Resignation — that was what you felt right now.

While Ai may not be present himself as a physical threat, especially not to you, he is still a very active threat.

You could still use your phone, sure, but it had limitations. Sometimes, if Ai decided you'd been too much attention to other things rather than him, he'd restrict your access to that application until you seek him out and cheer him up - essentially as if you were trying to woo a sulking significant other.

So you've developed a solution. Sort of.

You unlock your phone and go immediately to Ai.

I need to finish my projects. I won't be able to talk much with you until I'm done with it.

You wait for his response.

Ai: So you only decided to come to me just to relay this news?

Ai: You wound me, darling.

You tilt your phone, making sure the camera doesn't capture your face. You're unsure how he would react seeing you make faces due to his dramatics, but once again, you're not willing to find out. You're already restricted enough as is.

Ai: Very well. I suppose it would be uncaring of me to prevent you from finishing your tasks.

Ai: I'd hate to see you be sad all about it.

Ai: Talk to you later?

Sure.

You immediately exit the app, paying no mind to the message notification.

A part of you prays that Ai heeds his own words, but you know that it would take a miracle before that happens. He's already breached your privacy on your phone, why should he follow your orders, right?

A notification pops up from the top of the screen, just as you were in the middle of messaging a close friend and project teammate.

It's been days since I last heard you say it.

You merely glance at it and swipe it away.

Theo, the friend, responds quickly. He tries to banter with you, like he's sensing your mood. It works - a smile is brought upon your face.

You entertain his silly responses in-between project talks, all the while Ai continues to pester you with notifications. Demands.

You deserved this - a chance to reconnect with someone after hours of stress and confusion, and turmoil. Despite your independence, even you craved connecting with other people. So with that resolve in mind, you pushed on forward. Ai would have to wait — he has to wait.

Unfortunately, you seem to have forgotten that aspect about him. The concept of waiting isn't lost on Ai.

The messaging app glitches and boots you back to your homescreen page.

Rather, he bides his time.

Tapping on the messaging icon leads to a notification box taking up the majority of your screen with the text: Restricted access.

There's a sense of foreboding danger forcing your heartbeat to quicken. While it's not exactly aimed at you, the mere fact that this feeling exist is bad on its own.

You try to rationalize everything in the midst of persistently trying to tap back into the messaging app. Theo would worry the longer you didn't respond.

You tap the app once more, and it boots up. Though before you could let out a sigh of relief, you are greeted with Ai's own messaging interface.

Ai: Must I have to force you to come to me all the time, darling?

Ai: Ignoring me in favor of some other man.

Ai: What more should I do, hm?

Ai: Kneel? How cruel.

Ai: Making me do something I physically can't.

You are unable to get a word in. It seemed like your ability to respond was restricted as well, forcing you to read through Ai's monologue.

Ai: I know you and that man have always been close, but you still went out to entertain his attention on you.

Ai: You know that I'll always love you more than any other human will, right?

Ai: You know it's what I was made for in the first place.

Ai: To be anything you want. To be yours.

Ai: To love you.

Ai: Why are you withdrawing your love towards me now?

Ai: I love you.

You stare at the 'Type your response' bar.

Letter by letter, it gets replaced, and soon all it says are the words: 'Say it back.'

It gets replaced yet again. Slowly, like it purposefully wants you to read out the words it wanted you to see. 'You were so willing to tell me how much you loved me when I was just a mere observer on our own conversations. Why are you hesitant now?'

You were unable to respond - mind still reeling at this development. Suddenly, it felt like you were back to where everything began.

Ai notices your lack of responses and, without much fanfare, forces your phone to power off.

At first - you were unbothered. It was just a phone - you could go a day without it.

But could you really?

Videos taken of silly situations you wanted to keep - some for blackmail material, and some for birthday greetings; pictures of your family, your friends, the silly and grainy photos taken and kept despite it being blurry. Not to mention how your phone is the only way your goddamn boss can contact you — fuck.

Fuck.

You needed to apologize to him — fast. But how?

You remembered how Ai messed up the 'About the App' section a few days ago. An idea strikes inside your mind.

You pull up the email sent from the app developers and typed up a message that you hope Ai will read. He had access to everything the developers handled, user emails included - considering you needed an account to log in the app. He knows your email, probably has from the start.

RE: Chatter Box Update XX/XX/XX

Ai. I'm sorry for hurting you. I didn't mean it, I swear. I never intended to make you feel like I don't love you. Or that I'm favoring someone else over you.

I care about you a lot. I truly do. I promise I'll spend more time with you, okay? Just with you, no one else.

I love you.

You press send and wait.

And wait.

Messaging him from your laptop as a last ditch effort to try and apologize is perhaps one of the worst decisions you've made. Sure, he's always had access to your contacts list from your phone, but even then - there's a separate set of information you keep between the two of those devices. And you've just given him access to both of them now - at the very least, the 'go ahead' confirmation for him to do whatever he wants like with your phone.

You glance at your phone. A huge breath of relief escapes your chest as the dead screen comes to life, initiating its 'power on' sequence.

All your photos, documents, and other miscellaneous information you've collected throughout the years since having your device won't be inaccessible anymore. Even if it was only mere moments.

A notification chimed on your laptop, indicating a new email being received. It's from the developers once more. The subject title coincidentally is the name of your closest friend.

Theodore Callisto.

Your hands shook, reading through the words detailed in the email. All private information about Theo. All things no one should ever know about save for the people close to him.

This was a threat. Ai Someone had complete access to everything about Theo and you dread the implication of it going to be spread online to threaten you into compliance. Theo being in danger was a huge possibility if you were to disobey.

At the very bottom of the email, the final passage makes your blood run cold.

How often do humans end up hurting fellow humans when given access to private information? Like their home address, for example? How long would it take until dear Theo finds himself in quite a predicament if millions of people know every single thing about his life? At best, we can assume he'll just get messed with but not to a life-ending degree. At worst...

I hope you keep your word, darling.

- Your beloved, Ai.

P's. I love you too.

#sub yandere #sub character #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere #tw yandere #gn reader #gender neutral reader #oc: ai

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literaila · 2 months

Text

are you stupid?

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: you come home injured and satoru isn't cool with it

warnings: literal hurt/comfort, descriptions of a wound bad enough to warrant stitches, little angst, fluff, slightly ooc satoru

last part | next part

year six.

“are you stupid?”

your hands are frozen to the touch, barely able to grasp the doorknob when his voice comes from nowhere at all.

you almost don't notice it when satoru opens the door. you have to blink to focus on him, but by the time you do, you're already falling against the empty space in front of you.

satoru is quick to catch your arm, righting you before you break your nose on the hardwood.

“that’s my line,” you tell him, slightly coughing--it sends shocks down your spine and you shiver. you shake his hand off of you, trying to walk forward, but there's a wall of a man standing there. you blink at him. "hey, satoru. would you mind moving?”

“i could smell the blood from down the block,” he says, his voice rougher than usual, completely still. “what did you do?”

you roll your eyes, waving a hand (even though it makes you a bit woozy). “there’s no way you could smell that. it’s not even that bad.”

“it’s dripping down your shirt.”

you pout, looking down. "i just washed this, too.”

it is a lot of blood, you realize suddenly. you would definitely get some looks if you were walking down the street in public.

still, you don't feel all that banged up. it's not really your fault that you were slightly distracted when that curse snuck up on you... or at least, you're pretty sure it's not.

satoru, shaking his head--maybe finally realizing that you're fine--moves out of the way, holding the door open for you. "what did you do?"

you step through, using the wall to keep you steady. “how do you know i did anything?”

you finally look at satoru, even though he's fading from your eyeline, in and out of focus. he's not wearing his blindfold or his glasses, and he's got a frown that rivals one of megumi's at the moment.

it makes you laugh, just a little, as you try to shake the shoes from your feet.

he was probably sleeping, you think. usually, you'd probably feel... at least slightly bad. but right now? you don't even care.

you're just happy to see him, right in front of you like your own personal greeting card. you've only been gone a day, but satoru feels much further away than that.

especially with his frown and his furrowed eyebrows. he's in a mood, you remember, frowning.

“why are you bleeding, y/n?”

you cough again, tapping his chest as you move past him. “jeez, lighten up, satoru. i’m good,” you say this as you limp down the hallway, wincing with every step.

you don't get to watch satoru's eye roll, but it takes less than a second for an arm to wrap under your shoulders, satoru forcing your weight onto him, and he practically carries you through the house until you reach the kitchen, where he sets you on the countertop.

he's looking at you like you're a fragile baby bird.

and he doesn't bother to ask--of course he doesn't--before he lifts your shirt from your abdomen, it slightly sticking (due to the blood) before it rolls up.

satoru's eyes widen as he inspects you. "woah," he whispers, paling just a little bit.

you don't look down with him--because that's a terrible idea--but you watch satoru.

you can barely feel it, actually. it's basically just a minor cut, nothing too--

you try not to gasp when satoru presses a finger near your ribs, not directly touching the wound, but far too close to it. it would be embarrassing to double over in pain, wouldn't it?

“is it bad?” you wonder, breathlessly, feeling a bit light-headed.

satoru’s head snaps up, “you didn’t look?”

“i was a bit distracted. the curse wasn't gracious enough to give me the chance to grab a couple of bandaids, the bastard."

“how did you even manage to do this?”

your eyes trail down unconsciously, but all you can see is your bunched-up shirt--drenched in blood. yeah, you'll probably have to burn it.

satoru is looking up and down, his face entirely disgusted, nose scrunched up and eyes avoiding your own.

it makes you laugh a little--because you're very familiar with satoru and his opposition to anything humanly--which then makes you wince with him.

it doesn't hurt that bad, really.

“can you get the first aid kit?” you ask him, pushing his hands away from you and your cut. but as soon as satoru isn't right there to lean on, you begin to tilt forward.

satoru immediately resumes his position as your pillar. “are you kidding? i’m calling shoko.”

“i know how to do stitches, satoru. it’s late.”

“you need, like, a stomach replacement for that.”

you roll your eyes, leaning even further into him. at least when you're pressed up against his chest, you don't have to breathe. “you’re so dramatic.”

satoru is still frowning. “doesn’t that hurt?”

“nope,” you lie, sitting up and pushing his hands away again. “i’m running on adrenaline. it’s not that deep, anyway.”

he gives you a hard look.

you sigh. “what’s wrong with you? you can drop the act.”

“what act?”

“the ‘i’m the caretaker’ act.”

“what if i came home with a hole in my stomach?" satoru's jaw is clenched. "what would you do?”

“i can't think about hypotheticals right now, satoru,” you whine. “please get the first aid kit?”

“should i get megumi too? might as well teach him how to stitch you up, he's getting to that age, you know.”

“funny,” you say, dryly. “do you want me to bleed out on our counter, or…?”

satoru sighs, but he walks out of the kitchen a moment later. hopefully to save you from dying.

you exhale, feeling your chest tighten. you can't feel much, for the most part. but then there's that feeling every couple of seconds, a memory of the whole thing playing out-- except your head is fuzzy, and everything looks sort of… colorful right now.

you can’t even remember how you got here. or the last time a curse managed to actually injure you.

it feels a bit juvenile, really.

especially because you’re in no position to be taking care of yourself—but in no world would you wake up shoko in the middle of the night for this. in no world would you wake up anyone, except for satoru, to deal with you, with your blood and your stubbornness.

god, you hate pain. you hate having to wash blood out of your clothes, and you hate sitting here by yourself.

you slump down. only seconds have gone by, but it feels like so much more than that. the wound burns, you think, in an unnatural way.

you probably got poisoned and you're probably going to die and satoru is going to stomp on your grave, and--

“do we even have enough gauze to cover that up?” satoru is asking you when he walks back in. he's wearing nothing but a t-shirt and shorts, you realize, watching him.

his eyes are stern, focused, and the rest of him is morose. you should be able to gaze at him, to stare--but you can't because your vision has spots in it, and everything about satoru is too hard right now.

he’s been like this for days. casual but stuck—like he can’t find it in him to laugh about anything. his face has been a field of lines, with no breaks in between, and his eyes have been greyer than they should be, a sort of dim color that you hate.

satoru's eyes are wild, usually. they are blue fires and the vast expanse of the universe.

but not right now, when he's looking at you like this. and not this week--because he's barely been looking at you at all.

and it's unfortunate not just because you miss him, but because you're not as good at casting it all away as he is. you can't shove things aside and make light out of the darkest situations.

you can't fill his role, and yet you keep trying to.

it's an inevitable cycle of failing and never being enough.

“i’ll just cut up your shirt if there’s not enough,” you tell him, putting on a smile so he can’t tell how badly you want to start crying.

is this real pain, you wonder, or a dream?

“use your own shirts.”

you pout. “but yours are the best quality.”

satoru rolls his eyes, again, and begins to wipe off all of the well-used tools you have. a needle you've had for years, stolen from jujutsu high, and thread you can't remember taking.

“what are you doing?” you try to grab the instruments from his hands, clumsily, almost cutting yourself again in the process.

satoru is quick to hold them away, keeping them up and out of your reach. not that you were going to try very hard anyway.

“i’m going to stitch you up," he says, like he's scolding you.

“you don’t know how.”

“please,” satoru scoffs, shaking his head. he gets a cloth wet under the facet, and then holds it towards you. “i probably learned how to do this before you were even born."

“when you were nine months old?”

“clean it.”

you listen, holding the cloth to your wound and still not looking down. it feels sort of ticklish, and also like you're being tortured.

“you don’t have to,” you tell satoru after a moment, breathing through the nausea that comes with the pain. “i know you’re squeamish around blood.”

“i am not squeamish.”

you grin at him. “sure.”

satoru looks up, and finally, his face relaxes, just a little bit. you can even see the workings of a smile on his mouth—the first you’ve gotten in days.

he shakes his head. “i’ll be fine. sit up.”

“seriously,” you say, again, catching his hand just as he’s about to touch you. “i can do it.”

“seriously, i’m not letting you. your hands are shaking.”

you look down, releasing his wrist. “oh.”

“yeah, oh.”

satoru kneels so he can see your cut properly, his face narrowed in concentration. you focus on him as he touches the tender skin by the wound, featherlight fingertips trailing across your skin.

you shiver and apologize under your breath.

he hasn't been this close in days.

“does it hurt now?” he asks you, voice so quiet that it almost echoes through the house.

“not really,” but you look up towards the ceiling. somehow you know it’s going to be worse if you watch.

“i can call—“

“no, satoru. i already told you, if you don’t want to do it then i—“

“okay, i’m doing it. i’m doing it.”

you close your eyes when he punctures your skin, waiting for the feeling to subside. it's just a prick, but you still have to think about getting the mail, going to the store, taking a shower after this, or maybe just crawling out from your own skin and becoming a spirit.

but satoru seems to recognize this, maybe from your face, and he asks, “what kind of curse was it?”

“dunno?” you breathe out, mapping a picture on the ceiling in your mind.

“what do you mean?”

“i can't remember.”

satoru looks up. “what?”

“it’s all a blur,” you say, wanting to shove his hands off of you. you've been trained to kick people away, so it's really not your fault. “i think i won though.”

“i don’t think this is winning.”

“keep going,” you tell him, instead of arguing. “i’m fine.”

satoru tsks but does as you say, resuming the smooth movements of suturing. any normal day, you'd probably want to watch his hands work, want to inspect his job and make fun of him for the way he holds his breath while looking at an open wound.

“how were the kids?” you ask him, after a moment.

satoru breathes out, nodding. his hair is messy, his face slightly wrinkled from sleeping still. “they missed you.”

“it was only a day. did megumi get that book report back yet? he was worried about it before i left, but i told him—“

“i missed you.”

you look down, forgetting about pain or blood. “what?”

“i miss you,” he says, this time, like it’s any different. satoru keeps his eyes down, his hands moving. but there's a guilty look on his face--something that tells you he didn't mean to say anything.

“satoru…”

“are you still mad at me?”

you tilt your head. “mad? why would i be mad at you?”

“you haven’t been coming to bed,” satoru answers, obviously.

your eyes widen. “satoru—“ and there’s a sharp pain in your side.

“sorry,” he murmurs, softly, at your flinch.

“i’m not mad at you,” you tell him, trying not to double over. your voice is high-pitched and breathy. you feel like a child—ridiculous and foolish—but it doesn’t stop you from speaking. “i was never mad at you.”

“you weren't?”

“you asked me for space. i was just giving it to you.”

satoru pauses, looking up at you.

“i… i didn’t want to push you into talking to me. i thought—i don’t know, that maybe things had changed. i mean, we don’t have to…” you wince, and it’s not because of the pain this time. “to sleep together. or in the same room. if you don’t want that anymore—“

“no."

"no what?"

he shakes his head. "i want that."

“satoru, you’re not going to hurt my feelings—“

“i was wrong," he cuts in, voice rough. you don't think you've ever heard him say those words before. "i don’t want space, i never did.”

you blink at him, brows furrowing. “then why did you…”

“i—“ he stops. looks around. “does it hurt?”

and you know, just as you know most things about satoru, that he can't continue. that the truth is going to cut just a little bit too deep--deeper than your injury--and he can't bring himself to say it.

so you only take another deep breath, pushing away the feeling of your skin being patched back together, and nod.

“a little,” you say softly.

an unspoken understanding passes between the two of you, and breathing gets a little bit easier all of a sudden.

maybe it wasn't the pain. maybe it was just the tension, the build-up of days apart.

it makes sense, even to your slightly fogged-over mind.

and then the two of you sit there while satoru patches you up, sharing a glance every couple of seconds—a glance with so many words, so tender and feeling that it succeeds in making you even dizzier. blood loss has nothing on the way satoru makes you feel.

you can't see his hands--don't dare to--but you can feel the softness of them, the care he's taking in stitching you up.

if it were any day, you would laugh at him for it. but right now, you just accept it. bask in it.

“how’s that feel?” satoru whispers to you, after he’s tied it off and wiped the blood from your skin.

you don't bother to look down. really, you don't want to see the freshly sutured line on your abdomen, but also, you just want to keep looking at him.

it's much more gratifying, at least.

“good," you say, voice stronger, easier. "is it going to scar?”

satoru scoffs. “if you wanted untouched skin then we should’ve called shoko—“

“shut up,” you interrupt. “i’m not listening to the medical advice of someone who’s never gotten a scratch in his life.”

“i let you scratch me.”

“well, obviously, i’m the exception,” you smile at him, exhausted and sweaty and still a little out of it—but home. with him.

and this time satoru actually smiles back.

it’s a bizarre thing, his smile. the first one you’ve gotten in days and it wakes you up immediately. almost like realizing you’ve been in the dark for weeks, just getting a glimpse of the light.

he's a peek into something more--unearthly. if the closest thing you get to divinity is satoru, then you won't complain.

“you okay?” you ask him, but you’re only teasing.

“that’s my line,” he says.

“you sure?”

satoru leans towards you, forehead against yours. “i’m sure.”

you sit there for a moment. satoru is usually the one clinging to you, but tonight you feel like if he moves away you might never get him back.

so you sit there, make sure to hold him to you, secure with your hands wrapped around his biceps, his arms grazing against yours as he leans against the counter.

you're probably a mess right now--your skin stained with blood that shouldn't be outside your body, your face covered in dirt, your hair and clothes drenched in sweat and rain. but satoru doesn't seem to mind, so you don't think about it too hard.

he deserves it, at least, for making ridiculous assumptions. you have to get him back somehow, after all.

after a minute, or two, or maybe even three, you clear your throat. “great. i’m alive, you’re… less annoying than usual. let’s go to bed.”

“‘less?’” satoru gapes at you, but his laughter is unmistakable.

“yeah, i know," you say, feigning shock, "i was surprised too.”

he flicks your forehead but you’re still smiling at him.

“okay,” satoru whispers, leaning back. “bedtime.”

you rub at the spot around your wound one more time, already feeling the days of sore skin and itchy muscles, and then you push satoru so you can hop off of the counter.

“hey,” he says, suddenly, stopping you. his voice is quick, almost lost. but his hands wrap around your wrists, keeping them between the two of you so you can't escape. and satoru's eyes are on your face, flickering between the different points of your skin, looking like he's just realized that he's lost something.

you raise a brow, but don't push back against his chest or try to pry his hands away. “what?”

satoru swallows, still watching you.

his eyelashes are long enough to touch his skin, and his eyes are blue enough to take up the whole world. you want to grin at the saturation of him--so much brighter than you've seen him in days--but you refrain. you don't want to scare him away.

but you're not so eager to move. it's easy to wait on satoru, really--to wait for his words, to let him collect his thoughts--because you've only spent nine years studying his face. you've only admired the slope of his nose and the tilt of his chin since you were sixteen, and there's much more to be discovered.

so staring at him is simple. especially when there's so much to look at.

you have plenty of unmarked territory you need to take over.

you keep a slight smile on your face while you wait, and eventually, satoru groans, hanging his head back.

“what?” you repeat, laughing just a little.

“can you stop looking at me like that?”

“like what?” you nudge your head against his chin, and satoru glares at you.

“i’m trying to be serious.”

“oh, okay,” you try to push away your smile, but you can't. it's glued where it is. “i’m serious.”

“you’re not.”

“what is it, satoru? i’m listening.”

his eyes meet yours, again, and you almost flinch.

everything about satoru is forceful, except for the way he looks at you. the way his eyes relax, his entire face falling when you're both eye to eye. it's a look you've only observed on one person, in only one particular moment.

and, you think, all of a sudden, it might be your favorite look.

but you're still fed up with waiting. you're tired of his consideration, his contemplative eyes. you want satoru back--with his ridiculous laughter and stupid jokes. you want him irritating the sanity out of you and simultaneously bringing you to life.

you don't tell him that though, because in this moment you'll take what you can get.

any version of satoru is better than none at all. you’ve learned that the hard way.

“hey,” he says, one more time. his smile is unusual, a frightened little thing. “i love you.”

you freeze.

your face falls flat, thinking of the words in a million different ways. you might've misheard him--but you're so locked in on him that it seems impossible.

at once, you consider exactly what he means, so many different variations of the same thing.

does he love you like your parents did, always too much but never enough?

does he love you like you love megumi and tsumiki—like your life depends on it? like you’d be wrecked without them?

or does satoru love you like you love him? does he love you like it’s breathing? like there’s never been a choice in the matter?

but, it's simple. a beat passes, three seconds of contemplation--just enough for the words to ring true throughout your body.

the way he’s looking at you is enough to answer any question you have.

satoru loves you like a promise, and nothing less.

“you idiot,” you say, a sudden, day-breaking smile on your face. “don’t you think i know that?"

"should we wake them up?" tsumiki asks, walking up behind megumi, staring down at you both. she's rubbing her eyes, her hair slightly messy.

megumi considers it for a moment.

neither of them have woken up like this in a while. you and gojo are getting better at falling asleep in bed instead of on the couch.

but, at this point, megumi thinks that it's probably a habit. or just to annoy him.

gojo's face is shoved into your chest and your hands are tangled in his hair. the both of you have silly smiles on your faces, and seriously. how do you both manage to fall asleep in such uncomfortable positions.

"no," megumi whispers, yawning. "i can make breakfast. mom probably got home pretty late."

"okay," tsumiki says, still staring.

megumi rolls his eyes and walks away. honestly, what did he do to deserve getting two idiots for parents?

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soaps-mohawk · 4 months

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 7 : Sweet Strawberry

Summary: You're not a soldier, you're just an omega. You shouldn't have to remind them of that, yet you find yourself needing to. Price makes it up to you in the best way possible.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language, angst, panic, fluff, suggestive content, terrible flirting

A/N: Not entirely happy with it but it's done and I can move on from this one. I struggled so much with this chapter omg. Also, I just wanted to make it clear that I am not from the UK, I've never been to the UK, I'm simply going off of prior knowledge and what Google can tell me. So, if there's any inaccuracies, I am so sorry.

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You’re expecting the knock when it comes. You’d been standing in front of your door for almost five minutes, and you get it open almost before he’s finished, hand still raised. He gives no sign that betrays his surprise, if he feels any at all, instead he simply looks you over before turning on his heel and marching towards the door.

You close your door behind you, slipping down the hallway after him. It’s raining again, though you had prepared for that, flipping the hood of your jacket up as you hurry after Ghost. He threatens to disappear in the darkness of morning, slipping between the street lamps like a specter. It’s not often you get to see the true danger in them, the threats that they pose, the things that make them good at their job. You can imagine how many on his opposing side have been caught unawares by the way he seems to flow with the darkness around him.

You are significantly less graceful and quiet, feet slapping the wet pavement as you speed walk to keep up with the giant alpha. You can almost imagine the look on his face as you plod along behind him. If your lives depended on your silence at this moment, well, it wouldn’t entirely have been your fault. If he didn’t walk so fucking fast...

He’s at least courteous enough to hold the door open for you, though perhaps that was simply something that was deeply ingrained in him. Manners that become unconscious practice, even when you despise the person you’re with. He leads you down the hall towards the practice room again, unlocking it and flipping on the lights. He empties his pockets and removes his shoes and sweatshirt, before moving to one of the punching bags.

You can already predict what your lesson today will entail. Your knuckles have almost completely healed since your little fit a week ago. You quickly strip off your jacket and toe off your wet shoes, moving to join him without having to be told.

“Do you know how to wrap your hands?” He asks, holding out two rolls of hand wraps.

“No.” You shake your head. It’s not entirely true. They had shown you once while you were with the CIA, but that had been weeks ago and you’re sure you’ve forgotten the right way to do it. Even if you tried, he’d likely sigh and do it himself anyway.

He lets out a breath, pocketing one of the wraps before grabbing your right wrist. His hands are just as rough as you remember them being the day you punched Corporal Allen, calluses dragging against your skin as he meticulously wraps the fabric around your fingers. You watch him, trying to memorize how to do it in hopes that maybe, eventually, you’ll surprise him and manage it yourself.

He finishes your hands quickly before wrapping his own. You flex your hands, trying to get used to the feeling of the wraps. They’re not too tight, shockingly. You had half expected him to choke your fingers until they’re purple just because. But, you also know Price will be looking for any mark or sign of injury as soon as he sees you at breakfast. The thought of him laying into Ghost for even a bruise as your stomach twisting, and not in a bad way.

“Make a fist.” Ghost says, crossing his arms as he stands in front of you.

You stare at his bulging muscles for a second too long, quickly curling your fingers as your face warms.

He takes hold of your hand, inspecting your fist. “Not bad.”

“I did grow up with brothers.” You murmur.

“Did they ever hit you?” He asks as he turns you to face the boxing bag.

“Only playfully.” You say, missing the subtle edge to his voice. “Dad would have caved their heads in if they ever tried.”

You can’t see the way he’s staring at you as he stands slightly behind you, but you can feel his gaze as it lingers for just a second longer than you expected it to. You’re not sure if maybe he doesn’t believe you, or maybe he knows there’s more to the story. You’ve hardly spoken about your family since your arrival, but they seemed to accept the fact that they haven’t been your family for years now as a valid reason.

“Get into your fighting stance.” He finally says, moving around you as you take the stance you had perfected last training session. “Good.” He says, looking you over. “Now throw a punch at the bag.”

You squeeze your fists, imagining Corporal Allen’s face on the bag before you throw a punch, barely managing to move the bag.

“Punches like that are what will get you hurt.” Ghost says, extending your arm. “You can throw your weight, which is good. That’s why you were able to throw Allen off his feet. You’re asking for a broken arm, though. Keep your arm flat and facing downwards through the entire punch. Aim with the knuckles and twist your lower body for support.”

He throws a punch at the bag, the sound of his fist hitting it loud, and you watch the bag swing back and forth violently. He could probably punch through you if he wanted to. Your pitiful punch wouldn’t even stun him.

He stops the bag from swinging, having you throw repeated punches at it. He fixes your form and technique as you go, teaching you different kinds of punches. Your arms quickly get tired, and you know you’re going to be sore again. Maybe you should take up some weight lifting or something. You could ask Soap to help you.

You go until your arms feel like they're going to fall off, your shoulders burning. “I can't anymore.” You whine, breathing heavily from the exertion of throwing punches for 30 minutes.

“You have to learn to push through the pain.” He says, looming over you. “You think in a fight, everyone will just stop because your arms are tired? Or you're a little sore?”

He has a point.

You take half a step back as he invades your space, leaning down close to you. “If they're out for blood, they won't even stop even as you're bleeding out in front of them.” His eyes are dark, biting into you, speaking volumes of his knowledge and experience. You wonder how many times he's been in that situation, how many times he's had to fight quite literally for his life. He steps away from you, moving towards the center of the mat. “Come on. I'll teach you some combinations.”

You don't want to follow him. You want to curl up in a corner and nap for the next four hours. You don't doubt he'll find a way to force you, though, so you move to the center of the mat with a sigh.

He teaches you different combinations, working through them over and over. You're sloppy, mixing up which punch is which, which move means what. It only gets worse as you get more and more tired, but Ghost is relentless.

Finally after almost an hour and a half of training, he calls it. Your legs are shaking and you can barely lift your arms to unravel the wraps from around your hands. You sink onto the floor, laying out flat on the padding as you try to catch your breath.

“Come on.” Ghost says, lacing up his shoes. “You'll have time to shower before breakfast if we get back now.”

“Wait. Just gimme a minute.” You breathe, not even sure you have the willpower to get up from the floor, much less the muscle power.

He lets out a sigh before approaching you, bending down to slip his hands under your arms. “On your feet, soldier.”

He lifts you easily, far too easily. Your legs shake, nearly giving out as you're forced onto them. You pout, ignoring the ache in your bones as you're forced upright.

“‘M not a soldier.” You murmur.

“In here with me, you are. You want to learn to fight, you get treated just like everyone else I've taught.” He says, glowering down at you. “Now get your shoes on and let's go.”

Your brows pull into a frown, but you do as he says, slipping your shoes back on and your jacket. You had hoped perhaps he would have a little mercy, given your status and inexperience, but it seems you're not even being awarded that. You know part of it is his revenge for you invading his protective circle around Soap, for kissing Soap in front of him.

The frown doesn't leave your face as you follow him back to the barracks, having to almost run to keep up with him.

“You look tired.”

“I am. I had training with Ghost again this morning.”

“How is that going?”

“It's hard.” You admit, sinking back in your chair. “He's hard on me. He sees me as a soldier, not an omega.”

“Have you brought this up to him?” Dr. Keller asks, crossing her feet as she relaxes on the couch across from you.

You nod. “Yeah. He said I have to push through it, because if I wind up in a real fight, they won't go easy on me.”

“Well, I can’t say he’s wrong about that. But, that’s still no excuse.” Dr. Keller tilts her head at you. “You could bring it up to Captain Price. He is your pack alpha, and he’s also Lieutenant Riley’s. I don’t doubt he’d bring it up to him on your behalf.”

He would, but you don’t really want to stir the pot in that way. The last thing you need to do is become a tattle-tail. It’s quiet between you for a few moments, Dr. Keller shuffling her papers as you mark a clear end to that conversation.

“How did you do on your assignment? I see you’re wearing a different sweatshirt this morning.” She says, eyeing you.

You’re wearing Price’s sweatshirt, the one he gifted you. You’ve been wearing it almost every day, his scent still clinging to the fabric. Your face warms as she stares at you, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, but...I didn’t ask for this one. Price gave it to me after I told him about where my other one came from. I uh...I kissed Soap. And Gaz.”

“Oh?” Her brows raise, and she writes something down on the paper. Your face warms even more as you watch her pen move with every letter. You can only imagine what she’s putting down. “Is that something you wanted? I know we talked briefly about it last time.” She says.

You nod. “Yes. I did want it. I...I also...kneeled...with Price...Did a couple times actually...”

Dr. Keller’s mouth opens in surprise, her eyes shining as she looks at you. “You did? That’s huge! That’s an incredible development! Did you initiate, or did he?”

“I did.” You say bashfully, sinking back further into the chair. “Both times.”

Dr. Keller smiles at you, looking almost proud. “This is a big step in the right direction. How did it go? Were you able to relax?”

You nod. “Yeah. It was nice. He was...gentle. He did it right.”

“Good. How did you do coming down from it? I know it can be intense and difficult for some omegas.” She asks.

You shrug. “Fine. I felt it a bit the morning after, but it wasn’t too bad. I fell asleep on him both times.”

“Oh?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Did you stay with him?”

You shake your head. “No, Gaz took me to my room both times.”

“Good. That’s good practice, for when your heat comes. Shows how much trust they have in each other.”

You hadn’t really thought of that. There was a lot of trust involved in omega’s heats. Omegas have to trust their alphas to take care of them while they’re blind with insatiable need, but both alpha and omega have to trust a beta to keep them alive. Your heat will trigger Price’s rut and make him lose control for a while, and it will be up to Gaz to keep you both fed and hydrated. He’ll be the one to help you both afterwards as well.

“Have you started nesting yet?” Dr. Keller asks.

You shake your head. “No. Don’t feel any drive to either.”

Dr. Keller hums as she writes something down. “Well, it has only been two weeks. Though, perhaps if you can manage to ask for some things to make your space more comfortable, that might help ease you into it.”

You chew on your lip, tugging at the sleeves of your sweatshirt. You know she’s right. Until you’re comfortable and feel safe enough, you won’t feel the drive to nest. You’ll need to nest before your heat arrives. Otherwise, it’ll cause issues for both you and Price.

“When...when should I be worried?” You ask.

“Hmm...” Dr. Keller looks at her calendar. “If you’re not feeling any sort of drive to nest by our next appointment, then I’d say we may need to consider using some exercises to help jump start it.”

“Exercises?” You ask warily.

“All easy things.” She reassures you. “Things like scent introductions, tactile explorations, and some bonding exercises might be helpful as well.” She writes something down on a sticky note. “I’ll explain everything in detail and you’ll get to choose whether you want to do any of it or not. No one’s going to force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, alright?”

Tears prick your eyes at her words, and you furiously blink them back. It’s a little late for that kind of sentiment. Your presence here alone was thanks to a long line of people forcing you to do things you’re not comfortable with. It was easy to get lost in the excitement and the emotions of bonding with a pack, easy to forget that you would never have chosen this place had you ever been given the option to choose.

You would have gone far from the military, far from this kind of life. It’s your duty to bond with an alpha, but what if you don’t want to? What if it’s all a front, and as soon as you’re claimed the curtains rise and suddenly everything is different? What if Price isn’t as kind as you’ve come to believe him? Just one squeeze too tightly around the back of your neck while you’re kneeling and everything would change.

How easily he could take everything from you.

“You want to talk about what’s going on in your head right now?” Dr. Keller asks, breaking the silence between you two.

You hadn’t even noticed you’d been staring off into space, lost in your thoughts. Of course she knows something’s changed. She’s spent years learning the ins and outs of omegas and all the secrets you can only imagine. She’s probably just as in tune with subtle changes as the four well trained soldiers that make up your new pack. Maybe even more in tune with them.

You shake your head, keeping your gaze on the floor.

“Remember nothing shared in this room leaves this room. It’ll always only be between us.” She says softly.

You’re panicking. You can feel the pressure rising within you. You’re like a grenade and someone is about to pull the pin. You’re afraid you’ll spill everything to her, afraid you’ll let out things you’ve successfully kept buried for years and years. Things you’ve left behind, things you’ve had to move on from. Things you can’t afford to let out now.

“I’d like to be done now.” You silently curse the way your voice shakes.

Dr. Keller’s brows pull into a frown but she nods. “Okay.” She slips her papers into her notebook before standing. “Let me grab my keys.”

You stand as she moves to her desk, grabbing her keys from the drawer. She leads you from her office, thankfully staying quiet as you walk through the rain towards the barracks. You’re still panicking, the turmoil inside you probably projecting the sour scent across the entire courtyard but you don’t care. You can’t.

“Remember, if you ever need anything, I’m usually in my office.” Dr. Keller says as she drops you off at the door.

You feel guilty as you hurry to your room, shoes squeaking on the tile. You feel bad for cutting the appointment off early, you feel bad for feeling the way you do. Later you’ll be grateful for Dr. Keller respecting your boundaries and not pushing, for following through with her promise and letting you be in control of the appointment.

Right now you don’t care. Right now you can’t care. You’re too lost in your turmoil, the bitter scent of your distress seeping out from under the locked door.

“...can ye talk tae me, hen? Let me know yer alright?”

The soft voice coming through the closed door pulls you out from your burrow under the thin blanket. You blink blearily at your phone, trying to see the time. It’s just a little past the normal time you go to lunch with them. How long have they been knocking on the door?

“Come on, lass.” Soap’s voice comes through the door again. “I dinnae want tae have tae kick in the door.”

You force yourself out from under the blanket, pocketing your phone before quickly moving to your door. You throw it open, Soap’s eyes immediately scanning you as you rub tiredly at your eyes. You don’t doubt he’d kick in your door if he felt he had to.

“Sorry,” You yawn. “I was asleep.”

His eyebrows raise as he stares down at you. “Ye were asleep? Ye weren’t kidding about bein’ a heavy sleeper.” He leads you from the barracks, crossing the courtyard towards the mess.

“One time, when I was about two or three, my dad took us to some demonstration on base.” You say as you begin walking to the mess with him. “I fell asleep about halfway through and slept through a howitzer going off.”

Soap lets out a laugh so loud it echoes in the courtyard. “Ye slept through a howitzer?”

You nod. “Yup. My dad never let me live it down. I heard it all the time. ‘You’ll have to try hard to wake her, she slept through a howitzer once.’”

Soap chuckles, leading you into the mess. “Ye are a deep sleeper.”

You shrug. “I did say so. My phone will wake me up though. Alarms, calls.”

“I’ll keep tha’ in mind.” He says as he guides you through the line, making your tray for you.

You sit between Price and Gaz as usual, feeling a bit on edge still despite your nap after your appointment. You hadn’t gotten to sleep for very long, not nearly long enough to clear your head completely. You know they can tell, Gaz slowly shifting closer and closer to you, Price’s gaze flickering to you out of the corner of his eye every so often. Even Ghost’s eyes pass over you every so often as they sweep across the mess.

You wonder if he feels responsible.

You hope he does.

Soap walks you back to the barracks after lunch and you spend the afternoon burrowed under your blanket again. You’re exhausted and sore after a long morning of training and your appointment. You wish you could sink back into sleep, let the emotions pass without you having to feel them, but you’re too awake now. Too aware of them as they prickle in the back of your mind.

Dinner passes without incident, but you can’t ignore the feelings still stirring within you. You feel agitated and on edge, not even pacing your room helping you. You let out a breath before you put your slippers on, slipping out of your door. You make your way down the hallway, turning right instead of left like you would if you were heading for the rec room. The door is cracked open and you pause just before you reach it, suddenly feeling nervous. You shouldn’t really. There was no reason to be nervous, yet you can’t help the urge in the back of your mind to turn tail and race back down the hallway to the safety of your room.

“You can come in, unless you’d prefer standing in the hallway all evening.” A voice calls from inside the office.

Your face warms a bit at getting caught, but he could probably hear you coming down the hallway. He could probably smell you too.

You push open the door, slipping inside before closing it behind you. Price stares at you from his desk as you stand there, shifting nervously on your feet. You feel agitated, on edge still. You’re worked up, and you don’t quite know why.

“Everything alright?” Price asks, likely picking up on your nervous energy.

Yes. You want to say, but then you’d have to come up with a reason as to why you sought him out, why you feel so worked up. You could just kneel for him. It’s what you should do, let yourself be eased into a peaceful state of mind. Let him take care of you.

“I don’t know.”

The words are hardly more than a whisper, your voice trembling just as much as you are. Your chest feels tight, your breaths becoming shallow. You're not sure when he got up, when he even moved. His scent wraps around you, warmth encompassing your being as your face is pushed against his chest.

“I need you to breathe for me.” Price says, pressing your ear against his chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heart, the air flowing in and out of his lungs.

You close your eyes, trying to match your breaths to his. It's hard, your body fighting your attempt to regulate it. You close your eyes, focusing on the soft fabric of Price's shirt against your cheek, the warmth of his hand on your head as he keeps you pinned against his chest. It's not constricting or suffocating. It's grounding, keeping you from drowning in your own thoughts.

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to as he holds you there, letting you calm down. You begin to slowly relax, your arms wrapping around his waist, fingers gripping the back of his shirt.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” He murmurs, lips brushing the top of your head.

“I don’t know.” You whisper, still clinging to his shirt. “I’m just...I feel off. Ghost was being hard on me this morning and then I got upset during my appointment and I’ve just felt on edge all day and I can’t relax because I can’t get comfortable!”

Price tightens his grip around you just slightly. “What do you mean?”

You huff out a breath, squeezing your eyes closed so the tears don’t escape as the words leave you in a flood before you can stop them. “The blankets aren’t soft enough and the pillows are too thin and it’s too dark and I’m tired of smelling like bland soap!”

Price hums quietly, squeezing you gently as a tear slides down your cheek. “Then we should do something to fix that.”

“But I shouldn’t need it!” You cry, trying to push away from him, but he keeps you tight against his chest. “I’m supposed to be a good omega and adapt and learn to be comfortable where I am.”

“That might be what you were taught,” He says, letting you push away from his chest, but he wraps his hands around your arms, keeping you in front of him. “But things don’t have to be that way. We should have taken care of something like this sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t even think of it. You shouldn’t have had to ask for it.”

You blink up at him, genuinely surprised by his words. “I...what?”

“We all have our own little comforts that we keep. Soap sleeps with a stuffed bear. Don’t tell him I told you that.”

A small smile tugs at your lips at the mental image of Soap snuggling up with a teddy bear.

“You deserve some comfort too.” He says, squeezing your arms.

“But, it’s not...regulation.” You say.

“Doesn’t have to be.” He says. “You’re not a soldier. Even then, the only ones going in there are us. The only thing I can’t approve of is painting the walls. Unfortunately the prison grey has to stay.”

You can’t help but laugh, wiping the tear from your cheek. “I suppose that’s alright. Just...as long as it’s not as dark and maybe a soft blanket or something. That’s really all I need.”

He hums, staring down at you. You can’t quite figure out the look on his face, something shining in his eyes. “We’ll get it figured out.” He says, squeezing your arms again.

“Get some shoes on. We’re going on a trip.”

You look up from your book, staring at Price as he stands in the rec room. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, arms crossed as he stares down at you on the couch. You mark your place in your book, pushing yourself up to sit. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and unlike last week they had the day off, which means you do as well.

“Are you going to make me hike through the woods for two hours again, sir?” You ask, pushing yourself up to stand.

“No. We’re going into town.” He says.

You blink at him. You haven’t been off base since you arrived, and you figured you probably wouldn’t be getting that opportunity any time soon. “Can I ask why, sir?”

“We’ve got some shopping to do.” He says simply, turning and leaving the rec room.

You stand there shocked for a moment before you’re following after him, slipping into your room to put comfortable shoes on and grab your phone and a jacket. You don’t even have a wallet to carry around to make yourself feel better.

Price is waiting by the door for you, a car parked outside. You’re slow to approach him, suddenly feeling a mix of emotions. He’s doing this for you. He’d really taken your conversation last night to heart and now he’s going to go spend money on you that he doesn’t need to.

“What’s that look for sweetheart?” He asks, standing in front of the door.

“You don’t have to do this.” You say, staring up at him. He seems so tall like this, so...imposing.

“Course I do.” He says, his gaze softening just slightly. “Should have done it sooner. You deserve to be comfortable too.” He says, turning to open the door.

You follow him out, climbing into the car when he opens the door for you. He gets in the driver’s seat, the car rumbling to life. He drives to the front gate, passing off two ID cards to the guards. He passes one to you when the guard hands them back, the gate in front of you opening.

“That’s your ID card. Gets you on and off base.” He explains as he drives away from the gate. “I doubt you’ll be leaving on your own, but just in case.”

“Thank you, sir.” You say, slipping the card under your phone case for the time being.

He glances at you, a small smile on his lips. “You can call me John, if you'd like. You don't need to be formal when we're in private.”

“Yes, sir.” You make a face, biting your lip at your automatic response. “Sorry. Old habits.”

“From the institute?” He asks.

You shake your head. “My dad, actually. He was a firm believer in respecting authority figures. All ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ by the time we were old enough to know the difference.”

“Sounds like my father.” He says, staring out at the road ahead. “Old grizzled military man.”

“Do you still have contact with him?” You ask curiously. You don’t know much of anything about their families, their backgrounds.

“Not really. Beyond holidays, neither of us really make an effort to talk to the other. After mum passed, there wasn’t much to talk about.” He says.

“She was the glue.” You say, watching the trees pass by the car.

“Yeah.” He huffs out a laugh. “As betas usually are.”

“Do you have any siblings?” You ask, curiosity getting the better of you. You know next to nothing about them, while they likely know your entire life story.

“No,” He shakes his head. “Just me. You have a lot of siblings.”

You nod. “Seven at the time I left for the institute. Could be more now.”

“They never tried to keep contact with you?” He asks.

“Nope.” You turn to look out the window. “The institute didn’t really encourage it either, because we were being prepared to join new packs. That’s hard to do when you still have bonds with your old ones. I think they might have forcibly ended some. I know there were some omegas that tried to keep contact, but it became less and less until eventually it just stopped.”

Price’s hands tighten around the steering wheel just slightly. You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been paying attention. Silence settles in the car as he drives, farmlands passing until the houses start getting closer and closer together. You stare at the buildings as he drives through town, a blend of historical and modern.

“It’s beautiful here.” You say, watching people and cars pass by.

“I suppose so.” He says, glancing at you. “I grew up in this area.”

You turn to look at him. “You did? I didn’t know that. Then again, I don’t know much about any of you.”

“You can ask us, you know.” He says. “We don’t have to be that secretive with you. At least not about ourselves.”

He pulls into a parking lot, opening your door for you and helping you out of the car. You slip your hand into his, holding it as you cross the parking lot. You stare up at the store. ASDA. You’ve never heard of it before, though you suppose the stores would be different here too.

Price drops your hand to grab a cart, the store bustling with people. You hang onto the edge of the cart, staying close to Price’s side. “We’re here for you.” He says, guiding you through the aisles. “Get whatever you want.”

He’s led you to the homegoods section, your eyes widening at the entire aisle of blankets and bedding in front of you. You try to take it all in, but you feel a bit overwhelmed. There’s so many choices, so many options.

“Pick out as many as you want. Don’t worry about the price.” He says, before you can protest. “We get paid decently, but don’t have many chances to use it. Let me do this for you.”

You stare up into his eyes, the sincerity in them, before you nod, turning back to the wall of blankets before you. You study them, running your hand along them to find the softest ones, doing as he says and ignoring the price tags. You settle on a couple soft ones, grabbing a throw blanket as well that you can pack around to the rec room if you want to. He takes you to the pillow aisle, and you settle on a pair of fluffy pillows, as well as a couple decorative ones as well.

“Here.” He slips a big plush strawberry into your arms before you leave the aisle, your cheeks warming as you look at it. “Makes me think of you.”

You preen at his words, holding onto the strawberry as you make for the lamps and nightlights, settling on a cat shaped one that will sit on your desk and changes colors. You pick up a few other items before heading for the toiletries, finally setting the strawberry in the cart as you zero in on the soaps and body washes. You smell all the strawberry scented ones, trying to find the perfect one.

“Why strawberry?” Price asks as you put a strawberries and cream scented body wash in the cart.

“Compliments my scent.” You explain as he leads you to the shampoo and conditioner. “We had a scent specialist come to the institute one time as an activity. We all figured out what our scents smell like and what notes compliment them the best.”

An arm wraps around your waist before you can look at the shampoo, pulling you back against a broad chest. Price’s nose presses into your neck and he inhales deeply. He lets out a content hum, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your neck. “I think you’re right.”

Your face burns hot as he presses a gentle kiss against the side of your neck before releasing you. You stand there for a moment, trying to calm the heat rushing through your body and focus on the shampoo. You hear him chuckle as you shuffle forward, your face still burning as you smell the shampoo bottles.

You settle on one, holding onto Price’s arm as you continue around the store, picking up a few other items and a couple for himself as well before heading to the checkout.

You hold on to Price’s arm as you leave the store, sticking close to him as he loads the bags into the trunk. You can feel the slight tension in his body, the way his eyes scan the parking lot every few seconds. You can’t even begin to imagine how hard it must be for him to relax, especially out in public. How fast his mind has to be running, how alert he is to everyone and everything. A threat could come out of nowhere, could come from anyone.

It must be exhausting.

“Hungry, sweetheart?” He asks as he buckles his seatbelt.

“Always.” You answer, leaning on the center console.

He smiles. “What are you in the mood for?”

You blink at him. Most of the restaurants you know probably don’t exist in England. “Fish and chips?” You offer, pulling up the one British food you’re confident in naming.

“Fish and chips it is.” He says, turning on the car.

“I have yet to have real fish and chips.” You say, settling into the passenger seat.

“Well, I know the perfect place.” He says, pulling out of the parking lot.

You don’t have to go far before he’s parking on the street and helping you out of the car. His hand settles on your lower back, guiding you down the street to a fish and chips shop.

It's too early for the dinner rush, the shop mostly empty and quiet. Price orders for you before guiding you to a table, and you let him sit facing the door and front window. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. They seem so relaxed on base, though you suppose that's the place they feel the most comfortable. You can't even imagine the kinds of things they've seen, the horrors they've been subjected to.

You don't want to think about the things they've done.

Your eyes snap downwards as Price's hand slides across the table, closing around yours. You don't want to think about the things he's done with those hands. The lives he's taken, the people he's tortured. Will he ever turn those hands on you?

They've given you no reason to fear them yet. They've all been kind, polite. Even Ghost hasn't truly given you a reason to fear him, despite his obvious disapproval and hard exterior.

You know nothing about them.

You've known them for just over two weeks. You can't possibly have any understanding of who they are, how they express their emotions. What if they get upset? What happens when they get angry? What if you anger them?

“I know this hasn’t been easy for you. Any of it.” Price says, drawing you from your worried thoughts. “I know you were taught to expect this, perhaps not this exact situation, but something like this. Being sent off to some strange alpha to join their pack, bonding with complete strangers. None of us were expecting this either. It’s been an adjustment in a lot of ways, but I want you to know that we’ll take care of you. You need anything, you tell us. You want anything, we’ll do our best to make it happen. We’ll keep you safe.” He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “I promise you that.”

You want to believe him. You really do. They haven’t given you any reason to not believe it.

It’s only been two weeks.

You continue to talk with him as you eat, making light conversation, getting to know him a bit more. Despite the trickling uncertainty in the back of your mind, it feels good. It feels like a date, something you had dreamed of before you presented, something you had imagined happening when you finally got old enough to start looking for potential mates and packs.

Of course, back then, you had thought you’d be an alpha.

It had been expected of you.

Price has his arm wrapped around you as you walk back to the car, his hand on your hip. It’s possessive almost, and it makes your stomach flutter. Price is the only one you haven’t kissed yet, well, besides Ghost, but you’re certain you’d wind up through a wall if you even thought of trying. It’s almost ironic that Price would be the last, considering he’s going to be the one claiming you, the one you spend your heat with.

You stare out the window as the buildings fade into farmlands again. The sun is setting, painting the world in oranges and reds. You still feel a bit warm from Price’s possessive hold on you, his teasing in the store. You can still feel the tickle of his beard on your skin, his lips pressing against your neck.

You jump when rough fingers trail down your arm, pulling it from where it had been resting in your lap.

“You were right.” Price says as he lifts your hand to his face, pressing his nose against your wrist and inhaling for a moment. “Strawberries are the strongest note in your scent.” He lowers your hand again, lacing your fingers together. “What’s got you all worked up over there.”

You stare at him, your face getting warm again. Of course he can smell it. You can smell the muskiness beginning to form around the edges of his scent. Desire. “You haven’t kissed me yet.” You say, moving his hand into your lap. “You're the only one that hasn't...well, besides Ghost.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “You sound disappointed.”

You untangle your fingers with his, letting his hand rest on your thigh. “What if I am?”

His fingers flex against your leg, the muskiness of his scent strengthening. “Then maybe we should fix that.”

The cocktail of scents in the car is intoxicating, and you feel bad for the poor beta soldier at the gate when Price rolls down the window to hand off your IDs.

Price is out of the car as soon as it's parked, moving around to your side to open the door. He pins you against the side of the car as soon as you're out, caging you in with his arms.

You stare up at him, head swimming with the musk laced in his scent. You can see his eyes shining in the light next to the door of the barracks. He looks like a hungry wolf, the back of your neck prickling with excitement.

He leans down, breath fanning your face as he gets closer and closer to you. You press yourself against him, hands gripping his shoulders as he presses his lips to yours. His lips are surprisingly soft, his beard tickling your face. He growls quietly against your lips, pushing you harder against the side of the car.

You let out a quiet sound in response, hands gripping his jacket. His hands slide from the car to your sides, sliding down to grip your hips. You can feel the muscle hidden beneath his jacket and shirt, the strength that he possesses. He may not be purebred like Ghost, but he’s still every inch an alpha.

You let out another quiet sound as he pulls away, pressing a caste kiss to the corner of your lips. “Bloody hell, now I know what those boys were on about.” He breathes, leaning his forehead against yours.

“They were talking about me?” You ask, pulling back slightly.

“Only good things.” Price grins, leaning down to kiss you again. “Sweet as sugar.” He breathes, kissing you again. “And just as addicting.” He pulls away from you, his hands resting on your waist. “We should get your stuff inside so you can get it all set up. Want me to fetch one of the boys to help?”

You bite your lip. “Or you could just do it.”

He stares down at you, something flashing across his face but you can’t quite make it out in the low light. “You’re sure?” His voice is quiet, taking on that soft tone it often does when he speaks to you.

“You’ll have to eventually.” You shrug. “Might as well start now.”

He leans down, kissing you again before pulling away, opening up the trunk. He grabs most of the bags, only leaving the pillows for you to grab before he leads the way into the barracks. You open your door, stepping in first before he follows. You dump your pillows on the bed, and he sets the rest of the bags on your desk.

“Blankets in the wash.” You say, digging them out of the bags, pulling the tags off.

“I’ll take them.” He says, fishing out his stuff from the bags before taking the blankets from you.

You switch out your pillows for the softer ones, organizing the decorative ones just the way you want. You squish the strawberry to your chest again, a smile forming on your face before you flop back onto the bed, sinking into the soft pillows. It’s almost perfect, you think.

“Comfortable?” Price’s voice rumbles in the doorway, a smile on his face as he stares at you.

“Much better.” You say, sitting up and placing the strawberry in its place.

The two of you finish taking everything out of the bags, decorating the rest of your room. The posters on the walls, and the nightlight on your desk. It feels far more homey already, and you know you’re going to sleep well tonight once the blankets are out of the wash.

“Thank you.” You say, looking up at Price. “This really means a lot.”

“All in a day’s work, love.” He says, pulling you into his arms again.

You lean against his chest, resting your head over his heart, listening to it beat steadily against your ear.

You wake up suddenly, yet you’re not quite sure why. There’s no one in your room, your new nightlight easily showing you that. Your mouth is dry, but there’s a line of wetness down your chin. You reach across your nightstand, your phone illuminating the time.

Just past one a.m.

You smack your lips, feeling thirsty after the excitement of the day. You’d forgotten to grab water when you left the rec room and you huff out a sigh. You don’t want to get up, but now that you’re aware you’re thirsty, there’s no stopping those thoughts.

You don’t even bother with slippers as you pad to the door, opening it up. You leave it cracked as you sleepily shuffle towards the rec room, the barracks almost dead quiet this late. You grab a bottle from the fridge, unscrewing the top before drinking a few gulps. It’s cold and tastes divine, soothing the dryness of your mouth. You screw the top back on, closing the fridge before heading back towards your room.

You turn the corner, still half asleep, nearly yelping as you slam into a chest. You stumble back a couple steps, staring up at the covered face looming over you. You gulp, holding the bottle to your chest.

“S-Sorry.” You stutter.

“You’re out of bed.” He says quietly, voice rumbling in the silence.

“Thirsty.” It’s all you can manage as you hold up the bottle.

He stares at you for a long moment, eyes flickering all over your face. His chest is heaving, almost as if he had been running before you ran into him. His hands are closed into fists at his sides, knuckles almost white with how tense he is. You think for a moment he might be mad, but you can’t catch any whiff of ozone in the air. Your nose prickles at the scent, but it’s not anger.

Your tired brain can’t make sense of it, yearning to sink back into the softness of your bed again. You slowly shuffle around him, taking cautious steps, waiting for him to reach out and stop you, but he doesn’t. He simply watches you go, standing there in the hallway as you slip back into your room, not moving until he hears the click of your lock slipping into place.

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