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#your pov when you’re on top of me
crossbackpoke-check · 5 months
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V random but I’m in my Brockpetey feels could I listen to your 46 60 playlist!!
of course!! the first playlist i mentioned in the tags is actually not mine—it belongs to ash @notthequiettype and is a soundtrack to their wonderful fic Lake Rules (go read it if you haven’t already!!! highly recommend!!!)
annnd this one is my personal brockpetey vibes playlist
happy listening!!!
#liv in the replies#sadcanucksfan#also!! ash if you want me to unlink/untag please let me know and i will!!!#this one got bumped up because it’s currently relevant (i just posted brockpetey content) the rest of them will be scheduled in the queue 🫡#if i don’t do it now i will lose all links and ability to find things#as for my brockpetey i have zero reasons for any of the songs besides minnesota. it’s all vibes no thoughts.#minnesota to me is the quintessential brock petey song topped only (but really equaled) by charm you (also by samia)#like minnesota i would love to say is a joke but i really heard that song for the first time YEARS ago and went oh my fucking god.#i’m going back to minnesota huh#and then CHARM YOU??? AN ACT OF VIOLENCE AGAINST ME PERSONALLY????#you’re telling me there’s the lyrics ‘kissin you would be like kissin on the USA’ & ‘flying while i’m lying that i hate LA’ & it’s not 406?#(addition that i wasn’t gonna tell you but i have to tell y’all because it’s relevant to Me. samia is so so so so good live.)#(also i haven’t added it to the playlist because it’s sad but kill her freak out has narrative potential as brockpetey. also????#they’re all somehow petey pov to me. sometimes people just get assigned bands in my head for no reason & i think samia is petey’s vibe band.#BESIDES bbno$ which is canon lmao. spiritually petey is a samia song to me i guess idk why either sorry but kill her freak out#is a (seemingly you know how i am) unrequited brock/petey for when brock got his gf. thank u for your time i hate it too just listen to it)#also no statements about my music taste i will cry. if you hate it don’t tell me if you have recs do tell me#although i do have a joke playlist compiled of all the songs brock has been screencapped listening to because. why not. it’s fun and also#has that man ever listened to a single lyric in his life. what the FUCK is up with your chill playlist bud none of those songs are chill.#lovingly. ripping my hair out. the amount of times he listens to fast car like???? girl are you okay.#anyway this is ur reminder i miss stalking people on spotify let me see your music taste cowards.#ALSO#IF I THINK TOO LONG ABOUT PETEY IN MINNESOTA I WILL LOSE MY SHIT SO I AM NOT JUST KNOW THAT I CLICKED THE FIC & SKRTED I CAN’T HAVE EMOTIONS#if i did not have someplace to be at precisely 7:50AM i would be having a full breakdown please believe me.#oh also ALSO bonus points if you figure out what the numbers in the name are :)
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sugar-coated-slut · 28 days
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𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬, 𝐲𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐞𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐦 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! gojo’s pov, he has a huge size kink, manhandling, y'all are all living that married life, oral, teasing, praise, satoru is a soft love sick teasing sweetheart all for you some cock sucking
𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧! size any jjk guy
Oreo: size kink or BRRRRRRRRR
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You’re adorable struggling on your tip toes stretching your hand out for his boxes of chocolate. All of them stacked perfectly at his eyes level.
Satoru snickers when you jump. The blood rushes to his cock when you jiggle from the impact of landing. You’re so soft, squishy, short, and perfect.
You turn around with a scalding glare. The denial of chocolate getting to you. Your whine is adorable, “You did this on purpose!”
Satoru smirks closing the gap quickly with his long strides. Cornering you against the counter which he grabs to trap you between his muscular arms.
He croons, “And what are you gonna do about it?” You have to look up at him, he feels so much bigger, stronger. The feeling is making the blood rush into his cock.
You turn around in his arms, looking up at the sweet with forlorn. “Ignore you and climb the counters.” Bumping him with your soft butt. Satoru barely budges, grabbing your hips to lift you off the floor with ease.
He smirks and insists, “Ignore me then.” He tilts his head back, and sits you down. He sucks on your cunt’s soft lips through your underwear, loudly groaning.
Satoru wants you on your back looking up at him with tears in your beautiful eyes. While his big cock bullies your soft little cunt into a sore mess.
You taste better than the sweets you’re trying to get. And when your voice trembles his cock throbs. He tries to stuff his tongue into your cunt with your soft underwear in the way. It just barely gives letting him glide the tip of his tongue in.
With his six eyes, he can see the frustration melting from your beautiful face. A soft expression of pleasure replacing it. He can see the desperation in your gorgeous eyes.
Rocking your hips, gently grinding your soft cunt on his face. “Satoru please.” You reach back grabbing his soft hair, tugging. All that bratty attitude you had when he walked in is crumbling so easily. It’s making Satoru’s cock and balls ache with a need for your soft, submissive, short ass.
Satoru lifts you off his face. Admiring how the thin fabric clings to your lips giving him a beautiful outline of your soft cunt. “You’re so perfect to fuck into a mess.” Satoru bites your ass, your soft cunt making his cock twitch. He dying to be in you, aching to feel your soft, wet, and warm cunt cumming because of his cock.
Satoru smirks, urging you, “Grab your snack mama while I'm eating mine.” You lean forward pushing your back back when he sits you back down on his face.
Satoru sucks on your soft clit and groans. You’re so easy to throw around, he loves how he can manhandle you. He can fold you in two and fuck his long cock into your squishy guts.
It gets him off on how you look up at him, trusting him to take care of your cunt.
You grab the top shelf, “Forget the snack I want you to eat me out! Take my underwear off! I want to feel your soft tongue.” He lifts you off his face and sets you down.
Satoru glides his hands underneath your shirt. His shirt looks better on you. He hooks his thumbs into your underwear, you have to look up at him, waiting for him to say something.
Furrowing your brows, shifting your hips, his cock grinding against the middle of your back. “Satoru why are you so quiet? Every other time you have something to say.” Pre cum smears inside his underwear, making a wet mess.
He glides your underwear down for you to step out of. He pushes them to the side, curling two thick fingers into your soft cunt. He loves his he knows you’re body better than his own.
Your soft lips part with a sweet moan. He has to lean down and kiss you. Pouring every ounce of carnal hunger into it. Your soft tongue rubbing his has him thinking about how well you suck his cock and balls.
He pulls away, leaving you breathless, wondering. “Can't I admire my beautiful wife?” He kisses your forehead. “I love how I can call you my beautiful wife, my sweet wife, my darling little wifey.” He grabs your hand, kissing your ring.
Your soft cunt soaking his ring as he fucks his thick fingers into you. “Love how she squelches for me, letting me know how good I'm making her feel.” Letting your hand go.
He pulls your shirt up for you to hold in your mouth. “Good girl.” He softly plays with your nipple, massaging them with two thick fingers. “That’s it little mama lemme feel your soft pretty self cumming on my thick fingers.”
You’re so close. Satoru begs “Please mama cum for me. You’re perfect for me.” You drop your shirt with a moan of his name, cumming on his fingers. Your sweet juices trickle down your beautiful soft thighs.
Slowly gliding his finger out, sticking them into his mouth. Satoru groans whilst sucking his fingers clean. You turn around and keel, massing Satoru through his underwear. “You’re soaking through handsome.” You lick the wet spot on his boxers, tasting his sweet pre-cum.
He groans, “I love everything about your short n’ soft ass. With my six eyes I can't see myself with anyone else.” You slip his underwear down, kissing his head, the soft feeling of your lips on his head is heavenly.
Satoru groans when you glide his cock deep into your mouth. “All you’re, lemme show you by worshiping your sweet cunt.” The years of practice make your mouth dangerous. He can't bring himself to pull away as you deepthroat him.
Satoru whines when you glide him out of your mouth. Right away he wants to fuck the cocky, playful smile off your face. He grabs you, throws you over his shoulder, slaps your ass, and stuffs two fingers in.
Gliding his fingers out and tasting you. He wonders, "Do you have any plans tomorrow morning? Because you aren't walking for a little while after tonight."
oreo's m.list!💕
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sparklingchim · 8 months
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too hot to handle;m | jjk
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pairing: jungkook x reader
word count: 5.3k
rating: 18+
genre: hockeyplayer!jungkook, richgirlie!oc, brother’s best friend, college!au, fwb
warnings: belly button smoochies !!!!, they banter a lot hihi, oral (m receiving), protected sex, dick slaps on the face 🫢, mentions of underage drinking, spanking, spitting, dirty talk, oc loves reality tv shows & jk just puts up w it, groping, praise, a sprinkle of jealousy😋, INTRODUCING A KITTY CAT !!!! pls she is the cutest <3
summary: pov: it's a hot summer day, and naturally, your brother's best friend can't take his eyes off your scantily clad body.
a/n: wow it's been so long!! but here's a lil summer fic!! love u hope u like it MWAH 😙
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
“I can’t believe those people can’t keep their dick in for just a little while.” Jungkook tilts his head in a disapproving way. “There’s so much money at stake and you're risking it just cause you’re horny?”
You silently giggle at the way his brows knit. The judgement that contorts his face is the exact opposite of his earlier claims that he doesn’t care about silly reality tv shows that are obviously pre-arranged and scripted.
“Oh, don’t act like it’d be easy for you.” You poke his calf with your foot. “You’re a very horny person, Jungkook.” You look up at him with your chin resting against his bare chest and give him a pointed look.
His bottom lip juts out as he ponders your words. “I don’t think so,” he finally says.
You gasp in mock surprise, pushing yourself away from with your palms against shoulders. You lie nearly completely on top of him, one leg thrown across his body. “That is a bold statement coming from you.”
Jungkook toys with the strap of your lacy camisole. “Honestly, I think you are hornier than me.”
You blink multiple times. “Me?” You point to yourself. “No, it’s you.” You nudge his bare, husky chest with your nail – you got your nails done for summer, the tips are painted in the cutest pastel colours.
He catches your finger and swiftly interlaces his hand with yours. “Nuh-uh. It’s not me,” he denies. “Who was the one to initiate things between us?”
“That has nothing to do with this,” you argue. “You just never initiated anything because you’re scared of my brother.” A mischievous twinkle unfolds in your eyes. Jungkook should be paid for the obnoxious number of times he has to put up with your bratty ass.
Jungkook rolls his pretty eyes. “I wouldn’t be on his fucking couch cuddling with his sister if I was scared, hm?” He looks across the hallway, pointing with his chin to Taehyung’s room. “Where even is he?”
“I dunno. Said he’d come home late.”
His fingers slip away from yours and he holds his palm against yours.
“You’ve got long fingers,” you say, staring at the size difference.
“Your nails are pretty.” He mindlessly brushes his fingers over them.
You excitedly tap your fingertips against his hand. “I know, right? Thank you!” You lean down and give his belly button a kiss.
“Another one?”
You giggle foolishly, planting another smooch on his tummy. Then you rest your head on his belly and refocus on the show playing on the television.
His palm lies on the small of your back, thumb gently stroking your exposed skin. “You were, like, all over me, though. Last year, I mean.”
“Excuse me?” you turn your head.
“Last year during summer break, when Taehyung and I surprised you.”
“I know what you mean,” you tell him. You drop his hand on his lap, a frown blossoming on your face. “But that was not the case at all.”
Okay, perhaps he is correct – but to your defence, you were struggling with your first real heartbreak around that time and needed a little distraction.
“I just wanted to get the charger and leave,” he argues with a pout, playing all innocent with those damned doe eyes
“No.” You give him an appalled look. “You were literally standing in my room staring at me.”
“Well, I didn’t expect to find you like that.”
“You barged into my room, what were you expe-”
“I didn’t barge into your room,” he clarifies. “Your door was ajar, so I assumed you’d be decent.”
You shake your head disapprovingly. “Knocking is basic etiquette.”
“Whatever,” he sighs and his hand on your back sneaks beneath your top. “You initiated it, though. Practically threw yourself at me.”
You scoff, frowning up at him. “Need a trip down memory lane?”
Jungkook smirks amusedly. His dimple pops out adorably. “What?” He twirls a strand of your hair around his finger. “Wanna show me what we did?”
You roll your eyes, despite your heart skipping a beat. “You wouldn’t last a second on the show.” You tilt your head towards the flat screen tv.
“I have a hot girl in my arms – gonna blame a boy for trying?”
Jungkook clearly knows how to get you. And you hate that he knows when he’s got you. His smile grows bigger and his hand wanders down to your ass, barely covered with your tiny shorts, and delivers a little smack.
“C’mere,” he whispers and pulls you on top of him. “Wanna make you scream louder than you did earlier.”
~
one year ago
For you, summer doesn’t quite begin until it’s the perfect day to lie on the sun lounger in a cute bikini, sipping on a cold drink and bask in the gentle warmth with good music in your ears. It’s the perfect way to relax and unwind.
Lucky for you, today is one of those summer days – just perfect enough to spend the entire day resting by the pool. The sun is high in the sky, casting a warm glow on your skin.
Better than Revenge by Taylor Swift is blasting through your phone while you placidly flip the page of a memoir about love.
As you look up from the book, you notice that your little grey cat Moon has left your lap. She was sunbathing with you, lying flat on her belly with her limbs outstretched, but she must’ve slipped into the house a while ago. You dog ear the page and place the book on the small table beside you.
The sun dances on the water, creating a beautiful mosaic of light and shadow. A little slice of heaven on earth, you think. You love spending time in the backyard. It’s peaceful and tranquil.
And that’s when you hear the patter of feet running across the grass from behind, and before you’re able to realise what’s happening, two bodies jump into the pool, the water splashes everywhere – including you.
“What the-” You shut your eyes closed despite the sunglass perched on the bridge of your nose. Water droplets hit your face. You pull your sunglasses up to your forehead.
Two heads pop out of the water. “Hi.” Jungkook is the first to speak up. He sends a sweet smile in your direction, his hand doing a little wave.
Your heart beats faster at the sight of him. Unthinkingly, you slowly mimic the wave with your hand. Your gaze wanders over to the tattoo wreathing his shoulder, peeking out of the water, and the way the droplets run from his face to his neck before your eyes shift to your brother.
Taehyung is fixing his hair, a huge grin plastered on his face.
“What are you guys doing here?” You grab the towel next to you to dry yourself off. “Isn’t it Thursday? I thought you were coming back on Friday?”
“Surprise!” Your brother yells from the pool. When Taehyung notices the pout on your lips, he gives you a quizzical look. “You’re not happy to see me?” He pushes himself out of the pool and walks over to you.
“I had planned to bake you a cake,” you explain sullenly and stand up.
“A cake? For what?”
“Just a little welcome back cake.” You shrug. “Mum bought me the pink Smeg stand mixer and I wanted to try it out.”
“Well, that’s fine. We could bake together?” He opens his arms, and despite him being wet everywhere, you rush into the hug.
“Missed you,” you mumble into his arm. Immediate comfort surrounds you. "But it’s no fun being in the kitchen with you.”
“Yah.” He shoves you away. “Be grateful that I’m letting you ruin my kitchen with all your stuff.”
“Ruin?” you repeat offended. “As far as I know you barely even have anything in your kitchen – let alone your apartment. I’ll decorate everything really pretty, just trust me.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Jungkook pushing himself out of the pool. Taehyung restricts your sight a little, so you take a subtle step to the side. But the second you have a clear view of Jungkook, you instantly regret it.
His arms have gotten bigger – stronger, buffer, just everything – and the water running down his sculpted body is pitifully failing at making this scene less salivating. Oh, and his thighs. His wet swim shorts cling to them, leaving exactly nothing to the imagination.
You hastily look away when Jungkook catches your eyes.
“You missed me too?” Jungkook chips in, standing next to Taehyung. Jungkook wears a cheeky grin and stretches his arms out.
With faux reluctance, you give in. “I guess,” you mutter and gingerly hug him. Jungkook’s big hands are on your back and you feel the slightest tingle.
“You guess?” he scoffs.
He pulls you back and peers down at you beneath his wet locks. You’re a little blinded by the proximity of his gorgeous face. His piercings twinkle in the sun just like is eyes do when he looks at you.
When his hands clasp your waist, you know exactly what he’s scheming.
“Jungkook, don’t.” You try to push him away, but he obviously won’t budge.
“When are you gonna learn that teasing me by the pool never ends well for you?” He cocks his head.
You feel Taehyung’s hand on your shoulder. “You did this to yourself.”
You huff, trying to plead with your eyes. “Jungkook. I really don’t want to get my hair wet.”
“You don’t want me to throw you into the pool?”
“No.” Your mouth twists into a pout. Maybe he’ll spare you for cuteness. Your hands travel to his arms. Or maybe you can distract him enough to let you go.
“Too bad.” Jungkook throws you over his shoulder with an annoying grin. You kick his back with your fists, but it’s hopeless. “That’s, like, one of my favourite summer activities.”
And then he leaps into the pool with you.
~
You admit, you did indeed have fun goofing around with them in the pool – you're still pissed at Jungkook for tossing you into the water though.
“You’ve been alone the whole day?” Taehyung asks when all three of you are out of the pool.
“Yeah, mum and dad said they’d come home later.”
“Why haven’t you invited someone over?”
“Just wanted to enjoy some me time.” You point to your copy of Everything I Know About Love. “I was reading a little.”
“How are thing with Doyoon? Haven’t heard from him in a while.”
It is a reasonable question, given that you haven’t updated Taehyung on your relationship status for, like, a month now. But you’d rather talk about anything but your ex.
“I don’t know,” you reply indifferently. When you spot little Moon plodding around the garden you swoop her up into your arms. “Have you greeted Moonie yet? She’s missed you.” The tiny grey kitty purrs in your hold.
“I spent like 20 minutes cuddling her in the living room when we got here.” Taehyung pets her under her chin and her purring intensifies. “So, what’s with Doyoon? You two had a fight?”
Jungkook joins the kitty cuddles and gives Moon belly rubs.
“I broke up with him.”
Both boys stop their movements. Moon complains meekly at the sudden lack of petting.
“You broke up with him?” Jungkook asks perplexed.
You’re aware it sounds shocking that the girl with huge separation anxiety and attachment issues broke up with her boyfriend of nearly a year, but that is exactly what you did.
“What did he do?” Taehyung's eyebrows are knitted, flashing you a glowering gaze.
You know he is not mad at you – even though he doesn’t particularly like when you keep things hidden from him – but mad at the fact that someone hurt you and he wasn’t there to protect you.
You just shrug.
“How long ago was that?” Taehyung continues his inquiry.
“Uh, like a month ago or so?” You let Moon hop onto the grass. She immediately goes to rub her head against Jungkook’s leg.
“___, if you want me to-”
“Tae, I’m fine. Really.”
“We’ll talk about this later.” In Jungkook’s direction he says, “I’ll get us some towels.” And then he disappears into the house.
Jungkook steps closer to you, now with Moon in his embrace, and changes the subject. “Watchu been up to?” He pinches your cheek. “Senior year was fine without us?”
Frowning, you shove his arm away. “Believe it or not, but school was actually more peaceful without annoying boys in the hallways.”
Jungkook snorts a laugh at your jab. His dimples popping out distract you a little and all you think about is cute and how badly you want to poke them. But instead, you cross your arms in front of your chest.
“So, everything’s been fine?” he asks. “You’re excited for college? Being roomies with Taehyung?” Jungkook’s eyes shimmer teasingly – how could they not, his doe eyes look the sparkliest around you.
Now, you don’t want to seem rude. But when you thought about moving out and finally having the freedom you had dreamed of for so long, you didn’t reckon with the fact that your parents had already arranged your move out without you. You had tabs of pretty apartments near campus saved on your laptop when your mum nonchalantly asked at dinner a few months ago if Taehyung had already removed the furniture from his guest bedroom so you could furnish it to your liking.
You were a little upset – still are upset, but there's nothing you can do.
It’s a sore subject, so you bite the side of your lip sulkily. “Why? Do you wanna move in? I heard you only got a tiny dorm.” You keep your nose in the air.
“Oh no, I love my apartment. I love having my own space and not having to share it with anyone.” Jungkook shakes his head at your wrong assumption, all innocently. “It’s not big, but perfect for one person.” He shrugs. “Will you be fine with only one room to yourself, princess?” He actually flashes you a smile – taunting you with those sickeningly wicked lips and round eyes – but you just roll your eyes at his silly remark and turn on your heel, sashaying your way back to the sun lounger.
“I’m good.” You pick up your towel from the small table to dry you off. “I’ll be perfectly fine. I don’t think I’ll be home much anyway.” You imitate his smile from just a moment ago. “Wanna have the full college experience.” You think you see his face falter for the tiniest second before he recovers.
“Told Taehyung that too?”
You purse your lips in naivety. “Of course he knows.”
“Oh, yeah?” He quirks his brow. You catch his eyes as they dip down to watch you drying your chest.
You blink. “What do you mean – yeah, of course I told him.” You have to contain your laughter when perplexity falls over Jungkook’s face. “What are you thinking of?” Your head falls sideways, mouth curving upwards.
“No, what are you thinking of?”
“Oh, I’m thinking of spending my time in the library to study, maybe explore some cute cafes nearby to study in – oh, creating study groups and having study buddies would be fun!” you exclaim. “And obviously cheering for Taehyung and you,” – you give him a pointed look – “at your games.” You throw the now damp towel back on the lounger. “What were you thinking of?”
He shakes his head, pouty mouth denying that he was thinking of something else. He’s guilelessly rubbing Moon’s back, who has quickly fallen into a little nap in his arms.
“Cheering us on, hm?”
“Just like old times,” you say. “Think I should apply as a cheerleader again?”
Jungkook toys with his lip ring and you hate when he does it because you already have a hard time not blatantly staring at his mouth as it is.
“You-” He stops abruptly.
“What?” you ask, trying to pull the words from him, the tip of your tongue pressing against your top lip.
“You looked good in your cheerleader uniform.” His eyes dart mindlessly over your body.
A short giggle escapes you. “I know, right? Thank you!” You give him a sweet smile over your shoulder as you walk pass Taehyung, who just stepped outside with two towels in his hand.
“Where’re you going?” Taehyung halts next to you.
“Thought I’d make us some drinks,” you reply.
Taehyung gives you a long stare. “That’s what you’ve been up to the past weeks?”
You wave dismissively. “No, not at all.”
But Taehyung can tell when you lie – can smell it from anywhere. It’s something you hate and love at the same time. Sometimes you just want to be left alone, and sometimes, when your guard is up high, he allows you to feel vulnerable through his endless poking and snooping.
“Maybe a little.” An apologetic smile forms on your mouth, eyes going rounder when you hear Taehyung sigh.
Okay, maybe you did drink a little more than you’d like to admit – you got your heart broken. What’s a girl gonna do? – but never too much. And never when you were on your own. Being drunk alone is no fun.
“I promise it’s not that serious,” you say. Nothing a little crying, cuddles from Moon and journaling at night can’t cure. Your visits at stationery stores have been a tad bit excessive this past month – but for good reason.
His eyes tell you that he’s going to confront you about this later. He nods his head to the kitchen inside. “Don’t go too overboard, yeah?”
“Oh, I’ll make you one of my specialties!”
Taehyung doesn’t join your enthusiasm. Instead, he scowls. “Specialties? ___, when did you-”
You hop into the house, not listening anymore. Once he gets a taste of your drink, his grumpy face will ask for another one instead of grumbling about your recklessness.
~
You don’t know what Taehyung and Jungkook are up to, but you hope they took your advice seriously when you told them to put on sunscreen if they want to spend more time outside.
You’re fresh out of a shower. The steam in your bathroom follows you into your bedroom – despite the hot temperatures, you can’t bring yourself to shower with cold water.
With a fluffy towel around you and your kitty ears headband on, you poke your head into your wardrobe to search for clothes.
You just fetched a cute pair of panties when you hear your door fly open.
“Taehyung needs a charger can you-”
Jungkook immediately shuts up.
Your panties slip from your fingers. His eyes move aimlessly over your body until he realises what he’s doing. Flustered, he turns his head around and sees the door wide open. Jungkook quickly closes it, and you don’t know why – maybe he doesn’t want anyone seeing you like this, you think he mentioned earlier that Namjoon was gonna come over too, or maybe he doesn’t want someone seeing him in this untimely situation.
Your cheeks feel on fire. “He needs a phone charger?” you ask when he shifts his gaze back at you.
“Yeah.” You almost giggle at the way he tries not to look down at your body. He already had trouble with that in the backyard.
You pad through your room to find your charger.
“I’m not sure where I put it.” You feel his eyes on you and inevitably, your entire body gradually starts feeling hot. You bend down to take a peek under your bed, tightly holding the towel in front of your chest to keep it from sliding down, but you come up empty-handed.
Jungkook clears his throat. “You know – I think he’ll be fine. If he doesn’t find his I can get mine from home.”
Returning to him, you quickly snatch your panties from the ground and throw them back into your wardrobe.
“Maybe I left it in the living room,” you say, eyes trailing over his bare chest. If he’s not subtle about staring, you won’t be either.
“I’ll tell him to look there.”
You nod. And he nods. But no one moves.
“That looks cute.” He nods towards your headband.
“Oh.” You touch the soft material of your headband. “Thank you.”
“I probably should head back.”
“You really want to leave?”
That elicits a surprised snort from him. “Do you want me to stay?” His eyebrows shoot up.
“I dunno.” You toy with the front of your towel. “Maybe?”
The crooked smile that appears on his face gives you the last push. You’ve got Jungkook alone in your room in nothing but his swim shorts – you'd be a fool not to try.
His eyes are locked on your fingers playing with your towel. Jungkook takes a step towards you. When he raises his tatted arm and gently outlines the curve of your waist with his fingertip, you let go of your towel. With a dull thud it pools around your feet.
“I-” Jungkook is speechless as he stares at your exposed body His doe eyes are wider than you’ve ever seen them. He averts his gaze to your face, pointing his thumb to the door. His mouth parts, but no words come past them.
“Don’t leave.” A little frown scrunches your face. “Do you want to leave?”
“We shouldn’t-” Jungkook shakes his head, eyes furtively glimpsing at your body again before lifting them up. “You sure?” he asks. “You want this?” Hesitantly, his tongue fiddles with his piercing.
You nod and reach for his hand, grabbing a few fingers to drag him closer to you.
“You want this?” he repeats. “Need you to say it. Please.” He’s staring deep into your eyes and you see the desire and restraint striving against each other in his. His question lingering in the air controls his mixed emotions.
“I want this.” You tug him even closer.
His longing glances are all over you – he can’t seem to dwell too long on one curve, he needs to memorise it all.
“Fuck it,” he whispers. And then he cups your jaw, roughly going in for a messy kiss.
You stumble a few steps back, but Jungkook catches you, his fingers dip into the soft skin of your waist. A sigh from you mingles into the kiss. You didn’t think kissing Jungkook would feel so good. But his lips are ridiculously smooth, and he moves his mouth in a fashion that has you yearning for more. Your hands vanish in his hair, teasingly pulling at his damp locks.
He pulls back, breathing heavy. “This is so wrong.” He nuzzles his head into your neck.
“He won’t know.” When you feel his teeth sinking into your skin, you yank him back. “He will if you're gonna suck hickeys on me.”
“You just taste so fucking good,” he mumbles.
You pepper kisses along his jaw before you slowly sink on your knees. The bulge in his shorts stares right at you. Giddy sparks flash through your eyes while you look up at Jungkook.
“You’re not doing this because you drank, right?” His knuckles brush over your cheek.
“Huh?” you feel dizzy, little pink hearts swell up in front of your eyes, the longer you stare into his dreamy face. When you register his question, you deny it with a strong shake of your head. “I’m not drunk.”
He tips your chin up. “You promise?”
“I didn’t put anything in my drink,” you assure him. “I promise.”
With a smile playing on your lips, you place a kiss on his belly button before pulling down his swim shorts. The pink hearts grow even bigger when his cock pops out. It’s a pretty cock – veiny and thick, his tip glistening with a teeny tiny dab of pre-cum. You’ve never been more excited to put a dick in your mouth.
You have one palm around his cock and guide his head to your mouth. You stick your tongue out and sweep it over his slit. The muscles on his abdomen tense. Even the slightest reactions from him excites you, cheeks turning warm in eagerness.
A breathy moan escapes Jungkook at the feeling of your warm lips wrapped around his head and his fingers slide over your kitty ears headband to the back of your head. You like the feeling of his hand on you. It elicits a tingly sensation in your tummy. You take more of him, relaxing your throat as you go.
“Good girl.” His hushed praise has wetness pooling between your thighs. Your fist curled around his cock tightens fleetingly.
More quiet moans fill the room as you bob your head, tongue swirling around his length. You pull off his dick with a lewd sound and pump his cock while you suck on his balls. Jungkook’s head falls back, flaunting his pretty throat you’d die to adorn with your love bites all over.
Dragging your lips over his cock again, his palm pushes your head forward. Almost his entire length vanishes in your mouth and the corner of your eyes start shimmering with tears.
“Fuck, that’s right.” He holds you there, savouring the feeling of your lips pulled taut around his swollen cock. “Taking my cock so good.” When you retract with a gag, his thumb brushes your tear away. “But still too big, huh?”
“You wanna teach me how to take all of it?” You bat your eyes.
Jungkook grins, flashing you his bunny teeth. He glides his tip over your plush lips and to your cheek. “Think you could take it all?”
“If you teach me well enough.” Your palms rest against his muscular thighs. You squeeze them and your mouth turns round in awe of their firmness.
He taps his cock on your face a couple times. “Another time, princess. Just wanna fuck your mouth right now.” Jungkook presses his dick on your mouth. “Open.”
With his cock back in your mouth, he starts moving his hips. He doesn’t force his cock in too far, just enough to have you teary eyed.
“Scoot over there.” His voice his husky as he pulls his dick from your mouth, it distracts you a little from what he’s instructed you to do until Jungkook nudges your shoulder and nods his chin to the back. You crawl backwards on your knees, palms on his thighs. When he’s satisfied, he leans in for a short kiss and you kneel comfortably on the plush carpet beneath you.
He strokes himself, eyebrows drawn together as he ogles your body through his hooded eyes. You could sit here for hours watching him play with himself. He’s just so hot. You love watching hot men do anything.
“Wanna fuck you,” he rasps, words laced with thick, deep lust. He pushes his hair back before it falls prettily into his face. “Can I fuck you?”
Unbeknownst to him, you would do anything he asked you to do now.
When you raise to your feet Jungkook asks, “Can you keep quiet?”
Offence is written on your face as you pad to your nightstand. “Don’t worry. This isn’t the first time I’ve snuck a boy into my room.”
“Who would’ve thought you’re such a dirty girl, hm?” He snatches the condom from your drawer before you can reach for it. He’s practised in tearing the wrapper open and rolling it over his cock. “Bend over your desk for me.”
You prop yourself up on your elbows, arching your back for him. He shoves two fingers up your pussy and you have to bite down your lip to stifle a moan.
“So wet for me already.” Jungkook curls his fingers, and you can’t believe how fast he has your thighs trembling.
Withdrawing his fingers, he aligns his tip to your entrance. Jungkook gradually sinks his cock into you.
“Fuck, you’re big,” you whine, brows pinched together.
“You can take it.” Jungkook moves his hips while his fingers grip your ass, kneading the supple flesh. “Your pussy feels so fucking good – fuck.”
Jungkook fucks you fast – fucks you good, you think you already feel your high building up. He sneaks his around your body, pressing his palm on your tummy.
“You like this?” He puts pressure with his hand and your walls clamp around his cock. A moan escapes you. “Good girl,” he coos. “Wanna make you cum for me.”
“Don’t stop – please don’t stop,” you pant, shutting your eyes closed. Your elbows give in and you rest your arms on the desk.
Jungkook’s cock feels undeniably good, rubbing against your sweet spot and making you see stars while you uncontrollably utter tiny moans.
“Gonna cum around my cock?” Jungkook hand collides against your butt. “Be a good girl and cum for me.”
Your climax consumes you in lightning speed. It swamps your wholly, tears well up in your eyes. Your legs are wobbly, but Jungkook has a safe hand around you.
“That’s a good girl,” he whispers.
His hand on your tummy flies up to your tits, rolling them around in his palm while relentlessly fucking you through your high.
“Has any sneaky link made you cum this fast before?” His voice is tinted in something you can’t quiet pinpoint. It’s deep, fierce.
“Nu-uh.” You’re dizzy and breathless, can’t think straight.
“Good.” He lands a smack on your ass.
His breathing intensifies, cock throbbing in your pussy. Pressing his forehead against your shoulder blade, his husky moans fill your ear. Your eyes roll. There’s nothing hotter than men moaning – especially when it’s Jungkook.
With a final thrust he spills his cum inside the condom. He exhales shakily and the tiniest whine falls from his lips. “Fuck.” Both his hands run over the slope of your ass. Jungkook plants a thoughtless kiss on the nape of your neck. “Fucking you might be my favourite now.”
“Found a new favourite summer activity besides throwing me into the pool?” You smile tiredly, peering over your shoulder.
“No – I’m talking favourite activity in general.” He absent-mindedly roams his palms across your back and down to your butt.
A giddy feeling unfurls in your chest. “Well, don’t tell Tae that.”
“Fuck, I should head downstairs.” Jungkook pulls his cock out, coaxing a little whine from you “You have a bin here?”
“In my bathroom.”
While Jungkook gets rid of the condom, you wrap yourself up in the towel again. You need another shower before putting on clothes.
When he steps out, he quickly throws on his swim shorts. “You gonna take a shower?”
“Yeah...need to fix this.”
Genuine confusion spreads on his face. “You look pretty.” With an endearing smile, dimples out and doe eyes sparkling he adds, “Always.”
Something really tightly wraps around your heart. “Thanks.” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip to stop your smile from growing.
The doorbell rings downstairs.
“Oh, is that Joon?” you ask joyfully. “I need him to recommend me some books again! I missed him so much.”
“He has a girlfriend,” Jungkook tells you.
You frown. You’re not stupid – obviously you know he has one. You’ve seen the pictures he shared on his Instagram stories. What kinda guy goes to a ceramic painting place? That was obviously a date.
“I know.”
When Namjoon’s loud voice screaming for Jungkook reaches your ears, your tummy churns.
“You need to leave.” You push Jungkook towards the door. He opens it and swiftly walks out.
“Hey, Namjoon, is that you?” Jungkook yells.
As you watch Jungkook leave your room, you want him back immediately. It feels unfair to get a taste of what his kisses and touches feel like only to have them taken away.
But deep down you know you two can’t repeat this. You wouldn’t be able to keep it from your brother. Eventually, Taehyung would figure it out.
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
pt 1 & pt 2 here <3
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peachesofteal · 3 months
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Simple Math / Part Six
Simple Math masterlist
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Ghost/Soap/female reader 4k words - AO3 Warnings - tags: 18+ MDNI. No smut but this fic contains mature themes. Nurse reader, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies. Reference to past domestic violence. Angst. Alcohol. Crying, anxiety, panic. Johnny in distress. Johnny is still a menace. Soft dads. POV switches. Note: Safe sleep for infants always. I do not endorse sleeping with your baby in your bed. This is a fic not real life. Simon does some digging.
“Shhh now, ye’re alright.”
Johnny coos, Penny cradled up to his chest. He’s not wearing a shirt, eyes still half sealed shut with sleep, and she squalls in his arms, screaming as loud as her little lungs will allow. “What is it, mah wee lamb? Are ye hungry? Do ye need a change?” He checks her nappy, efficiently looking for a mess or something to clean up and is nearly disappointed when he finds her still dry. If it’s not her nappy, then maybe her stomach? Could she be hungry again? He thumbs through the notes on his phone to find Simon’s last entry: 23:20 – 50 ML. 
That was only an hour ago. 
He frowns, walking in a circle, bouncing her gently, trying to settle her back to sleep. She’s so tiny, and still has grown so much in just the short time since they brought her home. It amazes him. It terrifies him. 
“What is it, sweet bairn? What’s got ye all upset?” He touches his lips to softest skin he’s ever felt, his thumb trying to swipe away the tracks of tears on her cheeks. “Please dinnae cry. I-“ 
“You okay?” Simon clears his throat behind him, and Johnny tenses. 
“We’re fine. Ye’re supposed to be sleepin’.” 
“Heard the two of you in here fussing. Thought I could help.” Simon’s trying to be supportive, trying to be a good partner, Johnny knows, but all he can feel is irritation, a defensive reaction making his hackles rise. 
It’s not fair. He’s so good at it. He’s a natural. And Johnny… Johnny feels like he’s failing his own kid, when she’s not even a month old yet. 
“I dinnae need-“ 
“Hey.” Simon touches his elbow, and then his chin, tilting his face upwards. “I know you don’t, love. You’re doing a great job. It’s not your fault she’s having a rough go.” He soothes him, fingers kneading into the top of his spine, squeezing the nape of his neck and pulling him into his arms. Penny is still crying, but softer now, a low-pitched tone of misery that makes his heart ache, and he feels so overwhelmed, so helpless, staring down at her as she tries desperately to tell him what's wrong, the only way she knows how. He rests his cheek against Simon’s chest, melting into his hold, letting him wrap his arms all way around his waist. 
“She hates me.” Johnny grumbles, and Simon presses his mouth to Johnny’s temple in short, succinct kisses. 
“She doesn’t. She’s brand new. She can’t hate anything, yet, and certainly not her Da.” He strokes her cheek. “Let’s bring her to bed, see if we can get her down and then one of us can put her back in the crib, alright?” Johnny sighs. 
“Alright.” 
“What’re you doing after this?”
“Going to bed?” What else would you be doing?
“I’m thinking about going to Jackie’s for a drink… wanna come?” Nia untucks her scrubs, pulling the top up over her head.
“Jackie’s, huh?” You chew on your lip. You shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t. But… Jackie’s is a dive. It’s dark, and dingy, with black walls, black floors, no window in sight. And... it’s a hospital haunt. 
“It’s my birthday.” She whispers, casting a glance around the rest of the room. “I’m not… it’s not a thing, I just want to go, have a few to celebrate.” You take a deep breath. “Please?” She tacks on at the end, and your shoulders dip down in defeat.
“Okay. One. And then I gotta go.”
“Yes!” She cheers, excitement smashing her palms together.
Nothing like a seven am beer. 
Jackie’s is a distinct place. It’s one of the only twenty-four-hour liquor licenses left in the city, or so you’ve been told, and has been frequented by hospital staff for decades. It’s dart boards and dark wood floors, cheap beer and rail vodka, a worn to hell pool table, and an old, disabled juke box that someone broke intentionally, years ago. It’s an institution, and reminds you of some old places you used to frequent, when you weren’t… who you are now. Years ago, before, you used to love a good dive bar. Didn’t mind the way the floor stuck to your feet, and you considered yourself nearly tactical at darts. It was a source of pride, the accuracy, the rate at which you could make a bullseye, even when you were a few sheets to the wind.
“Coulda been a surgeon.” You’d tease, a smirk growing across your boyfriend’s face.
“If you were a surgeon, sugar, who’d be at home waitin’ for me after work?” He’d push back, coating the warning in an adoration, giving whoever was undoubtedly watching a slick smile before snaking an arm around your waist and tugging you close. “You don’t need to be surgeon. You don’t even need to work. You have me.” 
You thought you knew, then. Knew how to handle it, how to navigate the ever-present, ever-growing threat… but you were wrong.
You were so, so wrong.
“So, heard there’s a spot opening up on days.” Nia chucks her purse at the bar top, climbing onto the stool next to you. “You’ve got the seniority… you givin’ it any thought?” The bartender walks by with a hello, and you nod at him.
“Old Speck please. And no, I like nights.” She raises an eyebrow.
“Didn’t know Americans liked Old Speck.”
“We have it in the states. I didn’t live under a rock.” You quip, and she laughs before ordering her own poison, a choice that makes your own eyebrows shoot up in question. “Vodka on the rocks?”
“I’m a straight to the point kind of girl.” She explains. “So, no days?”
“No days. You?”
“I might. Night shift is kicking my ass.” She complains. “Don’t even know what day it is half the time. My rhythm is off.”
“You need like, at least six months to fully adjust.” You put a note down in exchange for your beer, and then the bartender scuttles away, distracted by some insistent woman at the other end of the bar.
“Six months?!” You’re about to launch into your spiel about how it’s not that bad when your phone vibrates in your pocket.
>Make it home from work alright? 
>It’s Johnny, by the way :) 
The two texts are the start of a new group chat with your number, Johnny’s number and the number you put in your contacts just yesterday… Simon’s. Your head jerks back on instinct, confused.
“You okay?” Nia asks, and you nod.
“Yeah, fine just…uh-“ She peeks over your arm, and giggles.
“Is that your patient? Two sixty-eight?”
“What?”
“Your patient. The military hottie. The one that’s always lookin’ at your bum.” Your face burns, and she tsks. “Ah, don’t be embarrassed. He’s smokin’. Wish he looked at me the way he looks at you.” You’re surprised at the flare of irritation that starts up in your stomach at her, a hot streak of jealously simmering there, burning away indignantly. “Aren’t they… I mean… isn’t the scary mask guy his partner?” He’s not scary, you scowl inwardly. He’s just… protective. The butterflies in your stomach startle, and you drift back to last night, in the stairwell, in the car.
“You’re doing great, sweetheart.” 
“If you ever need anything, Johnny and I… we’re here.” 
Nia says your name, dragging you back to earth, and you shrug. “Yes… they… they’re together. It’s just been hard on them, so I think there’s a bit of an attachment growing there. You know, it’s not unusual.” She bites her lip, mouth pushing up into a smile.
“They’re quite fit. Wouldn’t mind if they formed an attachment to me.” She pauses, delicately sucking her gasoline on ice up through a straw. “Gonna text him back?”
“Nia.” You hiss, and she barks out a laugh.
“Oh, come on, just a bit of fun. I don’t mean anything by it.”
“It’s not appropriate.” You remind her, and she rolls her eyes.
“You’re such a stick in the mud sometimes. Remember when Marshall was fucking his brain cancer girl? Now that, was not appropriate.” You do remember- Marshall’s sudden absence, the whispering, the HR investigation that spanned weeks, interviews with everyone on the floor.
Your beer goes sour in your stomach.
“I gotta get home.” You wrap an arm around her shoulder with a squeeze and a whisper. “Happy Birthday.” You feel bad for abandoning her, and maybe in another life you might even consider her a friend, but you’re already too exposed here as it is, and staying any longer would be too indulgent- not to mention, incredibly stupid.
You pass another nurse on the way out and him know that Nia’s at the bar, alleviating your guilt just a tad before you hike up your hood and make a beeline for the train.
By the time you get back to your hotel room, get showered, and collapse on top of the far too big bed, it’s nearly been an hour. You plug your phone in, unlocking the screen to flick on do not disturb, and realize the group message is still open, cursor blinking, waiting for your response.
It’s fine. You can tell you got home okay, that’s not crossing any lines. 
>Yeah, just got settled for bed. See you later!
A text from Simon chimes back within a minute, and you squint at it, one eye open.
>Get some rest.  
The floor is dead silent at the beginning of your shift.
Nothing beeps or whines or cries, no noise echoes around the corner to where you’re scrolling through Johnny’s chart, getting caught up on his day, triple checking that his levels and vitals are all within normal range. He passed his follow up for the liver procedure with flying colors, and the relief you feel is not unexpected, the weight of worry lifting free from your shoulders without another thought.
He’s fine, he’s better than fine, he’s… too healthy for the ICU.
Reality hits you like a truck, and you stop short, sneakers squeaking along the floor.
He won’t be your patient anymore. 
He won’t… be your patient anymore. 
The thought twists you into a mess of complicated emotions. A snarled, tangled viper's nest of unknowns, uncertainties, things you're desperately trying to tuck back behind your heart, hide them away so no one, not even yourself, can see them.
This is a good thing. This is what you want. Stable patients, on their way to recovery. 
So, you’ll miss them, that’s okay. There’s a little bit attachment, that’s alright. 
This is the best case scenario. You’re making a mess of things. You’re getting too involved with your patient and his family. You let Simon drive you home, for fucks sake. 
They’re getting confused, because you’re the caretaker. It happens all the time. As soon as Johnny steps down, they’ll forget all about you. 
You’re risking too much. You’re risking their safety, their child’s safety, your own. 
It’s for the best. 
You put your best work smile on when you approach his room, pulling as much air into your lungs as you can manage.
Focus on your job. Your patient. You’re a professional. 
Johnny is alone. No Simon, no visitors, nobody keeping him company. It’s a strange sight, and he looks almost uncomfortable, creased brow lowered down over his eyes. That’s… odd. Worse, there’s a heaviness in his gaze, sadness pulling his mouth downwards, usual playful demeanor nowhere in sight. Even sad, he’s a marvel, and every day, he gets stronger, he gets healthier, he gets closer to leaving this room, amazing you with his tenacity, his will. 
“Hey, you on your own tonight?” You casually knock on the door frame, and then pull it shut behind you, cocking your head.
“Aye.” He’s sullen, his despair tugging you closer to the bed, an urge to try to comfort him too strong to deny. 
“How are you feeling?” You try the subtle question, hoping he'll be forthcoming, and you keep yourself composed as you wait for his answer. 
“’m alright.” You tab through his chart, glancing it over once more, if only to assuage your own anxieties, and then tap into his vitals. Everything looks good, last labs look great… so what’s going on? 
“Just alright?” His fingers flex in the blanket, tanned skin against white linen, picking at fibers and threads, unable to hold himself still. He looks like he’s going to burst open at the seams, explode inside this room, a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the end of the countdown.
A tear tracks down his cheek. “Johnny?” You step closer, close enough so your fingers graze his, trying to delicately let him know, you’re here. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. What’s going on?” The monitor beeps steadily in the silence, his chest depresses with a gust of air.
“It’s… it’s nothin’ bun. I’m jus’… I’m havin’ a bad day.”
“Want to talk about it? I hear I’m a pretty good listener.” You encourage, and his face twists.
“No, I- Ach. Aye, alright.” He shifts in the bed, and you hover in case he needs help, but he waves you away. “It’s… bein’ in here. I want to be wi’ my family. Penny turned one, before I left for this assignment. Was only supposed to be two weeks tops, but then it turned into a month, then two. And now, I’m home… but ’m not really home, and I-“ His voice cracks, raw thread of agonized emotion separating his words, and he swallows it, forcing it back. “I’m blown to bits and cannae even see my own daughter. I’m missin’ out on everything.” Oh, Johnny. Your heart is heavy, and it hurts for him, bleeds as he wipes his face. 
“You’re not blown to bits, just a little banged up.” You give him a soft smile, and when he shakes his head, your fingers find his on instinct. You don’t even stop to second guess yourself, fully sinking into the contact with a gentle squeeze. “Hey, look at me.” His lashes are wet, sticky with tears, and he sniffles. “You’re making great progress, Johnny, going to be out of here in no time. You won’t even be in the ICU much longer, and then once you’re downstairs, Penny will be able to come visit all the time. After that, it won’t be too much longer until you’re back home with them.” He nods, and you stroke your thumb across his knuckles.
“Ye think so?”
“You’re the toughest patient I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a fair amount, you know. Traumatic injury recovery takes time, it takes patience, but you’re doing a great job of it so far. You just have to take it one day at a time. Before you know it, you’ll be at home on your own couch, bossin’ Simon around all day instead of me.” He laughs at that, a throaty chuckle capable of spreading heady warmth through your veins, and then gives you one of those stupidly stunning smiles.
“Shouldnae be cryin’ in front of ye.”
“You can cry in front of me any time you want. That’s what I’m here for. Besides, it’s not the first time.” You tease and he rolls his eyes.
“Doesnae count. I was high.”
“Uh huh. Sure.” The untouched dinner tray on his side table catches your eye, and chilling worry reappears in the back of your mind. “You didn’t eat?”
“Didnae have an appetite until ye showed up, pretty girl.” Okay. You can remedy this easily, if he's interested in eating. Lack of appetite is alarming, but if you can get him to eat now... 
“You hungry? I haven’t eaten yet. Want me to grab you something?” He brightens, indulging in a spectacular smile, and you take it as a yes with a small laugh. “Alright. Let me run down to the café, yeah?”
“What’s that saying, about how I hate to see ye go, but love to watch ye leav-“
“Okay!” you practically shout, cutting him off, fire racing across your skin, and he snickers, palm pressing against his heart like he’s wounded. “I’ll be right back.” You give him a serious look, and and he rubs his palm through his hair, mirth sparkling in his eyes. Holy hell. How is he so attractive? And how is it still so blinding, every time?  
You get two of the only option left this late in the evening, chicken soup and some sourdough, balancing the bowls carefully on their trays until you’re placing them down in the room, swinging the little table over Johnny’s lap and settling in beside him, perched on Simon’s recliner. The soup is warm, spiced with herbs and thick with noodles, and you're pleased that it's better than you were expecting, happy that Johnny seems to like it as well. 
"Wanted to take ye out properly for our first date, but this will have ta’ do. Simon’s gon’ be so bloody jealous.” He masterfully hums between your bites, and your eyes go wide, trying and failing to swallow your soup instead of choking on it.
“Johnny, we… this… I- this isn’t a date!” you squeak.
“Why not?” He asks, inflection innocent, and your brain rattles around inside your skull, splitting down the middle, falling apart in bewilderment. Why not? What does he mean?
“You… you have a partner. Simon? You know, your family that we were literally just talking about?” He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with this look on his face, one you can’t interpret. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“What did Simon tell ye, the other night. When he took ye home?”
“What? He… I don’t remember.” Does he know that Simon gave you his phone number? 
Of course, he knows, he started that group text. 
Does Simon know what Johnny said, about you coming into their lives? About-
“Didnae he tell ye, we’re here for ye?”
“Y-yeah.”
“We, bunny? We.”
“I don’t… I don’t understand.” He sighs. What is he trying to say? What is going on?
“We like ye. Like I said, we think ye’re really special. Simon, and I. Together, bun.”
“Wh-what?” Puzzle pieces snap together and then break apart, like a landscape jigsaw that you spent days completing once before it was promptly ruined. Does he... does he mean... Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no. You have to squash this. Now. Just explain it, he’ll get it. He’s smart. “No… no, Johnny it’s just… it’s this thing, that happens. Patients get attached to their nurses or doctors sometimes, it’s normal. You d-don’t like me, I promise. There’s nothing even to like.” He blinks, jaw grinding under stubble. If Simon’s stare feels like he’s reading your mind, then Johnny’s is like being pinned down in one place, unable to move. You’re paralyzed, and powerless, lost in the icy blue sea of his eyes, drowning with a hand sticking out above the crest of the surf, reaching for him.
“Why would ye say that? That there’s nothin’ about ye to like? Nothin’ could be farther from the truth.”
“I don’t… there’s not. It’s… I’m your nurse, Johnny. That’s all.” Sweat glosses the small of your back, slicking upwards to cover your spine, and your heart hammers, it beats, beats, beats- so loudly you’re sure the pulse point in your wrist is visible. “Johnny.” His name shakes from your lips, and he relaxes, gentle concern replacing the relentless intensity in his gaze.
“Shhh, hey. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didnae mean to upset ye.” You're still frozen, a statue, and he reaches for you, trying to grab onto your hand. The heat of his skin breaks you from the spell, and you force a robotic, bedside smile onto your face, scooping up your half empty bowl.
"It's okay." You need to get out of this room. Now. The walls feel too close, Johnny feels too close, everything is compounding on top of you, threatening to derail your entire life, ruin your plan. They cannot like you. They cannot care about you. They cannot show interest in you. You can’t let this happen. “I’ve gotta check on some other patients, okay? I’ll swing back your way in a bit.” You promise him, guilt eating you alive about running away, and when he gives you a sad smile, you almost lose your resolve.
“Alright, pretty girl. I’ll see ye later, then.” He murmurs, and you try not to trip over feet during your hasty exit.
Fuck. You’re so fucked. 
Simon and Johnny’s house is finally silent.  
Penny is down, safely tucked into dream world, her grainy grey-scale image flickering on the video monitor at Simon as he pours two fingers worth of bourbon into a glass.
Poor baby girl. His stomach twists. She put up such a fight tonight, hollering at the top of her lungs, standing up in her crib, working herself into an absolute state. He hates leaving her alone to cry, and on nights like this one, the only way she’ll close her eyes is if she’s being held, snuggled in Johnny's arms, or against Simon's chest. 
He’s a sucker, he knows. Doomed from the day she was born, but he can’t help it. Neither of them can. She’s their baby.
So, he doesn’t blame her for being so out of sorts. She always sleeps better when her Da is home. They both do.
His phone vibrates with a text, a short message from Johnny, and he scrolls through it, settling on the couch with his laptop, unopened email from Laswell blinking impatiently.
>She’s jumpy. Tired. Looks like she hasn’t gotten any sleep. Simon frowns.
> She manage to find a pair of panties for work today?
>Unfortunately. He can practically see the pout on Johnny’s lips, can hear the way he probably huffed and puffed when you first came into the room this evening, your hips swishing side to side, pretty smile on your face for him.
>I think I made her upset. Simon pinches the bridge of his nose. Johnny, love. Why can’t you listen? He takes a deep breath, trying to relax the worry that’s creeping up the back of his neck. 
Disagreements aren’t for text messages. They’ve learned that the hard way. 
>Take it easy for the rest of the night, then. She’s skittish. He shoots off the recommendation, and then pulls his laptop across his knee, clicking open the email from Kate.
Simon,  Your girl is a ghost. This kind of wipe work is professional level… are you sure she’s a nurse?  I’ve attached everything I could find, but it’s pretty scarce. The name you provided pulled a copy of her NHS nursing license, her taxes, an award she won at work last year, and a COVID vaccination record. No birth certificate, state identification, or public records of any kind, even after a global hand search. Nothing that even proves she exists or is an American except a sealed record from two years ago in the states. It’s not accessible, even for me, which means it could be WITSEC, or a court ordered name change in relation to a domestic violence case. There are 18 states that seal those records to protect the victim, so she could be from anywhere. My gut says it’s probably the latter, which is why she doesn’t exist prior to.  You’ll notice on the vaccine record, she marked ‘unhoused’, and I couldn’t find any lease/rental agreements, sale records, or mortgages in her name.  I wish I had more for you, but she really is a bit of a puzzle. I’ll keep digging.  -K.L. 
There’s an unsettling rattle going off in the front of Simon’s skull. It’s a siren, a smattering of warning bells, and he swallows the rest of the bourbon in one go, embracing the burn that slides down the back of his throat.
Who are you, little bunny? And who are you running from? 
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boba-beom · 3 months
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are we just finding out that soobin’s got mirrors on his bedroom ceiling or is it just me 🫠😵‍💫 bc are you thinking what I’m thinking 🫠
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soobin hard thoughts
soobin eating you out OR soobin getting head and recording the ceiling pov
soobin invites your over to hang out because he knows just how fascinated you get over his mirrored ceiling. you both sit on his bed, and you go from talking, to being a little touchy with one another, and eventually start making out.
he ends up lightly pushing you so you’re laying down, head against the pillows and his body resting between your legs. you look up at the ceiling and you watch the way he descends down your body. his face buried in your neck to kiss you at every single sweet spot he knows, lifting your top to trail kisses between the mounds of your boobs.
your eyes never leave your reflections on the ceiling. he takes his time suckling on your nipples, kissing around your tits until he decides to trail even lower down your abdomen. he discards your lower garments, leaving you bare in front of him and your reflections.
“wanna feel good sweetheart?” is all he says before you let out an airy ‘yes’.
in your reflection your eyes focus on the back of his head, the way he settles between your thighs, kissing and licking small areas here and there before planting wet kisses along your slit up to your clit. once he starts eating you out with so much dedication and attention to your body reacting to his movements, he puts your legs over his shoulders. the view of your legs splayed on his back with the back of your heel digging between his shoulder blades.
“keep your eyes on the ceiling. I want you to watch yourself while I make you cum.”
OR
soobin lures you further onto the bed by making out with you, both your hands wandering until he grabs ahold of yours and places it on top of his bulge. you start palming him through his thin pyjama bottoms, knowing he isn’t wearing underwear underneath as your fingers feel a couple of veins on his shaft.
“want my cock in your mouth, sweetheart?” and you nod, wanting nothing more than that right now.
his eyes literally light up when you situate yourself between his legs, laying on your stomach and pulling his flimsy pj bottoms down.
you waste no time and start sucking on the head of his dick, eliciting soft moans out of him all while he takes his phone out and records both your reflections. the movement of your head bopping up and down his shaft through his camera has him twitching in your mouth.
you keep taking him further and deeper until he’s essentially throat fucking you, yet he doesn’t hold back his whine and moans. just know when you both rewatch the video all you can hear are his soft ‘hah- oh yes, yes baby. mmm yes like that. fuck, i wanna cum in your mouth, be good and swallow, yeah?’
and he does, his abdomen twitching as he spurts his last few droplets in your mouth and pans the camera to you showing him his load pooling on your tongue before swallowing it with an innocent smile at the end.
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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 8 months
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Bumping Beach Bikini - Rooster
Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw / Wife!Reader
Word Count: 0.8k
This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only
Warnings: Pregnancy; References to Sex/Suggestive Jokes; Flirting; Use of Second Person POV “You,” No Physical Description of Reader (Minus Pregnancy), No Y/N
Summary: Rooster admires the view of his pregnant wife on the beach.
Master List
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Bradley had a mental list of the best outfits that he had ever seen you in. There wasn’t a set ranking, just general levels of appreciation.
There was a step above your normal beauty and allure, which mostly included random casual outfits that for whatever reason just got him going. Like the yellow sundress that you wore when it was exceptionally hot out that was super easy to slide his hands under. Or those jean shorts that he loved to slip his hand into the back pocket and give your ass an appreciative squeeze. Or anything of his that you chose to wear.
And the step above those were your slightly dressier outfits that got him even more excited. The backless black dress that you wore out in Vegas when the two of you went out with the Dagger Squad. Or the blue floor length dress that you wore to Maverick and Penny’s wedding that looked like it was literally sculpted for you and your figure. Though he did rip the zipper on that one.
Then there were the more special outfits. Your wedding dress mostly, since he literally burst out into tears the second that he saw you step out in it. The photo of you that he kept in his cockpit was from your wedding day with your veil spread out around you, giving you a completely angelic appearance. And, well, Rooster was also very fond of the matching white lingerie set that you wore underneath it that night too. He did rip that one too though.
And at the very top of the pyramid of his favorite outfits was, of course, your birthday suit. Nothing would ever top that one.
But seeing you in a maternity bikini with one of his Hawaiian shirts wrapped around your shoulders and your baby bump sticking out from between the folds of his shirt—now that was a sight that he ingrained into his mind for the rest of his life. That one really challenged your birthday suit in his mind.
“What?” you laughed, shooting your husband a look as you applied more sunscreen. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re glowing,” Bradley praised, still taking in your beauty.
“With sweat,” you giggled, rubbing in another layer of sunscreen. “It’s only spring and I swear I’m melting already.” You set down the tube of sunscreen and shot your husband a playful look. “You just had to make sure that I was heavily pregnant during the hottest months of the year in Southern California, didn’t you, Bradshaw?”
“Maybe you should have done the math before you begged me to get you pregnant,” Bradley replied, a bit smugly.
“I don’t beg,” you scoffed, shooting him a look. “And besides you offered about fifty times before I let you. If anyone was begging, it was you, Bradley.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Rooster mused, smiling over at you.
There was one rule to surviving with a heavily pregnant wife—it was to let you win. On just about everything. Anything health or safety wise, he would argue back, but Rooster took a rain check on all of the little things. And frankly he got more satisfaction out of seeing you happy than being right.
“Do you have enough water?” Rooster asked, sitting up some more.
You reached over and lifted your giant water bottle into the air. Taking a long sip from it just to prove your point to your husband, you set your water bottle back down on the sand.
“I’m fine. Just need some time to relax,” you replied, leaning back in your seat. “Before it all really sets in.”
Reaching down to pick up your ankle, Rooster started to massage your foot, earning a sigh of relief from your lips. Practically melting into your chair, you turned to your husband with a small, thankful smile as you curled your toes a bit.
“I could get used to this.”
“I’m sure you could,” Rooster chuckled, rubbing the back of your calf.
“There’s only one thing that would make this better.”
“What?”
“Take your shirt off.”
“Mrs. Bradshaw,” Rooster jokingly admonished, causing you to smile wider. “Be careful suggesting that. I knocked up the last woman who asked me to take my shirt off in that tone.”
“I’ll take the risk,” you replied with a smile, rubbing your bump slowly.
“So long as you understand the risk,” Rooster returned with a wink.
“Jesus Christ, the rest of us are trying to eat here,” Phoenix cut in, sounding annoyed.
You and Rooster turned to the other Daggers, Maverick, and Penny, who was hiding an amused smile behind her hand. Maverick turned to Penny with a similar expression, shaking his head. But most of the other Daggers, those who were single anyways, shot both you and Rooster somewhat disgusted looks.
“Sorry,” you called sheepishly, waving to them.
“I’m not,” Rooster replied, reaching up to take his shirt off.
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reidmotif · 5 months
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And For My Next Trick...
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Summary: Reader is invited to a Halloween party where she doesn't know anyone. Everyone seems absolutely insistent she has to meet a mystery man who'd love her costume ALTERNATIVELY: Reader and Spencer unknowingly match costumes at a Halloween party.
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Smut
Content Warning: Reader POV, light mentions of drinking, oral sex (f recieveing), handcuffs during sex, one shitty “now you see me” magic sex reference (sorry), heavy making out, unprotected sex
Word Count: 4.3k
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Why did I agree to this? Who goes to their friend’s company-mandated Halloween party? Who goes to their friend’s company-mandated Halloween party when they work for the damn FBI? 
The answer was of course, summed up with a simple “Penelope Garcia”, a force of nature when it came to swaying people into novel life experiences, as she’d done with me in this moment. 
When I offhandedly recalled that I hadn’t been to a Halloween party since college, Penelope grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me a little, eyes wide like saucers, like she couldn’t believe what I’d said. 
“What?! What have you done since then to celebrate, then?” She asks, watching me intently.
“Nothing.” I respond, plainly, watching as her face morphed into one of further disbelief than before. 
“What can I say?” I say, giving a laugh at her over-exaggerated antics at my admission, shrugging in the face of it. “I just don’t vibe with it.” 
“What’s there not to ‘vibe’ with?!” She says, still holding onto my shoulders, absolutely unable to accept that I may have grown out of Halloween as the appeal of the holiday slowly dwindled with age. 
“Everything.” I respond, still laughing. “I don’t like over-drinking, I don’t like sexy costumes, I don’t like being scared. Halloween’s less fun when you’re older.” I listed and reasoned off the top of my head, as Penelope stood there shaking her head, not accepting my answers in the slightest. 
“Absolutely not. I refuse to let the spirit of Halloween die inside of you so young.” She responds, incredibly serious and unmoving. “You can have fun without all that! Come on! I can prove it to you.” She adds, definitively. 
I raise an eyebrow, watching her with an amused expression. “Can you now? And how’s that?” 
“Spend Halloween with me!” She retorts, instantly. She smiles big, her eyes crinkling in the corners as she grew more and more excited at the idea. 
“Aren’t you spending Halloween with your work friends?” I ask, knitting my brows. “Your FBI work friends?” I say, in that tone, letting her know that there was definitely a part of me opposed to spending any day of mine with people I didn’t know whatsoever. 
“Oh come on! Don’t give me that!” Penelope says, nearly pouting in front of me. “It’ll be fun! They’re my friends and they’re sweet and I think they’d love to meet you! You’ll have fun. Trust me.” She says, looking deep into my eyes as she willed me silently to say ‘yes’ with her expression alone. I stayed silent for a moment, thinking it over before she breaks my thoughts with a, “Please?” and in a quick moment, she’s overcome all my defenses and I nod, weak to her pleas. 
“Okay! Okay! Fine!” I say, smiling a bit. “I’ll go. But I swear, if all I get out of the night is shit-faced drunk with a hangover the next morning, I’m never trusting you with my plans ever again.” I warn, raising an eyebrow and she just shakes it off, smiling wide. 
“Deal. You’ll have fun, I promise.” She reiterates, and I nod, not realizing what I’d gotten myself into at that point. 
So that night, when Penelope pulled up in front of a bar after picking me up from my apartment, I gave her a quizzical look, tilting my head in confusion. 
“I thought this was a work party. You guys have work parties at bars?” I ask, knitting my brows. 
Penelope giggled as she put the car in park, shaking her head. “Oh, my dear. You have no idea.” I stare at her, patiently waiting for her to elaborate, and she does, continuing in her excited fashion without requiring any prompting from my end. “We rarely have time for any ‘parties’ of the sort, given the whole insane schedule thing, so when we get a chance to host a shindig like this, we go all out.” She says, grinning wildly. “Especially when it's Halloween.”
I got out of the car, trying to discern what she meant, but gave up, deciding to just nod and go along with it, knowing more questions would just confuse the hell out of me anyway. 
“Did I mention  I absolutely love your costume?” Penelope compliments, I smile, waving her off. 
“I literally dug it up from my senior year of college. I’m just glad it fits.” 
The number I was wearing, in question, was a sparkly red leotard, with black stockings. A bit of height was added to my figure through the kitten heels on my feet, and adorning my neck was a traditional bowtie, alongside a little top hat with red detailing around the head. On my waist hung a stuffed bunny, adding a bit more intention to the outfit. 
A magician’s assistant, in all its glory. It was a bit showy, but I figured most people would dress up regardless, and I wasn’t about to pay money for another costume for a holiday I rarely paid any mind to in the first place. 
“Whatever it is, it’s working for you.” Penelope says with a wink, leading me into the bar. 
The bar felt absolutely alive, buzzing with energy as multiple people walked around in costume, fog machines set up on multiple fronts to add a bit of a ghastly ambience to the scene, Halloween music playing in the background as people chatted each other up. The lights were dimmed, and I followed Penelope deeper into the party. 
She turned around, handing me a cup with an unidentified liquid, and urged me to drink with her.
“It’s just punch! I swear!” She says to me, over the music, and I down the beverage quickly, glad she was obeying my request of not leaving the party absolutely wasted. It left the distinct flavor of artificially flavored cherry in my mouth, and I looked at her, wondering where she’d take us next, but before I could say anything, a blonde woman dressed as a black cat approached the two of us and Penelope immediately wrapped her arms around her, smiling. 
“(Y/N)!” Penelope says, “This is JJ, JJ, my plus-one for the night, (Y/N)!” She exclaims, excited to introduce the two of us. 
I shake JJ’s hand, smiling. “It’s nice to meet you- I love your costume, black cats are my favorite.” I say, and she grins gratefully. 
“Last minute costume. Can you tell?” JJ responds, and I shake my head. “Absolutely not.” I respond warmly, already feeling a sense of kinship with the woman, her smile and lighthearted nature easing me into the interaction. 
“Your costume.. magician?” She asks, raising an eyebrow as she gives me a look-over. 
“Magician’s assistant, actually, but yes.” I say, laughing a bit. “I suppose in a certain light I may just look like a sexy magician, in hindsight.” JJ laughs at the joke, making me laugh a bit more as well. 
“God, people here are going to think you and Spencer came here together.” JJ says, smirking, pouring herself a glass of punch. 
“Spencer?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. 
“I won’t spoil his costume, but trust me. You have to find him at some point in the night. He’d love your costume.” She says the words with a playful lilt, my curiosity piquing at the idea of this mystery man who’d apparently be enamored by my choice of clothing tonight specifically. 
“I have to find my husband.” She quickly adds, “But it was nice meeting you! Have fun!” She says, sauntering away, and leaving me and Penelope alone. 
“Okay- so I was thinking we could look at the games they have here and then-” Penelope says, but I stop her. 
“Who’s Spencer?” I ask, my interest in the subject not being fully satiated here. 
“I work with him!” Penelope responds, and I laugh at her uncharacteristic briefness.
“Penelope, you work with everyone here.” I say, and she laughs. 
“Okay, okay, but- seriously! I don’t want to spoil the surprise. It’ll be much better if the two of you run into each other.” She says, and my fascination only increases. “So.” She says, trying to segue into another topic, but I shake my head. 
“Pen- if it’s alright with you, I’m gonna try and explore on my own, yeah?” I say, trying to seem as polite about it as possible, but she understood immediately. 
“Don’t worry. I understand completely.” She says, with a wink. “You’ll know him when you see him.” She says, before walking away, and I was left alone, beginning to traverse through the party. 
I met a number of characters that night, engaging in pleasant conversation and accepting some alcohol in small quantities, keeping myself in the right headspace so that I could continue my search for the man that’d been brought up to me before. When I’d bring his name up in conversation, as to get a hint to where the man would be, I’d always get the same reaction. A flash of recognition, and a smile. A “Do you two know each other?” and when I’d shake my head, they’d follow it with a, “He’d love your costume.” 
For God’s sake! I knew he’d love my costume! Every living soul at this party had told me so! I’d love to just see the guy at this point! 
I was just about to give up my search for the man, when I finally spotted a small crowd in the corner of the party that was a bit quieter than normal. I made my way into the group of people, coming to the front to be met with the sight of a man in a costume. 
A magician’s costume. 
“For my next trick, I’ll need a volunteer.” He says, looking around the crowd, and the moment his eyes land on me, I raise my hand above my head, and he nods, gesturing me over. 
He speaks quietly, grinning a bit at me. It’s boyish and sweet as he looks me up and down, raising an eyebrow. “Magician’s assistant?” He asks, with a little bit of laughter in his voice, and I nod, and he responds by nodding back. “I love it.” 
“I know.” I say, laughing. He looks a bit confused, until I say, “Trust me. Practically everyone at this party has been telling me to find you-"
I suddenly realize there's a good chance this may not even be the aforementioned 'Spencer'. "Oh, God, I hope you are him, otherwise this’ll be really awkward.” I say quickly, realizing I hadn’t even described my plight in the first place to the stranger in front of me, before he quickly alleviated my nerves. 
“Spencer Reid.” He says, grinning. 
“Thank god. You are the right person.” I say, with relief. “(Y/N).” 
“Alright, (Y/N).” He says, smirking. “Ready to help me with this trick?” He says, putting on a bit of a performance for the people gathered around us, and I nodded. 
“Pick a card, any card.” He says, fanning a deck of cards in my direction, all face-down. “Show it to the audience, but don’t tell me the card!” He says, dramatically, turning away entirely and covering his eyes with his free hand,  and I found myself giggling at the silliness of it all. I quickly picked a card from the middle of the deck, the two of hearts, ironically, and showed it to the audience, who all nodded in recognition. 
“Have you picked your card?” Spencer asks me, still turned away and I reply. 
“Yes, I have.” 
“And have you shown the audience?” Spencer continues, in the same, climactic tone from before. 
“I have.” I say, with a smile. 
“Alright. Put her back into the deck, and tell me when you have.” He replies, still totally turned away, his eyes shut. 
I place the card back in the deck, nestling it between the cards and he grins as he feels the disturbance to the deck. “The card is in the deck.” I confirm, and he turns back, beginning to shuffle the cards with fast, adept fingers. I watch his hands carefully, before he draws my attention  back to his face by speaking to me. 
“So, (Y/N), what brings you to this party in the first place? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around the building.” He asks, casually, his hands still moving quickly. 
“Oh- what?” I found it impossible to focus on both his hands, and the conversation, so I turned my attention towards the latter. “Penelope.” I respond, after processing the question. “She’s my friend, she told me to come. I don’t know anyone here besides her.” I add, answering his question. 
“Ah.” He responds, cooly, keeping direct eye contact on me the entire time, and I was unable to tear myself away from his gaze. “Do you make it a habit to come to parties where everyone’s a stranger to you?” 
I laugh a bit. “Absolutely not. I mean, everyone’s been nice so far, I’d say, so it’s not half-bad.” I continue, relaxing into the banter with him. His aura was magnetizing. Maybe it was the magician persona he was putting on, maybe it was the fact that he was dead handsome, but I found him increasingly attractive with every passing second. 
He grinned, and I noticed that as our conversation dwindled, his hands began to slow. “Alright. Now, if my magician senses prove me right, is..” He takes a long second, making a show out of pulling a card out of the deck, “this your card!” He finishes, showing a.. six of spades. 
I laugh a bit nervously, “Uh, no?” I felt a blush rising to my face as he seemed to grumble, looking more thoroughly through the deck. 
“This?” He asks, holding up a three of diamonds.  
“Nope.” 
He holds up a queen. “This one?” 
“Still no.” 
“God, I swear..” He finally shows me the entire deck, watching me intently. “Do you see your card anywhere here?” He asks. 
I scan the deck, expecting to see the two of hearts but didn’t, and I furrowed my brows. 
“Is it not there?” Spencer asks, a specific lilt in his voice, as he grins playfully at me, and I look at him, still confused. 
“No, but I swear- I did put it back.” I say, looking through the cards in front of me one last time. 
“That’s strange.” Spencer responds, beginning to think. “Do you mind if I just..” He suddenly took a step closer, invading my personal space in such a swift manner, I barely had time to process what was going on.
I could feel his breath hitting me from above, as I turned my gaze up at the man in front of me. I could see him clearer, this way. The way his brown eyes watched me as well, the pink of his lips, the way his soft hair fell across his forehead. He reached forward, causing my breath to hitch before he slowly found my hat, lifting it from my head. 
“(Y/N), do you mind checking your hat for a moment?” He says, giving me the article of clothing. 
“Oh, I-” I stutter a bit, before taking the hat from his hands slowly and looking inside, seeing- 
No fucking way. 
I pulled out the two of hearts, which had somehow found its way into my hat. 
“How- You-” I say, before he stops me.
“Show the card to the audience.” He says, grinning, and I do. 
“That’s your card, isn’t it?” He muses, and I nod, absolutely dumbstruck. 
He gives a little smirk. “Take a bow. For being such a good assistant, you know.” He says, and I bow my head a little, still trying to wrap my head around how he managed to do the trick in the first place. 
The little group around us gave small claps and dispersed once the trick was over, leaving me and Spencer alone. 
“So..” I start, but he laughs and interrupts.
“Before you ask me, no. I will not tell you how I did that.” He says, almost reading my mind. 
“Come on!” I say, grinning. “You have to. That’s- that’s impossible.” I stammer. 
“I just did it, didn’t I?” He says, with a bit of cockiness in his voice, which made him even more attractive than before. 
“Okay but- No way!” I say, trying to think. “You must’ve planted it there. Or-” 
“I planted the card in a hat that had been on your head the whole time?” He responds, raising an eyebrow playfully. 
“But-” 
“No ‘buts’.” He says, smiling. “It’s just magic. And a magician never reveals his-” 
“I swear, if you finish that cliched sentence..” I warn. 
He raises his hands up in surrender, that boyish grin still gracing his face. “Okay! Okay! It’s true though.” He adds, and I find myself rolling my eyes.
He notices my displeasure, and laughs a bit. “Okay, tell you what. What if I taught you how to do the trick? That way I’m technically not flat-out telling you how to do the trick.” He says, and I nod, excited. 
“Wait- yeah. I would do that, in a heartbeat.” I respond, and he looks animated at the prospect. 
“It’s a bit loud here.” He says, raising his voice a little over the music in the bar. “I know we just met but- uh. Would you wanna come to my apartment?” He asks, a bit hesitant. “In the name of magic.” 
I watched his expression carefully, and saw the implicit desire painted in his eyes.
Wow. This costume must’ve worked a lot better than I expected. 
“I wouldn’t mind that.” I respond, sweetly. “Lead the way, magic man.” I say, a bit teasingly. There was something exhilarating about knowing that there was a good possibility he wanted me, the same way I found myself wanting him. 
He smiles, offering his arm to me as we walk out of the bar together. He leads me to his car, opening the door of the passenger seat to me like a true gentleman, and I smile, getting in. He starts the vehicle, beginning to drive away from the bar. 
“Have you always done magic?” I ask, attempting to start a conversation with the man next to me, who was still a near stranger at this point. 
He laughs a bit. “Yeah, actually. Before I ever started working for the FBI, I learned as a kid.” 
“What do you like about magic?” I ask, a little lamely, still trying to continue the flow of discussion between us, making an effort to know him better. 
He shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road. “Well, I don’t know. I didn’t have too many friends growing up, so when I did.. I liked to entertain them.” He lets out a dry chuckle, a bit self conscious. I listened intently, finding myself more intrigued by him as he opened himself up to me. “It sounds silly, but I’ve always just enjoyed the feeling of making someone feel.. wonder.. amazement..?” He adds, hesitantly. “It’s just nice.” He finishes.
“That was probably way too personal for a question about magic, huh?” He says, after a moment. 
I shake my head. “No! No. That’s a great reason. Probably better than anything I could ever come up with for any of my own hobbies.” I say, trying to make him feel at ease, the way he had for me before. 
He smiles gratefully. “Thanks.” 
“So about that trick..” I start, grinning. 
“I’m not telling you how I did it!” He says, laughing. “You gotta work for it.” 
“Oh, come on.” I exclaim, before pausing.
“Okay, tell me this. How many ways can you do that trick? Is it only with specific cards?” 
“Nope.” He responds. “I can do that trick 52 ways. It’s all in the hands” He says, a little bit of pride in his voice. 
“52 ways, huh?” I say, grinning. “My god, Spencer Reid. You must be really good with your hands then.” I say, trying to flirt just a bit.
“Oh, you have no idea.” He responds, and for a second, I hear a hint of lust in his voice, and I realize I wasn't insane for thinking he wanted me back. I could feel his tone causing my cheeks to heat up, and my panties getting wetter in an instant.
“Oh?” I respond, my voice suddenly hoarse. 
“Yeah.” He responds, voice a bit deeper than before. 
“I’m sure you could show me once you get to your apartment.” I say boldly, testing the waters and I see him lick his lips, nodding. 
“I’d like that.” He responds, gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter, driving a bit faster than before. 
As soon as we made it past his front door, Spencer was pushing me against the wall, planting his lips on mine in a frenzy, as my hands went to take off his coat, both of our intentions clear at this moment. 
His hands trailed down to my waist, pulling me closer against him to the point where I could feel his erection pressing against my thigh. The sensation caused me to moan, and he took the opportunity to sneak his tongue into my mouth, exploring as we continued to seek pleasure from the other, not paying mind to the consequences of our spontaneity. 
His hands began to move to the zipper of my leotard, slowly pulling it down as my hands went to his belt, undoing it as quickly as I could. I felt something in the pockets of his slacks, and pulled it out to reveal a pair of handcuffs. 
“Not my government issued ones. They're apart of the costume gear” He says, immediately, beginning to kiss at my neck. “We could use them, if you want.” He murmurs, his hot breath right at the hollow of my collarbone. 
I breathed in sharply, nodding. “Oh, god. Yes.” I could feel him pulling me by my hips, his lips never leaving the expanse of my skin as he pushed me onto his bed, caging me in between his arms as he continued with his ministrations. 
I could hear the soft moans of pleasure drawing out from my lips, my eyes fluttering shut. For an instant, I couldn’t feel his presence on me, until my hands were being raised above my head, and the small “snap” of handcuffs could be heard against me. I watched him, his gaze determined and lustful, checking the handcuffs to make sure they weren’t too tight, but that I couldn’t escape. 
“You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs, beginning to kiss my fingertips, and making his way down my arm. He finally manages to pull off my leotard, and in a moment of what I could only describe as carnal desire, he rips open my stockings, discarding them on the floor as he made his way to the growing wet spot on my panties. 
“I’ll buy you new ones.” He growls, his breath hitting my wet heat, and I moaned at the sensation alone. He slid my panties down, leaving me entirely bare while he stayed mostly clothed, only adding to the appeal of our encounter. 
He settled in between my legs, and I watched him, my breath coming out in short, small gasps. 
“I need to taste you.” He murmurs, and I nod.
That’s all it takes, and he’s nearly devouring at my cunt. I can feel his tongue everywhere, languidly working at my sex before circling around my clit. I throw my head back, and feel my hands itching to grab at his hair, to grind against his mouth. It’s like he could feel my desperation, smirking against me. 
“Patience.” He murmurs, and I grumble a bit, but the annoyance quickly dissipates as he moves to suck around my clit, causing an entirely new slew of sensations to rack my body. I can feel myself writhing, and he hooks his hands under my thighs to keep me in place. Before I can even tell him, I’m coming against his face, my body convulsing in his touch as he continued to eat me out like he couldn’t get enough. 
He only stopped when I weakly moaned his name, looking up at me through my thighs, my wetness coating his chin. “Please- I need you.” I say, trying to now fulfill the growing ache that came from being so painstakingly empty. He nodded, understanding me immediately and moving to undo the handcuffs. Immediately, my hands wrap around his neck as I feel him free his cock from the confines of his briefs, and I briefly glance down, taking note of his size, and knowing how well I’d be fucked in a few brief moments. 
He guided his member to my aching cunt, and pushed into me, inch by inch. I could feel my breath snatched away in an instant, as my jaw dropped in a quiet moan. He seemed to enjoy the sensation of entering me as well, his eyes closing in concentration. 
“So warm.. so perfect.” He murmurs, moving down to kiss my jaw. “Can I move? Can I please move?” He begs, the neediness in his voice apparent. 
I nod, feverishly. “Yes. Please.” 
He immediately starts moving in a fast pace, using a strength I didn't know he had in him. I could feel myself shifting up the bed with every thrust he pummeled into me, and every movement of his hips only elicited longer, louder moans. It seemed to spur him on, as he pushed my legs to my chest to gain an even deeper angle, which had me screaming in pleasure at that point. 
“I’m not gonna last..” He moans out, and I nod, indicating we were in the same boat. His hand slipped in between our bodies, finding my clit in an attempt to have me finish before him. 
“Please, pretty girl.” He moans, his movements never letting up. “Come for me.” 
I do, feeling myself tighten around his cock, as my walls spasmed all around. It seemed to push him towards his release as well, as I felt his warmth seep into my deepest point. He pulled out of me, exhausted, laying beside me on the bed. 
His hands reached over for me, and I made my way into his arms, laying my head on his chest, feeling our rapid heartbeats calm down together after our act of passion. His chest rises up and down, as does mine, and we bask in the afterglow of what just took place. 
“We never did get to that magic trick.” I say, finally speaking, my words coming out a little breathlessly. 
I can feel his laughter as he places a tender kiss to the top of my head, as if we’d done this a thousand times before. “After that, I’ll teach you whatever you want. Sure you could teach me a thing or two too, hmm?"  
“Deal.” I say, closing my eyes and relaxing in the warmth of a man that was no longer as stranger than before. 
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wow!! sorry for disappearing on you guys like that!! idk how long it's been since my last post, all i know it's been a while and i'm very deeply sorry!! i hope this makes up for it. i actually wrote this as a submission to @imagining-in-the-margins 's meet cute challenge, so! fun fun fun. please reblog, like, comment, or whatever!! i genuinely love seeing what everyone has to think . just as a warning, my posting may get sporadic for the next month or so, but i promise by december we're gonna be on that weekly fic grind. again, so sorry for the sudden disappearance!!! i appreciate everyone very much for their patience!!!!
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eupheme · 6 months
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— looking back
joel miller x f!reader
rated e - 2.2k
tags: jackson-era Joel pov, angst, canon-typical violence/references to death, established relationship, Joel is an ass man, consensual somno elements, posessive!joel, body worship, dirty talk, male masturbation, spitting, touching, come marking
a/n: easing back into writing and started 2 little wips that are sort of "introspective-joel-pov-smut-fics" - here is the first one! 💕
“Fuck. I need you.” He rasps - an edge to his voice, “Would you let me look at you, honey? Just let me look.”
Or - Joel gets off just from the sight of you
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He’s strung as tight as a bow. The lingering adrenaline a notched arrow, leaving him about to snap. Blood seeps into his jeans - splattered across his knees, where he had jerked the knife from the man’s neck.
It had been a mercy killing. A stranger, but they had all seen the bite. He had been the only one to do something about it.
He’s told others that you get used to it. The killing - that after a while, survival wins out.
You get over it.
But you don’t. Instead, it clings to him like a shadow, following him home - down the worn, familiar path. Inside the gates, back to Jackson.
Heavier than it’s been before. An itching beneath his skin. If he was over it, he wouldn’t have to turn himself off. Shutting away a part of himself, only to fight to come back - clawing his way out later.
An aching reminder at how short life could be. That yes, things were different - but he was never really safe.
Not really.
His path brings him to you. A beacon, guiding his way back.
His - your - home coming into view, just as the dawn creeps over the fall, wooden fences. The misty grey brightening into gold and pink with the sun, as he’s unlocking the wooden door, shouldering it open.
A look thrown out the window as he scrubs his hand clean in the kitchen - seeing that the garage light is on. That she’s home, that she’s okay. An automatic check, before his weary feet take him upstairs.
Joel sheds the layers, the jacket thrown over the railing at the top of the stairs. Fingers fumbling with his belt, pulling the worn leather through the loops before his stained jeans crumple on the floor, as he pushes the cracked door open.
The light from the hallway stretches across the wooden floor, creeping into the dark room. Where you still lay sleeping, curled on your side within the blankets and sheets. Missing him in your dreams, that space next to you long empty.
Cold - where your fingers reach out, searching for him.
His path diverts, moving to you instead of the attached bathroom. The edge of the bed sinking under his weight, a soft sound as you stir.
“‘Welcome ‘ome.” You murmur, still half-asleep. A little wiggle as your bent knee hitches higher, the oversized shirt you’re wearing bunching up around your hips.
He reaches out, just the ghosting of his fingers against the soft skin near your knee. The fluttering of heavy lashes as you fight sleep, only to be pulled under again.
Joel’s hand shifts. A warm palm pressing against your thigh. Against soft skin, so different than his own calloused touch.
Home.
It is, isn’t it? As close to he’s had in years. Decades. The old apartment in the QZ had never felt that way, not with the faded floral walls. Those small rooms that still held ghosts.
But here, his own touch lingers. Yours, melding with it. It would never be like before - the picking out of furniture, of paint. But it’s his clothes in the closet. His worn guitar that rests against the couch. His wooden carvings lining the top of the mantle, above the fireplace.
And you - you're scattered throughout. Woven blankets and thick sweaters. Books, covering damn near every surface.
A little bottle of found lotion tucked away in the bathroom. He can smell it now, as he leans over you. A bristly kiss pressed against your cheek, the curve of your shoulder.
Amber, vanilla, caramel.
He’s pulled back to the memory, the light shining in your eyes when he handed the beaten bottle over. The minuscule amount you had worked into your knuckles - the soft sigh of contentment.
A bright laugh when he had pulled you close, the murmured “smells good” against your throat, as you had squirmed in his grasp - smiling as you read the fragrance notes out loud.
Something stirs in him, then. The press of his thigh against yours, as he leans over. Eyes dragging down to the bare curve of your ass, his hand tracing cup your thigh to palm your flesh.
His already uneven breath hitching, as you sigh. That little smile - his name - murmured out as you rock instinctively into his touch. Still on the edge of consciousness, lulled off into a deep sleep with the cooling of summer.
Waking you up wouldn’t be unusual. Half the time you’re already up after these early-morning patrols. Waiting for him.
How he waits for you, on those few days where it’s you out there, instead of him. His jaw working with irritation until you’re home and back and safe, and he’s stripping your clothes from you himself.
It’s selfish to wake you, on a morning where you sleep so deeply. Even with the stress that’s eating at him, simmering in his veins.
But maybe… maybe he can just-
Joel is leaning, his mouth against your neck. A shift as you stretch, baring your skin to him as your lips curl in a smile. A soft, sleepy hum as you reach for him, fingers curving over the thick muscle of his forearm.
The hand on your ass drifting up - across to the small of your back. Meeting nothing but warm, bared skin beneath your shirt.
“Fuck. I need you.” He rasps - an edge to his voice, “Would you let me look at you, honey? Just let me look.”
Heavy-lidded eyes open then at the sound of his voice - his words - as you tilt your head. A slow sweep over the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his stomach. The spread of his thighs as he kneels behind you. The already half-hard tent of faded boxers.
You had been waiting for him. Anticipating his return, eager for his touch. The cloud of sleep begins to clear as he palms himself, the bed shifting as your hips shift, thighs spreading open for him.
“I can take care of you,” Your voice is scratchy - husky, in the early morning. A hand pressing again on your back as you begin to roll over, holding you in place.
“You already are,” Joel groans, as your hips tilt up, off the bed. Knees pressing into the mattress as he nudges your thighs wider, fitting between them, “Stay just like that, alright?”
The combination feels erotic. His smell on the shirt you wear. The tingling throb between your thighs, the desire in his voice. How much he wants - enough that just the sight of you has him hard, thumbs catching on the waistband of his boxers to free himself.
You relax into the bed, as you watch. The weight of his hand as it moves to squeeze your ass. A pressure as he tugs, opening you up.
“Fuck.”
Joel spits in his palm, before it’s wrapping around his cock. A rough groan as some of that need is eased, with the sharp stroke of his fist.
Just letting himself look. Admire.
A sight that is only his, fingers sinking into soft flesh. The way you trust, how effected you are already - the shallow rock of your hips as the sound of skin-on-skin fills the room.
“You got a pretty little pussy, honey.” He hears himself saying. Watching how you clench at his praise, the little gasp that follows. “Pretty little holes. All for me, right?”
He can feel the weight of your gaze. Darkening, as your hunger grows low in your belly. Darting between his face and the sharp flick of his wrist.
Rarely getting to see him take, like this. Usually he would have been buried in you, by now. There’s the urge to ask, but there’s a power in this - wanting to watch him get off to you. Not having to lift a finger to do so.
“All for you.” You sigh, “Always.”
His jaw grits, teeth clicking together. A bead of precum joins the slick of his spit, that angry fire in his belly transforming.
So different that the little mouse he had taken to bed, all those months ago. Your hands covering your mouth, muffling the moans, until he had pried them away. Pinning them against the pillows, whispering filth in your ear.
Now, he can see the greed in your eyes. The way you glisten, when his own gaze drops. The shift of your thighs as he takes a second to rub himself against the curve of your ass. Dipping down to press against your core.
The tip coming back slick, in a new kind of way - fueling the pressure, building in his belly.
Your moan breaks the early-morning quiet. His name on your lips again - more urgent than before.
The little beg only sends him closer, a rough groan in his throat. His own hand too familiar - used to the quick and precise touch he needs to get off, when he had to.
In the before. In the during - when it was only words that the you of you had exchanged. Heated looks that lingered late into those lonely nights.
Hasn’t felt the urge to, since he’s had you.
He expects you to ask him to fill you, eyes caught on the enticing lift of your hips.
Caught off-guard for the briefest second, a heat flushing over his cheeks, when you shift beneath him instead. Flipping over, onto your back.
Eyes bright, teeth sinking into your lip as you smile.
“Wanna watch.” You admit, and that tension in his shoulders settles in his chest, turning sweet.
His fist tightening around his cock, as your thighs splay over his. Opening yourself up under his gaze, stretching out in front of him.
And fuck, what a sight. There’s a rolling wave deep in his core that he chases with the rock of his hips.
His hand fits perfectly against the curve of your waist, eyes caught on the way your fingers catch on the hem of your shirt.
Pulling it up over your breasts, a path that his eyes follow greedily.
“Christ, darlin’.” The words rumble in his chest.
A rough exhale as your own gaze drops to his fist. The pace that he’s picked up - the peek of the flushed tip when he strokes down to the base.
Already about to burst, like he’s a man half his age. Could say it’s just his own touch, the urge to relieve the weight of his stress.
But he knows it’s more. That warmth in his chest, a tenderness that has only softened the rough stone of his heart since he’s left Boston.
It’s there in the way that he could linger on the slick place between your thighs. But instead he’s watching you watch him. Focusing on the part of your lips, the shine in your eyes.
“‘m close.” Joel breathes, his words low. Rough. “Where do you want it?”
He’ll catch it in his palm if he needs to. If it helps you go back to sleep, after. He hasn’t given up on that wish - to let you drift off for a little longer.
The look you give him, the little smile that turns mischievous, has his stomach twisting into knots. Like butterflies, he thinks.
Your hand drifts down, knuckles brushing over the jerk of his. Soft fingers tracing over hot, swollen flesh. Only to curve over your mound, to spread yourself open for him.
“Fuck.” He breathes, again, “There?”
The answering hum is low, desperate.
“Wanna hear you ask me.” Joel pushes - needing to hear you say it, knowing it will push him over the edge.
You squirm beneath him, affected by the edge to his voice, the soft command.
“Want you to come on me.”
“Where, baby?” The word slides from his lips without thought.
The eye contact breaks, your gaze darting away with embarrassment. But after a moment it’s back - the soft heave of your breasts as you suck in a breath, steeling your nerves.
“Want you to come on my pussy, Joel.”
He can’t help the rough groan, ripped from his chest. The shift of his thighs as he pulls back, as that pressure builds. The pleasure surging instead of ebbing, as he tips his cock downward.
The next stroke of his fist pushes him past the threshold. Relief sings in his veins as he spills across your mound. Painting your abdomen with his release, eyes fluttering closed as his hearing goes fuzzy.
Drowning out his long moan, as you push yourself up. He meets you instinctually, arcing over you as his mouth is drawn to yours.
As his spend drips down the crease of your thigh, so warm against soft skin.
It feels like a weight is lifted, like he’s back in his own skin again. Relaxing into the fingers that scratch into his hair, the tongue that sweeps against his.
But it’s only a few moments before he remembers. Coming back to himself, as he fits his hand between your thighs.
Fingers dragging through his release, bringing his slick fingers to circle against your clit.
Because there’s no way you’re going back to sleep after this. Not if he knows you - which he’s now certain that he does.
"Thank you honey." He murmurs, with lips that press against your cheek.
The smallest smile after, as your own part with a moan - as he croons against your skin.
"Now let me take care of you."
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thank you for reading! was excited to explore a little idea I had 💕
(tags: @celestianstars)
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nokacchan · 4 months
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Asking Felix If You Could Sleep With Him
Lee Felix x fem!reader Genre : fluff Pov : You as Felix's best friend
Chan's ver
The sounds of the crickets surrounding your tents were loud. You held the blanket in your grasp, tighter. You couldn’t fall asleep, not when you’re not in the comfort of your own home. Honestly, you didn’t want to join the boys and a few of their other friends for a short camping trip but Felix insisted that you both should go. Tossing and turning around in your tent, you couldn’t help but check your phone.
You : lix, are you awake?
You waited a few minutes with no response from him. A pout formed on your face when you realized that Felix was fast asleep. Turning off your phone and placing it to your side, you mindlessly stared at the top of your tent.
Tick tock tick tock…
At this point, you were just imagining the sound of the clock in your head. “Alright! That’s it”. You stood up and walked out of your tent. Seeing none of the boys around, you walked to Felix's tent.
He was nicely bundled up in his blanket with his hood covering the top half of his face. You quietly moved to sit beside felix. “Lix…”, you shook his shoulder. He rubbed his eyes before slowly opening it. “geez, y/n, what are you doing here?” Felix grabbed his chest, surprised to see you. "Can I sleep with you?". The pout on your face made Felix open his arms for you. “Come here”, Felix whispered, letting you lay on his chest. He pulled his blanket over you, pulling you closer. He gently combed through your hair.
“What’s keeping you up?” Felix asked. You tilt your head up to look at him. “I guess…just not in the comfort of my own home”, you replied. Felix smirked, making you furrow your brows at him. “What?”
Felix chuckled before leaving a peck on the top of your head. “Nothing~ go to sleep”. You rolled your eyes. “Spit it out, lee yongbok”. Felix brows raised in surprise. “You said you couldn’t sleep because you weren’t in the comfort of your own home” “Yeah…so?”, you raised your brows at him.
“Doesn’t that mean you find comfort in me”, he whispered into your ear. You could feel your cheek heating up at the sudden realization, you had indirectly exposed yourself. “Don’t say it that way..”, you glared at him. “Why not, I find comfort in you too”. Felix caressed your cheek. “This is so embarrassing..”, you mutter under your breath. I’m going to sleep, goodnight”, you said before turning away from him. Felix laughed, seeing your flustered expression. He rested his arm around your waist. “Goodnight love..”
bonus :
"hey..where's y/n? She's not in her tent", Jeongin spoke as he watches the boys surrounding Felix's tent.
Han placed a finger against his lips, shifting to let jeongin see the inside of the tent. There you were, sleeping peacefully in between Felix's arms.
Minho started to count down as the boys grabbed each corner of the tent.
3...2...1
The tent started to shake, waking up the both of you. Felix groaned before yelling out a 'stop' as he pulled the blanket above both of your heads.
"what's going on?", you mumbled out, eyes still shut. Felix only let out a sigh. "The boys happened..."
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ezrasbirdie · 1 month
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bright lights - part i [dieter bravo x neurodivergent!f!reader]
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summary: Dieter Bravo is a man so complicated that his personal assistant needs her own personal assistant just to keep up with his demands, and that’s where you come in. Part time, flexible hours, and a free place to live—you can’t imagine a more perfect gig. You don’t even mind the budding crush you have on Mr. Bravo; that is, until your boss falls ill right before awards season, leaving you to pick up the slack. Making Dieter’s appointments is one thing, but being in charge of him seems like an impossible task. Especially when you think he might have a crush on you, too. chapter rating/warnings: M [some slightly lusty thoughts from both parties, dual POV, sensory issues, Dieter is a menace but he is respectful, angst-ish, descriptions of insecurity and feeling misunderstood, relationship confusion, descriptions of food in kind of a sexy way, reader has some named favorite things, I think that's it for now] wc: ~ 7.1k a/n: please go to @ezrasbirdie-updates to be notified of updates! all my love always tp @starlightmornings and @haylzcyon for reassuring me this isn't garbage and betaing. here it is! we're getting set up now, so there's quite a bit of exposition on their relationship and and how/why reader does some of the things she does. I wrote this for the neurospicy girls (gn) but I'm hoping people of all neurotypes gives this little story a chance. I've had so much fun getting to know them so far, and I hope you will, too<3
masterlist | series masterlist | dieter bravo masterlist | next
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The tag on the back of your shirt scrapes the top of your spine every time your head swivels. You hate this shirt for this exact reason, yet it lives in your closet just to taunt you on laundry day when every tagless piece of clothing you own is soaking wet because you have, once again, forgotten to put the clothes in the dryer.
Every couple of weeks you tell yourself you’ll wash it and donate it; give it to someone who doesn’t hate the feel of a jagged fingernail scratching the base of their neck, but somehow it sneaks its way back into the closet to offer itself as a last resort.
It’s possessed; you’re sure of it.
Were it ugly, you might be able to get rid of it more easily, but it’s not. It flatters you, sitting perfectly at your waist with a neckline just low enough to show a work-appropriate amount of cleavage. It’s perfect for a first day at a new job where you’re not sure what clothes you can get away with yet.
Especially a job like this.
Part-time personal assistant to the full-time personal assistant of Dieter Bravo is not a job you’d ever anticipated, but your cousin’s best friend, Christina, was desperate when she’d asked and you were desperate for steady income.
You aren’t close to Christina, but she’s one of the only people you know out here, so you’d crossed your fingers and hoped she wasn’t getting you involved with a pyramid scheme or some cult. The whole thing still seems too good to be true.
She wouldn’t tell you who you’d be working for until you’d signed about a dozen NDAs and a one-year contract. As you’d signed your looping signature over and over, you thought, maybe, some of this is a red flag, but what else do you have to do for the next year? Go back home?
You’d moved out here to make movies, but quickly figured out you’re not built for this industry. The very last thing you wanted was to go back home to a bunch of I-told-you-sos from your parents. At least this gig got you a free place to live in the form of a guesthouse that’s twice as big as the apartment you’d been renting month to month.
You’re even allowed to use the pool.
Not that you will ever be using Dieter Bravo’s pool.
You know very little about the man himself, other than him being a famous actor. He won an Oscar for a movie you found to be a little on the nose, he has an ex-wife he met on the set of some dinosaur movie that was never released, he’s been to rehab twice in the last three years, and he’s infamous for being difficult to work with. Most of this, of course, is according to gossip websites and supermarket tabloid headlines.
The difficult-to-work with part, however, seems true enough.
“He needs a lot of attention,” Christina’d told you when you asked what exactly you’d be doing. “And I need help getting very basic shit done around here. You try going to the bank for the man while he’s having yet another midlife crisis.”
“It can’t be that bad, can it?” You’d laughed.
“It can and it is.”
“Why stay?”
Christina hadn’t answered at first, and you’d worried you’d gone too far—you’d always had a bad habit of asking questions out of sheer curiosity that were, sometimes, wholly inappropriate.
She’d pursed her lips and taken a sip from the to-go cup in her hand. “He pays better than anyone else in this town, and gave a stipend for my own personal assistant when I threatened to leave. And he’s…not so bad. He’s very sweet, most of the time. Just, you know, a huge baby. Sometimes he needs a bit of a firm hand to keep him on track.”
Christina was never someone you’d have described as firm. Ambitious, hard-working, organized, sure, but she’s also squishy like a lightly toasted marshmallow. You’d said nothing—you learned in your teen years people absolutely did not want to be corrected about their perceptions of themselves. If she thinks she’s a firm hand, you won’t argue.
Just as you manage to get that accursed tag laying in a direction that bothers you least, Christina arrives at your front door.
“Good morning,” you chirp, determined to be in a pleasant mood on your first day. “Watch the boxes! I’m still getting unpacked.”
“Good morning,” she replies, taking in the front room of your new living space. “Settling in? How do you like it?”
“It’s great!” You say, and she raises her eyebrow like she doesn’t believe you. “Really. It’s way bigger than where I was living. And I don’t have a roommate.”
“You had a roommate in a place smaller than this?”
“The living room was technically my bedroom. And it’s really pretty roomy when there’s no one to share it with.” You don’t hold her skepticism against her, but the guesthouse is more than enough for your needs. One bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchenette, and a living room with a view of the magnificent pool is paradise in comparison to where you’d been. The kitchenette only has a sink and microwave, but you’d made do with less in college.  
You’ll put up with a lot for zero dollars a month rent.
And it’s nice, too. No leaky faucets, no shoddily installed locks, no insane charge for parking. And best of all, it’s all yours. You’re the luckiest girl in the whole world right now.
So you absolutely cannot be in a bad mood at all, even if it’s starting to feel like someone’s driving a pocket knife into your spine.
Satisfied (if a little unsettled) with your answers regarding your previous living situation, Christina leads you into the main house for a tour.
You’d moved most of your things into the guesthouse over the weekend and have yet to see even a peek of Dieter Bravo.
As you cross the courtyard to the main house, the pristine pool water sparkles in the sun, so bright you have to squint. “Is he here?” You ask as you trail behind Christina like a baby duck.
“No,” she says, checking her watch. “He should be back sometime this morning if his flight is on time, which it was the last time I looked. He was at a wellness retreat all weekend.”
“What kind of wellness retreat?” You ask.
“Tantra,” she says, unlocking the large sliding glass door that leads into the kitchen.
“I didn’t realize he was with someone,” you say, taking in the sheer size of the place.
“He’s not,” Christina says, and you decide you don’t need to ask anymore questions related to his whereabouts.
Christina flicks on the overhead lights, despite all the sunshine pouring in the floor to ceiling windows. It takes a moment to take in the open floor plan and fifteen foot ceilings. Everything is immaculately clean, almost antiseptic with its gleaming surfaces. It’s all black or white or both, and it doesn’t go at all with the man you’ve seen splashed across magazine covers.
Color. You’d expected more color.
Christina sets her things down on the large kitchen island and motions for you to do the same. “He’s never down here,” she explains, gesturing to the room at large, and it makes more sense now. Why customize a space you don’t spend any time in?
You’re suddenly a lot more curious about this man with his enormous industrial kitchen and dark marble floors and gray oversized sectional.
Christina leads you upstairs into a long hall with tall windows on one side and half a dozen doors on the other. “All the guest rooms are the same, so don’t worry about them. Heidi comes to clean a few times a week. There’s the gym and sauna, another bathroom, and then his room is all the way at the end here.”
She either doesn’t notice you peeking into the open door, or she doesn’t care.
That’s where all the color is. You catch a glimpse of deep purples and burnt oranges and midnight blues, discarded tubes of paint and an easel in front of a big window, and a black, velvety couch that your fingers itch to reach out and touch. You control yourself, though, as Christina shows you the upstairs living room.
“This is so much for one person,” you observe, and she nods in agreement.
“That’s just how it is,” she shrugs.
“I bet the electric bill is nuts.”
Christina grins over her shoulder as you follow her back downstairs. “Lucky for you, you get to keep track of those things.”
“What does that mean?” You ask.
“One of Dieter’s peculiarities is that he doesn’t trust the automatic payment systems, so you get to handle all that! That was part of one of the NDAs, remember?”
“No,” you admit. “I didn’t look that close at most of them. I’ve just decided I’m never telling anyone about any of this, ever.”
“Fine by me,” Christina says as she hands you a list. “Start with the phone calls and work your way down. When you’re done with the list, you’re free to go unless he needs something specific from you.”
The best part of this whole gig, though, is that it’s part time. You get your work done, you get to go. You’re both technically on-call, but she assures you that Dieter is surprisingly good about not abusing that privilege.
You just need to figure out what to do with those hours. And, possibly, with the rest of your life, but you’re trying not to focus on that right now.
That first morning is full of phone calls you hope no one answers, confirming appointments and interviews and reservations. Christina doesn’t tell you what she does, but she looks very busy and very serious, so you try not to bother her unless you absolutely must.
You’re scratching at the tag again when the front door opens and Dieter Bravo is there, talking loudly on his phone and followed by a man in a suit carrying some heavy-looking bags. Dieter seems agitated, but you can barely understand what he’s saying—you’re too busy taking him in.
It’s not that you’ve never met a famous person before. This is Los Angeles. It doesn’t make it any less interesting when it happens, though. If it’s all the retinoids or massages or your own internal biases, you have no idea, but they always seem to glow a little brighter than regular people.
Maybe it’s all that tantric wellness, in his case.
Christina stands up, holding her iPad as she waits for Dieter to finish his conversation.
“Tell them whatever you have to. I want that part,” he says, handing the man with the bags a wad of cash and waving him off. “Thanks, man.”
His eyes land on you as he hangs up and he raises his eyebrow as if he’s not expecting your presence at all. A nervous smile spreads across your face, and you hope it looks more natural than it feels. Meeting new people is such a harrowing experience—you always want to make a good first impression, but it’s an exhausting task.
Christina doesn’t introduce you right away.
In fact, Christina doesn’t introduce you at all, too busy going over a checklist of to-dos and reminders that she makes him repeat back to her even as his eyes flick back to you, this awkward presence invading his home.
Eventually he gives her all of his attention and shakes his head as he does exactly as she asks, as if he finds the whole thing ridiculous and only does it to keep her happy. You swallow all of the questions you have about this dynamic, no matter how interesting you might find it.
“I had a great time, Chris,” he says to her when she’s finished. “Thanks for asking about my trip.”
She quirks her mouth and lets out a barely-audible laugh. “Sorry, Dee,” she says. “How was it?”
Dee.
“I already said,” he says airily. “It was like two hundred degrees, and you don’t like it when I talk about my di—”
“No, I do not,” she says, and you desperately want to know what the end of that sentence is. He grins at her again, twisting the gold rings on his fingers and popping his knuckles. His low, raspy voice makes the hair on your arms stand up and sends a pleasant tingle down your spine.
“And who’s this?” Dieter asks, finally acknowledging your presence.
Christina introduces you and you hold out your hand, expecting a quick handshake, but he covers yours with both of his and cradles it between them. They’re soft and warm and big, and he’s so much friendlier than you’d expected.
Maybe you should look into tantric wellness.
Eventually he heads upstairs, muttering about needing to get the plane energy off of him.
“Did that go okay?” You ask Christina when he’s safely out of earshot.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him be that nice to anyone new,” she says, bemused. “He must be in a really good mood.”
You nod in agreement and look back down at your list, contemplating the implications of this information. You decide he’s definitely just gotten laid a lot this weekend, and who wouldn’t be in a good mood after that?
“So you don’t like when he talks about his dick?” You ask Christina, who bursts into laughter. “What? Does he do it a lot?”
 “Oh my God,” she says. “I don’t know why that was so funny, I’m sorry. Okay, yeah, Dieter is very…open.”
“So I’ve heard,” you say.
“But he’s not creepy. Or he’s never been with me. But it’s more of a ‘Don’t talk about your penis in front of the new girl’ thing, you know?”
“I can understand that. You guys seem friendly,” you tell her, and she nods.
“Even when he’s a little insane he’s still a good dude. And he’s insane a lot, you know. But if something makes you uncomfortable—”
“I don’t get uncomfortable easily,” you shrug.
Unless it’s this fucking tag, but you don’t tell her that.
But maybe you shouldn’t have spoken so soon, because when Dieter comes back down a while later still damp from the shower in a pair of linen pajama pants and no shirt, you feel like you’re going to swallow your tongue. You put your head back down and focus on your last two tasks, until you notice movement in your peripheral.
You look up and smile, and he is very, very close to you. Okay, so personal space isn’t really his thing, you guess. Noted. But he smells very nice, like cinnamon and clove cigarettes.
“Are you okay?” Dieter asks, and you try to quell your unbidden panic. What could you have possibly done already?
“Um, yes sir. I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“You’re scratching your neck a lot,” he says.
“Am I? I’m sorry, it’s just my…this shirt has this tag that bothers me,” you explain, mortified that he’s already caught you doing something weird.
He nods and walks off, and you try not to be alarmed at the abrupt end to the conversation and turn back to your work. You’re just about to call his groomer when he shuffles behind you, pulls the tag tight, and snips it off before you can say a word about it.
“There,” Dieter says, grinning and holding the offending tag up between his thick fingers. “Better?”
You have no idea how to react to this.
More importantly, you don’t know how you’ve gone this long without just cutting the damn thing off yourself. How has it never occurred to you that you can just cut off tags?
“I…thanks?” You squeak. He beams at you, turns around, and leaves.
Christina chuckles. “There he is,” she says.
“Does he destroy people’s belongings often?”
“Less so these days,” she sighs. “But he’s not usually trying to be helpful.”
After you get back to the guesthouse that evening, you glance at yourself in the mirror. Without the scratchy tag, you really do like this shirt.
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You’re the most interesting person Dieter’s met in years.
He’d prepared to be annoyed with your presence the second he walked through the door; he was already annoyed with himself for agreeing to this arrangement in the first place. But Christina keeps him on track and out of trouble, and it isn’t like he has a family to spend that money on instead.
He’d made sure of that.
It turns out that immediately marrying someone he met in a high-stress clusterfuck isn’t the best way to secure any kind of longevity, and honestly, he just hadn’t been ready.
And when Anika, just a few days after her twenty-ninth birthday, told him with tears in her eyes that she didn’t think this would work anymore, he didn’t fight it. Why would she want to stay with such a fuck-up? And why would he force his presence on her one second longer?
He knows he’s a lot—that’s why he hadn’t argued when Christina asked for some help. But it meant sharing his space with some stranger, some person he’d never met despite Christina’s suggestion.
“Just hire someone,” he’d grumbled. “I don’t care.”
But then you smiled.
It wasn’t an L.A. smile; one of those veneered things that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. It was imperfect, a little lopsided, skittish enough that his usual cool indifference toward new people melted away.
It could have been all the wellness from the retreat still buzzing in his veins, but he doesn’t think so. There’s something different about your aura that softens him.
And then there’s the fact that you are completely unfazed by him—unimpressed by him, for that matter. Even Christina was a little starstruck when they met, and she still caters to him more than is probably good or healthy for him.
What else can he do at this point? He’d made his own reputation over the last twenty years, for better or worse.
But you?
There is no reverence in the way you speak to him, no higher pitch in your voice to soothe him like he’s an angry toddler. Granted, you don’t speak to him much, only when he addresses you directly, but your short, clipped answers only intrigue him more.
Hopefully Christina doesn’t notice his sudden penchant for hanging out downstairs when he’s home. He just really likes to observe you.
He uses the word observe purposefully in his head; it’s much less creepy than “watch” or “obsess,” though if he’s honest with himself—which he is not—both could apply.
You don’t like it when there are a lot of people in the house, or when the overhead lights are on. You run your fingers over the marble countertop and chew your lip when you’re on the phone, especially if the call is taking longer than it should.
You shake your leg when you’re concentrating, or click a pen over and over and over. That one drives him a little nuts, that click-a-click-a-click, but he regrets asking you to stop the moment he does. It’s the first time your indifference to his existence vanishes, grimacing as you drop the offending pen.
“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, Mr. Bravo. I don’t know what I was thinking. It won’t happen again,” you say in a much higher pitch, your voice so shaky he wonders if he’d been gruff without realizing.
“It’s okay, really,” he protests. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
That doesn’t seem to help. “R-right,” you stammer, smiling awkwardly. “I’m being silly, it’s—you’re right, no big deal. Okay. I’ll…get back to work.”
But you gather all your things and retreat to the guesthouse, shaking your head as you walk away, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.
The next day you don’t have a clicky pen, and you bite your nails instead.
He really hates that, but he says nothing.
It’s not till the end of the week that you approach him all on your own for the first time, just after he gets back from an interview with GQ and he’s stuck his head in the fridge searching for something to eat.
“Um, Mr. Bravo?”
 He turns, surprised to see you now right in front of him, the closest you’d been since your first day. You flash that nervous grin, and he can’t help it—he reaches out and squeezes your shoulder.
“You can call me Dieter, you know,” he says. “What’s up?”
Your eyes flicker to his hand, but you don’t pull out of his grasp. “I just wanted to say sorry for being, like, so weird about the pen thing. I was having a bad day, and it was so unprof—”
“Consider it forgotten,” he says, peering over the top of his sunglasses at you. “We’re just getting used to each other, yeah? We’re gonna annoy each other sometimes. Don’t worry so much about pleasing me, for God’s sake. Just be you.”
He squeezes your shoulder again and your nervous grin is replaced with a pleased smile he’s never seen before. “Okay,” you say brightly. “I’ll try.”
And finally, finally you relax.
You talk more, you laugh more, you join in on conversations. He even finds himself missing you when you’re not around.
This is going to very quickly become a fucking problem.
His favorite thing, he thinks, is your lack of patience for him. Sometimes, you’re almost mean.
And don’t ask him why it makes him hard. It just does.
“You always keep those in?” He asks as you help him pack, referring to the wireless earbuds you’ve worn every day since you started about a month a half ago.
“Yep. Why?” You ask, looking up from folding his clothes.“You have a nail appointment in like twenty minutes, by the way, so put some pants on.”
He looks down at the chenille robe that’s come undone and gives you a sheepish grin. “Sorry,” he says.
You just shrug, having gotten more than used to his resistance of wearing real clothing in his own home. Or anywhere, really, but he’s been very careful not to accidentally flash you.
Dieter doesn’t miss the way your eyes dart over his bare torso, though.
Maybe you’re not that unimpressed with him.
“That bluetooth shit’s terrible for you,” he says. “It’ll scramble your fucking brain.” You stop what you’re doing and turn your entire body toward him, lip curled as you assess him.
“What makes you say that?” You ask, and he…doesn’t know, really. That’s just what he’s heard. It’s just what everyone’s told him—the EMF waves, or whatever.
“The, um, EMF waves?” He says, and your expression doesn’t change.
“The EMF waves.”
“Yeah, you know, the brain-scrambling waves. The radiation.”
“That is the stupidest thing I’ve heard in a long time,” you tell him after a pause, going back to folding.
This might be the meanest you’ve been to him, and he’s torn between amused and a little hurt. As he flounders, searching for a comeback, you stop folding again.
“Um, I’m sorry,” you say, setting his favorite t-shirt into his designer luggage. “That was harsh. Filter’s not working too well today.”
“But you do think I’m stupid?” He asks, needling at you just a little until he sees the way you’re twisting your fingers and shifting back and forth on both feet.
“No! No, I meant—well, okay, I meant what you said was not correct and I should have just shut up. So I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” he says. “I am stupid sometimes.”
“No!” You look positively distressed. It’s the pen incident all over again. “It’s just—do you know what non-ionizing radiation is?”
“I mean…no.”
“You know how there’s, like, wi-fi and a microwave in the house and you use your cell phone all the time?”
“Yeah, but—”
“There are two types of radiation, right? So what you’re thinking of is ionizing radiation, which is produced by nuclear power and all that shit. Very bad for you, should be handled with extreme caution by professionals only. Non-ionizing radiation is in, like, everything. Electricity, bluetooth, wi-fi, UV rays, it’s in everything.”
“Uh huh,” he says.
“So there’s a difference, right?”
“What’s the exact difference?” He asks, finding himself genuinely curious. 
Maybe he should have checked.
“I don’t know, dude, I’m not a scientist. All I know is that if I keep my little bluetooth earbuds in, I don’t get nearly as overwhelmed about life, and it probably won’t give me cancer any faster than the microplastics we’re all swallowing on a daily basis. But I’m sorry I said it was stupid.”
He shakes his head. “No problem,” he says. “You’re smart.”
You shake your head, too, running your fingers over the velvet. “Not that smart.”
You’re close enough to him on the couch that if he wanted to, he could lean over and kiss you. Lucky for both of you, he’s past running off perfectly good assistants by thinking with his cock.  
“Put some pants on,” you say again. “Before Christina gets here and yells at you.”
“Yes ma’am,” he says.
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Forget anything about a budding crush. This crush is in full bloom.
All those pretty petals fell off during a panic attack of how absolutely fucked you are if you didn’t get it under control fast, too, and you’d walked yourself through it, assured yourself you’d get past it, there was no problem here, it would be okay, and by the next morning? Crush crushed.
And then that asshole had the audacity to smile and say good morning and all those petals of desire bloomed even larger.   
Where was the cool, aloof movie star you’d been promised?
It would’ve been one thing if he just ignored your existence—you could’ve just resented him like you would anyone else you worked for—but no. He’s hellbent on being adorable. And maybe even being your friend.  
He’s not quite as needy as Christina’d made him out to be, either. He just really, really needs that firm hand Christina doesn’t actually have.
You have it, though. And you have no problem using it.
Lately, Dieter’s been busy shooting some romcom twelve hours a day. You’d expected more afterparties, more poolside noise, more hedonism-prepared yourself for it, actually. He’s only thrown a few ragers here and there, most of which last into the next day, and you’ve offered to call a car for more than a few barely-dressed people trying to sneak their way out of Dieter’s bedroom.
You always refrain from asking if they had a good time, but you never refrain from asking Dieter the same question when he stumbles down the stairs in one of those robes you’re so envious of. He always gives you a cheeky smirk, and you roll your eyes, and it’s cute and flirty and you have to scream into a pillow when he goes back upstairs.
But now filming’s done and he’s had a few weeks off, and after he spent a week in New York visiting a friend, he’s home a lot.
Like, a lot.
Doing yoga in his very tiny boxer briefs, watching movies in his very tiny boxer briefs, even arguing with his agent or his manager or his PR rep in very. Tiny. Boxer briefs.
He’s been doing a lot of arguing lately. You try not to eavesdrop, but it’s not your fault his voice echoes in this cavernous first floor.
“Where’s all my food?” He demands after he stomps down the stairs to find a squeaky clean refrigerator.
“Christina threw it all out because it all went bad because you never eat here,” you tell him. “She’s getting groceries now.”
“But I’m hungry,” he whines, and you loathe how endearing you find it.
“So order something,” you say.
He’s in front of you so quickly you almost topple off your seat. “Can you do it?”
“What do you mean? You don’t know how to use DoorDash?”
“I’m bad at it,” he says, and you don’t bother to hide your incredulity.
“You can’t be bad at DoorDash,” you argue, rolling your eyes.
“Please?”
You sigh at his big brown eyes and his trembling bottom lip that you want to swipe your thumb across. “Fine. But I’m getting something,” you say.
“Of course, babe.”
“I don’t love that nickname, Mr. Bravo,” you say, and he scowls at your continued insistence on formality, but boundaries like that are the only thing keeping you sane right now.
“Sorry, sorry. Sweetheart?” He asks earnestly, and you can’t find it in yourself to be annoyed.
“Sweetheart’s better than babe, I guess,” you sigh. “What do you want to eat?”
“Eggslut,” he says, and you burst into laughter.
“Do you really want that or did you just want to say the name?”
“Have you had Eggslut?” He asks as you shoot a text to Christina asking if she wants anything. She does not, thank you very much, but she will be back in about an hour. “Because if you had you would know it’s not a joke. I want the Fairfax sandwich, please.”
Why does the “please” make you shiver?
It takes a few minutes, but you find a sandwich that isn’t a textural nightmare and add it to the little cart right below Dieter’s monstrous pile of caramelized onions and scrambled eggs sandwiched in a buttery looking bun.
“It’ll be here in an hour,” you tell him.
“I’m gonna starve, sweetheart,” he exclaims with a dramatic fall to the shimmering black floor, flinging his arm over his face. His robe flops open, but he doesn’t seem to notice. You peer down at him, shamelessly taking the opportunity to run your eyes over his broad, bare torso.
“Might freeze to death, too,” you observe dryly and he chuckles, looking down at his hard nipples.
“Maybe. Ugh, there’s gotta be something to eat around here,” he whines as he gets to his feet. You turn back to your task, and he leaves you in peace to rifle through his cabinets.
Eventually, he finds a bag of Skittles and pours them into a bowl, which is very weird, but he’s a weird famous guy, so you just let him do his weird famous guy thing without comment.
“I don’t like the red ones,” he says, apparently to you. “Can you pick them out?”
He cannot be serious.
“No,” you say.
“Why not?” He demands.  
“Mr. Bravo, I want you to tell me that you, a forty-seven-year-old man, cannot pick out the red Skittles. That you not only need me to order your food, you also need me to pick the red Skittles out of your bowl.”
“Well—I mean, what are you even doing right now?” He asks, and he seems to realize it’s a mistake as your nostrils flare out and you spin in your chair to glare at him.
“I’m filling out your health insurance renewal forms. Do you like having health insurance?” You ask.
“Yes,” he says, still holding his little bowl in his ridiculously large hands.
“So you either pick out the Skittles yourself, or you finish the forms. Which one?”
“You’re mean sometimes,” he says, but there’s no real conviction behind it. You shrug—you are a little mean sometimes.
“And you’re a big baby sometimes,” you say, but he doesn’t pout. He grins at you instead, scooting close enough that you can smell yesterday’s cologne and the weed he smoked before he got out of bed.
“What’s the health insurance stuff?” He asks as he starts to pick out the red Skittles. You eat them one by one as you explain how HSAs work.
By the time the food arrives you realize you’re having fun. You move from the kitchen to the living room after he begs you to watch a movie with him, ignoring your sly suggestion of Hunger Strike.
“Well, what movie are we watching then if we can’t watch anything you’ve been in. Star Wars?”
“What’s your favorite movie?” He asks.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”  
You don’t like answering these types of questions—you’re always worried that you’ll give the wrong answer. Which, okay, it’s not a test, it’s an opinion, but sometimes when something means too much to you and the other person hates it, it feels like a judgment on you. And you are so very aware that for the most part that’s simply not true, but you can’t help the way your brain works.
“I do!” He says.
You think about lying, but you don’t think he’s lied to you even once. And you really, really don’t want to lie to him.
“Okay, but you’re gonna make fun of me.”
“Am not.”
“It’s Moulin Rouge,” you say, and you wait for him to laugh or ask “really?”
But he does neither.
“Cool. You know, Ewan and I used to party a lot together,” he says, scratching his beard. “Mine’s Back to the Future III.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmhmm,” he says, dumping hot sauce all over the scrambled eggs and sucking the excess off of his thumb.
“I’ve never seen any of them,” you tell him and he turns to you, squinting.
“What? We gotta watch them,” he says.
“I don’t think Christina—”
“I’ll handle Christina,” Dieter says confidently. “I need your assistance in watching these, okay, I don’t like watching movies alone.”
You sigh. “And if I say I don’t want to?”
He gives you the biggest, roundest eyes and sticks his lip out, pouting in a way that should be absolutely unbecoming for a man his age. And damn him, it works. “Please?”
He wins, eventually, because of course he does, wiggling with excitement. “Not now, though,” he says. “Gotta make a night of it.”
“A night of it?”
“I mean, yeah. I’m not watching all of them on a shitty little TV,” he says, gesturing to the eighty-five inch flatscreen hanging on the living room wall.
“We might have different definitions of shitty,” you say.
He shrugs and brings the sandwich to his mouth, and there is no reason for you to watch him do this, but he’s just so…interesting.
That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.
Everything he does is a little sensual, somehow, like he really wants to enjoy every single experience as much as he can. Even biting into a sandwich, he closes his eyes and moans softly at the taste, and it probably shouldn’t be sexy. People moan at how good food tastes all the time.
You don’t—not in front of people, at least, because you have been far too aware of your every move for the last thirty years of your life, but some people do.
The tendons of his neck flex as he chews, eyes rolling back, his lips shiny with butter and grease, and you try not to think of him looking exactly like that between your legs.
Jesus Christ, when’s the last time you got laid?
You shake your head and busy yourself with your own sandwich and try to eat as normally as possible, only peeking a little to watch him suck all the grease off his fingers.
About halfway through your meal, Christina comes in with the groceries, and you leave your half-finished sandwich on the table to help put them up, happy for an excuse to stop ogling a man who’s just trying to eat.
“I got your green juice, Dee,” she calls, and he waves a hand in acknowledgment. “What’s he doing down here?”
“No idea. He’s been chatty this morning. Wanted me to take the red Skittles out for him.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you about that. He doesn’t like the red dye.”
“Figures. I mean, I didn’t do it. I told him he was a grown man and could figure it out.”
“What?” Christina asks, dropping a bag and giving you an incredulous glare as your smile falters. “Babe, I know you’re still getting used to everything, but if he tells you to do something, do it.”
“Oh, um, he seemed fine? I was filling out his health insurance forms and wanted to get them done. And I ordered his food. I didn’t think it was a big deal,” you explain, your eyes flicking over to him as he finishes the last of his food.
“Okay, well, he’s probably just being polite because you’re new, but I’m telling you not to do that again, all right? Whatever he wants, you give him. That’s the deal.”
 She doesn’t sound angry, exactly, but you want to curl in on yourself and crawl into a hole until this mortification passes. Your cheeks go hot, your throat closing up with embarrassment at being scolded.
“Yes, absolutely. Sorry about that,” you say, clearing your throat. “Won’t happen again.”
“What won’t happen again?” Dieter asks, choosing that exact moment to set his trash on the counter. Rather than telling him to throw it away, you grab it, eager to give yourself something else to do.
“Nothing, Mr. Bravo, just some paperwork stuff,” you lie, humiliated at the thought of having misread the relationship.
He frowns as you bolt past him, to pick up your half-eaten sandwich and throw it in the trash. “Thanks for lunch—uh, breakfast, sir,” you stutter. “I’ll just go get the rest of this done.”
You’re acting so weird—you know it, they both know it, and you cringe when he asks to talk to Christina as you leave through the back door with the trash bag in hand. For the rest of the day you replay the whole thing in your head from start to finish, trying to figure out why you’d felt so comfortable talking to him like that.
Later that night, all you can do is go over every interaction you’ve had with him over the last few weeks.
He would’ve told you, right?
Like with the pen? When he didn’t like the pen, he told you. But then you’d been so weird about the pen, and maybe he didn’t want to upset you again.
Sometimes you wish you could just explain yourself.
“Sorry I’m such a freak, I thought we were friends because I’m bad at judging how close I actually am to people. I forgot this was a work thing and we’re not really friends, you’re just being nice. I forgot people are just nice sometimes to get through the day. Also, I think I’m a little in love with you. It’s bad, man.”
You chuckle to yourself as you imagine what face Dieter might make. Your contract would definitely be terminated, and you’d probably be one of those stories famous people tell when they go on talk shows.
So you’ll say nothing. You’ll fish out that proverbial mask and put it back on because the last thing you want is your actual personality ruining everything. You’ll do what Christina said, give him whatever he wants, and try not to fool yourself into thinking you’re anything other than a boredom-killer for him.
He’s not your friend.
He’s not.
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Dieter still doesn’t know what happened between you and Christina. He usually appreciates her assuring him that everything is fine and if it’s not fine, she’ll make it fine, but you haven’t really been the same since.
And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t asked.
“If it’s about the food, I didn’t mind getting her something to eat,” he’d said, but Christina just told him not to worry about it.
“She’s just a little odd,” Christina’d told him. “But she’s doing a good job otherwise, you know, she’s just bad with social situations sometimes.”
Dieter hadn’t understood what she meant—you hadn’t done anything wrong.
And you’re completely different now.
You don’t listen to music anymore or correct him when he’s wrong about something, and he’s checked. He’s been wrong on purpose at least four times now, and you just nod and say, “Oh, how interesting.” 
And maybe worst of all, you do everything he asks of you. Every single thing. To his shame, as little of it as he has, he takes advantage of this because it’s the only time you’ll get close to him. Lucky for him, you can tie a tie. He can also tie a tie, but you don’t need to know that.
He steps out from his room and calls your name. “Can you come help me?” He asks.
“Be right there,” you chirp.
“Can you tie my tie?” He asks, holding it in front of him with a doleful pout. He has a brand appearance tonight, some overpriced cologne deal that’ll pay Christina’s salary for the next few years, and a tie, for some reason, is required.
“Of course, Mr. Bravo,” you murmur, stepping softly into his bedroom. He can feel your nerves rolling off of you.
“Thanks for the help,” he says, standing in front of the mirror. “I never have been able to get the hang of it.”
“No problem. I went through this phase in middle school where I wore ties and tank tops and big baggy cargo shorts,” you say, and his breath hitches at your little confession.
“That’s fucking cute,” he says.
“Mmhmm,” you say, a smile playing on your lips. You seem calmer up here, away from Christina’s watchful eyes. “I was very cool.”
“Bet you listened to a lot of stuff on vinyl,” he teases.
“Who says I don’t still? I like the scratchy noise it makes,” you offer, looping the tie around his neck and standing so close he could wrap his arms around you and bury his nose in your hair.
“Very, uh, what’s that movie—the one Zooey’s in,” he says.
“Five Hundred Days of Summer? God, I forget you know all these people I just watch on TV,” you giggle.
“Yeah,” he says. “That one.”
“I like that movie,” you say, a dreamy look on you face. “I like that it turns the whole manic pixie dream girl thing on its head.”
“You’re a little manic pixie, you know,” he says.
“Yeah,” you say quietly, finishing the knot. “I know.”
“That’s what I’ll call you,” he says. “You don’t like babe or sweetheart, right? I’ll call you Pix.”
You cock your head at him. “I don’t hate that,” you say. “But you could just call me my name.”
“Nah,” he says. “Then you’d just be like everyone else I know, Pix.”
Christina yells from downstairs that their ride is there, and he smiles regretfully.
“Thanks for the help,” he says. “You’re doing great, you know. With all this.”
“Thanks, Mr. Bravo,” you murmur.
“You can call me Dieter, you know,” he says.
“Sure,” you say. “You’re late. Go.”
And he does, just because you told him to.
next
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dividers and support banner by @saradika-graphics
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rafescurtainbangz · 3 months
Text
Sorry, Top (Rafe Cameron Blurb) +18
Minor DNI
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Had to adjust this little Hargrove blurb for my OBX friends because I think it's pretty dark!rafe coded, IMO. Sorry, Topper.
Fingering, dry-humping, name-calling, mutual masturbation, manipulation, Rafe doesn't ask or wait for permission, reader wants to go farther
Dark!Rafe x Inexperienced Female Reader (Topper's GF who has always had a thing for Rafe)
Reader's POV:
You lower your eyelids a little more, trying your best to look like you're sleeping as you watch Topper's best friend palm himself over his white Calvin Kleins.
Your heart starts to pick up pace, anticipation building as his roommate hooks his fingers around the elastic band. The blonde draws them down nice and slow, making butterflies flood your stomach as he releases his cock. Holy shit…
You can feel your body pulse head to toe, a foreign feeling between your thighs, wet against the fabric of your panties. What the fuck?
Your hand roams slowly down your own body, doing your best to keep up your facade of sleep. Your thighs widen on the dorm mattress as your fingers slip under your little satin shorts.
Rafe reaches over to the nightstand, snagging some lube from the drawer. You never thought once about why he would rummage around there in the middle of the night, but now you can't stop.
How many times has he jerked off like this? With us here?
Your fingers meet your slit, making your stomach sink as you feel how absolutely soaked you are. For Rafe? You run your fingers through your wet folds, feeling the slightest bit of relief.
Rafe wraps his hand around his thick dick, eyes batting to a close as he starts to stroke. Fuck. I've only seen a cock before in porn… I didn't want to be completely untaught when Topper finally made his move.
Rafe's big… Shit. He's so fucking huge. His swollen head glistens with lube, somehow even harder after the touch of his own hand.
Your body aches; your gliding hand no longer doing the trick. Your fingers find their way down to your entrance, pressing inside, making you bite back a moan.
You start to match his pace, stuffing your fingers into your cunt at the same cadence. Rafe throws his head back on the pillow, making your heart skip as your name falls from his pretty lips.
My name? Me?
You feel your adrenaline course through your veins. Baffled that he would be choosing you from the roster of women he usually has in his bed, sometimes one, sometimes two.
Say it again...
“Bounce on my cock, Princess,” he grunts. It's not my name… but it's what Top calls me. Your wrist bumps against your clit. Ugh. That felt good. More.
You slip your other hand down your body, pressing against your nub, a feeling so good you can't help but release a breathy whine.
Topper moves out of the corner of your eye, making you stop dead in your tracks. He lets out a little snore. Guilt starts to creep in as you see him sleeping so peacefully, so sweetly, his messy blonde hair piled on his pillow.
But I can't fucking stop.
Your eyes quickly shift back to Rafe, making you jump slightly as you see him standing right in front of you, incredibly close. You take a little breath, eyes working higher on his body. His eyes lock on yours; his stare is dark and deep.
He grabs the comforter, peeling it off your body. You feel the chill of the wetness between your thighs, making your eyes fall low.
“M’gonna help you with that, princess. Don't worry,” he breathes; you can hear his cockiness through his hushed tone still.
“What do you mean? W-What are you doing?” You ask softly as he lowers his body on top of yours. You expel a breath as he presses himself against you.
Rafe buries himself in the crook of your neck, lips pressing against your hot skin. You take in his smell, his rich cologne clouding all your senses. “Let me help you,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. “Don't worry, Angel. Put my boxers on… Would hate to get that sweet pussy before Top does. Couldn't control myself otherwise.”
“Rafe… I-” You’re cut off by his lips, pressing roughly against yours, swallowing your gasp as he grinds his clothed cock against you.
He bumps your clit with his rock-hard bulge, swallowing your moan. “That’s it, huh? Feels good. Yeah?”
“Yeah. Y-Yeah,” you whimper.
“Wanna make you feel good,” he pants against your kiss.
It does… It feels good. So fucking good. Heat burns behind your eyes because of it, eyes glassing over the thought of doing this to Topper, so close to Topper.
“B-But Topper?”
If I wanted this to stop, all I'd have to do is say the word. All I'd have to do is call for Top, but all I want to do is scream for Rafe.
“Go ahead, baby. Wake him up. Say his name. Let me deal with him. Yeah? Or, I could just deal with you...”
“I don't know, Rafe.”
“Good friends share, sweetheart.”
“Rafe...”
“Stop actin’ so innocent. Like you weren't watching me stroke my cock. Like I couldn't hear that wet little pussy from over there,” he hisses as he grinds harder into you. “Caught’cha, didn't I?” He smiles against your lips, making heat spread across your body.
Rafe releases a moan, then another, getting off on you and you on him. You reach around his body, tugging slightly at the elastic of his boxers.
“You trying to take ‘em off, Princess?” He taunts. “Nah… Not today. Gonna get you just like this. But, tonight… You gonna let me taste you tonight, baby?”
“Yeah…”
He chuckles darkly, making chills fall down your body straight to your aching core.
“Naughty little thing. Aren't you?”
Rafe rolls his hips again and again, grinding his clothed cock against your sex as you whimper in sensitivity. “Can feel how wet you are through my boxers. Bet your panties are soaked, you little slut.”
Your back arches at the sounds of his devilish words. The tears in your eyes tumble down your cheeks as you feel your climax about to overtake you. Rafe's blue jean eyes soften on yours. “Hey… Hey. It's gonna be okay,” he soothes. “You gonna cum?” He asks between gentle kisses.
Your teeth sink into your plump bottom lip, eyes rolling back in your skull. “Cum for me, angel,” he whispers as he draws up your shirt higher.
He grips his cock. His ruddy head leaking at the tip. Rafe lowers himself to your ear as he continues to rut.
“I’m gonna… Fuck, Rafe,” you whisper, digging your heels into the mattress as you hold back your blissful cries. You moan his name as your pussy flutters around nothing.
Rafe answers with your name on his lips, hot wet ropes of cum landing on your bare skin. Rafe reaches down, running two ringed fingers through his spent.
“Open.” You open your mouth, Rafe's digits making their way in between. “Suck.” You suck on his fingers all the way to his gold rings, tasting cum for the first time. “Good fuckin’ girl.”
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bedsyandco · 7 months
Text
𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒
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🫧 — {fem!reader x jack hughes}
🫧 — established relationsip! set a few years in the future. Reader and Jack are married! Reader is pregnant! Kind of set in Jack's POV I guess.
🫧 — in which Jack's wife is pregnant and a little emotional.
WC — 1.5K
"Babe” Jack whispers.
“Hm?”
“Can you scoot over a bit?” he asks
“I’m on the edge”
He looks over his shoulder, right at the face of his beautiful wife.
“Babe, I find that hard to believe,”
“What?” you ask, a little disoriented.
“There’s no way you’re on the edge when your face is pressed into my back, your legs are tangled with mine and our child is kicking me in the back.”
“But I am,”
“You’re not,” Jack argues.
“You scoot over,”
“I can’t. I’m on the edge of our California King bed that you insisted we get because you didn’t want to touch during the night because you always get too hot. Yet, you’re laying on top of me,”
“I am not,” you complain, nuzzling closer, if that were possible. “Shh go to sleep.”
Jack sighs loudly and says, “I can’t. You’re too hot and our child is kicking me in the back.”
“Yeah well, welcome to my world buddy. Can you stop talking? I'm tired.” you say.
Usually Jack wouldn’t care. He’d deal with it because he loved you and he wanted you to be comfortable, but he needed to get up early tomorrow morning and he really needed a good night’s sleep. Jack was beyond stressed. It felt like he was always 2 seconds away from having a panic attack.
His constant worry about you was driving him insane, but then he also had hockey to think about. The Devils had just lost in the third round of the playoffs. They were so close. Jack wanted nothing more than to win and hold that cup up. But then he realised he was about to hold his baby, and that was an even greater prize.
That was if he didn’t kill you first.
Turning over, you glared at him as he popped his head on one arm, looking over her to the amount of space behind you. “Baby, we could literally fit all my teammates beside you,”
“What does that mean?” you ask frowning
“I’m saying scoot the hell over!” he says, his voice rising. “You’re burning me up!”
“I want to sleep with you,”
“You are, but just give me some space so I don’t die of heatstroke!”
“Ugh, fine.” you say annoyed and rolled over to the other side of the bed.
Jack sighs, shaking his head and lays back down. He could finally breathe, but just as he’s about to fall asleep you say, “I just think it’s messed up that you won’t cuddle with me and I’m carrying your child, which is the reason I’m burning up!”
Jack opens his eyes and takes a deep breath. Here they go again.
“Sweetheart, I love cuddling with you. But I have to be up early to do press and clean out my locker. I can’t sleep through that and I definitely can’t sleep with you burning me up and our child kicking me the whole night. I love you though, you know that right?” Jack asks, looking over at you with a soft smile.
But you were glaring, lips pursed as you glared at him. “Oh yeah, I forgot it’s so hard being Jack Hughes and you need all the sleep you can get. While I can’t sleep a certain way due to the fact that it hurts because I’m the thing your child is sucking the life out of.”
“I thought you loved being pregnant.”
“I do!” you yell and his brows go up. “That’s not the point. I’m just reminding you that I don’t get to sleep or do any of the things that I wanna do anymore, but it’s fine. I’ll sleep all the way over here without the love and support from my husband because he needs to get some sleep. God forbid you don’t get any sleep.” you mumble and Jack wants to laugh. You were being ridiculous. But before he could tell you that, you look over to him and say, “And just a friendly reminder Jack Hughes, when this baby comes, say fucking good-bye to sleep.”
“I guess I should say good-bye to sleep now, because I’m sure as hell not getting any more tonight,” Jack says, holding your gaze.
Your eyes darken a little and Jack swears he’s never seen anyone as beautiful as his wife. Even when you’re a little crazy, hostile, and 7 months pregnant, you were still hot as fuck.
“You got that right, I just wanted to cuddle,” you say rolling away from him again.
When Jack hears you sniff he can’t help but smile. The emotional rollercoaster of a pregnant wife was no joke. Reaching out, he went to cuddle with you, but you smack his hand away.
“I don’t wanna cuddle now,” you mutter
“Fine,” Jack sighs, falling back onto his own pillow. Sometimes he just really couldn't win with you.
“I just want you to know, I did want to cuddle. But that’s gone now.”
“I hear you.” Jack replies.
“And I’m very upset.”
“I got that.” he says with a sigh, rolling on his side to look at you.
“I just don’t think it’s fair. I cook, I clean, I work. And I’m carrying your child.”
“And I appreciate you more than words can ever say.” Jack says sincerely.
“Then you'd cuddle with me!” you say exasperated.
“But baby, I need sleep too. And you’re literally a furnace.”
“Well if you need sleep so badly and I’m too hot and our baby won’t stop kicking you then go sleep somewhere else!” you yell
“Seriously?”
“Yes! Go to the couch”
Surely you were joking. But then you yank the covers off him and pull his pillow from under him, throwing both on the floor. He stands up and goes to pick up his pillow.
“I need sleep and I’m too mad to sleep with you here.” you mutter
“Because I won’t cuddle with you?”
“Yes!” you yell tears streaming down your face.
“Then come here, I’ll cuddle.” he says and ducks when you throw another pillow at his head.
“No! I don’t want to cuddle anymore!” you yell
“Then let’s just go to bed.” Jack mumbles
‘No! I’m mad!”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Jack says with a laugh, and why he would do that would be his last thought.
“Go!” you yell.
“If I go, I’m not coming back tonight.” Jack says
“That’s fine. Maybe tomorrow you won’t mind cuddling your wife and child.”
“Sweetheart, I said let’s cu-”
“I don’t wanna cuddle!” you yell laying your head on the pillow with a sob. “I just wanted you to want to cuddle with me!”
Watching as you cried, Jack sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He picked up his pillow and looked at you one more time. “You sure?”
“Yes. You broke my heart Jack.” you say.
He went to say something sassy back but he knew it wouldn't get him anywhere so instead he said, “I’m sorry that I didn’t wanna cuddle because of the blazing heat you were putting off. I love you. Good night.”
When you don't answer, Jack chuckles as he walks out of the room. His girl was so stubborn. Heading to the couch he lays down and stares at the ceiling. Only two more months and maybe he would get his normal wife back. He was lucky that some of the guys on the team had kids and also went through this process. If not he wouldn’t know it was normal for his wife to be completely and utterly irrational about the dumbest things.
Tonight it was cuddling.
Last week, it was because he ate the last oreo.
Next week, it might be because he breathed a little too hard.
Jesus. Two more months. He could do it.
Leaning back on his pillow he closed his eyes, thankful that he chose to spend so much money to get a comfortable couch. He hopes you stopped crying. He hates when you cry. He was tempted to check but he really didn’t want you to bite his head off. Just as he was about to drift off he felt someone beside him.
Opening his eyes, he saw you standing there.
You looked adorable, hair a mess, cute pyjama shorts, cheeks flushed. Wearing one of Jack’s T-shirts that you cropped. It kinda made you look like Winnie the Pooh. Jack still thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Jack?”
“Yeah babe?”
“Can I lie with you?”
Chuckling to himself he scooted over as far as he could to make space for you. As you lay down your stomach presses into his and Jack wraps his arms around you, kissing you cheek.
“I’m sorry.” you whisper.
“It’s okay baby. I’m sorry too.” Jack whispers.
“I love you.”
“I love you more.” Jack says kissing you again.
The next morning, when he woke up with a sore back, all he could do was repeat three words over and over.
Two more months. Two more months. Two more months.
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entwined-fxte · 17 days
Text
never let go.
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a/n: listen i know i just wrote nightmare trope on my other blog but this is for my fragmented dreams fans (it's me i'm the fan). also BIG shoutout to that anon a few days ago cause i wasn't feeling motivated until i saw that in my inbox anon u are my whole world
content: soothing a certain doctor after a hard night.
WARNINGS: brief depictions of a nightmare (zayne's pov)
zayne × gen!reader (you/your).
fluff + comfort.
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it was hard to see zayne like this. already exhausted from long nights of risky procedures, he could barely get any rest from his nightmare plagued mind. day after day, you saw the fatigue building up, his eyes dull no matter what he did. you decided you'd seen enough, and if anything, you were sure that he'd had enough as well.
luckily, it wasn't hard to get zayne to accept an invitation to stay overnight at your place. perhaps it was the tiredness that made his mind bleary, having him say yes before he even realised. or perhaps it was the idea of having you around him; sleep wasn't easy whether he was alone or with someone else, but zayne couldn't deny that you being close soothed his mind ever so slightly.
“ready to go home?” you poked your head through his office door, catching a glimpse of a the tail end of a yawn.
zayne turned his head to look at you, gaze foggy as he tried to process it all. he gave a low hum in return, pushing his chair back to give him room to stand up. “you're earlier than i thought you'd be.”
you slipped through the doorway, shutting it behind you with your foot as you made your way in. “i cleared the wanderer zone pretty quickly. after all, i'm a really good hunter,” you laughed, setting your backpack down on the ground to stretch.
“really now?” the corners of zayne's mouth curled up in amusement. you wondered when the last time he really smiled was. he stifled another yawn as he hung his lab coat up, exchanging it for a grey cardigan. “let's get going.”
you ordered delivery to your apartment while zayne drove back to your place. the silence was comforting, and yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more going on in zayne's mind that he let on. as you stepped out of the car, you shot the doctor a worried look. “i know you're usually not talkative, but is there something that's bothering you?”
zayne said nothing, instead shrugging his bag onto his shoulder and nodding towards your building. although quiet, you were certain you heard him whisper a low “later,” as he locked the car doors and headed off.
the delivery man caught you just before you closed your front door, handing the bag off to you before scuttling away. the sight made you laugh, and to your delight, zayne was also chuckling under his breath. after a moment, you shuffled him inside, setting the food down on the counter and your bag next to the couch. “you shower first, zayne. i'm gonna make some tea first.”
“sure.” with muffled steps, zayne disappeared into the washroom, leaving you to your own devices. it wasn't long before there were two cups of tea on the counter, and you carefully sipped yours while waiting for zayne to finish. he was silent when he came out; you didn't realise he had finished until you felt his arms wrap around your waist and his nose bury into your hair. you placed a hand on top of his, ghosting over the backs of his knuckles as he spoke. “you’re warm.”
“mmhmm. and as per usual, you're freezing.” you craned your neck up to look at him, reaching up with your other hand to trace his jawline. “here’s your tea. you can go ahead and start eating if you're hungry, too. i should freshen up.” zayne made a quiet sound of affirmation, slowly releasing you from his grasp while you shifted off your chair. a part of you hurt to leave him like that, but you figured that the sooner you could finish your night routine, the better.
you came out of the shower not long after, padding back into the living room to find zayne sitting comfortably on your couch with a book open. “zayne,” you called softly, waiting for him to turn his head up at you. when he did, you grabbed at the spine of the book, folding it closed before taking it away from him. “i invited you over to take it easy, not to read the medical journals you snuck back with you. did you even eat anything?”
zayne hummed in response, as he always did. “yes. i set aside your favourites already.”
“that wasn’t exactly necessary,” you mumbled. “anyways, it’s getting late. aren’t you tired?”
he placed the book down on the coffee table, shoulders slouching as he leaned forward. “it’s nothing more than usual.”
“liar.” with your lips pressed into a thin line, you leaned down towards the raven haired man, poking at his forehead accusingly. “you actually look even worse than usual.”
“how kind of you.” you tapped at his forehead a few more times, only stopping when zayne took your hand in his and pulled it down. you could hardly feel the way his fingers tightened around yours, but his expression gave him away.
with a sigh, you took your free hand and ran it through his hair. “come on. if i can protect linkon city from wanderers, i think i can protect you while you’re asleep.”
in a rare moment of vulnerability, zayne pressed further into your palm, exhaling softly as he did. “then i suppose we can give it a shot.”
cheering internally, you couldn't help the smile that creeped onto your face. the hand that zayne had trapped in his began to pull him up from the couch, waiting until he was steady on his feet before leading him to your bedroom. once inside, you crawled on top of the mattress, never once letting go of him as he followed suit. the last remaining traces of the sunset glow slowly disappeared from sight, leaving your bedroom under the gentle cascade of moonlight. you let go of zayne for a second to hop off the bed again, switching off the ceiling light and then returning to lay down next to him.
a low chuckle sounded from his chest as you bounced in your spot. “well? what's your great plan this time?”
“the plan is to wait until you fall asleep.”
“and do you expect that to happen soon?”
“i do.” you adjusted yourself onto your side. with some effort, you threw the blanket over yourself and zayne, burrowing your body in for a brief second before stretching out and beckoning to him. “come here.” zayne didn’t bother with a response, only giving you an unreadable look. but after a few seconds, zayne resigned, bringing himself towards you. you couldn’t help but give him an exasperated look when he stopped further from you than you wanted. “closer,” you murmured, sliding an arm around his waist and tugging him in. “i can’t hold you if you’re so far away.”
a sigh slipped past his lips. yet despite the way he sounded annoyed, zayne accepted the invitation, tucking his head down into the dip of your shoulder as he wound his arms around you. legs became tangled in seconds, and you could’ve sworn you felt him sigh in relief when you started carding your hand through his hair. “so your plan is to make sure i can’t run away,” zayne hummed against your skin. you laughed at the accusation, and for a fleeting second, zayne felt like the sound could heal him from anything.
“i might as well try to keep you from working.” were it possible, you would have pulled him closer. instead, you settled by pressing your lips to the crown of his head. “sleep, zayne. i won’t let go.”
the words echoed in his mind, resonated in his heart; but the next time he opened his eyes, there was only an empty space next to him. “y/n?” panic rooted in his chest, sitting upright to find nothing but silence. zayne climbed off the bed, fear driving him to look through the windows. outside, wanderers flooded the streets, turning it into a sea of black. for a moment, zayne caught a familiar face; and he could do nothing but watch as you were drowned in the abyss.
you kept stroking up and down his back rhythmically, attempting to soothe zayne’s restless movement. eventually, his eyes flew open, gaze misty as he suddenly gripped onto you. you waited until his breathing steadied, continuing to draw circles into his skin even after he had calmed. “another nightmare?”
zayne exhaled deeply, turning his face down so he could press his forehead against your collarbone. “you didn’t let go.”
your other hand returned to his head, playing with the hair at the base of his neck. “i told you i wouldn’t.” the way zayne shivered didn’t go unnoticed. unsure if it was the cold or his fear, you tightened the blanket around the both of you as best you could. “go back to sleep. it hasn’t even been two hours.”
zayne spoke again, barely audible. “will you let go?” and then he felt your chin, gently moving side to side across his head.
“not in a million lifetimes.”
silence fell like snow, with only the sound of your intertwined breathing filling the room. with a final sigh, zayne closed his eyes and pressed himself into you, searing your warmth into his soul as if it were the last time he could.
and this time, when zayne dreams, he dreams of a certain hunter, and of a field of jasmines.
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a/n: happy actual first post!! the urge to write "rei" instead of zayne and "MC" instead of "y/n" was ridiculously high. also his new card?!?#?@?@: i'm on the ground ......
reblogs are really appreciated (´ω`) ♡
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pshcomforts · 30 days
Text
➳ everything | psh.
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non!idolsunghoon x fem!reader
“you’re my everything”
synopsis: you wake up to your boyfriend being clingy in his half-asleep state.
warnings/content: written in third pov. fluffy fluff! sunghoon’s clingy and reader kind of hates physical touch and is a little mean (lmao). nicknames used (gorgeous, baby, and loser). back in my fluff era :(
comments, likes, and reposts are appreciated :)
word count: 541
a/n: really short oneshot bc college is kicking my butt
༘˚⋆𐙚。masterlist⋆.✧˚
current song playing: everything by the black skirts
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
1:11 ────|─────────────── -3:41
little bird chirps were heard out of the window, awakening y/n to the early morning.
her eyes blinked repeatedly before realizing it was about time she got up. in sight, she woke up to her boyfriend’s chest in front of her.
softly, she grumbled as she felt his loose hold around her. her head turned and found her phone lying on the nightstand; having the sudden idea to reach for it, she gently scooted away from her sound-asleep boyfriend.
as she almost gained the grasp of her phone with the inch of her hands near it, she felt a sudden pull on her body.
immediately, she met face to face with sunghoon, whose eyes were still closed.
“what are you doing doing, hm?” he whispered, the words almost not even processing through y/n’s ears.
“just trying to get my phone, hoonie.”
the male let out a soft laugh, pulling her closer to him again as she met with his chest this time. “go to sleep, gorgeous.” he whispered in the same tone.
y/n huffed out a sigh. “hoon-“ she whined out, body trying to escape his as he began to embrace her more. “it’s too early for you to be this clingy.”
the girl continued to try and pry out of his hold but she simply couldn’t with his strong arms. “exactly, so go back to sleep.” he hoarsely said with a scratchy throat.
y/n’s hands pushed on his chest, not even listening to his words. “too much.” she groaned, feeling the physical touch sickness get to her in quick time.
“i just want to hug my girlfriend.” sunghoon murmured in a little pout.
she rolled her eyes at his excuse. “and i just want my phone.” her hands remained persistent on pushing him away while he was still in a tired state.
“damn hoon, why are you still strong when you’re tired?”
“is that a compliment?” he huffed out a laugh at his own remark, feeling slightly proud that it got his girlfriend a little flustered.
“no loser, now let me go.”
her whine became more continuous until his hands strongly held onto hers that had been lightly hitting his chest.
“i’m not letting go, baby.” he softly mumbled in that husk voice he had, giving a pull on her hands so he could hold her.
hoon’s chin laid on top of her head as she frustratingly gave in. “you’d think with our personalities so similar, you’d be the one more distant with physical touch.” she uttered back as a response, leaning in closer to his chest as a sign that she stopped trying.
y/n heard him give a low chuckle. “i’m only like this with you.”
she rolled her eyes at his reply — “you loser.”
she felt his chin slightly move, knowing that he had smiled at the nickname she used for him on a daily basis.
“we’re sleeping in.” he mumbled, words slurring as he got closer to falling asleep again.
a soft — ‘mhm’ — was made from her as she let herself cling onto his chest while he let go of her hands to embrace her. in quick time, the two fell back asleep in being closely cuddled; taking in the warmth they both radiated in the presence of each other.
★・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・★
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astrolynnworld · 3 months
Text
wanting you
pairing: matt sturniolo x reader
summary: matt wants you but knows he can never have you so he just gets off to the thought of you instead.
warnings: smut! obsession, masturbation, lust, need, imagination, cunnilingus, language.
a/n: this whole story is in matt’s pov! the bold lettering is his subconscious head thoughts & the regular lettering is his conscious regular thoughts. enjoy 🫡
word count: 800
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im so in love with her.
anything she does just makes my heart ache with need. the need for her
she’s so precious, everything about her. i love her smile.. her laugh.. her eyes.. her personality, her voice, her smell, her bod-
fuck. no matt.. focus!
she’s such an amazing person, inside and out.. innsideee
i long to know how she feels on the inside. i bet she gets so wet, and i just know her pussy would clench around my dick like a claw mac-
MATT. enough. this is y/n you’re talking about.. your best friend of 7 years, you shouldn’t be thinking about her like this
but fuck does she turn me on inside and out. everything about her is literally perfect
*ding* i hear a notification from my phone
y/n just posted on instagram. i go to check what the photo is
she’s on a rooftop club posted up in a red halter top, black mini skirt, & some sexy laced up black heels.. my favorite pair of hers actually
the caption reads, “just your type.” for damn sure is what i thought
i notice the number 1/5 on the top and decide to swipe to the next one.
this one is her slightly turned to the back, bent down holding her knees while looking at the camera. i can see a bit of her panties
fuck she looks so seductive. i can’t help the tent that starts to grow in my pants
“what do you do to me?” i ask myself
i start palming myself in my pants as i continue through the slideshow, each picture getting a slight bit more seductive than the last.
i like the picture and leave a slick comment such as, “great photos 📸 “
not even a few seconds later she replies “thanks 📸” and likes my comment
she likes everyone’s comment, i don’t know why my like felt so special but it did.
fuck did she have a chokehold on me.. she needs to have a chokehold of something else tho
the palming through my pants allowed my dick to be fully erected at this point
it felt wrong thinking of her in this way but i couldn’t help with when i get horny and she’s the most beautiful girl in my eyes.
everything from her head to her toes is god given beauty.
i remember that one time, at nathan’s pool party, when she came in with her sexy purple two piece bathing suit.
i wish i could of took her back inside, slid those panties off and went to work. i just know she tastes fantastic
i take my dick out of my boxers as i imagine the thought of good her pussy would taste
i start stroking it to the thought her obedience as i take full control
how wet she could get from the thought of me domming her.
“mhm, you’re so good for daddy aren’t you?”
as she slides out of her panties and makes her way to the bed.
i follow behind her, pushing her down on the bed so i can climb on top of her and kiss her pretty pink lips
my dick throbs at the scene in my head
i slide down and kiss her second pair of pretty pink lips; causing her to let out a small whine
“moan for me baby, i wanna hear you” i say before starting to dip and lick my tongue all over her wet pussy
she’s making so many pretty noises but it’s not enough, i have to do more. i want her to feel like she’s never felt before
i stick my fingers inside and curl them. she whimpers at the sudden friction
i push my fingers in and out of her dripping pussy while licking up and down at her clit. i keep this pace going for a while
she starts grinding on my tongue, pulling my head closer to her pussy.
i’m thrusting into my hand faster. i want nothing more than to satisfy her
“fuck matt- pls don’t stop i’m going to cum”
“cum for me baby. please cum. i want nothing more than to taste you baby”
“matt. oh my fuck-“ she says letting her hips buck up uncontrollably
i’m so fucking close right now i can feel the pre cum leaking out of my dick like a fire hose
“mat- fuck i’m- i’m gonna cum” she says before squeezing my head with her thighs as she releases her high
i buck my hips into my hand one last time before im spilling out cum onto my chest.
i can’t remember the last time i came so hard. yet this time, it’s only from a fantasy of eating y/n out
god. i need her so bad
———————————————————————
a/n- and then the audience clapped 😵‍💫 all my matt stories are short :( can you tell i’m a chris girl? im gonna come with longer ones soon
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yok00k · 3 months
Text
telepatía
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pairing: idol!jk x model!oc
genre: fluff!
“a kilómetros estamos conectando”
—synopsis: when you’re getting ready for a party and jungkook, who’s thousands kilometers away from you, wants to video call.
word count: 1,082
warning: ldr, they’re disguisingly so cute, the word “baby” was said for about 1 million times it’s sickening, different timezones, oc dress in front of jk, mention of insomnia, anxiety, stress, mention of an uncomfy situation of oc where other men were being men, protective jk (this jk is not a manipulator, trust), 1st person pov(im so sorry)
author’s note: my second drabble/fluff!!! this was shorter than I wanted it to be but there will be few (idk how many, it depends to the future me) series of idol!jk x model!oc. <the meaning of ‘mahal ko’ means ‘my love’ in filipino>
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Taking a cold shower after having an intense leg day plus cardio at the gym hits so different. I feel like a brand new person after getting out of my bathroom. I then settle down in front of my vanity table and begin doing my skin care + makeup. As I finished a smooth base of foundation, my phone vibrated.
2 messages received from
mahal ko🐰🤍
|| hey baby
|| can we facetime plz? wanna see u
[10:33 pm]
his text was unanticipated at this hour since it’s 5 am in Korea.
me
|| sure bb
[10:34 pm]
mahal ko wants to facetime
drop everything i have with my hands, i swiftly hit the green button, eagerly to see and hear his voice. we’re mostly texting these days because of having different time zones and working schedules to follow. Oftentimes when he’s free and wants to facetime me, I would be either at work or sleeping and vice versa.
“hi pretty!!” he cheerfully greeted me as my phone screen revealed his cute sleepy face. As usual, he’s wearing one of the eight Supreme beanies i got for him when I was in Tokyo. [side story: i was just strolling in the streets of Harajuku when i found this one clothing store that has a lot of stuffs i know jungkook would like and that’s when i bought those comfy beanies along with other nice things]^_^
“helloo, my ggukie can't sleep?” i asked while finding something i can lean my phone on so that i can continue doing my makeup
“응.. i'm trying to sleep but can’t.“ he simply explained as he placed his phone on the side of his bed, moving his naked body to a more comfortable lying position. His arm filled with cool, artistic tattoos is out and on sight, while his other arm were covered with the thick white comforter, so as his entire body.
“What's been going on in your mind?” I know that something is bothering him at times like this. i get that having the job and lifestyle he has, isn’t merely easy. the pressure, the media, the fans, everything. But although he deals with all these things, I never once heard him complain about them because he knows that that’s what he signed up for the day he chose to pursue being an idol.
“Just been stressed lately with rehearsals and I'm still jet lagged, maybe I have insomnia? ‘m not sure but it’s driving me crazy. now i get what u mean when u say ur body is tired and ready to sleep but ur mind isn’t.” he further describes how he feels. The worry and anxiety is written in his facial expression.
“my poor kookie you could’ve call me earlier and i would help you to fall asleep”
“but you were at the gym. i know you like blasting reggaeton music while working out.” he pouty responds. well, in his defense he’s right. I love that he remembers small details about me but nothing can top my love for him.
“i do that but I prefer listening to my boyfriend’s angelic voice while working out so that i’ll have motivation to do more reps.” replied to him right off the bat. realistically i meant what i said. I usually don’t like talking to people when doing workouts but he is an exception.
I received no words but a soft laugh. He must have thought I was kidding. I took a glance at him before I put lipgloss on[his favorite shade].
i can see him covering the blush he has all over his face. i'm very glad to see him having relief.
‘’Where is my pretty girl up to? hmm?” he curiously asks as i put highlights as my last step to finish up the look
“just going to the club for Sakura’s birthday party, i'm running out of social energy almost every day because of work and parties but I can't miss this event” I explained as I headed over to my walk-in closet.
“hmm ‘kay tell her i said happy birthday. what are you gonna wear?”
“well i'm debating on wearing a black leather mini skirt with this asymmetrical black top and for shoes i have this black knee high boots or i just go with this simple black mini backless dress with these red bottoms high heels” i say as i show him all the clothes. he and I almost have the same taste in fashion. if we were to combine all of our clothes, they are pretty much all black. whenever it’s shoes, jackets, tops, pants, etc. this is why buying clothes for one another isn’t difficult for us.
“What did I tell you about mini skirts bb?” oh. i forgot that he allows me to wear mini skirts unless i’m with him since an incident happened when i was in the club and random guys were making me so uncomfortable by giving disguising lust looks and nastily commenting on my skirts. Although he and I know that no matter what a girl wears, guys in the clubs will act like animals regardless. He told me to not wear it because he’s controlling me but rather because he won’t be there to protect me if something happens.
“ok then the second choice it is” i confirmed, putting the first outfit choice back to where they belong.
“how about you wear that mini skirt when we go on a date? how’s that sound?” he suggests.
“ok then ggukie”
“dress in front of me?” he boyishly asks, using his deep alluring voice. He definitely knows what he’s doing. How can I say no to him?
After dressing, I proceeded to put on the Cartier necklace with his initials in it that he gifted to me when he first came to visit my penthouse in Chicago.
“still have my oversized leather jacket with you?” he inquire before he yawned
“yupp, why?” I curiously asked
“bring it with you please. i don’t want you getting cold in there” he softly requested. him and his simple gestures make me fall in love with him deeper.
“i will baby thank you”
“i love you ___, don’t look at other men” jk murmur jokingly. Well, I hope he said that in a humorous way for the reason that I assure him with my sincere words almost every hour.
“ I love you more gguk i’ll update you ok?” he just hums, waving his hands leisurely to say goodbye.
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