#(they were forced to change it on the emails already and fucked it up sO BAD lmaooo)

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 !! ❞

❝ WHEN YOUR HOT COWORKER WANTS TO SUCK YOUR BLOOD, OF COURSE YOU'LL SAY YES !! ❞

✧ pairing: vampire! choso kamo x f!reader

✧ summary: choso kamo is your coworker who seems to hate your guts - even though you're both always stuck working together, but the only reason he does is because he wants nothing more than to eat you up -- blood and all.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, modern au, coworkers to lovers, vampire!choso, vampire bites are an aphrodisiac for both the vampire and the victim, no real dub/con b/c these two are already down bad for the other, mutual pining, scent kink, blood kink, blood sucking from neck / wrist, implied masturbation (m!), oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, implied multiple rounds, swearing, fanart by @ / yume041624

✧ wc: 7,193

It wasn’t as if you weren’t sure your coworker hates you—

 You were sure of it. 

He avoided you like the plague whenever the two of you were working on the same project. He always did his best to reply over email, avoid in person meetings, and he always seemed to get sick whenever the two of you had to greet the client together. But you didn’t know why — you hadn’t done anything to offend him, unless he had mistaken your hello for spitting in his face. And that wasn’t even the worst part. 

The worst part was that he was exactly your type — fucking hot. 

Dark locks tied into a bun with a few strands escaped its binding by the end of the day, his neat nails painted a dark purple that rifled through paperwork, his pretty lips pursed in concentration, and lovely, deep eyes that barely had stolen a glance at you but you could spend a millennia exploring—

In summary, you had it bad. 

And he didn’t seem to know — or worse, he knew and he hated it. Or you. 

But maybe something could change today, you flicked a pen up and down between two fingers as you stole a glance at him across the now empty office, the two of you were stuck working overtime on this project for two days now. But he still had managed to avoid you — but not today when you were stuck in the same conference room sorting through boxes of files that your client insisted must be done today. 

You were getting some sleep at a hotel across the street, taking a quick nap and shower before returning, but Choso looked like he hadn’t slept in days. And you didn’t know why. 

You glanced up at him between sorting through boxes, and you saw him adjust his collar, loosening his tie, fabric gripped tightly under white knuckles. His head was hunched over, his expression hidden behind the box in front of him, but you saw a hint of red in his eyes. You bit your lip, now you were worried. 

Maybe for the wrong reasons. 

“Choso, are you okay?” 

No, no, he wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay after working overtime for two days straight. He wasn’t okay being stuck in this tiny, dimly fluorescent lit conference room reviewing files that would only prove fruitless and a waste of time for all parties, and what made it worse was you—

No, not you, his canines grew, sharp fangs digging into the soft flesh of his bottom lips, 

Blood. 

Your blood. 

The very thing running through your veins and arteries, pumping through every crevice of your body through your heart — crimson stained your insides as it would your skin if pierced or cut — and it was the very thing that Choso wanted more than anything else. 

But no, it couldn’t be anyone else’s — he bit his bottom lip as you stretched, your blouse and hair moving ever so slightly and exposing your neck — it had to be yours. 

He pressed his hand against his face, palm covering the bottom half of his face as he forced himself to avert his gaze from you, all too unaware of his thirst — the very same that pulled his muscles taut and made his mouth water at the thought of you. His face was flushed — that much was for sure, as he felt the heat radiate from his face. 

And he knew one thing for sure — that you were the one who’s blood would taste like the divine personified. But that’s why he had worked so hard to avoid you, to make sure he didn’t spend any time alone with you, lest his logic and sense fail him at once and he ends up with his fangs pressed to the nape of your neck at once. 

No, he had decided he couldn’t do that. There were far too many times he had seen other vampires find partners this way — succumb to the urge — the draw of bloodlust — only for their partner to grow addicted to the pleasure that comes from the bite, and the relationship only fell apart when it was the only thing holding the relationship together. The bite could only do so much, it was an aphrodisiac for both parties, but not a miracle worker — chemistry burns bright and fast, but it could not make love exist if it wasn’t there to begin with. 

And his avoidance of you had made any relationship between the two of you hard to happen — especially when every word you spoke sounded sweet and honeyed from those pretty lips. It didn’t help that he was reserved to begin with, but you made all words fall from his mind with only a glance — so what would a conversation do to him — much less a kiss? 

“Choso, have you reviewed this one yet?” You ask, grabbing a box from his side, “I finished my half so I thought I’d help you finish yours,” 

He shakes his head, “Go ahead. Thank you,” he barely manages through nearly gritted teeth, with barely a glance up — fuck, it didn’t help that you were always so kind, good at your job, and so pretty—

Fuck, the document he held crumpled under his tight grip, he shouldn’t have let it get this bad. Why had he let it get this bad? A few overtime shifts weren’t usually a problem for him — but being stuck with you? It was torture in the highest order — especially since he hadn’t been able to get home to his reserves at home and he had just run dry of the bottles he kept on himself this morning. 

He sees you stretch again, this time your neck, and a heat began to creep on as he watched right over the top of the document he read. 

Oh, he was so fucked. 

You were going to ask him. 

You were going to confront him about why he avoids you. You had made up your mind — you were tired of walking on eggshells without a reason. If you were going to be stuck working with him on future projects, especially with this client, he needed to tell you if this was how it was going to be. 

And yet, you still sat, rereading the same document over and over, as the two of you were almost done wrapping up your work for the night. Choso was placing the last box he finished up away, a sigh stuck in his throat as he got to his feet. 

“I’m going to head home,” he gets to his feet, a sigh on his lips, as he rakes his fingers through his black locks, “do you need help cleaning up?” 

“No, I’m fine,” and he’s grabbing his things, as you bite your lip and stare at the shiny laminate of the conference table in front of you — fuck it, “I did have a question,” as he’s walking by in the doorway of the conference room, as your scramble to your feet, reaching for him, your fingers brushing his shoulder by mistake, and he’s tensing, “sorry, I didn’t mean—“ 

“It’s fine, what’s your question?” His reply is curt but he won’t even turn to face you, his fingers fiddling with the watch on his wrist. You furrow your brow, was it you or was his body shaking? 

“I just wanted to ask you if you had some sort of problem—“ and then his bag clattered against the floor, contents spilling out, as he supported himself against the door frame, slumped against it, as his fingers gripped it. 

You gasped, a quick brush of your fingers to his shoulder again, “Are you ok? Choso?” 

Choso’s head swam — he could barely hear anything — every sound drawn out and garbled, as if he had plunged his head underwater and words were echoing in his ears. He felt his knees buckle under his weight — and he can’t think straight — and for a moment of clarity he realizes why—

Your touch — it was a spark amongst a field of wheat in a dry heat — and it was enough to set his entire body alight. And now—as he barely held himself together, muscles tensed and eyes fluttering — a haze of heat blazing ribbons up his body, and down — right to his cock. 

Fuck. He’s swallowing, his muscles taut, as he tugs at his collar, even the brush of his clothes against his skin enough to drive him to the point of insanity. And it doesn’t help that your scent fills his nose, honeyed and cloying and he squeezes his eyes shut, knowing the scarlet gaze would do nothing but elicit a scream. 

“Please leave,” he says through gritted teeth, he can imagine the concern written across your expression, “go—“ 

“I’m not leaving you like this alone,” fuck, you only draw closer, the brush of your fingers against his shoulder enough to have him nearly keening for your touch — he’d nearly do anything you want for one touch, one drop of your blood, but he can’t — he can’t, “do you need water? What do you need?” And you’re helping him sit down on the floor of the conference room, as he clutches his bag to his front, desperate for something put between the two of you. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what I needed, just go,” he’s pleading, head falling back against the wall — his mind is hazy, he can barely think about anything else but you — the way your soft lips are pursed in worry, the way your hands are so gentle against his skin and would feel so good gliding across his body, the way when he saw the multitudes contained within your eyes, but he only wanted to live in the warmth of your loving gaze, “I don’t want to hurt you,” 

The words come as a confession, a last plea for you to leave, but you seemingly only chuckle, furrowing your brow, “how could you hurt me when you’re more terrified than I am?” 

And oh you were so ignorant that you were inches away from a monster — a rabbit in a lion’s den, while you thought of him as a sheep — and his words weren’t enough to convince you, but maybe something else would. 

His eyes flutter open to find your own, and he finds his own reflection in your irises — a blood red reflected back in your lovely gaze, as your mouth falls open, brow wrinkled, and breath caught. 

“I-I-what?” and he sees your confusion written across your face, your fingers shaking as they brush against his cheek. Your touch sets his senses alight, a soft groan as he leans into your hand, his nose brushes against your wrist, and the thrum of your pulse ringing in his ears. His gaze finds yours — half moonshine with how it’s glazed over, “how?” 

And his lips part, when your thumb drags down his cheek, hypnotized and entranced under a spell he didn’t mean to cast. He turns his head so your fingers catch on his lips, parting almost obediently, flashing fangs that has a flicker of confusion swallowed by horror and then consumed by fascination completely. 

“Choso, what is—“ 

“You should go,” he murmurs again, “you can’t give me what you need,” 

And you’re speechless, as if you wonder if you’re seeing what you are — but the longer you stare, the quicker it seems to sink in. You swallow. 

“So you need my—“ and the sentence is cut off seemingly by the absurdity of the situation, as you mutter to yourself, “this can’t be fucking real,” 

“It doesn’t have to be, you can leave right now,” he pants, sweat slipping down his forehead, and you’re still frowning. 

“What will happen to you if I leave?” And he can’t think straight enough to lie, your fingers find his neck, to check his temperature but all it does is drive it higher. 

“Nothing you need to worry about—“ 

“Well, I am worried,” you cut him off, squirming in place, “if you just take some of my blood, will that—“ 

“It’s not just that,” he’s shaking his head, fangs nearly grazing his bottom lip as he sighs, “do you know what your blood will do to me?” His eyes seem to flash, a chill down your spine, “but more importantly worry what it will do to you,” 

And you stiffen, the spell waxing and waning as fickle as the moon never was, and that the thing about humans — you could never count on them to be consistent as all other things were. A beast can be predicted — their moves largely the same, caution put before hurt, but man gained consciousness and lost all reliability. 

And you were no beast, not like him. 

“What would…it do?” Your words are hesitant, carefully chosen, small jumps across stones rather than a leap across a rushing river. 

And he lets the raging white water brush against your skin when his hand cups your chin, leaning closer and letting his breath warm your skin, “To reduce the pain, my bite is like an aphrodisiac,” his thumb rubs back and forth across your cheek, “you won’t be able to stop yourself, and since your blood would do the same to me — I wouldn’t be able to help myself either,” his nose brushes against your cheek, as he leans in to whisper in your ear, “you should go.” 

But you don’t, silence settles over the two of you, until you choose to break it,  “I’m not going anywhere without you.” 

That’s what you had said — but how did that land you here? 

You both walked to your hotel room in silence, his flushed face hidden behind a mask, dead on his feet as he trailed behind you to the room. It was lucky you had a room right across the street from your workplace. You didn’t know what you would have done if you had to stay in the office — the blood would have been hell to scrub off the wood. 

And now here you sat after your shower, hair still damp as you toyed with the edge of your fluffy bathrobe, as you chewed on your lip. What had you gotten yourself into? You listened to his shower run, a sigh on your lips — it was fine. It would be fine. You just stick to the plan. You’d let him drink your blood, and he would lock himself in the bathroom — and you both would ride out your…symptoms alone. 

Fuck, you bury your face in your hands, what the hell are you doing? And that’s when the water stops — the quiet rustle and shuffling of himself in the bathroom makes your heart leap into your throat, as you sit looking down at the floor. 

“Are you okay?” his voice makes you jump even as you expect it, as your head snaps back to look at him. His black hair still wet from his shoulder, long locks clinging to his hair, droplets ran down his bare abs, your eyes following one down right to his happy trail only hidden away by his boxers— 

Fuck. 

He only continues to towel himself off, before grabbing his undershirt to pull it over his torso, as you choose to avert your eyes then — as if him getting dressed was any more scandalous than his shirtless state, “I am, I’m just a little—“ 

“You don’t have to,” and your eyes slide back to him, his face was still significantly ragged, dark bags and fatigue  clung to body worse than the water did — looking more like a corpse than a bloodsucker, “it’s not too late for you to leave—“ 

“No I decided I was going to help, so I’m going to,” you say, and his brow forms the same peaks and valleys he had all day — and you were sure his skin would remember the carvings at this rate, “what?”

“Why do you want to help me?” he mumbles, arms crossed, a distinct flush in his cheeks settling that surely wasn’t just from his shower, “I don’t get it, we barely have spoken—“ 

“We have spoken, our first week,” and his eyes snap to yours, “you may not remember, but you helped me,” and your cheeks burned, squirming in place as you couldn’t quite meet his gaze, “I had messed up on a project, I made a huge mistake on a document, one that could have costed the company a lot of money, and my job,” you murmur, “but you also took responsibility, even though it wasn’t your fault,” 

“I didn’t catch the mistake either, so it was my fault too—“ and you shake your head. 

“It was mostly mine still,” you offer a small smile, “and so if I can help you like this, I want to,” you shift, swallowing as an awkward silence falls over you both that you break, “why did you want to shower first anyway? You were ready to pass out earlier,” 

“I still am,” he admits, and you notice the subtle shake of his hands, “but I figured the shower would make us both feel a little more comfortable, and it helped to…calm me down,” he cleared his throat, and it slowly dawned on you, cheeks burning, “again, are you sure—“

“I’m going to close you off in the bathroom, and we should be able to ride it out — you said you don’t lose control of yourself or become violent,” and he shakes his head, “then it should be fine,” you have him draw closer, his soft steps against the plush carpet fell silent as he sat beside you on the bed. The creak of the bed as he sat on the other side a little awkwardly, “you should be closer,” and he’s nodding, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. 

“I know, I’m just trying to…prepare,” he gives a shaky sigh, “your scent is—“ he scrubs a hand down his face, “it’s hard for me to be around, especially when we’re so close,” 

“My scent?” And his hand covers the bottom half of his face, turned away, as he murmurs. 

“Your scent is particularly strong — it’s…enticing enough for me to be distracted all day if I don't keep my distance,” and the pieces sink into place. 

“You avoided me at work because of that?” And he nods, as you bite your lip, a small chuckle on your lips, “I thought you hated me,” 

And his head snaps to you, blinking, “I don’t hate you far from it—“ he cuts himself off, his fingers grip the edge of the bed, “I’ve seen you in the office — you’re always so considerate, kind, and you always try to help, even people who don’t deserve it—“ he cuts off, “I don’t want to take advantage of your—“ 

You move closer, his breath hitching as you shrug your robe off your shoulders, leaving only your bra covering your chest, “You do deserve it,” Fuck, he was so close — you could feel the need come off of him in waves, the soft pants of his breath as his eyes fluttered. And you offer your neck to him, brushing your hair away — a silent offer. 

You see him bite his lip out of your periphery, but he’s leaning down, warm breath fans across your skin, as he ran a finger down your neck, “Fuck,” he murmurs, his voice a raspy whisper, “you smell so good,” and you nearly shiver as his lips brush your skin — soft lips against your skin, the barest brush, as if he’s trying to acclimate you to his touch. But it only stoked a fire — the same flame burning even before today, the one that wanted more than a bite at the apple — you wanted him down to his core. 

His lips press another kiss to your neck, lingering longer, as he noses the skin there, and you’re biting your lip, the want bubbling into boiling need, “Please—“ you gasp as his fangs graze your neck now, the sharp points lightly dragging across the muscle, right before his fangs sink into your neck. 

Your lips part, head nearly lolling back into his warm palm cupping the nape of your neck. Any pain only registers for a split second before disappearing under whitehot pleasure. Your blood turns to heady wine straight from his bite, his muffled moan vibrates against you, sending a wave of heat right between your thighs. Your head spins, all logic melts with as the wildfire only consumes — leaving only want behind. 

Coherent thoughts don’t form — instead fractured thoughts spiral into a chant. You want more. You want more of his touch, his body, his words. You want him. 

You want him. 

And when he’s pulling his fangs from your neck, the sound of his teeth pulled from your skin only rings in your ears for a moment, before blood roaring in your ears replaces it. Burning — it felt as if every part of your body was aching, a deep throbbing with no end in sight. You glance at Choso — and only one cure. 

Fuck, his skin looks so lovely when flushed a pretty pink — nearly a scarlet that lit a trail up his neck and across his cheekbones all the way to his ears. The heavy pants that left his lips did little to assuage the desire for him — his defined chest rising and falling with each breath he took, his long jet black locks hanging like a curtain around his gaze. 

Your fingers are reaching for him, “Cho—“ and he’s shaking his head, as his muscles tense, as he leans away from you. 

“Give me a moment,” so you do — you pull back, and he’s rising to his feet, shaky still, but seemingly for a different reason as he turns and flashes the rising tent in his boxers. 

And you press your thighs together, wondering just how big he was — eyes fixed on the growing damp spot on his boxers — how he would shiver when you squee3/ him at the base in your hand, what sounds he would make when you’d flick your tongue against his weeping tip, and how he would moan your name when he sunk into you— 

You were so fucked — if your drenched panties were anything to judge by. 

“Choso, please—“ and he already knows what you’re asking for between the lines of your plea, and his eyes find yours, his dark gaze catches yours, ensnared in the blackhole that only pulls you under and apart, pinned underneath him. 

“It’s just the bite, we can’t,” he’s covering his lips, as he takes steps away from you, towards the bathroom, “we just have to wait until it passes. It won’t take too long—” 

“What if it’s not just your bite? Not for me,” you murmur, and the words are being spilled from your lips like honeyed truth with no bitter aftertaste, “it hasn’t been for me,” his brow is furrowing as if he can’t imagine a single person liking him, “I’ve spent the last year working with you and all i know is I wanted nothing more than to be the one you smile at — the same soft way you do when you your little brother visits you at work,” 

And he’s swallowing, a deeper blush on his cheeks, “you noticed?” 

“I also noticed how you always bring the person you work with their favorite coffee order, the way you try to make others feel valued when the company doesn’t even do it, and how you always do your best — even when it comes at your own expense,” it’s so easy to say these things, but it only makes you long for him more, “let me do more — let me take care of you—“ 

And he’s covering his mouth with his forearm, “do you know what you’re saying?” you slowly get up from the bed, taking careful steps towards him, “our heads are clouded, we aren’t—“ and he swears under his breath but he doesn’t resist your approach, the bathroom door right behind him, “I don’t want to hurt you—“ 

“Do you feel the same for me?” and his gaze softens as he meets yours, “because I get the feeling you do — at least you like my scent,” a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, “hopefully not just my scent?” 

And you didn’t know it was possible for a vampire to be this pink in the face, but Choso was — and you weren’t sure if it was your words or your closeness, “It’s not just your scent,” he’s mumbling against his arm until he’s pulling it away, to reveal his lips colored a faint scarlet from your blood, “I have feelings for you — I have for a while,” 

God, he was fun to tease, “What’s a while?” you’re murmuring, his lips part, flashing his fangs while he does. His eyes avert from your face, only to land on your neck, grazing over the bite mark he left, and you decide to spare him, “but if it’s been a while for you and for me, then—” he’s shivering again, a sigh caught in his throat, muscles tensed as if he was a tiger ready to pounce. 

“It’ll be hard to stop once we start — we should think—“ your fingertips brush his cheek, his eyes falling shut at your touch, the want inside you only grew, as you felt him lean into you. 

“Who said we’re going to stop?” and he breaks, his hand is sliding around your waist, tugging you closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his words nearly muttered against it. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I am—” and that’s all he needed. 

In a flash you’re pinned on the bed, blinking as you glance at the spinning ceiling fan for a moment before he’s leaning over you. 

His eyes are tinted with red and laced with desperation, fangs flashing as his fingers cup your chin and he leans down, “I’ll show you how much I like you, pretty girl.” 

“Oh, Cho-so,” your arms are wrapped around his torso, pulling him impossibly closer, his hot tongue dragging up the side of your neck, licking at the rivers of blood dripping down, “fuck, please—“ 

“Can’t waste a single drop, not when you taste so good,” he’s murmuring, nearly hypnotized by your taste — his sticky saliva and your blood mixed together, “fuck, I could kiss every inch of you and it wouldn’t be enough,” 

“Please, I need more,” and he’s chuckling, nibbling at the base of your neck, a whine parting your lips that made him nearly bust a nut then and there, “please—“ 

And his lips find yours in a searing kiss, fangs lightly biting your bottom lip, swallowing your gasps with a smirk, and how is it possible your lips are even sweeter? It was as if you were made of molasses, and he was more than happy to indulge. He parts your lips, dragging a thumb down your kiss bitten lips, your saliva clinging to his skin. 

“You know how long I wanted this? Had to touch myself in the shower to stop myself from pinning you the moment we entered the room,” he murmurs, recalling how his fingers had reached for his cock, already nearly covered in pre, his thumb running across his slit was nearly enough to make him burst. But it paled in comparison to the sight of you, disheveled under him, eyes glazed over with pleasure, chest rising and falling fast, and your lips nearly begging him to kiss you again and again, “and now I want to take my time, love,” but he doesn’t, instead he bends down again, to nip and suck marks all over your skin, savoring the drops of blood he steals from each one — a constellation dotting your neck and collarbone to remind anyone that you were his. And his fingers find yours, just as he was yours. 

And you whimper, as he kisses his way down your arm, sweet pecks dotting down, until he reaches your wrist. He noses it, feeling the rush of your pulse underneath your skin, the sweet scent of your blood clouded his mind, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin, as he flashes a gaze upward for your silent permission. You nod. 

Your nod was all he needed, before his fangs sinks into your wrist. It was potent — you were potent rather — he had grown used to his normal supply of blood, blood that he had acquired through the proper channels, and though it quenched his thirst, it never satisfied it. 

You were more than satisfaction itself — you were ecstasy incarnate, and he was utterly addicted from the moment he had his lips pressed against your lovely skin. Scarlet dripped from the bite and the corners of his mouth — the blood flooded his mouth, an unending pool of need that only grew with each second. 

And as he pulled away, blood dripping from his lips, he watched your eyes flutter open, legs spread for him, as he licked his lips clean. 

“Such a waste to let even a single drop go,” he drags his tongue up the rivulets of blood that ran down your wrist, and a whimper escapes your lips, and his lips curl, “what do you want, love? Tell me,” 

And you’re biting your lip, averting your gaze, but he’s guiding it back to his, “Choso, please, I need you to touch me,” you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, cheeks burning, “please—“ 

He pulls your hand away, and kisses your lips again in a bruising kiss, before he’s pressing sweet kisses down your body, easing the straps of your bra down. He kisses the swell of your breasts, one after the other, making you squirm in place.

“Pretty girl,” he’s murmuring, his lips kissing each one of your erect nipples, caught in a thick haze of lust, “so good for me,” and he’s lighting a trail of kisses down your body, and he’s resisting the urge to mark up every inch of you — no, there would be time for that later, his eyes flicking up to meet your half lidded gaze, “gonna be good for me?” His skillful fingers slide under the elastic of your panties, snapping the fabric against you, making you gasp, “either way, I might just eat you up,” 

A shaky chuckle escapes your lips, “Promise?” And he chuckles, as he’s spreading your lips, leaning down to press a hot kiss to your inner thigh. 

“Be careful what you wish for,” his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, before running over the mark with his tongue, before his fingers are running over your drenched panties, and it takes everything in him not to sink his fangs into your plush thigh, but no — he’s carefully tugging down your underwear down your legs — he had to stay focused. 

His breath catches at the sight of your dripping cunt and swollen clit, glistening with your juices that told him just how much you wanted this — and it was enough to nearly have him cumming in his boxers. And then the sweet scent of your precum becomes too much for him—

And he can’t wait. 

His tongue flicks against your clit, making a squeal escape your lips, fingers finding purchase in the long strands. It’s too good — judging by the way your hips nearly rut into his lips, while your own moans his name. But it was even better for him, as he groans against your pussy, licking the pre sticking to his lips. 

“How do you taste so good? Sweetest thing I’ve tasted, as good as every part of you,” 

You gasp when his fingers spread your folds, “Cho—“ and he’s circling a tip of one of his lithe fingers around your entrance teasingly. 

He hums lightly, “Can’t decide whether I want to use my fingers or my mouth, love,” he murmurs in contemplation, whilst his tongue teases your needy clit, “what do you think, baby?” 

“I need you—anything—“ and he’s licking a stripe up your sweet pussy, before he’s sinking a finger into your fluttering walls, “Choso—fuck—“ and the wet squelch of your cunt and the feel of your fluttering walls around his digit makes his dick twitch in his boxers, “s’good,” 

And you’re melting into his touch, your juices soaking his fingers and wrist as he fucks you with his finger, knuckle deep in your warm walls, rubbing at your clit with his thumb. 

And you’re so sensitive, every move of his finger has your walls squeezing him tight, his other hand sneaking into his boxers to palm at his erection, “Cho, I need more—“ and he’s adding a second finger to the first, fucking you deep until he finds that spot — and that’s enough for you to fall apart. 

You cum, back arching as you do, stars bursting behind closed eyes, as you moan his name. He’s fucking you through your orgasm, walls fluttering around his fingers, thighs tensing around his hand. You come down from your high, chest nearly heaving from your pants, as he eases his fingers from your pussy. A soft sigh leaving your throat as your cunt flutters around nothing. 

Your eyes flutter open to see Choso licking his fingers clean — still sticky with your release — fangs flashing with the part of his lips, and you shiver at the sight. He’s leaning back down, pressing kisses to your thighs, before his tongue drags up your leaking pussy, making you gasp. 

“Please, Choso—fuck—“ and he’s smirking, glancing up with lips glossy with your release, placing a chaste kiss to your puffy clit, your eyes falling to his hand palming his boxers, “let me touch you—“ 

“Not yet, baby,” his tongue circles your slit, circles growing faster before sinking into your insides, nose bumping against your swollen clit, as he laps at your messy slit, “not until I’ve swallows every drop of you,” his fangs pinch at your clit. 

It’s already too much for you — your second orgasm sneaks up on you — a coil wound tight as he slurps and sucks at your cunt, all too eager to taste every last drop. And oh, he does — until he uses his thumb to rub at your clit, and it’s too much—

You squirt all over his face, soaking his face and fingers with your release, his lips more than eager to lap up every drop of it. Even as he pulls away, your cum is dripping down his chin, his dark eyes lidded as he looks up at you. 

And he can’t wait anymore—he needs to sink his dick into you. He’s licking his chin clean, pussydrunk on your cum, as he smashes lips to yours. Your moan is stifled as you taste yourself on his lips, tongue sneaking into your mouth as you part them for him. You hear the shift of the sheets as he tugs his boxers down, pulling his lips away only to finish kicking them off. 

But that’s not what you were looking at. 

Fuck, he was huge — his engorged tip was a deep red, large pearly beads of precum dripping down, while the rest of him was flushed a lovely pink. The veins that went along his length made gou tempted to trace them, mapping out his cock until you remembered every inch. You were hypnotized as your fingers reached for him, thumb flicking against his slit, before grasping at his base. 

He gasps, head lolling back, as you spread the pre along his length, beginning to pump him, “Fuck, so good for me, baby,” he’s covering his lips, cheeks flushed to match his cock, “please, I won’t last—“ and he nearly blows his load when your mouth sucks at the tip, before sliding his dick past your lips. your tongue tracing along the veins.

And a whine leaves his throat, as you start to bob along his length, spit and precum dripping down the corners of your mouth as you messily sucked at him. His hips jerk, as his fingers thread into your hair, tip brushing against his throat, it’s almost too much. 

He’s easing you off his cock with a tug of your hair, your lips parting with a pop, strings of saliva and precum connecting your mouth to his dick. And god, he wants nothing more then to pump his cock and let him spill all over your face. 

But no, no, he rather spill inside you. 

In an instant he’s gotten you onto your back,  the head of his cock brushing against your dripping cunt. He’s dragging the head of his dick against your dripping folds teasingly, making you squirm. 

“Please,” you’re whining, drawing a soft chuckle from him, as he’s lining himself up, groaning in unison as his tip bumps against your slit, “fuck, Choso, I need you—“ 

And he obliges, sinking into you inch by inch, a grunt from his mouth, “Already trying to swallow me whole, love? No need for that — I’m already giving it to you,” the delicious stretch of your warm walls pull him in deeper, stretching as he works himself inside your cunt, “so tight, baby,” and he’s finally bottoming out — cock twitching against your sweet cunt. 

He’s reaching places you didn’t think were possible, his 

You were far too tempting, “Please, Cho, please move—“ your words cut off with a gasp as his lips against your neck again, fangs piercing your skin as he bites you, right as he starts to slowly fuck into you. 

White hot pleasure rips up your spine — the bite and the way his cock fucks you enough for you to already cum around him, your mouth parted in moans, as your walls clamp down on him. He’s sucking greedily at your blood, and he wasn’t sure what was better, the way your sweet blood tasted against his tongue, or the way your release squelched around his dick, as he fucked it. And he barely registers that his cock is growing larger against your spasming pussy, but you sure do, as you moan his name. 

“S’big, Choso, too big,” you’re whining, as his hand presses against your lower half only to feel a slight bulge, and he only makes him want to thrust harder, too far gone to think — only one thought circling the drain of his pin sized perspective — that he wanted to fill you up, 

“Cho-so, please—“ and he doesn’t know what you’re asking him, to slow down or to go faster, as he pulls his fangs from you. And he could cum just looking at you — your forehead slick with sweat, while scarlet rivulets of your blood ran down the side of your neck, eyes blown out in such lust — and everything about your body begging him to fuck you more.  

“S’pretty for me, baby,” as he fucks you through your orgasm, another building in its place, as he watches his cock piston in and out of your fluttering cunt. And it feels too fucking good. And he’s leaning back down to lick up the blood staining your neck, as he gives a particular hard thrust that has you seeing stars, and he knows you’re close—and he knows he won’t last much longer — not with the way your vice grip cunt is squeezing around him. 

But you’re confirming it with your moans, filling his ears along with the lewd noises of skin slapping together, “I’m close—I’m—“ and he’s grunting in agreement, as his lips find yours in a bruising kiss, only to pull a breath away to ask: 

“Where?” And the flutter of your walls that pulls him impossibly deeper tells him the answer, but you reply with words as well.  

“Inside, please, need to feel you fill me—“ you cum then and there, words cut off with a moan of his name, and he’s fucking you through your orgasm. His thrusts stutter as he grows close, before groaning and pressing another kiss to your lips, biting your bottom lip to draw blood, as he spills inside you, painting your insides with his hot release, fucking it inside you as his hips slow. 

He’s pulling away from your lips, pulling himself from inside you, a soft gasp leaving your lips, as he moans himself when he watches his seed mixed with your cum slip from your pussy. 

He’s caressing you, pressing sweet kisses to your face and neck, your quiet pants filling his ears like a metronome. 

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, and your eyes flutter open, lips curling slightly as you nod, a sigh on your lips. 

“I’m more than okay,” you press your lips to his again, a sweet kiss that grows more insistent as your tongue drags against the seam of his lips, before you hear a wet squelch, and your eyes open darting down to only find him stroking his cock, “Choso, are you—“ 

“Mm, the effect of your blood hasn’t quite subsided for me,” he murmurs, “but I think I can take care of it with—“ and he’s flipped onto his back, eyes blinking up as you, sitting on top of him. 

And he sees the blatant want in your gaze, as you begin to lower yourself onto his dick, a smile pulling at your lips, as your lust pulled him under and his cock inside you. 

“I told you I’d take care of you, Choso,” and you offer your neck to him again, dragging your wrist across his face, “so let me.” 

“You’ll be working with Choso again on this project,” you have to bite back your smile, when you nod, “the two of you did a good job on the last one. Thank you for the overtime you put in. It did not go unnoticed,” 

“No problem, sir, anything for the job,” and your supervisor smiles, as you turn to leave, “I’m sure Choso would say the same,” 

“The two of you make a good team. I may pair you two together more often. Is that okay? I’ll have to run it by Choso, of course,” and you nod, hand already on the door knob. 

“I’m sure he would be more than okay with that, sir.” 

“Ah, baby, please just one bite?” Choso’s got you pressed up against the conference room door, “spending all day at work with you makes me so needy,” he mumbles against your skin, as he’s already unbuttoning your button up, the shirt already creased with he’s tugging it free from your slacks, “please,” 

“Cho, you had one this morning, it’s barely lunchtime, and you’re this desperate—” and he’s grinding his tenting erection against your clothed cunt, and your hand barely is able to make it in time to stifle your moan with your fingers, “fuck, fine, one bite, but don’t make a mess, this is a white blouse, babe—” 

He’s already tugging down your shirt, wrapping his arms around his middle, as his red tinted gaze meets yours in the shaded drawn window of the conference door. And now you were sure — your coworker loved you, even when you thought he didn’t.  

“Don’t worry, love, I won’t spill a drop.” 

✧ a/n: this fic was weirdly hard to write. i was very stuck for a while. i couldn't figure out how to write it even though the idea struck me. but i hope you all enjoy <3 thank you for @laneysmusings and @gaylatteart for betaing and being the best moral support <3

✧ taglist: @yourwaifuhatesyou, @cira273, @kakashineedstotouchgrass, @whereismysane, @kaedeolgy, @keirangoldenwatch, @indieotterxoxo, @mua-for-now, @b3llair3, @evieslook, @shervinss, @saltymeow77, @svt-backup, @dazailover1900, @kentocalls, @yamaguccitadashi, @simply-a-s1mp, @rita-ritarita, @gorepain, @jupisloveletterz, @ice-echo26, @lemonpoppy-seed, @turtletaubwrites, @complexivelovely, @tiramatsumu, @strangehuman101, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @adrenova, @chosoitos, @stonecoldsensitive, @flyingtranscatofeffed, @sunamatic, @maetziniscool, @muichirosbestie, @monstrousbuu, @spider-fan72, @nakariabnrb, @petalshxwer, @talkativetranscendant, @fairyxgothic, @jupisloveletterz, @crystalkat6747, @unorthodoxfaithxx, @hotcocokiss, @angstigone, @sunnykento, @dantaku

#sab [mlist] #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut #choso kamo fanfiction #choso smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso x reader #choso x you #choso kamo x you #choso kamo fluff #vampire choso #jjk x you #jjk choxo x reader #kamo choso x reader #kamo choso smut

[agayconcept]

ohohohohooo so New Gender Juice Doctor Who Is Awesome's office called and said they spoke to the Bad Evil Bigoted Doctor's office and they may have worked out a deal !?! (like i had said where the endo does all the work w hrt etc and the shitty drs office just hands it out to me n does basic upkeep)

(bc apparently my crappy drs office in fact Does know and have the math, resources and time slots available for this. they simply lied to me and said they didn't. quelle fuckin surprise...🙄)

i am to wait upon an email confirming if they can do this...

and if so they will fit me in as soon as they have an opening with an NP which like. bc i happen to know half their schedules??? will be like. next week. maybe even early in the week? (ohoooooh they're gonna hATE IT if that happens lolllll)

oh how the fUCKIN TURNTABLES....

🏳️‍⚧️🏆🏳️‍⚧️

#im Laughing thinking abt the possibility of them sulking and having to give me this while bein Real Mad abt it #idk we'll see what happens. based on the shitshow leading up to now #im guessing? nah #but according to the new doctor's np who spoke w me? theyre not gonna let that shit go #can i get a wahoo #nobut rly if they do manage to fucking do this i will be so sohappy #like ok otsHorrible that i would even ever have to go into that office again and deal w their medical team again #bc every time is a How Many Times Can We Insult / Misgender / Deadname You contest #but also like. i will go thru that for 2 months w the promise of never having to deal w it again. #(and also bc im a petty bish - to watch the transphobic trash working there be forced to smile #& hand me gender juice w the name they refuse to call me written in block letters on the bag) #(they were forced to change it on the emails already and fucked it up sO BAD lmaooo) #(1 says 'To: ROAN ONLY USE THIS NAME' and the other says 'To: ROAN deadname ONLY USE ROAN' lmfao. oh my god. fuck.) #(am i in a fucking comedy sketch) #(a rly shitty one ?) #aiyaiyai im a ball of nerves #no ro u can keep refreshing ur email all u want it will not make them confirm or deny it any faster #....*refreshes email again*

[vivwritesfics]

Fire Is The Devil's Only Friend

Chapter One

There was no such thing as making it on your own with a high profile boyfriend. That was why she kept her relationship a secret. But then after a PR fuck up, her boyfriend is forced into PR relationship and she's left on the side lines, missing him

Warnings: smut, marking up, breeding kink carlos

1.3K

Thank to so freaking much to @darleneslane for the idea for this one! Im so obsessed

Series Masterlist

What is it with interviewers and always asking personal questions? The interview was supposed to be about her new book, and all she was being asked about was potential boyfriends.

She laughed and brushed on the question several times. She couldn't refuse to answer the question; that would just send more curiosity her way. And if she said she was single? Her inbox would be full of flirtatious messages.

Yes, she already had a boyfriend. They'd been together before she had made it big, when she was desperately trying to get somebody to read at least a single page of her writings.

She didn't know who he was when they first met. He was twenty five, gorgeous and oh so charming. It was so easy to fall for him. She fell in love with everything about him, and he with her. Nobody had ever asked her about herself and her writing at the level he did.

On every date he insisted on paying. She wasn't entirely comfortable about it, but she was a struggling author and she had very little money.

She realised who he was when he invited her to a Grand Prix. Initially she had declined. If he had enough money to take the both of them to a Grand Prix, she'd never be able to repay him.

Carlos asked again. It was late, they'd spent the day together and he'd made her dinner. They sat together on the couch, her body against his and his arms around her. "Come with me to a Grand Prix," he asked again and kissed the top of her head.

"Carlos, I can't," she said and turned towards him, her head on his chest.

Carlos kissed the top of her head. "Please," he tried again. "I could really use your support out there."

Suddenly she was sitting up. "You're a driver?" She asked, brows furrowed.

"Mi querida, you didn't know?"

She shook her head. "I thought you were just a really big Ferrari fan or something," she admitted.

Carlos couldn't stop the laugh that left his lips. He opened his arms wide once again and she fell against him. "So, are you coming to the Grand Prix with me?" He asked and she nodded her head.

But it wasn't as simple as that. She realised that the day after she agreed to go. She realised that the moment she got that all important email from a publishing house. The email that would change the trajectory of her life.

As upset that Carlos was that she changed her mind on the Grand Prix with him, he understood. As much as he wanted there, he accepted that she'd be supporting him from her apartment.

Nobody knew about her relationship with the Spanish Formula One driver. Her friends were constantly trying to set her up, but none of the men they introduced her to could hold a candle to Carlos. Not that she went on a date with any of these men. Not when she had Carlos.

The day her book was published, a year after she got that first email, she received an invite to the Ferrari garage. She looked at Carlos across the room and he just smirked.

He strode across the room and stood behind the couch, where she sat with notebooks spread around her. "Please, mi corazón," he said, his hand resting on her shoulders as he leaned over her.

She tipped her head back to look up at him. "Okay," she whispered and Carlos leaned down to kiss her.

But then he jumped over the sofa and pulled her to her feet. He pulled her into his arms and spun her around. "You have no idea how happy that makes me," he said and kissed her again.

She set rules. With her book coming out she didn't want to be seen with him, holding his hand or kissing him. She wanted sales off of her own merit, not because Carlos's fans wanted to support her, as sweet as it was.

"One day," he said, his forehead pressed against hers.

"One day," she agreed and kissed him.

She wanted to be there for the entire weekend, but she had meetings with her publisher and her own public relations team. The release of her book was the Wednesday after the Grand Prix and the publishers media team was working hard to push it.

The Grand Prix was a weekend to relax for her. At least, when it came to publishing her book. For the entire Grand Prix she'd have her nails between her teeth, anxiously chewing them.

She was in the Ferrari garage for the race. Nobody quite knew who she was. When the cameras zoomed in on her, the title card beneath her name just said 'indie author', which wasn't strictly true.

It was her first Grand Prix. Carlos was so close to a podium, just missing out. Still, she'd kiss him and celebrate later as though he'd won a world championship.

Carlos watched as Max held Kelly close, as Sergio held his wife and Charles held Alexandra. He wanted that, more than anything he wanted to hold his girl.

Soon, he'd be holding her soon.

That night, hidden away in their hotel room, Carlos wrapped his strong arms around her. His hips moved against her as she moaned and writhed beneath him. He kissed her neck, bit and nibbled, sucking at the skin there.

The bed squeaked as he moved, thrusting into her. "I'm gonna put my baby in you," he grunted, eyes shut as she clenched around him. Her legs shook as she came around him and Carlos let out breathy grunts.

He came, his thrusts sloppy as his seed painted her walls. His forehead was against hers as he pulled out and laid down beside her, wrapping his arms around her.

"I love you," she whispered and kissed his nose.

Carlos pulled her into his warm body. "I love you," he whispered back. They fell asleep like that, a tangle of limbs, wrapped in each others loving embrace. For the first time in a year, Carlos was happy to be falling asleep beside the girl he loved after a race.

As they fell asleep, in the early hours of the morning, something very different was happening with the staff of the Ferrari F1 team. Well, for one particular member of the Ferrari F1 team, things were very different.

Maybe the employee was disgruntled, unhappy with their job. They had information that nobody else had, which is why they released it to the world. That was the one piece of power they had as a social media admin.

The post was only online for seconds before another admin took it down. But that was long enough for fifty thousand people to have screenshots. All of the dirty secrets Ferrari had been hiding from the fans. Details of sordid affairs and more. Scuderia Ferrari had been laid bare for the world to see.

The PR team worked through the night. They had to do something, something that would distract the world. "Who is the girl that's been coming to the garage?" Asked a member of the team.

"Who, the author?"

The team member shook her head. "The model. Rebecca something."

"Rebecca Donaldson?"

The team member pointed her pen towards her colleague. "Bingo. We set her up with Carlos and it should take the heat off of us for a while."

It was decided. Carlos Sainz, who the world thought was single, was going to be set up with Rebecca Donaldson to distract the world from the Ferrari blunder.

The ring buried away in his bag would certainly have something to say about it.

Permanent Taglist: @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye @minkyungseokie @formulaal @hiireadstuff @urfavnoirette @goldenharrysworld @andydrysdalerogers @hrts4scarr @llando4norris @evlkking @lilymurphy03

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz x reader smut #f1 #formula one #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #cs55 #cs55 imagine #cs55 x reader

[harmonictechnicality]

model!steve and voice actor!Eddie (part 2)

part 1 here | ao3 link here | the temp is up on this one so like... dni if under 18 pls

Steve spends a lot of his spare time at the gym. Comes with the territory of modeling or whatever. Gotta keep himself strong, without developing bulging muscles. Gotta keep himself toned, without becoming too lean. Somewhat of a balancing act to this media fuckery circus.

Times are changing, yeah maybe. But not for puffy-lipped preps with killer bone structure. Steve still falls under the category of stereotypical Pretty Boy, and he’s chill with that. Fucking owns it.

Most days…

He’s currently cooling down on the treadmill - brisk walk, almost a jog. It’s a good pace for multitasking some adult shit that he needs to get done. Staying hydrated, keeping his photoshoot calendar up-to-date, answering a few emails. Yada yada.

Steve takes a swig of his seaweed (more like arsenic) smoothie. Opens the top email that reads:

The Fallen King - Final Commercial Cut

Right. Steve almost forgot about this particular shoot. Well, tried to repress the thoughts of that mega-douche director who kept referring to Steve’s ass as ‘prime real estate.’ Fucking creep.

He scrolls down to the attached file and slides his headphones back over his ears.

The ad opens with a wide shot of Steve draped over the throne, fog swelling around the bottom of the screen. The music is an eerie cello solo, set to a heavy bassline. 

Just another oversexualized cologne campaign, he thinks. Probably will barely feature the product because they paid big money for Steve’s body. Gotta get their fill of it (ha, they fucking wish Steve would fill them up).

But then the narration rolls into his ears and the room does a somersault. Practically inverts it’s axis at the sound dripping in Steve’s ears:

‘The mighty will fall from grace…’

“Oh shit.” Steve almost wipes out on the treadmill, has to catch his fall on the side bars. His knees are tingling, calves molten and shaky. Already half hard, which is definitely going to be a problem in these flimsy, mesh gym shorts.

‘Forbidden love and public slander…’

But that voice. That tone. That sinful register set in the minor key of Holy Fuck.

‘Will bring them to their knees.’

Alright, that fucking does it. Steve pauses the video before he’s fully tenting-out in a goddamn fitness center. Packs up his shit, chucks the sludge smoothie in the trash, and finds an empty stall. Emphatically locks it.

“Agh, damnit!” Steve's thumb slips over the screen and exits out of the video. It scrolls back to the top of the email - a new message has been added to the chain.

Seriously, what obnoxious fucker does ‘Reply All’ these days?

The new message reads:

Great work, team. (Sorry for being such a vocal slut.)

(… Not that sorry though.) - Eddie Munson

That’s right - the voice artist. Almost didn’t recognize the voice, but the repressed memory of that day comes flying to the surface when Steve sees the name. 

He recalls the guy being objectively cute too. Not in the California ‘sun-kissed skin’ kind of way. More in the Seattle ‘rain forces me to be a pale homebody’ kind of way. His eyes were something else though. They reminded Steve of the sepia tone filters he used in his early modeling portfolio. No way in hell Steve could ever forget knockout eyes like that.

The locker room is empty. Steve reopens the video, raises the volume high enough to mute out the thin hum from the air conditioning unit. Only wants to hear Eddie’s voice. That’s it. 

He’s already touching himself when the first phrase falls out of the headphones. Can’t even help it now that he’s alone. It’s all too good. Works himself up all stuffy and sensitive by the time the new part comes up:

‘Drenched in their guilt. Soaked in their shame.’

Fucking christ.

‘Choking on worthless confessions…’

Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. Choking? Worthless? What is this, a sado hotline? Steve feels the heat spreading on his neck, flushed over in a non-exercise way. There’s a thump in his dick, has to squeeze his fingers around it. Like his body needs a reminder to calm the fuck down.

‘Until all that is left of them is desolate darkness.’

Pretty sure the raspy exhale after every phrase is going to do Steve in, saturate his last ounce of dignity with want. Eddie’s breathing is taking Steve’s breath away, and that’s an outright mindfuck. Earfuck. 

Something is getting fucked, and somehow, Steve still needs more.

While the song sustains, Steve strokes himself to the percussive rhythm. 

‘The Fallen King. The scent of secrets.’

The hiss on the last syllable fades into the music till everything fizzles out, going dead silent.

Well, everything goes silent except for Steve, who is utterly rattled. Can hear his dense breath and it’s way too noisy for a public space. The pulse in his neck is irregular, hitched the fuck up. His smartwatch is buzzing, alerting him that his heart rate is elevated, which duh. His whole body feels like it underwent some sexual awakening in the middle of a fitness center. 

And, sure. That’s a common place for people to realize how gay and desperate they are, but not like this. Not with zero visuals of sweaty bodies. 

Before he starts the video over to… finish the job, a phone call lights up his screen. Because of course it does.

He reads the name and swipes it open. “What’s up, Buckley?”

“I need coffee.” Robin whines, already pouting into the phone speaker no doubt. 

“You always need coffee.”

“Yeah but like… it tastes better when you buy me coffee.”

“Oh, so you want to mooch off of your own client?” Steve teases because he can. They can annoy the shit out of each other and write it off as endearment. “Pretty unprofessional of you, Ms. Manager.”

Robin groans. Makes it a long one too - probably to show off both her annoyance and lung capacity. “Fuck all the way off, you were my friend first. Always friends first.”

“Always friends first.” Steve agrees. She’s right, usually is about most things. Robin has been his manager since his last agency went bankrupt from pouring their funds into promoting Fyre Fest. And everyone knows that turned out to be an entire fuckshow.

Honestly, it’s easier this way - Robin being his manager. They get to hang out more, he has more input on gigs that he’s interested in…

Interested in. Huh. The metaphorical lightbulb flicks on in Steve’s voice-drunk brain. Having his best friend as his manager is also convenient when Steve needs the phone number of a certain co-worker.

“Alright, fine.” Steve has a sly grin on as he talks. “I’ll bring over some coffee.”

“Thank god.”

“If!”

“Ugh.”

He huffs out a laugh. “If you can send me the cast and crew contact sheet from the Fallen King commercial.”

“Ew, why?” Robin asks, sounds totally repulsed. Valid, that shoot was Objectification Station.

But truly, Steve’s not in the mood to make up an excuse. He’s sore and sweaty and half-hard. So he just gets to the damn point. “Look, do you want coffee or not?”

“Okay okay.” That’s one way to speed up the process. Caffeine threats - works every time. “Dropping the file to you now.” 

“You’re the best.” Steve sings.

“I know, I know.” And the line clicks dead.

Okay. This is not a booty call, it’s not.

Steve is just texting a semi-stranger to tell him that his voice is potentially the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Okay, he’ll definitely phrase it better than that, maybe throw a few emojis in there to normalize the tone. Soften it up to sound very un-stalkery.

Yeah. Not a booty call. And if Eddie happens to send an audio message, and Steve happens to jerk off to it… still not a booty call, right?

Pathetic, maybe. But not basic, thank fuck.

He types, then re-types the message out way too many times before settling on this:

Steve: Great work on the commercial voiceover! Got ur number from the call sheet. hope that’s cool.

Steve hits send before realizing he didn’t have the goddamn common sense to introduce himself. He’s not even a rookie at hookups, why is he suddenly so frazzled by this guy?

“This is Steve by the way…” he mumbles into an audio message. Hits send, then quickly makes another:

“The… model guy.”

The model guy? What in the flustered hell is going on with him?

A chime notification goes off maybe two minutes after Steve sends the last message. Which is like… hot. Shameless fast texters are a millennial turn-on, for sure.

It’s a voice text, so Steve takes thirty seconds to calm down whatever involuntary throb just happened in his sweatpants. He sucks in some air and presses play:

“Pretty sure all the kids these days just send a ‘u up’ message to people they wanna dick down at midnight.”

Damn. Eddie’s voice sounds totally different, but just as sexy. Like amateur porn sexy. Is amateur audio porn a thing? It should be.

Steve quickly saves the audio file and types back.

Steve:  Ok pls don’t mention ‘kids’ while I’m trying to flirt with u

Eddie: Waitwaitwait So we're definitely flirting right now? I actually interpreted that correctly?

Steve: Like u said It’s midnight So… *shrug emoji*

And a phone call comes through. Eddie’s contact name flashing in a harsh light, too blinding and too unexpected. Steve’s heart is hammering at his rib cage, suddenly so fucking nervous. He waits until the last ring to answer, buys himself some time cause god knows, he needs it.

Steve takes a breath and swallows. “He-”

“Okay, so you do realize this is the sewer rat voice actor guy from the commercial shoot, right?” Eddie interrupts, sounds out of breath. “And not like… a fellow model or Timothee Chalamet’s cousin or something?”

That earns a hearty laugh and eye-roll from Steve. “He is so not my type.”

“Thought he was everyone’s type.”

“Nah.” Steve rolls onto his belly, very giddy and disarmed by the ease of the exchange. His nerves are set aside, replaced with his usual confidence. “More into sewer rat voice actor guys.”

“That… is some very specific criteria.” Eddie coughs or maybe it's just a dry laugh. He sounds pleased as hell, so laugh seems more likely. “Holy shit, I’m flirting with a model!”

“You’re cute." Steve should not be so charmed right now, but the impulsive honesty is really doing it for him. "Dorky, but cute.” 

Eddie mumbles something incoherent, then clears his throat. Speaks quieter this time. “So why’d you text?”

“So why’d you call?”

“Just, uh… needed confirmation that this is real life.”

Steve lets out a ‘hmm,’ thinks of a proper response to that. “If I was there, I could pinch you. Ya know... so you’d know it’s real.” Okay. Maybe not proper, but whatever. It’s late. His brain is half scrambled from hormones and exhaustion, cut him some slack.

“Would do a lot more than pinch you if you were actually here.” And sure, Eddie might have mumbled that, but Steve clearly heard it. He heard exactly what Eddie just suggested.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Fuck, we’re doing this?” Eddie whispers.

Steve turns onto his back again, lets his hand wander down. “If you’re into that. Like hearing your voice, Eddie.”

“Like hearing you say my name like that.” And Eddie sounds like he means it. His tone is smoothing over, the same way it did in the narration. “You sound so worked up already.”

Steve moans, chest falling hard enough that the phone slips. Has to reposition it to get all that good vocal seduction back in his ear.

“God, wish I could see what you look like right now.” Eddie exhales, getting that nice rasp that Steve likes so much. It’s sultry and rich. Breathless at just the right moments. “Bet you’re lying down, aren’t you? Phone wedged between your neck and ear cause your hands are too busy to hold it properly. Am I right?”

“Yeah.” Steve pushes past the waistband of his sweatpants, then his boxers.

Eddie hums. Growls. “The things I’d do to you like that. Lying down, looking so eager to please. Saw how good you are at taking direction that day of the shoot. Does that apply in the bedroom too, baby?”

“It… fuck.” Steve strokes himself slowly. Can barely get the words out cause it feels like he's chewing on Eddie's voice. Swallowing every syllable. “Yeah, it does.”

“See - that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Problem?”

“That I don’t know what you’re into. How you like it.”

“Pretty open to… trying things.” Steve reassures, eyes closing to soak in every sensation. “Just keep talking.”

And thank all that is holy, Eddie does just that. He keeps talking. “Can’t stop thinking about that pretty neck of yours. How I’d kiss it, suck on it till your skin goes tender and soft under my lips. Till your head rolls back like it did in that video.”

Eddie's words are syrup. Heavy and tempting. “I’d let you rest it on my shoulder while I get my hands all over you. See what sweet spots drive you wild, get you to squirm for me.”

Steve's grip tightens, pumping at a pace that’s close to getting fucked. A pace that makes it easier to pretend that it’s Eddie’s hand wrapped around him, making his vision blurred and spotty - even with his eyes screwed shut.

“Eddie, you’re… oh my god.” Steve whines, knows it must be pretty fucking loud with the speaker smushed against his cheek. “You’re so good at this.”

Eddie shushes him, sounds like he’s snickering a bit. “I’d tease you like that until your thighs start to tremble. Until you beg me to go further. End the torture.”

“Fucking christ…please.” Guess Steve really is that good at taking direction. Or maybe he’s extra easy for guys that turn his brain into liquor. Too busy begging to know which one it might be. “Keep going.”

Eddie’s laugh is dark and rough. “Sounds nice hearing you beg like that. Like sin.”

Feels like sin too. 

Steve’s fingers are slicked nicely with precome. The friction of his palm is making everything warmer, better. And stirring all of those feelings up with Eddie’s voice? Fucking hell, Steve is close. He’s so damn- “Okay, okay. If we don’t stop, I’m gonna-”

“I know.” Eddie purrs, sweetly mean. “Thought that was the point.”

“Cannot believe I'm about to say this, but maybe…” Steve has to dig his hand out from his boxers to complete the sentence. Knocks his head against the wall because his behavior is totally batshit right now. “Maybe I want to see you again first? Is that weird?”

His skin sort of tingles from going this long without finishing. Never solved the blue-balling issue back at the gym either, so Steve’s on the verge of climax insanity right now. Didn’t think he’d discover an edging kink at the ripe age of twenty-five, but eureka. Here it is.

“Not weird.” Eddie’s voice returns back to a calmer one. The one that doesn’t make Steve want to bend over and get fucked so hard that his organs shift around. “I mean, I’m weird, sure. But wanting to complete this in person is not weird. Very un-weird, in fact.”

“You talk a lot.”

“Yeah well… voice actor.” Eddie says, sort of deadpan. “You couldn’t see that, but I just did ‘razzle dazzle’ hands.”

Shit, Steve really likes this guy. He just used the phrase ‘razzle dazzle hands,’ and Steve is still horny for him. Wow.

“Is tomorrow too soon?” Steve manages to say before overthinking it.

“Tomorrow-tomorrow, or like today-tomorrow?” Eddie asks. “Cause it’s past midnight.”

Right. Booty call time moves at an entirely different pace than normal time does. “Today-tomorrow. If you’re free.”

“Free as a dead composer’s anthology of music.” Eddie answers happily.

Steve opens his mouth to respond, then shuts it because what? What does that even mean? Is that a yes or a no? Goddamnit, his head hurts. Too many questions, not enough orgasms.

“Most classical music is royalty-free.” Eddie clears his throat, sounds like he’s tapping on something. “… So yeah. I’m free.”

“Right.” Steve chuckles, hard to believe he’s unapologetically gushing. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Eddie.”

“Great. See you today, Steve.” Eddie is still snorting at his own joke while the call ends.

They haven’t sorted out any of the details yet, but it doesn’t matter. It’s happening. It’s real.

So real, that he wants an actual date with Eddie before steamy phone sex. He wants to make Eddie laugh before making him come. That's like... unheard of for Steve. Uncharted.

Damn.

Today-tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

#steddie #steddie fic #this is inspired by the unhinged ao3 tag generator #one more part after this #hope that you like it xx

[kiwanopie]

Physical Therapy

boyfriend!kiyoomi part V!! smut smut smut but also fluff and a little bit of dom!reader. mommy is used (1) once but not by kiyoomi. minors do not interact.

Your voice comes out airily. A little frayed, a little frustrated.

“Thank god for HIPAA laws because I swear,” You run your fingers through Kiyoomi’s hair. “These mothers wouldn’t know autonomy if I smacked them in the back of the head with it.”

“Mhm.”

“I mean, one of my clients’ mother’s been mass emailing all week trying to get me to hint to her ‘troubled son’ that his panic attacks have been putting a “massive strain” on her recently-“

“Hm…”

“Like no wonder these kids have such a hard time opening up at home, their - ah - parents have a skewed understanding of what real priorities are!”

“Hm- Mhm.”

You scoff. God, he loves it when you get all psychiatric but there’s like no blood flowing to his head right now. “I swear, It’s like some of these parents drop their kids off at my office and expect me to program them into becoming… hm… be-…coming their ideal child…! My best guess is half of these adults should consider - fuck - seeking out a therapist themsel- ohh my god…”

Your hips drunkenly rock into his face from where he’s got your hips all but pinned against him. Rough fingers gripping so tightly into your work skirt that they audibly creak against the fabric, and if not for the running volleyball game playing on half volume behind you, you’re certain that the room would be filled with the sodden sounds of his sloppy tongue; digging you out while you complain about your workload this week. Kiyoomi was already springing into action the moment he saw you slump your way out of his genkan and straight to the ice cream stash in the kitchen. So quick on your heels that he could barely bother to pause the game he was re-watching.

Call it a love language. After last month when he moped his way into your humble flat to complain to you about some contract changes with his current sponsor. Something about more media interaction, that and he was gonna have to DIY a few ads for them on his social media. He could barely get a few words out before you were nuzzling your nose against his zipper. Lovingly rubbing up his thighs as you insisted he got all his frustrations out.

“A-All my frustrations out? You want me to…?”

You guide his hand until he’s grazing the short hairs on the top of your neck. “Be as rough with me as you need, baby. I’m here for you.”

Kiyoomi’s moans are muffled by the squish of your thighs. Who’s getting more out of this? He couldn’t say. But if the way his eyes roll when your fingers dig into his scalp should say anything, he might be safe calling it 50/50.

Your lips part as one of his free hands pull at your blouse until the buttons are popping, roughly palming your tits through your bra as you whine against him. “It’s a… good thing I took this pediatric job. If not for a - godd, oh fuck - difference in perspective.”

Kiyoomi answers you with a sound that’s more of a groan than a dutiful hum. Raising his hips like it’ll give him more friction where he wants it, but like the godsend you are you reach behind yourself to rub him through his sweats.

“‘Least I know… that if we had kids I’d be a half decent mother…”

You must feel the way his cock needily twitches under your palm at the sound of that because your voice evens in a way that makes him goosebump. “You like that, huh? Oh don’t tell me Omi’s really been dying to make me a mommy?”

The vibrations of his broken groan makes your thighs tighten over his ears.

“Ah - You wanna fuck me full? Fill me up till I’m brain dead?”

His tongue rolls over your clit with just enough force to have your voice pitching. He tilts his chin up just to make sure it’s his tongue you're clamping around when you start to cum.

Although with what you all but hiss next, grabbing a rough hold of his scalp and pressing his head back like he’s just a warm mouth to fuck. “- Or, would you just be satisfied with blowing your load into my hand, you fucking slut.”

Kiyoomi cums so hard he thinks he may have gone deaf.

Because he barely hears the pathetic whimpers he lets out in your spasming cunt as he starts to hump into your hand like a dog. Lilted voice breaking off into a gravelly groan, so cum-drunk that he keeps at it even as his seed wets a dark spot in sweatpants. For a moment, he can’t even register the sound of your broken - clearly overstimulated mewls.

Kiyoomi reluctantly lets you go when you finally climb off of him.

“You okay?”

“Mhm.”

You giggle a little before pecking him on his wet mouth.

Kiyoomi’s a little sluggish in his attempt to scoot his large body to the side to make room for you to lay comfortably beside him. Pressing his back into the head of the couch even as the springs quietly creak, but any room you don’t have to be completely sunken into the sofa he makes up for by using his arm to belt you against him.

He sighs.

“Move in with me.”

“Hm?”

Biggest Fan

#boyfriend!kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa smut #haikyuu!! smut #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! #hq sakusa #hq x reader #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa fluff #sakusa x reader #hq fluff #x reader #hq

[juyeonszn]

SWEET

PAIRING lee juyeon x f!reader

WORD COUNT 4.61k

GENRES fluff ﹒ smut ﹒ minuscule bit of angst

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, boy next door/neighbor au, reader was in a toxic-ish relationship, juyo is so cute and so sweet, until he’s kinda 😵‍💫 yk?, um kevin and changmin appearances, reader being absolutely irrevocably impossibly down bad for juyeon’s hands, so hand kink lol, making out, vaginal fingering, cum eating…. lol, they get a little sappy at the end

SUMMARY maybe this was for the better. maybe it was okay to let your guard down every once in a while, so long as it was always for your flirty neighbor.

MORE i would like to apologize for putting this out a day late… um i was really busy preparing for my enhypen concert so 😭 not a lot of writing was happening since there wasn’t enough brain juice flowing. anyways. ENJOY <3 pls rb if u did! (ALSO THANK U REESE AND @sungbeam FOR BETAING AND EDITING <<<3 i love y’all sm)

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri

If there was one thing you took pride in, it was your keen sense of hospitality.

You’d been raised as the type of girl to always be welcoming when a new face arrived, to be that guiding light for them as they adjusted to all the changes in their life. When you were little, your mother taught you to introduce yourself first, because you never knew if that person was shy or not. Of course, there was the usual ‘Stranger Danger’ pep talk, but it differed greatly from the new friend pep talk.

The first time you exhibited this wonderful trait of yours was in middle school when the foreign student in your class was forced to stand at the front of the room. He wasn’t necessarily shy, but you could tell he didn’t really enjoy being put on the spot, hands behind his back as he said his name and where he was from.

Kevin Moon. Age 13. Vancouver, Canada.

The only empty desk in the classroom was the one beside yours, and that was the golden opportunity to become best friends with the new kid. As soon as he settled into his seat and class had resumed as normal, you leaned over slightly and cupped a hand over your mouth to whisper loud enough that he could hear.

“Hi! I’m Y/N!”

He gave you a small smile in return and from then on, you and Kevin Moon were the best of friends.

The second time you proved your kindness was your freshman year of college. It was still syllabus week, but your professor had sent out an email over the weekend with papers that needed to be printed and brought to class. The guy next to you didn’t get the memo, freaking out over already messing things up on the first day.

You didn’t know him at all, but you felt bad that he was so stressed. In turn, you decided to rip up your own papers. He looked at you like you were crazy, maybe because you were. What idiot does something like that?

You give him a warm smile. “There. Now we’re both missing it.”

All he can do is laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m Changmin.”

“Y/N.”

After that, Ji Changmin came to be another one of your closest friends. It was kind of silly that something your mother instilled in you at a young age had become such a big part of your life. It brought you people who you’d cherish forever. But it also brought people you wish you’d never met.

“Get the fuck out.”

“Y/N, babe, we can work through this—”

“Are you deaf?” Your tone raises and your feet carry you to the front door, swinging it open. “I said to get out of my apartment.”

“We’ve been together for three years. You’re not gonna fight for us?” He pleads, clasping his hands as he stands in front of you.

“Why would I? Why should I stay with someone who doesn’t value me enough to stay loyal?” You seethe, your anger growing in size the longer you glare at his pathetic face. The face of a man you thought would love you until death did you part.

“She meant nothing to me!” He tries to rationalize with you, but you won’t have any of it. You weren’t stupid and you sure as hell weren’t blind.

“Do you take me as a fucking fool, Daehyun? I’ve known for months that you weren’t ‘working late at the office’. She even DMed me and showed me screenshots of your messages. Now get out before I call the cops.” You’re so pissed off that you don’t even realize you’re crying, fat tears trickling down your hot cheeks.

“After all I’ve done for you and all I’ve given you? You’re gonna act like a bitch?” He drops the innocent boyfriend act, backing you into the doorframe.

“Leave, Daehyun.” You say flatly. You’re not gonna give him the satisfaction of crumbling beneath the weight of his words. You knew the truth, you knew what kind of person he truly was after all this time.

He scoffs, grabbing his jacket off the hook beside him and finally storming out of your apartment. You cover your mouth with your hand to muffle the sobs that so badly want to escape. You watch as he bumps shoulders with a stranger holding a box, thankfully not looking back at you.

You make eye contact with said stranger, eyes wide like a child who’d just gotten caught with their hands in a cookie jar. His eyes resemble those of your friends’ when you told them you’d found out about your boyfriend’s infidelity. You both stand there for a moment, an impromptu staring contest ensuing.

Quickly, you snap out of your trance, cowering into your apartment. You vaguely remember the elderly woman across the hall mentioning that someone was moving into the unit beside yours. She had never told you a specific date, though. Had you known it was today, you might’ve expedited the dramatic break-up with Daehyun.

How could you possibly introduce yourself to him after he witnessed that? And in your current state; snot-nosed and teary-eyed? There was no way. You’d just have to postpone that for another day. Hopefully he didn’t mind too much.

“Was he cute?”

“Kevin, why is that what you’re worried about?” Changmin’s mouth pulls into a thin line, smacking the slightly older male over the back of the head. He winces, caressing the spot to ease the pain.

“I wasn’t really paying attention to that when I had just shoved my cheating ex boyfriend out of my apartment,” you push around the ramyeon on your plate with your chopsticks. “I do feel terrible that he had to see that though. But how can I face him after that?”

Kevin taps his chin with his index finger, lips pursed in thought. “Why don’t you bake for him? Welcome him to the complex like the hospitable neighbor you are.”

“That’s not a half bad idea, actually.” Changmin nods, shoveling some rice onto his spoon. The Pisces deadpans and reclines in his chair.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Okay, enough bickering you two. I need you to finish eating so I can start planning what to bake.”

The third time you practice your mother’s life lesson, is the next evening when you’re face-to-face with your neighbor’s door.

Your hands have begun to clam up beneath the warm tupperware of cookies you were holding. Were you supposed to just knock on his door like everything was fine and dandy? What if he wasn’t even home? Maybe you should just leave the baked goods with a note and—

The door swings open to reveal the stranger from a few days ago. However, this time he also wears that expression of shock, cat-like eyes widened. Your mouth moves like fish out of water, not sure what you should say or how you should say it. So you don’t think and you just act, extending the tupperware towards him.

“H-Hi, I’m Y/N, I’m your neighbor,” your speech is a little shaky, but you’re too nervous to focus on that. “I— um— I baked these for you as a housewarming gift to welcome you to the complex. As well as an apology for making you a bystander in my messy breakup.”

His features relax as a smile inches its way onto his face, graciously accepting the treats you made for him. “Thank you, you didn’t have to do that. And don’t even worry about it, I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“N-No, you’re fine, I swear! We shouldn’t have aired our dirty laundry so publicly like that. You did nothing wrong.” You wave your hands as if physically dismissing his words. He lets out a little chuckle that warms your chest.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m glad that you left the dude. He sounded like a total asshole,” your neighbor tucks the tupperware under his arm, leaning against the threshold of his apartment. “You seem too nice to settle for somebody like that. From what I’ve seen, of course.”

You don’t know why that has your heart skipping a beat like a high school girl. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he really was cute. He had a boyish charm to him, but not so much so that it overpowered how handsome he was. Kevin was going to have a field day with this information.

“Uh, thank you. I should be getting back to my place now. I have an early day at work tomorrow. Have a good night!” You clear your throat to kick yourself out of whatever stupor you were about to fall into, bowing. As you’re turning on your heel to make the ten foot trip to your own apartment, he calls out your name.

“I’m Juyeon, by the way.” He grins, waving as you push open your door.

“Now that is quite the interesting development.” Kevin snorts, helping himself to one of the raspberry filled donuts you’d just finished baking.

“If you keep eating my product, I’m gonna have to kick you out of the kitchen and out of my bakery,” you chide, swatting his hands away from the baker’s rack. “And how is that interesting in the slightest? I literally gave him the cookies, apologized, and that was that.”

“He was literally flirting with you, Y/N. Changmin, tell her I’m right. Apparently I’m no longer a voice of reason here.” He says through a full mouth.

“I mean, yeah? Kinda? Calling a girl nice is usually guy code for ‘I think you’re attractive and I could see myself sleeping with you’,” Changmin shrugs, tearing off a piece of Kevin’s donut. “But I also see where you’re coming from. You did just meet each other. He could’ve just been trying to console you in a way.”

“Why am I even friends with men when they’re useless?” You throw your head back, speaking to no one in particular.

Perhaps Kevin truly was overthinking the situation. Juyeon seemed to be a kind person who probably didn’t want any problems with his neighbors. It made sense why he’d side with you after witnessing your break up. Besides, the wounds were still too fresh to even consider thinking of anyone else in such a way. No matter how hot they may be…

You’d just have to wait and see for yourself. Only time could tell what would become of the nature of your relationship with your cute new neighbor.

You look insane with everything in your cart, filled to the brim with baking ingredients. It was around 10 PM and here you were, at the grocery store buying the things needed to make cinnamon rolls. Being a baker with a bit of a sweet tooth meant your cravings got a little out of hand at times, forcing you to make drastic decisions. (I.E. grocery shopping so late at night.)

Even your clothing choice was silly: flimsy pajama shorts with Care Bears patterned on them, a baggy t-shirt, and matching slippers. It’s not like anyone cared anyway. And it wasn’t like you were trying to impress anybody either.

But as you’re walking towards the registers, you start to regret your outfit. You very quickly spot your neighbor with a basket on his arm, waiting in line for self-checkout. You feel all the color drain from your face as you stand there, staring like an absolute idiot.

He’s dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants, a hoodie swallowing his figure. He looks so effortlessly good, it kind of makes you upset. Because how are you just now meeting a guy who’s both kind and attractive? As far as you were concerned, they didn’t exist in real life— they only existed in fairytales.

Juyeon looks up from his phone and catches your eye, his hand coming up to give you a little wave and one of those crinkly eye smiles that he does when you pass each other in the hall.

As the weeks have passed, you’ve seen him more and more than you deemed normal. You’d bump into each other on the way to or from picking up your mail, you’d hold the elevator for the other in record time, and you’d even leave your apartments at the same time. Now it appears you’re running into the guy at the supermarket, too. You tried to chalk it all up to coincidence, that you just both happened to be thinking on the same wavelength.

But shyly waving back to him right now reminds you that divine intervention had crazy ways of working its magic. Perhaps those had all just been openings for you to engage in something more with your cute neighbor. And there was only one way to find out.

You psych yourself up as you walk towards him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Juyeon’s smile grows wider as he notices you approaching. “Hey, stranger. What are you up to tonight?”

“Some late baking,” you giggle, wanting to punch yourself in the face for sounding like a goddamn school girl. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to come over and keep me company? Totally up to you of course! I just thought it might be nice to get to know each other properly.”

Your suggestion is what leads the two of you to meet back up at your apartment after purchasing your respective groceries. You attempt to tidy up as best you can while you wait for the knock at your door, setting out all the ingredients on the counter and preheating your oven.

The soft knock comes moments later and you find yourself practically running to open the door, grinning at the sheepish expression on Juyeon’s face. You allow him inside of your apartment, trailing after him into the kitchen. Part of you felt like you were moving on too fast after Daehyun. As a baker, your kitchen was your safe space. It was where you went when you needed to be alone and in the comfort of what you knew best. Kevin and Changmin were the only ones you trusted to be within that element. For you to let Juyeon in— to let him permeate the walls you’ve never let down before, not even with your ex— was brand new territory.

“I almost forgot you own a bakery,” Juyeon speaks up, fingers tracing along the stand mixer. “But seeing all this expensive equipment reminded me of that. It only makes sense that someone as sweet as you would constantly be around sweet treats.”

You fail to bite back your smile. Maybe this was for the better. Maybe it was okay to let your guard down every once in a while, so long as it was always for your flirty neighbor. He laughs when you nudge his shoulder, grabbing all the dry ingredients for the dough.

“On a scale of one to ten, how patient are you?” You ask, avoiding his eyes as you open the flour. The question was in regards to several things.

“I’d say about an eight or nine. Patience is a virtue, you know. It comes easily if you practice hard enough.” He answers, leaning against the counter and watching you.

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in, searching for your measuring cups. Both you and Juyeon begin to measure out the dry ingredients, dumping them into the mixing bowl. You decide to let him take some of the reins, folding in the mixture of milk, egg, butter, and yeast. While he does that, you prepare the cinnamon sugar.

“I think I’m done. What do I do next?” He turns to you, head cocked to the side slightly. You might actually die of cuteness aggression. The duality of man would one day drive you to the brink of insanity.

“Now you just knead it until it’s smooth.” Your back is to him as you say this, putting away any refrigerated items so they don’t go bad. But as you face him again, you wish you hadn’t.

Your eyes zero in on his hands, kneading the dough with careful, nimble fingers. You feel light-headed as you slip into a spell, gawking at how long and slender they are, massaging the dough like an expert. How had you never noticed how big and pretty his hands were?

Maybe baking with Juyeon was a bad idea. You could barely focus on anything but his fingers pressing the under-construction-cinnamon rolls into the counter. Oh how badly you wanted to be that dough— his hands all over you, groping and massaging and kneading and caressing everywhere they could reach.

The veins running up his arms weren’t helping either, instead fueling the fire burning in the pit of your stomach. You feel your lips part, eyes glossed over with that all too familiar lustful intensity. You wouldn’t be surprised if you had to wipe away drool after this.

“Y/N?” Juyeon glances up from the dough, a little taken aback by your reverie. He follows your line of sight, grinning to himself smugly when he realizes what has you so transfixed. He’s finally found your weakness, and he couldn’t wait to dangle it over your head. Patience was a virtue, but perhaps it would be okay for him to dabble with a vice for once.

He pushes out the dough, using his thumbs to spread it into a rectangular shape. He feels his blood pressure rising the darker your eyes get. However, he’s aware that you just recently got out of a relationship. He wants to move at a pace you’re comfortable with. So he won’t take the first step. He has to leave that up to you.

It’s at a certain point that you come to, blinking to force away the dirty thoughts plaguing your mind. You travel your field of vision to his face, where you find him already looking at you. Your cheeks heat up in mortification from being caught red-handed. You were just gawking at the poor guy’s like they were a piece of fresh meat. This was terrible.

You swallow thickly, averting eye contact to grab the bowl of cinnamon sugar. “Uh, we can start forming the rolls now so they can rise. And then— um— and then we can make the glaze.”

The burn of his gaze on your profile has you tripping over your words, cinnamon sugar sprinkling onto the counter space surrounding and the knife almost slipping from your grip when you go to cut the dough. Juyeon catches it for you, wrapping his fingers around yours to guide your movements and keep them steady.

You feel his breath behind your ear, his chest pressed to your back. His hand is so much larger than your own, nearly covering it entirely. He doesn’t make an effort to move either, rolling the dough into swirl shapes along with you. The whole time this is happening, neither of you are saying a word, letting the silence consume you and the air around you.

As the rolls are rising/baking, you set up everything necessary for making the icing. Juyeon watches with hearts in his eyes as you whisk the sugar, cream cheese, vanilla, and butter in a separate bowl. He wonders how many other people you let see you in this setting. How many people get to see you do the thing you love so dearly?

“I’d like to visit your bakery sometime, if you wouldn’t mind,” Juyeon suddenly says, resting his elbows on the counter as you taste test the icing. “I wanna try all of the desserts you bake.”

“I’m opening later tomorrow morning actually,” you smile, humming in appreciation when the sweetness of the glaze hits your taste buds. “You can come with me to try the fresh batches before I put them out? I’ll warn you though, I get there at like six.”

“AM?” His eyes practically pop out of their sockets.

“Yes, AM.” You laugh, lightly shoving him backwards.

“I’ll put like ten alarms so I can make sure I’m up in time, then.” He pokes his cheek with his tongue, tipping his head to the side. The goofy smile on your face remains even after minutes have passed and the two of you are just waiting for the cinnamon rolls to finish baking.

It feels like hours have gone by with the two of you standing there when they’re finally ready. The ding of the oven has you springing into action, putting on some oven mitts and taking out the baking sheet. Juyeon's eyes light up and even though you’d just been losing your mind over how insane he was making you, you find yourself cooing at him.

He laughs as you grab a couple spare icing bags for the cinnamon roll glaze, filling them generously. You hand one over to him and decide to split the rolls evenly, icing one half yourself while he does the other. And for once, you think that tonight might end normally. You think that nothing eventful will happen and you’ll just ice the cinnamon rolls without problems.

But you were wrong, like always.

“Ah, shit—”

You glance up from the roll you were glazing to see what the fuss was about. Juyeon’s icing bag tore somehow, the sticky topping getting all over his hand. Truly, you were no better than a man, with the filthy thoughts inhabiting your brain almost instantaneously.

He brings his hand up to his mouth, licking the glaze off the back of his hand and wrapping his lips around his thumb. You felt dizzy, drunk on the sight of your extremely attractive neighbor doing something so sensual without even trying to. You bite your lip, accidentally dropping your own icing bag due to lack of attention.

Juyeon smirks slightly, relishing in the way it takes absolutely nothing to hypnotize you with his hands alone. He really tried to keep himself contained. He really wanted you to extend the first olive branch, but he knows you’re apprehensive. So just this once, he tells himself that it’s okay to initiate, to give you a little push in the right direction.

He takes a step closer to you, caging you against the counter. You stare up at him with wide, doe eyes, as if you were completely innocent despite the naughty images flashing behind them. Juyeon brings his thumb up to your lips, the pad of it still covered in icing.

“Think you could clean this up for me?” He asks, voice low and husky. You could actually combust with that all on its own.

Just like your formal introduction, you don’t give yourself the time to think, and act, instead, running your tongue along the length of his thumb. Juyeon doesn’t restrain the groan in the back of his throat, holding your face in his hands and pulling you in for a kiss.

You reciprocate immediately, fisting his hoodie like it was the only thing capable of stabilizing you. Maybe it was, with the way Juyeon’s lips synchronized with yours and his fingers tangled in your hair. You thought the ground would swallow you whole and wake you up from this dream. On what planet did someone like Lee Juyeon like a girl like you?

His hands slide down your body, groping everything in their path desperately before cupping under your thighs and lifting you onto the counter. He knocks the baking sheet of cinnamon rolls out of the way, palms rubbing up and down the sides of your legs. You want more, so much more, but you’re afraid to ask. You’re afraid to start something you’re not even sure you can emotionally handle.

Juyeon senses your hesitation, detaching from you momentarily. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want. I understand if you still need time.”

“N-No, I want this— I want you— I'm just… scared.” You breathe, your forehead using his shoulder for support.

“I'm not him, Y/N. I can give you the world if you’d let me. I’d never do what he did to you, that’s a promise.” He holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, kissing the crown of your head.

“Okay,” you nod, smiling up at him. “I trust you, Juyeon.”

You reconnect your lips as his fingers slip beneath your pajama shorts, toying with the waistband of your panties. His lips curl up when he feels you squirm, legs parting to make more room for him in the middle of them. You sigh, body shuddering when he drags his knuckle down your clothed slit.

Juyeon hooks his fingers into your shorts and underwear, hauling them down your legs. You place your hands behind you to brace yourself, a shiver trailing your spine when the cool air of your apartment hits your warm core. He groans again at the sight of you bare for him, using two fingers to spread your lower lips.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he swears, his thumb slowly circling your clit.

You whine, tossing your head back as he applies more pressure. Bit by bit, you begin to lose yourself to the pleasure of Juyeon’s gorgeous hands. Soon the stimulation on your clit amplifies when he adds another finger, thrusting it in and out of your entrance. He curls deep inside of you, like he was reaching for something he’d left.

One finger turns to two, and before you know it, Juyeon’s openly finger fucking you on the counter. He leans over your body to keep your lips together, kissing you sloppily while all his focus is on drawing you to the edge. You can almost taste it, your saccharine release in your field of vision now.

It’s a little embarrassing how quickly he was able to wind you up and trip you over the edge, but you feel too euphoric to care. You pause in your kiss to look down at his handy work. (No pun intended.) It makes your head feel foggy and your vision blurry to see his deft fingers fucking you open, veins bulging, like he’d done this many times before. Your hooded eyes follow them up his forearms, a whine escaping your lips.

A particular curl of his fingers and circle of his thumb have you clenching around him, creaming like you’d never had an orgasm in your life. He doesn’t slow his assault, bringing you down just to put you back up on that summit once again. The overstimulation has you cumming a second time in a matter of what felt like seconds, whimpers becoming voluminous moans.

Juyeon kisses you softly, gently pulling out his fingers to lick them clean like he did with the cinnamon roll glaze. A choked groan bubbles past your mouth, tossing an arm over your eyes. He laughs, towing you to the edge of the counter.

He brushes some stray hairs out of your face, moving your arm to smile dopily at you. “I hope you know I was being serious about the whole treating you better thing. If you’ll give me the chance.”

“I know. I told you I trust you, remember?” You nip at the inside of your cheek. His eyes crinkle up like they tend to do when he’s smiling so genuinely. It forces the wind out of you, because how could you ever get used to a sight so stunning?

“You’re so cute.” He laughs, kissing all around your face and smushing your cheeks together.

“Juyeon,” you mumble. “I’m half naked…”

“Even better,” he grins, pecking the tip of your nose. “Makes it that much easier to do all of the other things I wanna do to you.”

© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

#the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #tbz #tbz x reader #tbz smut #the boyz juyeon #tbz juyeon #lee juyeon x reader #lee juyeon smut #juyeon x reader #juyeon smut #juyeonszn #fawntober.2023🎃

[simp-ly-writes]

Lasting Pictures: When We Are Together (pt.8)

Pairing: Poly!Task Force 141 x Reader

Summary: John and 141 discover more about your whereabouts alongside the secrets you have been hiding from them. The lies, the cold shoulders and sleepless nights come swinging back in your face with vengeance yet never have such sweet words been shared in spite of it all. Your future awaits on the horizon, now it is up to you to decide who you are sharing in it.

Warnings: 6180 words, slowburn, swearing, mentions of blood, injury and torture.

A/N: I can't believe its already been 85 pages of this story, thank you all for the support! I hope you enjoy the sweet ending of this chapter!

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Lasting Pictures Series Masterlist

Back in London at Base

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN- KATE” Price shouts in the office space. An assistant shakes from behind the door with the force these words are projected with, doing their best to not eavesdrop from the hallway was a hard task as the rest of the task force… calmly waited in the hall while glaring daggers their way- not being allowed entry. 

Back inside the room, Laswell shakes her head as it drops into her hands, her elbows resting against the table as her usual bun falls out- her hair acting as a shield. “I don’t give a shit about what any General has to say- that is my squad member, my responsibility so do tell me why the FUCK they are in a differnet country operating outside of our military?” Price shouts out once more before taking a step back from leaning over the station chiefs desk, now walking in circles just in front of it and tossing a hand through his hair. 

Taking a deep breath, Laswell tries her best to formulate an answer without giving away too many details yet the Captain notices this change in her personality. “No- you do not get to hide answers away from me Kate. I have gone off the books, committed atrocities in the name of good- I deserve to know why at least. Or what about this- Kate,” The Captain stills, looking up at the ceiling for another ounce of patience as both of theirs were wearing thin. The boys in the hallway could be heard from through the door, piling question after question on the poor assistant.

Price turns his head towards Kate, casting his chin down- his eyes pointed, “Why was I NOT acknowledged when Dice was Injured on that last mission, why was I not noted on that interrogation- Christ, Laswell-”

“No John. You do not get to make these demands of me in MY office, on my base- I am not a secretary, I am not a doctor, and I am not going to tell you the answers when you integrate me, Captain. You could have had those last two answers if you got your jealousy issues over with and asked the damn lieutenant,” Laswell retorts while closing her laptop, she was taking herself off the clock early for today. Grabbing her coat, John blocks the door with his arms crossed as Laswell reflects the same- eyebrows furrowed. 

“Maybe me and the boys would not be having such jealousy issues if the guys were not here on base to begin with- they had no reason to be originally- and they definitely have no reason to be off with MY squad member,” John restates his points with a more leveled tone, his mouth twitches up into a smirk as he watches Laswell internally battle herself- knowing that the guys just outside would make worse demands than he. 

Laswell sighs out, throwing her coat on a nearby chain before motioning John back over to her desk where she turns her laptop around and shows the thread of emails shared between herself, Shepard and Graves. The shadow company CEO demanded for Dice to be stationed with their team, a token that their contract would be upholded. As the missions dragged on, Graves became more restless-  John shakes his head at this new information, refusing to read anymore.  

“This is why I didn’t show you John. I know you are not a fan of these side-deals but-”

“BUT what Kate, but what. With their background, it is absolutely disgusting that you would make them do this-”

“Well they did agree to it?” Laswell states but comes out more like a question. 

“Did they know? Well maybe with someone of their past, they couldn’t imagine saying no- working themselves to the bone. Fuck, we barley saw them and when we did,” John takes a moment closing his eyes as his voice comes out softer, “I looked past my jealously Kate, I saw that they were healing those memories with em’ but I will not look past them being used. I know where they're coming from, when the higher-ups keep shouting in your ear, demanding more of you until you become a husk. I couldn’t look at them Kate, I-I couldn’t look and see that version of myself reflected again. The rest of us we-” Price stops mid sentence as the door is thrusted open and shut, the assistant now fleeing the scene. 

“We were feeling a load of shit- Laswell. You try and watch someone you care for gradually slip away, burying themselves in work because they ‘apparently’ didn't do enough- and when you do try and see them again, they look past you and to someone else- looking happier than ever,” Johnny states while leaning against a wall, looking out the window and onto the training grounds all those months ago. “Sure it is jealousy, yes we did give the cold shoulder but there is no worse feeling than being replaced and everyone was feeling that in one way or another,” Soap finishes as Ghost only nods in reply. 

Gaz speaks up next, “If we are sharing then, I know Graves is trying to recruit them, Kate. We all knew it- saw it, and it became all the more disheartening when those shadows appeared in our own personal space and then next week- BAM! They are off without a word- I fucking wonder we were having sloppy work recently, there is only so much we can get done while functioning in the dark.” By the end Kyle is out of breath, taking a bottled water from the minifridge and sitting in one of the armchairs across from Lasswell's desk. 

Ghost shakes his head before commenting, “So they worked their ass off, fearing they would be replaced in some way or better yet when another devil comes whispering in your ear, complimenting your good work, showing you friends and pleasures of the craft yet we were stuck doing time-consuming work for no use? What fucking plan is that- no actually, a useless plan that is.”

‘Well then boys, it is a good thing I am sending you off to join them tomorrow if you are done? I apologise, that's the best I can give you now with what I have been working with. I can’t do much if I got fired from Shepard- John. And the best strings I could play was ensuring that they would at least be working with people they knew in the area- I’m sorry for what this has caused. I,"Kate takes a moment, a shaky breath exiting herself, “-I see what they were starting to mean to you all and I am sorry that I was the one who had to take that away from you. But it is up to Dice in the end if they end up signing that contract- we all can only hope they do not.” 

“Like fuck they won’t,” Johnny states, a smile gracing its way across his face as he pulls Gaz up and hugs the man, throwing in a hand for Ghost to join them who only rolls his eyes in reply. John shakes his head, the energy in the room having a noticeable difference as he checks his watch. The next day was not far off in the early morning hours they were in now, deployment was soon and soon was when they would make it their personal mission to have you stay with their team. The past meeting the present, and the present overtaking the past as it should- in theory. 

--

↳ One Week Until Mission “Spill”

When the boys touch down on the tarmac, they initially do not see you leaned up against the back of Alex’s truck as you and Farah share drinks out of a water bottle. “Gorgeous!” Johnny calls out once spotting you as he shoves himself in front of a very confused Alez who pats him on the shoulder. “Hey man, it's been a long time since we last saw each other- how have things been?”

“Been better but we have work to do,” Soap replies while wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he practically drags you to sit beside him in the back of the truck. Farah waves you goodbye as she goes to talk to Price who sends you a solid nod in recognition of your presence. You look at the side of Soaps mohawk with confusion, Why are you back to being so touchy all the sudden? 

As if knowing your very thoughts he gives you a wink before squeezing your shoulder and strapping you into your seat with a grin. Horangi slides in on your otherside as Alex turns the engine on, Köing rushes to shotgun, mumbling about more legroom as you kick his seat and blame it on Horangi who curses out loudly before lightly punching you on the thigh. You wince, gripping your pant leg as you invite Soap in on the backseat chaos. 

“Oh my god! Is that blood!” he yells out with exaggerated gasps as Horangi tries to choke back laughter and Alex politely asks for everyone to, “shut the fuck up.” While readjusting the rear view mirror, double checking that you were not in fact hurt. 

--

Once back at the house, the squads are gearing themselves up as you double check your notebooks on all the information you have collected thus fall, helping Farah and Price to outline the ever-growing team you all had established here. 

“And drinks are on me afterwards!” Matthew announces as the crowd cheers, a few members of Farah's group had appeared half-way through the debrief that you had never met before. You giggled to yourself as quite a few eyed up Horangi and Köing, pulling on their sleeves to get their attention, you pointed like gossip girls to the people who were looking for company. 

 Köing turns a bright red, “Maus-I don’t know…” “Oh come on! Doesn't have to add to anything- you don’t even have to fuck, get your head out of the gutter Horangi- I know that look better than anyone,” you tease out but your eyes hold utmost seriousness. You kept thinking about your talks with them earlier in the week and the aftermath of these next few missions, everything was hanging in the air with this departure's success and yet you couldn’t help but want for everyone here in this room to have something for when they arrived back- in whatever state they would be in. 

Seeing your eyes fog over with the depth of your thoughts, Simon brushes his shoulder against your own, nodding along to Farash speech as you snap out of your trance, glancing up to him with a thankful smile as you point to various entrance points you discovered while scooping out the place through public architectural blueprints. 

With one last slam to the table and a battle cry being placed, Price requests to speak with you outside as you follow suit, Gaz in tow. He keeps his back to you while walking, ensuring that you all are a good ways away from the house before he starts to speak. “Before we go out on this mission, Dice. There are a few things I need to come clean about, and a few answers I would like from you in return.”

You process his words, eyes darting anywhere but his own as your palms sweat, You were not reading to make your decision whether to stay with the military or go after Spill- Please don’t ask about this, please don’t. You nod once as Gaz crosses his arms beside Price, “As your Captain I am disappointed you did not come to me for support when you needed it and I don’t just mean work, love. In that disappointment of mine, I directed it towards you rather than at myself, I misplaced my actions while addressing your old squad as did the rest of the boys. I cannot speak for their shite but what I will say is that, I’m sorry Dice. I was an arse,” Price says while casting his eyes down to his boots, he grips his vest, swinging on his feet and you cannot help but cast a smile at his actions. 

“It’s alright, Price. I-I get it, I was in a downright terrible position and I should have gone to the team but when the guys came around-I… I just got lost in the memories, you know? Those good feelings came back but with the more nights we spent talking to one another… the more it wore off and the more guilty I felt knowing that I left you all without a word…” you sigh out in relief that the dreaded question did not get asked yet Gaz takes that sigh as the start of tears as he races up, encasing you in a warm hug. You smile into his skin as he chuckles at the feeling. John decides to make this a group hug as you groan at the weight of gear being toppled on you before an anxious Alex is screaming from the backdoor like a worried mother, “We are on the road in six people, get your shit together- we have deadlines to meet tonight.”

--

Hopping out of the trucks once more, you find Price standing on a stump as he counts heads and ultimately addresses the crowd. Soon lines are being formed throughout the treeline and comms are declared silent, you could see your first objective as part of the abandoned factory. 

Distant echoes of metal grinding in on itself as trees swayed and groaned in the wind provided an eerie atmosphere to the rising tensions in your shoulders. Standing against the wall, with your NODs on, you nodded towards Gaz as he clipped the lock and you entered the room, to what would be a series of offices. Casting yourself against the further wall to your side and making your way to the centre to meet up with Soap he signals for you to unlock the next door. The first and second room were found empty. 

Yet as you move deepering into the facility, through the various offices that have used coffee mugs and papers scattered across their tops, the sound of running feet can be heard echoing down the hall on the outside platform, connecting the offices to the greater factory and mining pit beneath. Turning your head to see Ghost already holding up his hand, you all pause and hear as the steps get closer. 

Raising your gun to your face as Gaz does the same. You hold steady as the door handle jiggles, Johnny takes cover behind a tipped over desk, resting his gun against its side as he tries to squint through the blinds from a distance, unable to identify the possible target. A few shouts in another language can be heard as they fumble for their keys and drop a flashlight, it rolls across the metal platform as they swear out into the night air and another voice soon joins their worries. 

Ghost stares at the door, gun raised in wait as he eyes you all to hold position. The door soon flies open, you all still hidden in the darkness of the room- observing their actions as they shut the door behind themselves and lean against it- panting out. 

Ghost steps towards the window light, motioning them to lay flat against the ground with his gun as he orders with a strict tone, “Hands and Knees on the fucking ground. On the fucking ground now.”

Gaz dashes over to secure them both, moving them against the back wall where Soap and you wait. Equipping the flashlight on your gun you focus in on their faces and kneel to view their badges as Ghost stands behind you, reading to move in if they pull any fast actions on you. They were cousins to the working family who ran this frontal tree-logging factory where in actuality this is where they produced their newest explosive weaponry. 

Both scientists refuse to meet your gaze before you grab one of their chins, ensuring their eyes meet your own. They portray confidence, yet their shaking knees tell otherwise, “I need you to tell me who else works here.”

The scientist to the man you currently hold shakes their head violently, thrashing their hands in the restraints as Soap places a boot against their body, stopping their movements with a stubble bit of pressure. “Do not try to look at your friend. I will not ask you again, you tell me- or you meet our other friends in the woods- your choice,” you speak in a clear, even tone.

The man simply spits in your face as you drop your hold on their chin and instead force their body upright, their feet slipping against the floors in an effort to hold themselves up. “What a shame, your cousin here will get to go first- let your lack of information help their screams,” you pressure them further as their eyes go wide- believing in your hold to words. 

“They-they are 42 of us here, 10 in staff today- I do not know elsewise to their location. Please believe me- do not hurt her” the man shakes underneath your grip, their shirt slightly tearing as you press them into the wall- it creaks from the weight. 

“That's a start, where are they, where are the 10?”

“I-I will show you,” the scientist counter-offers as the lady nods her head in agreement, “yes, we will show.”

“No showing necessary, you will tell me now- I will be taking your badges.”

“Yes, of course! Of course,  t-they are meeting with accountant in west wing,” the man stumbles to answer. 

“Who is this accountant? Where are they from, who do they speak to?”

“I-I do not know, you will have to ask. They only come to see we do the work and leave afterwards. They are not from here, foreign looks. That all I know, please.”

“Good, thank you,” you offer the man a tight-lipped smile before dropping him to the floor. He groans out as you search his jacket for the mentioned ID and destroy the SIN card in his phone as Johnny examines the woman's handbag and empties it across a desk. 

Finding the other ID and her notebook, he stashes them in his vest before enabling comms for another team to keep watch of the two scientists in custody- they would be needed in court afterwards. 

--

After a few moments and adjusting your gear, you hold up your gun abruptly to the sounds of rushing boots. The knocks sounded at the door follow the prediscoled pattern as you sigh out in relief and open the door for the squad to enter, Simon presents the information gathered as they radio back to base while staring down at the two scientists who refuse to make eye-contact once more. 

The squad leader gives Simon a nod, signaling your exit as you all make your way towards the west wing. Greeting other squads that you find along the way as Gaz stays behind to help dress one of their wounds. 

The metal stairs that you deascened for moan in the wind and shift with the building as you enter down into the west wing. A set of double doors greets your faces as you each take a side, readying to enter the space with a sudden burst. All the lights are on inside the large meeting hall as various guns are pointed up at your face, shouting for your compliance. 

Setting your weapon down in your hands as Johnny and Simon do the same, it was squad 3-5 that stood in the room, already holding a tight control over those yet to be interrogated in one of the private meeting rooms or holding the exits. 

Laughing out as horror exits your system, you hear the all-familiar sounds of John's investigations as you enter the room as Johnny and Simon wait outside. Price does not face you, his knuckles bloodied yet the accountant's face looks a whole lot worse, or well at least what you assume to be the accountant in their… disturbed appearance. 

Letting out a low whistle, the Captain chuckles in response before leaning over. He presses his hands snuggly into their shoulders, forcing them to almost break the back of the wooden chair as he whispers into their ear, eyes flicking upwards to meet your own as he speaks, “Nice of you to join us Dice, maybe you have something to help move this investigation along. Any bargaining chips potentially?” 

The accountant stays silent, only glaring into your eyes as you blink twice back at them, “I know that you murdered thousands with the numbers you love to play with back at that office of yours, just outside the city right? Women, children, awaiting fathers, it's all the same to you- isn’t it? Your wife-” you chuckle to yourself, shaking your head as you saunter around the room, “we had a splendid time after the Charity Gala together. Her moans never sounded so sweet while being stripped of that silky red dress,” you humm afterwards as if thoughtfully remembering the scene. 

John keeps his eyes locked onto yours as the account begins to shift in their restraints more. He moves a gloved hand, forcing them to look back up at you as you walk closer to stand in front of their sat form, smiling down. 

“She told me of how you couldn't make her fulfilled in bed. How good my hands felt in her hair, trailing down her neck of diamonds and right to her stomach…” you tisk the accountant, brushing your hand against John's shoulder before continuing, “then she told me how you had to sell your own manliness to women who only were bought for your attention, sick bastard you are truly. So much so that she found herself in the sheets of not only me, your enemy who made her feel more than you did in 20 years- but the oligarch you work for as well. How wonderful is that- no?”

“You tell lies-”

“Why would I waste my words on a man like you if not only to tell the truth? You are pathetic really…” you trail off while Price smiles, he knows that you both are almost there to crack this man's facade. 

“You are pathetic, your little mind games serve as dull knives.”

“Then what will be said of you whatever would your boss think when he finds out you have been tilting the numbers yet again, but are stealing your fortune to pay off that mistress of yours- hm?” you retort with a large plaster across your face as John whistles out, giving their cheek a good pat before coming to stand by your side. 

“Decision is yours, I have a member of death's door waiting, like seeing the reaper himself if you want a pre-show to your fate or you could choose to put your dick back into your pants like a good ol’boy and wag your tail for your boss- we would love a chat,” Captain Price teases out, his voice filled with grovel from all the yelling he had done today.

A low nod of the head is all you need for evidence of his acceptance before John is signaling through the window for someone to handle the accountant. And by the time you both exit the room, the accountant in cuffs walking out with another squad member before you and all of his people who laugh at his appearance. You notice as Ghost refuses to make eye-contact with you, instead shifting his feet when you ask if he’s doing alright. When turning around to face Soap, he gives you a strained grin, his gun lower than usually positioned by his core as he tilts his head, signaling towards Price, signally for assurance.

A cough can be heard as you all turn to face Gaz who stands with his arms outstretched as you walk over to give him a hug, your gun dangling across your chest as you both shimmy around one anothers gear with a laugh. With your face plastered into his side, he gives a wink towards Simon and Johnny- a look of understanding for their current state as messages are shared throughout the facility- it was time for exfil after a mission well served. 

--

A shake of your shoulder as your eyes snapping awake, you did not mean to have a nap. Blinking your eyes clear, you notice as a corporal shakes you awake then points to the Captain. Price’s eyes scan your own in a restless search- but for what? Tilting your head towards the Captain to signify your confusion towards his actions he patches himself into your radio system while holding your gaze. 

“Do you know if your shadow friends will be joining us for the next objective?”

“Unclear sir, I have yet to hear from their intelligence crews” the title you state becomes knives to John’s ears, cutting their way down to his lungs as he takes a breath in trying to calm himself, already worked up from the earlier mission as you blink none-the-wiser to your word choice’s impact. 

“John or Price, your choice Dice…” John replies with a more flat tone than usual that has your head topping to the side. “Sorry Price, still wearing off the adrenaline from the mission, brains a bit scrambled as of current,” you state with a sloppy smile as he casts a tired one of his own, closing his eyes with a humm, extending his boot to touch your own as you lock your ankles around it. 

Soon Ghosts voice comes through your headset as you look around to find where he was seated, five seats down, the masked figure stared down the aisle to look at you and his Captain while moving his mic down to his mouth, “Had to hold Johnny back from that Horangi guy a few days ago, same can be said about Gaz and Köing. Mop-masked was holding Kyle in a death stare in the meeting room.”

Johnny pipes up to conversation beside Simon as he notices what is being discussed from the reactions everyone is displaying from throughout the aisle, pulling down his radio system. Simon grips his thigh, as if warning him of doing something that has your eyes narrowing in mixed confusion, concern and irritation- what were they keeping from you?

“Al’right, that Horangi fucker. What is his deal, gorgeous? Really had to share some harsh words with him after what he said about you. Can’t fucking believe that you would say he’s your best with the alligations he presented,” Soap rants while rolling his shoulders, as if preparing himself for a fight. 

“Is that why you were being so touchy in the car ride? You only had to ask, quite like your hands,” you ask with a teasing tone, blood still pumping through your body as you watch as Johnny's cheeks flush, the adrenaline from the mission has him on edge as your little stab has him falling back in embarrassment before he rounds his own fireback. 

“Love hearing my name on your lips, may have to come over there so you never forget it,” he teases right back with a large wink as Simon whispers for you all to “tone it down,” as he looks at the various eyes looking between our squad- trying to understand the conversation happening between you all. 

“If I remember, there were some other names you wished me to call you as well but first, do tell me about these allegations,” you press forward. Gaz now joins, offering his side from an unknown place in the plane. “Simon patched me into what's happening. Köing rubbed me the wrong way with his looks, as if he knew something I didn’t.”

Johnny presses the topic further, adding, “Said that I would never know what you really needed from a ‘team’. I don’t regret my actions, Y/N, I will tell you that now. But when they say those kinds of things, and you leave for those weeks when they arrive- leads me to conclusions I don’t wish to face. We acted nice in front of you, Dice. But I need you to tell me before we land, are you a part of our squad or not?”

“Always,” you answer before your brain can keep up, “I talked in parts of this with Simon one day but… you guys are it for me I think. I cannot say for sure after this mission but… I got what I needed off my plate these past few weeks with the past and now I can promise that you have only my attention,” you state with a raised chest in pride. 

“I better have all of your attention,” Johnny comments back, “Alright you,” Simon voices over, taking off Soaps headset and placing it out of reach as you howl with laughter down the line, waking Price up from his temporary drift off, flashing you a smile as you wince out an apology. 

Shaking your head down in your laugh to calm down, you pick your microphone back down to continue speaking, “Look, I apologise to you all for my shitty behaviour, their equally shitty behaviour- really all around shitness that has happened. You all have become my truest friends since meeting Gabby in elementary and friends is a term I do not use sparingly- I must hold my thanks. I will do better to come to you all when I am struggling,” you promise watching as Soap manages to sneak back his headset while Simon sends you a warm stare that has you flashing him a smile, enjoying how beet red he gets underneath his gear. 

“Just, Friends- hm?” Soap questions with a small frown flashing across his features. 

You smile and nod back vigorously, not knowing how to place your thanks into words in a better way than actions. Failing to notice the tone in which the word was replied back in as he leans back against the divider and out of sight with a contemplative humm. 

Simon chuckles at your answer, the deep sound causing your heart to race and our lungs to flutter. How you wished to hear the sound again as you watched his chest rise and fall with the actions while underneath that tight black vest. As Gaz and Price remain silent to the conversation. 

A few moments go by as you all allow the words to sink in. “Do you have a thing for masks, Dice?” Johnny questions in a serious tone while leaning into Simon's side, doing as he does best- lightening the mood. 

You choke on your own spit at the accusation being presented as you stutter for an answer, brain firing on multiple fronts from the whiplash of a conversation. 

“I-I’m sorry, could you repeat the question? I think the lack of air is getting to my head.”

Johnny merely smiles before restating the question as calmly as before, as if asking for your favorite colour or season. “Do you have a thing for people in masks? Notice you know many people that wear em’”

“I uh…” your voice trails off as you contemplate your answer, eyes slowly drifting towards Ghost who stares down your form intently waiting to hear your answer. Yet as the seconds tick by, the lack of answer eventually forms one in itself as you hear Gaz chuckle down the radio before turning himself silent and the Captain coughs a few times, turning red underneath his own mustache as he refuses to meet your stare. 

“Do you?” you question back, partially curious and the other seeking a slight revenge from playing your in this blushed-filled and nervous state. 

“Oh, definitely” he replies quickly before you all burst into laughter and the landing sign is singled moments after, it was home time. 

--

Once back on base, a few days of paperwork are filled out as the days and hours clock down to your next departure. You do your best not to think about it as you ask Gabby for clothing recommendations in your room, she asks you to spin with a wave of her finger as you do so with a groan of frustration. You had been stuck in this endless cycle for nearly two hours now and you had told Gaz you would be meeting him in the lobby in three hours. 

You had gone through your whole closet before you outwords protest, unable to keep to just your facial reactions as Gabby hides behind a pair of shoes she found at the back of your closet between the dozen pairs of work-boots. “It’s not even a date, Gabs. We are just making up for lost time with some coffee, nothin’ more nothing less-”

“And I know where my dad went-okay?! If this is not a date, I do not know what else is sweetheart. Treat yourself~” she sings out before throwing another pair of pants for you to try on. She claps her hands together, fixing the buttons on your shirt as she frizzles your hair. “Have fun, you look like a million dollar baby!” Kicking your butt on the way out she quickly turns around to place the mess she created of your room as you lock the apartment door behind yourself and Gaz pulls you into a hug once meeting downstairs. 

He opens the door for you, helping you out of the car as well and orders you both two teas with an assortment of small snacks for lunch. Conversation flows between small hand touches and the linking of shoes from below the table. You rest a hand against his thigh, watching as he chokes down his glass of water as you cast the man a wink. 

The check slamming against the table has you both stumbling out as dinner time nears, “How about I treat us to dinner?” you say while looking up nearby restaurants on your phone. “Sounds good, love,” Kyle states while wrapping an arm around your waist with a cheeky smile as an elderly couple look towards you both with disgust. 

Gaz watches as your smile falls slightly and you back away. He still walks near you, arms brushing against one another in hopes that you would feel more comfortable again, casting him a thankful smile as you both walk down another block to the small Turkish restaurant. 

You both sit beside one another, sharing food off each others plats as you ignore the endless stream of messages that Gabby sends you, excusing yourself to the washroom- you open your text messages and cough out in shock, “I’m sorry for spamming, you two are probably fucking right now- next time I want in, have fun! Tell me how he is~” Blushing bright red, your fingers rush across the keyboard, scolding your best friend before splashing water across your face. 

Once returning back to the table, Kyle holds his arm up, allowing you to become wrapped underneath its calming pressure, “you doing okay?” he asked you in a hushed tone, lips right against your ear as your blush extends to your ears now. “Just peachy.”

--

When you leave the restaurant and pick the car back up, you invite Kyle back to your place, “It is closer to here and it would be best to not wake the rest of the lads up,” you comment. “If you want me more to yourself- you can just tell me sweetheart,” he teases while running circles into your knee as he makes a turn into your block. 

Leaning over to press a kiss against his cheek, your voice becomes more hushed as you unlock your apartment door and rush up to Spoons. Who looks as happy and healthy as ever, note to self, the elderly neighbour gets a gift. Kyle leans down, giving your pet a quick past before yawning and stretching out of their boots. 

He trails down the hallway behind you, hands on your waist as you open your bedroom door, throwing yourself on the bed with an overtired giggle. He follows suit as you roll over, giving him enough space, noticing this he pulls you underneath the covers and against him. “Thank you, Kyle Garrick,” you whisper out, hoping him to be asleep already. 

“What for?” he asks out in an equally delicate tone, feeling as your heart races against his chest. “For staying with me, for understanding…” you start to cry, unable to find the right words as he kisses the top of your head, brushing some hair from your forehead. “Hey, hey, hey, sweetheart. I am always here, alright? Never question that.” 

He feels as you nod once more and chuckles when Spoons snuggles themselves in the empty space at the foot of the bed, emitting a few purrs as you all drift off into the world beyond.

Lasting Pictures Series Masterlist

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[chronically-ghosted]

the only thing we have to fuck is fear itself

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 5309

summary: You get drunk at a happy hour and tell Max to his face you don’t find him scary at all. He takes that personally.

warnings/tags: drinking, like two seconds of scary vibes, smut, (secret) established relationship, work hard, play hard, have secret sex with your coworker even harder

a/n: I’m so sorry to FDR for butchering his quote for the sake of a title, but i like to think that horny bastard would have loved my smut.

🤍AO3 Link 🤍 Masterlist 🤍 Get notified when I post new works!

Despite working at a place that was quite literally soul-sucking, your coworkers could throw one hell of a happy-hour. 

There wasn’t a bartender in a ten mile radius from the office who didn’t know you all by name, didn’t shout a greeting over the tightly-packed house the instant you walked in. Rarely was it just a single crew member at the bars – you often got accused of moving in a pack like a five-headed hydra that could drink double its own weight in liquor, beer, and frosés – and being only two-fifths human, the Monster Squad was an alcoholic force to be reckoned with.

Maybe because you actively promoted unity amongst the species, like poster children for positive and “non-toxic human-demon relationships” HR kept encouraging in their Monday-Funday email blasts, but your little group was something of a legend in the area. You thought any notoriety was more likely due more to your faces plastered all over the bars’ trivia night winner boards, but in the office, people tended to stare. Trish, a siren from Santa Barbara, loved the attention, said it was good for her skin – gave her a “dewy” look. Nita, the only other human in your group besides you, disagreed with Ken (a quarter leprechaun on his mother’s side) when Ken claimed the whispering came from the sheer volume of nonsense that started around 4PM in the office on Fridays and continued until you all left the office. Ken was of the belief that the notoriety was actually infamy – to which he was promptly booed and had to buy the next round. 

And yet, to yourself, to the quiet conversations you had in the bathroom mirror after two long island ice teas and whatever was in what the centaur bartender at Lucky’s called an “Ass Whooping”, you suspected there might be another reason the Monster Squad even had a name at all. Within your own fields, each of you were respectable – Ken and Trish were both heads of marketing and Nita oversaw a considerable team of engineers, with you of course a department leader over in legal – one member of your group was, let’s say, more well-known. 

Well-known because he was the flashiest, the loudest, and certainly the most demonic of you all: Max Phillips, VP of sales, money-maker extraordinaire, and a fan-favorite amongst your Overlords, the rest of the sales team, and anyone with working and interested sex organs in the near vicinity. 

To your complete and utter annoyance.

You don’t quite remember how you all came together, who brought who into the group, and when it was unanimously decided that you’d stop snatching up office workers like limes at $5 margarita night after Trish, but it was Max who kept you together, who set up the group chat (somehow mysteriously gathering all of your phone numbers after a very late night), who bullied anyone who responded to his weekly “winner winner liquid dinner” texts every Friday morning with a tepid maybe into coming out that night. He already seemed to know half of the bartenders in the city, all of whom were happy to send over a free round of tequila shots as a “thank you to Max’s friends”. While you’d never look a gift vampire in the mouth, you were suspicious of his influence. Was that vampire hypnosis real? Did he have a pack of lesser, baby vamps to send out to tenderize the hunting grounds?

One thing’s for sure, he definitely didn’t scare them into it. 

“Has Halloween, like, changed for anyone else?” Nita grouched over her second Sangria Spritzer two hours into another fantabulous happy hour at Heel Clicks. The four of you were huddled into your comically small booth up on the landing near the back bar – of course there were other seats available but this had the best view, the closest access to your favorite bartender, and at some point, the shoulder-to-shoulder proximity served as a way to counteract the tipsy swaying. 

Trish leaned around Ken, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” Nita shrugged hopelessly. “It used to be one of my favorite holidays when I was a kid. I loved the candy, the costumes – all of it. But I really liked being scared the most.”

Ken sorted into his old-fashioned. “Well, if you’re still scared of things you were as a kid, Nit, I think you’ve got a bigger problem than seasonal preference.”

She elbows him and he knocks into Trish.

“Not like that . . . but, like, monster movies aren’t really scary anymore? I mean, I used to watch Ginger Snaps religiously around Halloween, but, uh, now that I know an actual werewolf and he’s the nicest little old man in accounting, I dunno . . . it’s just not the same.” 

“Sorry to burst your bubble on monsters,” Ken shrugged. “But I personally cannot relate. As a member of the Free Folk, my people have always been welcomed, seen as bringers of good will towards man.”

“You know there’s eight movies where a leprechaun murders literally dozens of teenagers, right?” You turned to Ken over Nita, your entire right buttcheek hanging off the edge of the booth. 

“Oh, yeah, baby Jennifer Aniston,” Trish mused, thinking. “If that’s what your uncle looks like, Ken, then I posit Halloween is still fucking creepy.”

“Halloween is definitely creepy and it sucks.” Your ringleader has returned with electric-green jello shots. Max Phillips carried a tray with one hand, his immaculate blue jacket gone to display firm forearms underneath his white, rolled-back sleeves. “Bunch up, kiddies, Daddy’s back with treats.” 

Half the group groaned, the other squealed in delight.

Max hip-bumped you, his ravenous cologne immediately making you think unwise thoughts, as he pushed his way onto the bench absolutely not made for this many people. He looked back at you as he passed out the drinks.

“Now why are we all in agreement that Halloween is a lame holiday?” 

“Nita claims that because she personally knows a werewolf – Ned, right? – she’s not scared of monster movies anymore.”

Max scoffed. “Well, there’s your problem right there. Werewolves were never scary to begin with.”

“What monster movies have you been watching?” Nita gaped at him. “Maybe it’s bad representation, but all the movie werewolves can tear you to shreds!”

Ken nodded solemnly. “This is why affirmative action is so important.” 

Trish smacked him over the back of the head. 

“So, what?” Max continued, crunching up the jello in its plastic cup. “Now that you know me, a vampire, you think all Dracula movies give blood-suckers a bad rap?”

“No, being a human-sized mosquito with too much hair gel is doing that all on its own.” You smirked, dead-eyed, at him. Behind you, Ken and Trish snorted so hard they almost spilled their drinks. 

Max narrowed his eyes at you, in a look he only gave you when you wouldn’t let him ease around legal loopholes “for the good of the business”. Only Nita seemed to be oblivious. 

“That’s a good point, Max.” She thoughtfully stirred her jello with her pinky, unsticking it from the sides of her cup. “I mean, I guess I never watched that many vampire movies to begin with.”

Max broke his heated staring contest with you to look around at Nita, elbow pressing up into your chest as he leaned forward on the table. “I can promise you, doll face, vampires have been and always will be more terrifying and lethal than werewolves.”

“Not the argument I think you want to make, mate,” Ken murmured as you shifted yourself to face Max entirely. 

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten us all –,”

“Nope,” Trish called down the row, “we’re taking this shot before you two get into it again.”

“To Ned!” Ken yelled. 

“To Ned!” 

Plastic crunched, tongues slurped, as jello ungracefully slipped into every open mouth down the bench. You licked your lip, tip of your tongue green. Max watched the movement out of the corner of his eye. 

“So, enlighten us, Max, why should we be so afraid of you?” 

Max grinned out the side of his mouth. “One, I’ve seen more bite out of a pomeranian than one of those Tribbles. And two, whatever-wolves can only get it up once a month. I’m all monster, all the time, baby.”

At this, everyone groaned.

“Dollar to the Dick Jar!” Trish smacked her hand on the table.

“Here, here!”

Max pouted as he took a dollar out of his wallet and slammed it into the center of the table, payment towards tips or the bill or whoever suffered the most due to The Dick. 

“Face it, buzz,” you shrugged as he put his wallet away. “You’re just not scary any more, if you ever were.”

“Is that right?” 

Fuck, you were in a lot of trouble. Beneath the table, his thigh soaked yours in heat. 

“That’s right.”

“You know what is really scary?” Ken muttered, digging around in his crushed up for the last remnants of jello. “Kelpies.”

“Ah – yes! They’ve got sloppy fangs covered in algae!”

“Hey – that’s my cousin you’re talking about!”

Heel Clicks was hands down one of your favorite bars in the area. Devoted to the local music scene in the area, the vibe was a mix of old 70s rock bands, modern steel, and whatever justified lots of mounted horns and hairy cow-skin stools. The drinks were great, seasonal too, and there was always live music on the patio out back. In a twist that you found particularly cool, the old rum-runners tunnels had been converted to comfortably spacious bathrooms in the basement. Behind the solid oak door, the noises from the above bar are nearly entirely muffled, making the slow descent to the bathroom something of an out-of-body experience when you’ve had a few and the sudden silence is almost an echo. 

Plus, these fucking stairs are a death trap. 

You embarrassingly clutched at the railing, the wooden stairs at far too sharp an angle even if you were sober as a judge, much less at a Monster Squad happy hour. 

Stupid Max and his stupid drinks and his –

What was that?

You stand up right on the third to last step, listening. 

In the half darkness in front of you, there are three paths available. To the left, employee storage, the lights above the door flickering, the sign reading “do not enter” pulsating in and out of visibility. To your right, another door, maybe an exit. Always unmarked and always locked every time your drunken curiosity got the better of you. 

And across from the stairs were the bathrooms, left women, right for men.

God, what year is it? Shouldn’t it all just be gender-neutral? You think to yourself, a tad bit more aggressive than you’d usually oppose the gender binary – primarily to wash out the rising concern at the back of your neck.

You are alone down here. It’s obvious. It’s not like there’s that many places for some dastardly villain to hide. Four shut doors and three hallways. Unless some maniac was curled up under the stairs, you are the only person in the basement. 

At least, the only person you can see. 

You don’t realize how sweaty your hands are until you try to continue your way down the stairs. You take a step and nearly slip, the eyes you know are on you somehow laughing. 

One blinking light. No where for anything to hide, so why are you so nervous? You are an adult woman, for god’s sakes. You make it to the floor, the most likely candidate for your demise behind you and –

The stairs creaked. 

The empty stairs that you just walked down creaked and you nearly leap across the hallway to put space between you. Heart in your throat, you make the monumentally stupid decision and call out, “hello? Is anyone there?”

As if the serial killer was just going to announce himself, give up the whole element of surprise.

Blinking through the bleary haze of too many drinks, you take out your phone and flip on the light. A white beam chases back the encroaching darkness, a frantic worried ghost peering through the gloom. And yet, like you consciously know, there’s nothing there. But the darkness feels heavier, the eerie distant noise from the bar above so quiet and removed the sound is more of a memory – the idea of what comfort and community should sound like. But it’s not. It’s too far gone – if anything were to happen, it’d be hours before they found you. If they did at all. 

“Oh my god,” you scold yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. “Get a fucking grip and go pee and then go back up those fucking stairs and –,”

Okay, that was definitely breathing.

Breathing, right behind you. Ragged, hungry, disembodied breathing, in your ear and your heart ricochets into your chest. Your own breath turns short, choppy, panic swelling into your ears, over your fingers. You think you might drop your phone, your fingers are so numb from fear, so you clutch tighter, the trembling throwing white light across the paneled wood in a craze. 

Be rational, this is crazy, there is nothing down here! 

The stairs snarl again and you squeak, all but bolting for the women’s bathroom, desperate to put at least some space between you and those fucking stairs, put some boundaries between –

The door is locked. When the fuck is this door ever locked?

Panic recedes to overwhelming rage because fuck, fuck, fuck, now you’re trapped in here – you can’t go back to the stairs – you rattle the handle, shaking the door against its lock –

“Fucking let me in!”

The light above the exit door goes out. And then the other. You throw all of your weight against the bathroom door. You claw at the handle, begging it to give way. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck – you can hear the darkness breathing –

No, speaking – it’s saying something, chanting, mocking, calling out – calling out your name –

The door suddenly unlocks and you stumble forward – into something solid –

Its hands grab you and like a fucking fool, you played right into its trap. 

It turns you, throws you up against the tile wall, its claws around your shoulders, cold tile against your cheek and you whimper. Whimper when you feel the soft pin-prick of fangs against the back of your neck – fuck, this is how it ends?? – and –

“Got you.” 

That voice.

That condescending, snide, bratty, little –

You elbow the solid body behind you and Max lets out a puff of air, staggering back. You whip around, nearly snarling in his smirking, beautiful face. The bathroom is dark, black tiled walls and floors with a faux-wooden sink and dim lights across the top of the mirror. In the flushed orange light, his eyelashes encourage thick shadows under his eyes and in the collar of his throat. If it wasn’t for that insufferable smile, he’d look painted from thin brush strokes and heavy scarlet paint. 

Caravaggio, eat your heart out. 

“Max, what the fuck was that?” 

He rolls his eyes, rubbing the spot on his chest where you hit him, at the top of his ribcage. “Oh, c’mon, it was just some fun. Saw you sneak off after you got Nita’s drink and thought I’d mess with you just a bit.”

You sigh, willing your heart to slow down, throwing your gaze to the ceiling and dropping your head against the tile.

“God, you asshole, I thought I was gonna die.” You swallow and move your hair out of your face. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I what?”

“You scared –,”

That smile, the crack of fangs across his mouth, widens, the bottom of his lip rolling back over the cut of his teeth, those brown eyes melting into a warm, obscene black, as he meets you hip first against the wall. 

His hands climb over your waist, as though daring you to hit him again, and your thigh muscles tighten. Your hands instinctively trace the exposed skin left by his opened collar at the dip of his throat when he comes closer, chest pressing up against yours, nose against your temple. 

Fuck, it shouldn’t be this easy for him. You sigh through your nose, eyes rolling shut, when he nips at your cheek.

“I think you were supposed to be mad at me.”

“I am,” you groan. “I’m livid. I’m enraged. I’m –,”

His thumb brushes your ribs – not tickling, not entirely touching, but just reminding. Reminding of the force behind his touch, behind his teeth. 

“Baby girl,” he chuckles softly, the sound running down your neck like rain, “you’re melting in my arms.” 

“This doesn’t mean I’m scared of you.” You focus on the softness of his hair between your fingers, the heat of the back of his neck beneath the pads of your fingertips – resolutely ignoring the radiating scent of his cologne coming from up under his collar. More than once had he come across you in his apartment bathroom, sniffing that bottle like some dopey perv looking for a quick fix. Of course, instead of admonishing you, he bent you over his sink and fucked the daylights out of you, his wrists singing with the smell of that cologne. Now he wore it to work wherever he wanted something from you, particularly to overlook some pesky lines of legalise. 

In the hallowed darkness of the bar’s bathroom, he drops a single kiss just below your jaw, inches beneath your ear. He grumbles when your pulse there quickens, and again his fangs find a curve of skin to press against – a reminder. 

Always reminding, always lurking, a threat without a promise.

And he knows exactly what that does to you. 

You release a full body shudder when his hands drop lower, guiding you back against the wall, fingers rounding around your thighs. Like interlocking pieces, your bodies slide together, your arms curling around his neck, the heat of his chest branding yours as it forces you against the wall. You’re breathing all wrong again, but for different reasons this time. You catch a flash of the ink-well darkness of his eyes when he nuzzles out of your neck to admire the mess he has made of your skirt.

“Can I fuck you in this or is this thing too tight?” He asks, like he specifically didn’t get on his hands and knees and beg you to wear that gray pencil skirt only twelve hours earlier. 

You lean up, snagging his bottom lip between your teeth, kissing him roughly and showing him he’s not the only one with a little bite. He groans softly, one hand curling into your hair at the base of your skull, and he licks you, from the front of your lips up to the valley of your mouth. He tastes like the sweetness of his whiskey n’ coke, his tongue rubbing the flexing muscle of yours, the sharpness of your molars. You could spend hours just sucking on his plush mouth. 

Maybe he did scare you. Maybe he should have scared you more, the threat of anyone discovering your relationship a real danger to both of your careers. Maybe it should have scared you, how little you cared about any of that when he palmed your breast over your shirt. 

You inhaled over his mouth, popping off his lips with a moan, his hand cupping you roughly as he dove in to suck marks on your neck. Every moment that passes, you feel your skin ratcheting up with heat, blood almost hot. He thumbs your perk nipple through your shirt and you arch your chest, his massive palm nearly cupping your ribs to your spine.

“Max, either you figure out how to fuck me in this skirt or you owe me a new one.”

“You want me to rip it off you?” He slurs, eyelids heavy, his thigh slides in between your knees, the fabric preventing him from going higher, to the place where you both need him. You groan in frustration and his hands squeeze your hips at the sound. “Tell me fast, baby, because I can’t–,”

“For the love of – just fucking lift it up–,” His hands fumble over yours as your fingers curl under the hem, his own want making that brilliant mind for numbers almost stupid. His warm fingers overwhelm your own as they push your skirt up your waist, and then dig around the line of your pantyhose. 

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to Fort Knox me out of your pussy? Why are there so many layers?” 

You hiss at him as you slide out of your heels and shove your nylons to the ground, hopping on one leg to take them off your feet. “It’s like you’ve never undressed me before.” 

Freed of the chaos of your underthings, Max’s hands rush to his belt, the clinking of the metal sending shivers down your back and straight up your cunt. He doesn’t notice because he’s obsessively watching your thighs. “I’ve never undressed you with our coworkers a floor above us and probably becoming increasingly suspicious about where the fuck we are–,” 

You take him by the back of the neck, hand clenching around the starch white of his shoulder. He comes to you, zipper digging into your hip bone as he pulls you up off your feet. For once that chatty mouth is quiet, open and wet with desire as he takes in your flushed face, the blood pumping under your tits. Max is nothing if not almost supernaturally consumed by the look, feel, texture, and taste of your tits. 

The look on his face is one of those reasons you tend to throw caution to the wind, why your heart almost feels too big for your chest, whenever he’s around. 

He hooks an arm around your low back, tilting your hips forward. You feel the heat of his cock somewhere below you and it takes all of your strength not to grind down. 

“Max –,” he’s not even inside of you and you’re already begging. You bite down on his ear to stifle whatever was rising up your throat. 

“Hang on, baby, I gotta make sure you . . .”

Using your shoulders as counterbalance, he holds himself up against the wet warmth of your cunt, breath stuttering as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds. That bratty aloofness is gone; he wants to sink so, so deep into you.

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t even get you ready – but you’re already so wet –,”

You don’t resist grinding down now and he knocks his shoulders forward, needing movement, but fighting against the urge to buck up into you, gasping from the feeling of your cunt. 

“Please, Max, just –,”

“Yeah, I know, baby, okay, just, I gotta . . .” 

He angles himself and you arch your back, unable to watch with the mess of your skirt around your waist, but he finds it, finds your opening, the place he loves to mark, and without any warning, thrusts his length up into you. 

The stretch, the surprise, the ear-ringing split between being empty and then stuffed so full – you can’t help but moan so loudly, you sing to the ceiling. For a moment, your bodies hum with the stillness, the blood in your cunt pulsating around him, you claw at his broad shoulders, need him closer, needing that smell of him that haunts your empty bed as far inside of you as his cock is. His hips stutter and he presses one hand against the tile by your ribs, teeth clenched against the sensation. 

“When I fuck you, every time feels like the first time. Every goddamn time.” 

It’s not particularly the confession it could be, but you shake your head, clearing it of anything stupid like feelings for Max Phillips, your chin brushing his jaw, his nose against your ear. 

“Then do it,” you whine. “Just fuck me, Max.”

With a groan that could be mistaken for a snarl, he lifts you both up right, pushing your hips down and spreading yourself over him. You lock your ankles around his back a second before he pulls out halfway, then to jerk back in with such force and precision your eyes roll to the back of your head. He sets a pace that has pleasure weaving a tight drum just under your stomach. Each sweaty thrust fires sparks up your spine. He really is so fucking good at this. 

This is the release you need, you both need. Sure, it’s an after-effect of having a high-powered job, but it’s also more than that. Max fucking you is unfortunately very often the highlight of your day. He knows what you need, how you need it – how hard to drive his cock into you, it makes you tongue-tied and dizzy. The fast pump of his cock, how it feels to split you apart over and over again, the back zipper of your skirt digging into your back – it’s too fucking good.

“Don’t know where you get off giving me orders,” he grunts, the pounding of his hips into yours rapidly shoving you up your ascension. The slapping, wet noise in the empty room is obscene. “I’m a fucking VP, little girl, and I–,”

You tense your muscles around his cock and he fumbles, his knees buckling momentarily. 

“Do not fucking bring up the org chart right now,” you hiss, your own edge yanked away when he stills. “I’m almost there–,” 

Quicker than he’s been all night, Max lunges forward, mouth open and teeth bare. He bites your neck and then he bites you. 

Fangs puncture your skin, not deep, but enough that your body is thrown into a messy coil of nerves and adrenaline. It knows you could die like this, even if you’ve only ever called the vampire a mosquito to his face, and triggering a self-preservation instinct, your body trembles from the sudden blast of sensation.

Your pupils dilate further than they were, your skin becomes overly aware of every drop of sweat, every flutter of hair, every rub of flesh – and your fucking nerve-endings feel like static, as if brushed by lightning. 

Pleasure so-white hot it almost burns roars up your spine, slick coating his cock inside you, and you cry out. Wail in his ear. Begging him to make it better. To give you your release. The feel of his cock pounding up inside your now-overly ripe cunt brings tears to your eyes.

“Oh, fuck – fuck, fuck, fuck – Max, p-please –,”

“Can you handle it if I touch you?”

You shake your head. “Yes, yes, please, touch me.” 

“You can’t keep screaming like that,” he scolds you breathlessly, the punch of his hips bouncing you against his cheek. For all his vampire stamina, the flush of exertion across his cheeks is truly staggering and a triumph for your ego. Flecks of blood dot his mouth. “Someone’s going to come looking.” 

“I don’t care,” you groan, angling your hips to take more of him. His hand not on your back cups under your knee, tugging it higher up his torso. His pace is relentless, overwhelming – with his weight on top of you, and his cock up under you, inside you, you’re consumed by Max Phillips. “Whatever you do, d-don’t stop. Don’t stop.” 

“You scared I’m gonna?”

“Yes,” you whine. You can feel your heart pounding out its shape into your ribs. 

“Good girl. And good girls get to fucking come.”

Balancing your increasingly limp body, he holds you up right, his hand snaking beneath your skirt, between the sweat of your thighs and his torso, and –

He thumbs that buzzing bundle of nerves, “come for me, baby”, and you do. You come screaming, the tension snapping, vision sparkling with stars, and you are shoved over the edge. You don’t know you’re wailing his name until he comes too, all concern for getting caught seemingly gone as he begs you to continue as he fills you up with his pearly, gooey cum:

“That’s right, say my name. Say my fucking name, sweetheart.” 

His hips thrust weakly, some instinct choking him until he makes sure every drop of him stays in you. You’re going to be dripping for hours. 

His skin is fire-hot beneath his starched white shirt. You’ll be thinking about that for days afterward when you see him in the hallways of the office. 

This is what scares you the most. When you realize it's over and neither one of you want it to be. 

Shaking from exertion, Max slowly sets you down, unwinding your legs from his waist, your ankles trembling against the cold tile. You couldn’t imagine putting your nylons back on, the thought of that pressure against the curve of your lower stomach while you are so full of his cum practically unbearable. 

He lifts his head from your neck, eyes intentionally avoiding you as he inspects where he bit you, breath coming in ragged, long gasps. Sweat darkens the hair at his temple and that post-fuck blush is staggeringly gorgeous on him. He pricks his thumb on the sharp edge of his fangs and with a scarlet bead balanced on his thumb, he smears his blood against the puncture wounds, like someone would wipe dirt away from a loved one’s skin. 

It doesn’t really hurt, but the effects leave your neck tingling. You’d never say this out loud, but you fucking loved when he did that. 

He steps away without looking at you, giving you time to adjust your skirt, your hair in the mirror. You help him straighten his collar because it’s not like he can use the mirror to check himself.

He grins, the flush fading far too rapidly from his cheeks. 

“What are you going to tell them?” You nod to the stairs on the other side of the wall. “This can’t look good for us.” 

“You got attacked by a werewolf on the way to the bathroom. I saved you.” 

“Thought you said werewolves weren’t scary.”

He shakes his head, smirking, then presses a kiss to your temple. “Just said I was the bigger monster between the two of us.” 

“My hero.” You turn your head until his lips drink in yours. 

It is dangerous, your feelings for him. 

He taps you on the butt, pulling away. The lines around his eyes do an excellent job of masking the hurt in the brownness of his eyes. 

“Gimme five, then you come up. Can’t have you looking so completely debauched.”

He kisses you again, betraying whatever amounted to “cool and collected” he attempted for, and without another word, he slides out the door. 

His smell lingers in the air long after he does. The throbbing of your cunt also serves as a fantastically bitter reminder.

You go back to the mirror because yes, you could not have been more obvious if you were wearing a sign that said, “hi, yes, I did just get my back blown out.” You try to fold your hair around your ears at least a dozen times before pulling it back in what you hope to be a casual pony-tail. You toss your nylons into the trash can, pleading that the “oh, I tore them in the bathroom” excuse might hold an ounce of water. 

You think about what’s waiting for you a floor up and your stomach clenches. 

Fucking Max could upset the dynamics of your little group, your little Monster Squad. Whatever the stupid office bylines were, your happy-hour social group is one of the bright spots in your life, especially while working at a place run by those bastard Overlords. 

And Max knew that. He didn’t want to risk your long-term happiness for his short-term. 

Max didn’t scare you because he was a monster.

He scared you precisely because he wasn’t.

You open the bathroom door and return to the world. 

#max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #bloodsucking bastards #max phillips smut #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters

[itsclydebitches]

A new stupid Ted Lasso drabble? Oh worm? 👀

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

It was too early for this shit.

Roy turned to find Ted staring intently at his computer screen, with Twitter—no fucking wonder he was losing his mind at 7:00am— encroaching on the Richmond desktop. Across from him Beard licked his thumb and deftly flipped a page of The Secret Garden. Had they planned this?

“Yes,” Beard said, not bothering to look up. Ted let out an explosive breath and smiled, like Beard’s promise of worm devotion meant fuck all when they had actual shit to do. Keeley was still waiting on a statement. Rebecca had a small library for them to sign. Higgins— Roy shuddered—wanted to talk finances in half an hour.

Which meant that instead of prepping for any of that in any way, Ted’s gaze crept towards him.

“Fuck no,” Roy barked.

Ted pouted. No, no, if Phoebe couldn’t sway him with doe-eyes at the tender age of six then Ted Bloody Lasso wasn’t going to do it around a fucking mustache. Roy set his teeth against the sliver of an apology trying to force its way out. “You’re a worm,” he said, as if that explained it all. Because dammit, it did.

“What kind of worm?”

Head jerking, Roy schooled his look of betrayal at Trent taking this seriously. He had his glasses off and everything, tap-tap-taping against his mouth as he stared contemplatively up at the ceiling.

“Uhhh...” Ted consulted the digital hellfire, but apparently no answers were offered up. Figures. “I don’t know. Just a worm? Are there a lot of ‘em?”

“Oh yes. Well over twenty-thousand last I checked.”

Roy twitted involuntarily. Twenty-fucking-thousand? And how the hell did Trent know that? Was he the goddamn worm whisperer? Made sense, given what a spineless pest he was.

Not anymore a voice whispered, sounding suspiciously like Ted. Yeah. Fine. He’d changed or what-fucking-ever. Roy growled and resigned himself to a worm lecture as penance.

“Worms are as varied as any species,” Trent was saying, curdling Roy’s stomach with every word. He took his pen out, mindlessly twirling it as he gathered his thoughts. “Silkworms, tapeworms, the humble earthworm. They seem quite simple on the surface and yet they’re a vital part of our ecosystem. Forget the bees; remove the worm and you risk a near total collapse of our agriculture. Ah, and did you know that the leech is a worm? Certainly they’ve been invaluable to the medical community as a natural anticoagulant. Science will always advance, but sometimes all you need is a good old-fashioned blood sucker—”

“Stop,” Roy groaned, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Trent glanced over, one eyebrow raised.

“The point—sorry, my editor is always on my case for ‘overly verbose prose.’ As if she’s one to talk with those emails—the point is that if you were a worm, Ted, you would remain just as valuable a member of society as you are now. Of course we'd still love you. And why shouldn't you remain a part of our lives? I would determine your species and then set about finding a suitable environment for you. One that, hopefully, we would all be able to visit with frequency. However, if you’re a tube-worm I’m afraid you’re, well, shit out of luck, if I’m allowed to be crass. None of us are going anywhere near a hydrothermal vent and that’s even if I knew how to swim. Most land-living species would be doable though.” Trent bit his lower lip, considering. “If you were a worm I’d research everything I could about your nutrition, enrichment, life cycle. Given the magical nature of these events—I assume in this hypothetical you weren’t always a worm, yes?—I would take steps to ensure you were well looked after, should your life extend past mine. Luckily, Amelia already had a fondness for all things creepy and crawly, so I’m sure she’d be thrilled to receive you in the will. In the same vein, I’d use whatever contacts I still possess to connect with the leading researchers in Nematology and Helminthology, see if we couldn't find some way to communicate with you. I have no qualms about you being a worm, Ted, but I would miss our chats.” Trent smiled, a little wistfully, and then shook himself like a man coming out of a dream. “Why do you ask?”

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Roy said, thunking his head down on the keyboard. Whatever these two nerds had going on he needed to bottle it and sell the shit. He'd make a fortune.

Ted let out a strangled noise. “No reason,” he said, clearing his throat. “That’s a mighty kind offer of yours, Trent, and I do appreciate it. Yes, ma'am, I do. I suppose you could say I—”

“Don’t,” Roy growled.

“—wormed my way into your heart?”

And he was done. Nearly tripping himself in his haste to leave the office, Roy unfortunately still saw the high-five Beard gave Ted—complete with a “Booya!”—and the heart eyes Trent was sending his way, fierce as fucking laser beams. Honestly, they were disgusting, the lot of them.

Still, that question was going to haunt him now...

“Wonder if Keeley and Jamie would love me if I was a worm,” Roy muttered, ignoring the look Higgins cast him and the question of where he was off to with their meeting on the horizon. Fuck finances. Worms didn't care about finances.

Roy took a right towards the exit, towards KJPR, and hopefully an answer half as romantic as the dork's.

#Ted Lasso #Trent Crimm #Tedependent #Ted Lasso fic #Roy/Keeley/Jamie #apparently I enjoy writing Roy suffering from Tedependent nonsense lol #also is there a ship name for that disaster trio? #they deserve one

[sunshine-theseus]

Fuck the RFEF | Amaiur Sarrigei x Reader

Words: 1.8k Summary: you refuse to play for the national team, risking your playing license, Amaiur disagrees Warnings: angst, !!mentions of SA!!, let’s pretend the girls are on a break in Barca before the call-up and Amaiur went to the wwc Requested by - @realsociadadferminofan

Patri, Cláudia and Mapi were who I always went to when something went wrong. Joining the 3 in abstaining from national team call ups after the 2022 Euros and being one of the 4 that refused a call-up for the world cup due to lack of action toward Jorge Vilda’s misconduct, they were basically my closest friends. Not to say the other girls didn’t mean a lot, I know if they felt like they could, they’d have joined us in refusing. But these 3 were who I had when I felt like crying as I watched my friends and girlfriend win the biggest football tournament in the world.

This also meant I’d go to them with relationship problems.

-

“What do you mean?” Patri had quickly paused the movie she was watching and called Mapi and Cláudia over when I came crying and banging on her door.

“I told her ‘I don’t care about losing my license if it means going against my morals and everything I’ve protested’ and she called me selfish and brainless.” Another sob wracks my body and I fall back into the arms of whoever is next to me.

“Amaiur said that?” it’s Cláudia who asks, tone of voice proving how ludicrous Am’s actions were.

“Verbatim.”

--

“Am! Did you get the email?” I yell across the house for my girlfriend who sits in the living room doing God knows what.

“Sí! Did you?”

“Yeah! What did you say?” my teeth worry at my bottom lip as I wait for her answer.

“I said yes, it’s a national call up. What about you?” I’m not sure what to say as my girlfriend strolls into our bedroom, holding her phone to her face.

She’s clearly re-reading the email we’d all been sent. An email majority of us had signed a statement saying we should not receive if changes were not made, especially after the events at the world cup.

“No.”

“Que? Que quieres decir ‘no'?” (what do you mean ‘no’?) Amaiur gives me a shocked look as I retreat beneath our blankets.

“Nothing has changed Am. How am I supposed to go back? Did you even read the full email? ‘If you refuse this national team call-up, your professional playing license may be revoked in correlation to the Spanish FIFA and RFEF code of conduct.’ They’re forcing me to reject my morals and risk my entire career for some shit call-up.” Angry tears prick at the corner of my eyes. This isn’t fair, how does she find this fair?

“Bebé, they got rid of Rubiales and Jorge, that’s what everyone was fighting for. You, Mapi, Patri and Cláudia, you can come back now.”

“Amaiur how do you not see nothing has fucking changed just because they got rid of two shitty people? Alexia, Ona, they wouldn’t be going if it wasn’t to protect the other girls, especially the younger ones. Esas chicas merecen algo major.” (those girls deserve better).

“So you’re not going? You’re giving up your career for this? You’re being a selfish and brainless cabrona!” (dumbass) the anger quickly melts off her face and regret fills her eyes, but I’m already pulling the sheets off me and heading for the door.

I grab my keys from the bowl that sits on the table beside the door, and leave. Her pleas for me to come back so she can apologise are futile as I walk down the hall. Señor Perez, the old man with many cats, sits at the end of the hall, giving me a pitiful smile that I return before making my way down the stairs.

--

“Ese pedazo de mierda.” (that piece of shit) it’s the first thing Mapi has said all evening, but it makes me laugh.

“No. I mean yes, but I still love her, I don’t think she meant it. We were both just angry.” It’s hard not to defend the girl I’ve loved for so long, but I know I’m right.

She’s always supported my decision to stand up against the RFEF and higher-ups. I just think she expected after Rubiales and Vilda were gone, we’d be playing together again. Admittedly I’d momentarily thought the same, but there was no way I could go back.

“Are you guys going?” the trio give each other guilty looks before turning to me. No one says anything.

“It’s okay if you do. I truly understand, you guys shouldn’t risk your careers for this. You’re being forced into it and that isn’t fair. I’ll support you no matter what.” I place an arm around Patri and grab Cláudia and Mapi’s hands.

“Thank you hermosa. We’re still going to fight this, from the inside.” Mapi says it in a funny voice and sends me a wink and I can’t stop the laugh that escapes.

Not much else can be said before we settle down on the couch to continue whatever movie it is the Patri has playing. Despite me calming down, I didn’t think I was in a state to return to my girlfriend quite yet. The universe seems to disagree.

There’s a loud knocking on the door and a familiar voice rings out from behind it.

“Patri, I know Y/n is in there! I need to talk to her! Please?” I’m standing and opening the door before anyone can reply.

Amaiur doesn’t waist a second in spewing out apologies and wrapping her arms around me. I reciprocate the gesture and begin rocking us back and forth. It’s hard to ignore the stares of our Spanish teammates who sit looking on in the living room.

“I’m so, so sorry, I can’t believe I said that to you. I stand by you, you know that. I’m just so scared for you and your career. You love playing so much and you might lose it all because of this.” I let out a sigh and pull away, resting a hand on her cheek.

“Do you want to know why I’m so willing to risk it all? Why I need this change so bad before I can come back?” she gives a simple shake of her head.

I have to give myself a second, swallowing nervously as I look into her eyes. The warmest, most beautiful eyes. She should know, I’ve hid it for too long.

“When… When we played in the Euros, there was one night where I was feeling bad. You were out with some of the girls, and I was in our room alone. Well around an hour after you left, Vilda came bursting in, obviously we weren’t allowed to lock our doors so there was nothing to stop him. He asked why I wasn’t doing team bonding and I told him I wasn’t feeling well. He came toward me and hugged me like he was going to comfort me, but-” I begin to choke on my words and tears breach my waterline. I can’t bare to look at the girls around me.

Am places a hand softly over my hand that rests on my own arm and I take a deep breath before continuing.

“His hands began to stray. I told him to stop and shoved him away, but he just kept going. He groped my ass and boobs, tried taking my clothes off. He slipped his hand down my shorts.”

“Did he…” Amauri is too scared to finish her sentence.

“He didn’t get that far; someone came knocking on the door and he just left with a sick grin.”

“Did you report him?” Everyone around me looks like they’re about to throw up, but for the most part they look angry.

“I reported him to every higher-up I could. They laughed me off and told me I was being delusional. That is why I can’t go back until there is actual change. Especially after what happened to Jenni and knowing other girls have been through it too. If that means I lose the job I love? So be it. They won’t shut me up.”

“I’m not goin-” Am tries.

“Yes you fucking are. I already told those 3, and I will tell Alexia and Marta and Mariona and whoever else I need to. You have to go, to ensure things change. And to make sure the younger girls are safe.” Cláudia, Patri and Mapi have all disappeared, so it just leaves me and my girlfriend.

“For you. I’ll do anything for you bebé.” I stand on my tippy toes to press a kiss to her lips.

“Thank you.”

~~~~~

4 members of the Spanish Women’s National Team have been released from international duty without sanctions, not including Alexia Putellas who has been allowed to leave due to injury. Is the change we’ve been waiting for, finally coming?

It’s the main headline across all media platforms the morning of the second day of camp. A 7-hour meeting to release 4 players. Fucking ridiculous.

Despite it, a smile tugs at my lips as I sit in bed, the sun filtering through the stained-glass windows of Amaiur and my bedroom back in Donostia-San Sebastian. I wait patiently for my girlfriend to arrive, a cup of coffee on her bedside time while my own rests in my left hand.

“Hola bebé! Is that coffee I smell?” the door slams shut behind Amaiur and her footsteps slowly creep closer to the bedroom.

I place my coffee on my own bedside table and get up, pouncing into her arms when she walks through the open door. She stumbles for a moment before adjusting her grip on my thighs, smiling brightly up at me as I lean down and kiss her hard.

My hands thread through her hair and she turns us around and walks forward to press me against the wall. In a moment of weakness, she squeezes my thigh and I let out a moan, allowing her to slip her tongue past my lips.

Not long after, we have to break apart for air.

“You’d think I’d been missing for months with the way you kiss me.”

“Any amount of time away from you it too long.” I give her a small smile and she pecks my nose, making me giggle.

“Can we cuddle and drink coffee while we watch movies?” I pout at her as puts me back on my two feet.

“Anything for my girl.”

Very soon after, I find myself in her arms on the couch, all curtains drawn shut, warm cups of coffee abandoned on the table, Encanto playing loudly on the TV. Naturally I sing along poorly and quote every line.

“Have you heard from the RFEF about your license?” I smile into her neck at the question.

“I get to keep it. And they gave an apology. Not that it means much still, but we’re getting there.” Amaiur squeals and jumps off the couching, taking me with her. She lifts me up and spins me around before putting me back down, spreading kissing across my face. My heart clenches at her display of love. How can one be so perfect?

#woso x reader #woso #womens soccer #woso fanfics #wwc 2023 #Amaiur Sarriegi #Spanish footballer #amaiur sarriegi x reader #amaiur sarriegi fanfic #spain wnt #spain women's national team

[sin-djarin]

Private and Confidential I

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Rating: M (for now). This blog is 18+. MDNI.

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: You're less than enthusiastic about being assigned to a new case without any forewarning. Maybe your new partner could change your mind?

Chapter summary: Already upset at the idea of switching divisions, you're forced to recall a memory from last summer.

Chapter warnings: No use of y/n, no physical description of reader (wearing of heels mentioned), swearing, mention of food and alcohol consumption, my spelling and grammar probably.

A/N: I have absolutely taken liberties with this despite research but it's fiction right? Lets see where this takes us. Setting the scene here and it's likely to be the longest chapter.

“The briefing starts in five minutes. I suggest you get to boardroom C”

“Sir, I-“ you start but can’t get your words out.

You stay seated as your director stands from his own large leather chair, cutting off any attempt at defence you might try to make. The decision had been made and deep down you knew it. There had been no prior consultation, no emails, no phone calls to discuss. You had just been assigned to this case whether you liked it or not. He walks to hold the door to his office open for your impending exit before dismissing you with a flat “good day agent”.

It’s a hurried dash back to your desk to pick up a notepad and a pen before starting the short walk to the boardroom. Even if you weren’t, you thought it wise to make it look like you were interested despite being far from it. Art crime wasn’t your area. You thought it to be too slow. Rarely is someone in immediate danger, there’s no adrenaline high or satisfaction from potentially saving a life.

Regardless, you take a seat in the dimly lit boardroom at the long oval table, another director on one side, you and three other agents on the other. A large flat screen hangs on the wall at one end of the table with slides ready to be presented along with the case number. Seeing slide 1/52 in the bottom left of the screen slashes away the enthusiasm you walked into the building with this morning.

The sudden opening and closing of the glass door steals your attentions away from jotting down the reference number. A final agent quickly enters and takes a seat at the very end of the mahogany table and apologises for his late arrival.

The director begins to get into the specifics of the case. Art fraud…or forgery, you’re not sure because it’s only seconds before you find yourself tuning out. All of your fellow agents are busy writing down details. Especially the one who barely made it. Even in the darkened room, the slides behind him illuminate his familiar side profile. He’s completely enthralled, his hands can’t write fast enough as he eagerly nods along to lists of suspects, places, and times with a frown and pursed lips.

Fuck.

There it is. The same guilt that bubbled underneath your skin last summer starts to stir again and you soothe your brow at the feeling before being thrown back to that day.

Everyone else had physically clocked out at five but mentally clocked out at around two. There was a buzz throughout the entire floor since the morning. Excitement to close cases and relax for an evening - to remind yourself that it’s just work.

Most of your colleagues left to go home and change out of blazers and ties, swapping them for flowy sun dresses and polo shirts. You managed to change your heels for a pair of sneakers that you kept under your desk. When you were locking your drawer, Marcus was still hunched over his own, three rows over from yours, chewing on his fingers and practically begging his computer monitor to make two plus two equal four. But you let him and his multitude of empty coffee cups be and went to celebrate with everyone else. He hadn’t so much as touched the pastry you left on his desk that morning as you passed by.

You didn’t bother going home, you rode the bus the couple of miles to your co-worker’s house and a glass of homemade sangria was placed in your hand before you even had time to say hello.

As the sun set, your plate kept being piled high with all sorts of meat and side dishes and your glass continued to be refilled. Each time, it pulled the smile higher on your cheeks. Somewhere between glass two and three, Marcus finally showed up. You were the only two still in office attire though he chose to remove his tie and badge. He kept a close circle with some of the other art crime agents, sipping on a Coke as the people around him knocked back bottles of beer. You only caught some “this is good man’s” while he patted your host on the back for their efforts. Meanwhile you were stuck with your own small crowd discussing salad dressings.

You remained separate from one another the entire time that you were there. You never did get to ask about what kept him so late. Around 8.30 you decided to call it a night. You weren’t young enough to survive a sugar induced hangover anymore, so you said your goodbyes and turned down any more replenishments and intended on getting back on the bus.

That’s when he caught you walking cautiously down the gravel covered driveway.

“Leaving?” he asked.

“I am” you grinned at him, giddy on sun and sangria.

“I can give you a ride?” he offered, holding up his car keys.

“No, no. I got this” you tried to assure him but subconsciously, you were holding onto the gate for support and he noticed.

“Please. I insist. I was leaving myself”

He convinced you in the end and drove you to your apartment building. Fumbling to get out with your purse and belongings, he lent you a hand, held the door open for you and made sure you had everything. Before he closed it, he reached to get something from the glovebox and handed you a small bottle of Advil.

“You’re too much, Pike. Too soft” you giggled.

His head fell to look at his feet. You were still sober enough to realise he was crestfallen instantly.

“Okay, well. You get inside safe. Should probably keep those by your bed. You never know, y’know?” he chuckled half heartedly.

You never said goodnight. Never said thank you. You lost all your manners because you were too busy insulting the nice guy before turning on your heels to leave him on the curb.

You intended on apologising. It was top of your to-do list on Monday but the pills he gave you couldn’t do anything for the guilt that had plagued you over the weekend.

An office reshuffle the following week put you over the other side of the building. Instead of being a few cubicles away from him and art crime you were planted right beside international terrorism. There, you were walls and windows apart rather than a few feet.  The most you saw of him was a passing glance on the way to separate meetings, but he still smiled politely despite your inebriated words.

Your own cases ramped up to the point you were out of the office more than you were in it, rounding up confidential informants took up most of your days. The next thing you knew he left for California, and it seemed like the moment was gone. You thought he might have stayed there because you hadn’t seen him until now.

And he looks different. Sitting feet away from you once again. Lit from behind by the white slides wiping across the screen, he’s let his facial hair grow out and his hair isn’t quite as neat as you remember but he still wears the same excitement about a fresh case as he did when they came his way.

Regret follows the guilt; it drowns out everything that’s being discussed around you. The distance made it easier to stave off the memory.  You could have sent an email, left a note in his cubby, scheduled a meeting in his calendar – anything. Except, selfishly, you didn’t.

The harsh fluorescent lights in the boardroom illuminate, pulling you from your thoughts and the slideshow ends. You do a quick scan of the notebooks to your left and they’re bursting with bullet points compared to your empty pages.

“Agent?” another assistant director speaks in your direction. “I hear you’re taking this case with Agent Pike?”

You clear your throat before nodding a silent yes. You can almost feel Marcus’s eyes boring into the side of your head, but you pay him no mind. It feels like an age before your director calls an end to the briefing and the second he does, you bolt back to your desk, the tips of your heels clacking furiously underneath you.

There, your teeth gnash into your bottom lip, as you weigh up potential outcomes though you didn’t have a beginning point. It would be career development, you think. On the other hand, it could be boring and everlasting. You saw how much time Marcus spent at his desk, hardly ever leaving the building. Your heart sinks at the thought of being deskbound.

There’s chatter about spikes in organized crime happening around you. Some of your old colleagues are giving updates on their current cases, others are hammering keyboards typing up their recent notes – ones you wish your fingers were writing. You can easily muster up some suggestions for them but not for yourself. Should they ask what you’re working on, you have exactly nothing to tell them. And it’s that that raises you from your chair on a mission to find your new partner.

The level you both call home, is all gray-coloured marble, stainless steel and glass. The only pops of colour come from the muted blue partitions that separate white lacquer desks. You wander aimlessly for a few minutes, around mazes of bullpens and corridors, squinting at individual office doors in an attempt to find him. Eventually you stop someone and ask where he might be but all you get as a response is a thumb thrown over their shoulder.

It’s vague but it helps. The last corridor has his name written in white font across some black plastic that’s stuck to the door. He’s upgraded to his own office. The lights inside are off but you knock anyway. There’s no answer.

After a deep breath, you start the journey back to your own desk again. It’s not the Monday or even the case you’d hoped to be given – you’ve fallen at the first hurdle in being unable to locate your partner.

Back at your desk, there’s a pink Post-It with three reference numbers. Underneath, a note that reads; Try these – Pike.

It’s cryptic but it’s a start you didn’t previously have. Loading up the database on your computer to pull up the associated file, you type the first into the index field and hit search. Value: Not found. You frown, puzzled by the error message. 

You try the second reference. Value: Not found. The same thing happens on the third one. With a sigh, you try each one once more in case they’re case sensitive. Unsurprisingly they’re not and the error appears another three times. In your experience, that error message meant one thing; the files relating to the reference numbers hadn’t been scanned and digitized.

After lunch and armed with Marcus’s sticky note along with some writing of your own of box and file barcodes you’d found on an old spreadsheet, you head down to the archive in search of the physical copies.

The archive is cold, kept at a certain temperature to preserve and prevent moisture damage but instantly covers your skin in goosebumps. It’s a sprawling room and you're alone in it, not many agents had a reason to visit anymore.

The racks stand tall around you, holding shelves of green banker’s boxes, all of them full to their 55-pound capacity with paper files. Each is clearly marked with a barcode. Going along every shelf is painstaking, trying to match the ten-digit barcodes to the numbers on your pink post it.

The first is on the middle shelf. Pulling it out by its cardboard handle, you heave it out onto the ground and kneel to trawl through the contents to find what you came for. The file itself is heavy, beaten and battered. Up in the top left corner it says 1993 scribbled in ballpoint. Probably one of the first cases of its kind. That still left over ten years for it to be scanned and it wasn’t.

After placing it on the floor, it was onto the next. This one is on the top shelf, and it’s a stretch to reach. Digging it out of the box once it’s on the floor, it’s smaller, fifty pages or less and in worse condition than its predecessor yet there’s a charm in the splashes of coffee on its corners.

Squatting over the box to put the lid back on, the handle of the door slams down and footsteps follow making you jump back to your feet with the file in hand. Being down here by yourself is a health and safety nightmare and to be called out on it is the last thing to add onto an already tougher than expected day.

“Thought I’d find you here” a joyful face appears from behind a rack and he comes to stand beside you.

“Agent Pike” you sigh, relieved that it’s your new partner and not a superior. “You knew these weren’t scanned?”

“I didn’t” he holds his hands up. “It’s luck of the draw, really. They’re in the works, though. Other units have been prioritised” he explains.

“You just knew these cases off hand?”

“Yeah. Guess so” he admits, sheepishly.

An uncomfortable silence creeps into the room. Your thumb flits over the already worn edges of the file you’re still holding, suddenly torn like some of the pages over whether to leave the past behind or to finally apologise.

“Have I done something?” he asks, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his dark slacks.

“No, I’m sorry. This just isn’t me” you tell him a half truth.

“You ran out earlier and I couldn’t find you“

“I know, I know” you sigh. “Look, Agent-“

“For what it’s worth, I asked your director to let you work this case with me. I saw how you worked with Agent Hill a while back and I thought-“

“What?” you scowl.

“It’s admirable, your work. I thought that we could work well together” he says, eyes soft and honest.

Your own eyes narrow at his words but he’s earnest in what he says. You did work with Agent Hill but he was close to retiring and he let you take the reins. He listened to you, trusted your decisions. He would have no reason not to give you a good review after closing the case as quick as you did. And yet there is a tiny pang of anger that was gearing itself towards Agent Pike - you’re not his to take.

“But if you don’t agree, I won’t hold it against you” he crosses his arms and leans back against the edge of one of the racks, the light pinstripe of his suit distorting across his shoulders before continuing.

“You know, I thought about what you said”

You stare at him confused. You hadn’t broken breath to him since that night; the night you never really forgave yourself for.

“What did I say?” you ask with a shaky voice. The small space you both occupy between the shelving feels as though it's become tiny.

His gaze falls to his shoes, just like it did the night he dropped you off.

“That I should toughen up”

Your eyes shut at his words. In all the days and nights afterwards, you hoped he might have forgotten. But why should he have? Because you still remember every time someone had been condescending towards you from the moment you stepped foot into the academy.

“That isn’t what I meant, Agent Pike. I was…drunk” you whisper.

“No. You were right. I’m better for it. I think” he says and nods, a stern expression paints itself onto his face similar to the one he wore in the boardroom.

“Really, I didn’t mean anything by it. Actually I’ve-”

“What is it?” he cuts you off after coming so close to uttering the words that have been on your mind for so long.

“You don’t think this will be exciting enough for you? I know our filing system isn’t as sophisticated as what you’re used to but-”

“Work doesn’t need to be exciting. Sometimes you just need to get the job done and move on” you tell him hoping that maybe if you said it out loud, you’d start to believe it.

His head tilts to the side and a smirk tugs at his lips.

“What if we can do both of those things? Here. Let me get these” he says, scooping up the file you left on the floor and then striding towards you to take the one from your hand. “I’ll scan them and email you when they’re done. We can start from there”

All you can do is watch as he slowly starts his retreat out of the archive and the cool air that hit you when entered has disappeared. The goosebumps have been replaced by a heat creeping up your back at his musings.

“Think about it” he winks. “I’m sure we both have things we can learn from each other”

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #marcus pike

[hgejfmw-hgejhsf]

2023 Writing Roundup

I had to scroll back pretty far to find the tags for this, so if I missed someone who did this already and tagged me, I'm sorry if I double tag you at the end! But thanks to @kiwiana-writes and @inexplicablymine for tagging me in this roundup post!

As the post is going to reveal, I, uh, only just got back into writing a few months back, after taking almost ten years off due to, honestly, a lack of inspiration. I'd lost my voice, and I didn't suspect I'd ever love anything enough to write again, until this little pink book came barrelling into my life in June, followed swiftly by a little Amazon Prime movie in August, and both changed my life forever.

So without further ado, here's my writing roundup for 2023:

January

Nada

February

Zilch

March

Nothin'

April

Not a damn thing

May

Nope, nothing here either

June

Keep right on going, my friends

July

29th - The Lake House The night following the election, Alex has a surprise planned for Henry. A chance to make some new history.

August

8th - What If I Do? What was Henry thinking when he left Alex at the lake house? What were the days that followed like for him before Alex showed up at his door and forced him to face not only Alex, but himself?

18th - Gravity The first time that Henry enters Alex's orbit, at the Melbourne Climate Conference, and all of their subsequent meetings leading to their "violent altercation" at the royal wedding. Inspired by a post about how Henry very pointedly chose not to shake Alex's hand in the receiving line after the wedding and what that could have meant.

19th - The Rope Henry's reaction to Alex nearly telling him that he loves him at the lake house in Texas.

19th - A brief spark of a moment: A Red, White & Royal Blue drabble collection These drabbles are simply my personal challenge to contain myself to 100 words when I've always been…long-winded.

20th - Retaliation Alex and Henry, now dating, attend another state dinner, where they're unexpectedly seated directly next to each other.

21st - Every Version Alex does a magazine photoshoot, and the day that the magazine arrives, he wants Henry to look at it first.

23rd - On my heart just like a tattoo Alex and Henry are married, and on the day of the ceremony, they decide to do something special.

23rd - Ghosts After Henry leaves the lake house, Alex does not go after him. He doesn't storm Kensington in a fit of pique to call Henry an "obtuse fucking asshole." Instead, the pair spend nearly a year apart, both wrecked and miserable, until they find themselves on the list of speakers for an international conference.

27th - Darkest before the dawn The immediate aftermath of Henry discovering the email leak in the movie-verse.

28th - When I taste tequila Henry’s drunk. If the growing mountain of empty shot glasses, drained and discarded lime wedges, and gritty layer of salt on the table in front of him are any indication, he’s very drunk. Only, his brain is having a difficult time catching on to the fact that he’s drunk. And when his brain is this far behind the rest of him, Henry tends to find himself in precarious situations, with no real conscious thought as to how he got there or how he might have avoided them.

September

4th - The Maldives Inspired by a conversation about the zoomed-in and transcribed article about Henry in People Magazine from the movie and how the photos look like they could have been faked.

After their conversation with the king and greeting the crowd at Buckingham Palace, Alex and Henry ride back to Kensington. Alex mentions that his offer to fly to the Maldives is still valid, and Henry admits that he's never been, which sparks a discussion about some of the lengths the crown would go to in order to convince the world that Henry was straight. Alex considers what Henry must have gone through, and the two of them discuss their past and how it might have been different.

11th - Modification to the map of you Henry comes back from a month-long trip with his ear pierced, and Alex has no idea.

14th - Et Max Laryngitis Alex gets laryngitis, and Henry decides to have a bit of fun at his expense.

23rd - How bizarro is that Alex gets food poisoning, and Henry takes care of him…sort of.

27th - Royal Assent “If the boyfriend of a prince of England fails English Legal History, you’ll be the one to blame,” Alex murmurs as Henry sucks a bruise on his neck. Henry had arrived home from the shelter to find Alex buried under a mountain of books, his glasses askew and his hair wild, wearing the same bewildered expression Henry had seen as he walked out the door earlier that morning.

As he climbs into Alex’s lap, jumping a little as a particularly sharp corner of a hardcover book pokes him in the arse, he can feel the tension in Alex’s shoulders relax, ever so slightly.

“You aren’t going to fail. In fact, I’m going to help you,” Henry says, each word separated by a kiss to Alex’s chest, neck, cheek, and finally lips.

OR

Alex is trying really hard to study for a law school exam, and Henry takes it upon himself to...assist.

28th - 5 Times Henry Hated New Year's + 1 Time He Didn't “This is my curse,” Henry mutters, and Pez laughs across from him.

“You can hardly be responsible for the weather.”

“So the glaring fact that every single New Year’s Eve on record in my life has been an utter disaster means absolutely nothing to you?”

“We’re going to make it, so no, it means nothing to me,” Pez says with cheerful optimism despite the constant fluttering of white beyond the plane windows.

OR

5 times throughout his life that Henry's New Year's countdown has been ruined, and 1 time that it isn't.

29th - Stars in the sky are the stars in my eyes The ding of a notification sounds in the otherwise silent living room. As Henry’s eyes continue to scan the page of his book, ignoring his phone, Alex can’t help but glance down at the illuminated screen between them on the couch.

“Is that…a horoscope?” Alex asks, immediately retrieving the phone to confirm his suspicions at the exact moment Henry grabs for it a beat too late. He watches the bright shade of red crawl up Henry’s neck to burn just beneath the skin of his ears.

“Perhaps,” is all he supplies, his voice muffled as he buries his face far too close to the book’s pages to realistically read anything written there.

***

Henry gets his daily horoscope, and Alex is intrigued, so Henry shows him the constellations.

30th - What started in beautiful rooms Henry’s never taken any extra care in his appearance when playing polo. Certainly, he’s given an adequate amount of time and effort to ensure that he appears composed, but the sport itself lends to a bit of chaos, between the pounding of hooves and the whipping of the wind in a frantic rush. It’s all incredibly…well, wild.

No, Henry’s never taken any extra care in his appearance when playing polo…except today.

OR

Henry's point of view during the charity polo match.

October

1st - Do we still have forever? Alex has a sudden, serious allergic reaction, and Henry can't help but think about losing him.

2nd - Dear Dad I should start from the beginning, or rather, I should start by telling you how I got here, to this moment, writing you this letter.

OR

Henry writes a letter to his father on his wedding day.

3rd - Liquor was the only love I'd known June finds them at some point and steals Henry away to gab at the bar. Alex watches them from afar, wondering what they could possibly be talking about that has June nearly falling off her barstool laughing, until the crowd overtakes him again.

3rd - Then came a baby boy with long eyelashes Following their initial spirited entrance into Alex's hotel room following the DNC, Henry asks Alex about his encounter with Miguel in the bar.

13th - Volume Control Prompt Fulfillment: I need someone to write a FirstPrince fic where Henry overhears Alex saying "Henry is so annoying I can't stand him" so Henry says "kneel then" and it short circuits Alex's brain.

20th - 5 Times Alex Made a Disney Movie Reference + 1 Time Henry Did Alex and Henry have watched a significant amount of Disney movies, and well, Alex tends to have questions.

20th - You can't escape this drying ink “There’s…a matter…that requires your attention, in the Red Room. I’d be happy to escort you there.” She glances sideways at Henry’s PPOs, who shift in place, readying themselves to follow where she leads. Henry nods again, uncertain what other options lie open to him even if he wished to take one.

OR

Henry's thoughts at the state dinner as Amy leads him to the Red Room.

31st - Save a horse Alex convinces Henry to dress up as cowboys for Halloween and quickly realizes that Henry dressed as a cowboy was not something he was entirely prepared for.

31st - I'm not a robot without emotions, I'm not what you see At the royal wedding, Alex drinks and dances and contemplates both of the princes.

November

1st - The Candy Tax Ten-year-old Alex has invited his new friend Henry, who just moved to Texas from England with his family so that his movie star dad can be based in the US to shoot more movies, over for a sleepover the night before Halloween.

1st - Through the summer and the fall, we had each other, that was all The mountains are on fire. Red, orange, and yellow leaves cover thousands of acres of land, and the peeking of the sun over the distant horizon illuminates the hovering fog, creating the illusion of a persistent fire burning brightly without causing any damage. Instead, it paints a masterful landscape for an early morning riser to gaze at as he sips at a cup of Earl Grey and marvels at the fact that this beauty is a sight he has somehow been blessed to see.

2nd - Heart enough "...there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement."

Instead of Alex flying to London, Henry is sent to D.C. to do the post Cakegate damage control just in time for Alex and June's annual Halloween party.

2nd - Life is a maze, and love is a riddle Alex, June, and Nora take Henry to his first haunted corn maze.

3rd - All at once, everything is different, now that I see you Alex throws out some possible suggestions for his and Henry's first ever couples Halloween costume, but Henry has something else in mind.

3rd - Halloween at Kensington The Fox-Mountchristen-Windsors may not be able to go out trick-or-treating like a normal family, but they can still celebrate Halloween in their own special way.

4th - No fear, no fences, nobody - no reins Henry takes Alex to a nearby farm outside Austin to teach him how to ride a horse. Eventually, they stop at a log cabin in the words for the night, and they decide to try another form of riding.

4th - I don't know why all the trees change in the fall Alex has had a terrible day. It's raining, it's cold, and he's absolutely miserable. All he wants to do is dry off and collapse in bed. But when he walks through the door, Henry is ready and waiting to take care of him. He even has a surprise that he's cooking up in the kitchen. And Alex gets to take a trip down memory lane.

5th - A-gourd-able “Oh, so that’s the reason you wanted a child so badly. Not for the opportunity to nurture and guide and love another human being that you helped to create, but for the perks of walking around to strangers’ homes asking for candy that our baby can’t even eat.”

OR

Alex and Henry take their daughter trick or treating for the first time, and it's Henry's first time as well.

5th - I want to play a game Alex and Henry agree to watch all of the Saw movies to determine if one or both of them will end up too scared to continue. Do they make it through the series? Or does one of them give in and lose the wager that they've made?

5th - Barbecue Sauce "I want to see your mouth covered in barbecue sauce. And then, I want to lick it off."

6th - With magic soakin' my spine, can you read my mind? What happened after Alex, June, and Nora played their little HRH Prince Henry Fact Sheet drinking game? Well, in this version of events, Alex finds a mysterious bottle containing what appears to be a magic spell for "Clarity of Mind." As dumb as it seems, he does the ritual and reads the incantation and moves on, flying to London for damage control. But when he shakes Henry's hand, suddenly things change, and Alex realizes that maybe magic is real after all.

6th - Don't need no butterflies when you give me the whole damn zoo (podfic included) Henry takes Alex on a trip to visit...a couple of old feathered friends.

6th - It's autumn in New York; it's good to live it again It's the first day of fall in New York, and Alex comes home from class with a special surprise for Henry.

6th - Reciting to the Waterloo Vase: Drabbles for the RWRDrabblePrompts Tumblr

13th - Wind me up, fill your cup like a river, drunk on watching me drown Henry sighs. "Is that the time you threatened to push me into the Thames?"

OR

That time Alex threatened to push Henry into the Thames.

23rd - The injury of finally knowing you (a birthday present for @ships-to-sail) Henry's thoughts just before and immediately after the countdown to midnight on New Year's Eve.

23rd - Smutsgiving 2023 Alex's heart rate monitor on his Apple Watch alerts him to some strenuous activity…at the worst possible time.

December

1st - We need a little Christmas The one where I let a random Christmas word generator choose a drabble prompt for a Christmas advent. Enjoy!

20th - Four Christmases From Washington to Austin, London to New York, Alex and Henry spend Christmas with different members of their families from 2020 - 2023. Funny couples' Christmas sweaters, festive swimsuits, statement-making ties, and family pajamas all bring lots of laughs, some tears, and a bit of fun to be had by all along the way.

25th - Oh what a laugh it would have been When Alex dresses as Santa Claus on Christmas Eve, their five-year-old daughter makes an extra special, last-minute Christmas wish.

AND

Alex leaves his Santa suit on for a private evening with Henry while everyone else is snug in their beds.

Unpublished but Completed

December 30th - Take Your Time A New Year's Eve AU set in New York City (and that's all I'm willing to give away...for now)

January 1st - NYE Gift Exchange Fic

Tagging all of my lovelies who may or may not have already done this (please ignore this if you have!): @adreamareads @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @daisymae-12 @duchessdepolignaca03 @gayrootvegetable @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heybuddy-drabbles @indomitable-love @indestructibleheart @leaves-of-laurelin @leojfitz @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @magicandarchery @ninzied @priincebutt @read-and-write- @rockyroadkylers @roseharpermaxwell @ships-to-sail @songliili @ssmtskw @statueinthestonetoo @stereopticons @suseagull04 @thinkof-england @tintagel-or-cockleshells @user-anakin @vanillahigh00 @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @whimsymanaged @wordsofhoneydew

#my fics #my writing #2023 writing roundup #2023 year in review #my posts #here's to filling the first 6 months of the year with fics in 2024

[averagewriter777]

Ghost and Doc (Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader)

Masterlist

(Part Seven)

You basically ran to your room to set up your iPad for the call. A text had already been sent from Shawn, asking if you were ready to call for the birthday breakfast. When Skype was all set up, despite the poor quality on your end, you were greeted with a grinning- blurry- but grinning little girl.

“Happy birthday, sunshine!” You shouted with the widest smile on your face. You pushed past the tears that wanted to fall because you weren’t there, giving her the Hello Kitty shaped pancakes. “How are you?”

The camera shook a little as your daughter laughed and jumped up and down. “I’m happy!” You heard a ‘Tell your mommy how old you are’ from Shawn. Kennedy set the phone down and started to count her fingers. “Six! I’m six!” She showed four fingers and two fingers on separate hands, making you laugh. “I wish you were here, mommy…”

A single tear fell from your eye, you wiped it away immediately. “I know, mommy wishes she were there too.” You sniffed and smiled at your daughter. “Why don’t you open the gift that mommy got you?” Kennedy’s sad expression changed to a happy one as a box wrapped in pink paper was given to her. As per usual, she shook it with her little tongue sticking out. “Careful, sunshine! Something fragile might be in there…”

Kennedy stopped shaking the box, and instead ripped the paper out like a monster and opened the box. Her little arms picked up a squishmellow of Hello Kitty, the size of it near her head. “Hello Kitty!!!” She started jumping up and down with the plush in her hands. “Thanks, mommy!” 

“I’m gonna fucking cry from how adorable this is,” Soap whispered to Gaz at the door. You whipped your head around and glared at the two, but quickly turned to your daughter when she kissed the camera.

“You’re welcome, sunshine.” You kissed the camera back and smiled at your daughter. “I hope you have a wonderful birthday, make sure to tell daddy to take lots of pictures, okay?” Kennedy nodded, still overhyped with the new squishmellow in hand. “Alright, I love you, sunshine. Let me talk to daddy real quick, okay?” The phone was given back to Shawn. “Thank you, for letting this happen. I’m sorry I’m not there this year again, this came--”

Shawn put up a hand and waved it, dismissing your apology. “Don’t worry about it, (Y/n). You’re a busy woman, I get it. I’ll take pictures and send them to your email, okay?” You nodded. “Alright, talk to you later.” Then the call ended.

The door to your room opened further, and the two men who had been eavesdropping walked further in, looking at you sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop like that, Doc. We were… told by Price to get ready for some training, we’re just running some drills with our gear on.”

“On a Saturday?” You questioned while getting out of your bed. “And I don’t have the same gear you guys do.” You frowned further when the two men starting laughing.

Soap walked over and patted your shoulder. “All I’ve got to say to that is… welcome to Task Force 141. Your gear is in the locker room with everyone else’s.” Then he and Gaz left the room, stating you had five minutes to get to the locker room.

Let’s just say you were glad that call had ended then and there.

With the gear, in wearing it, it was like you were on the field all over again. There were no separate locker rooms for men and women, so you changed in the same place as everyone else, hoping that they didn’t look at you as you didn’t look at them. It had happened once, when you joined third group, and the guy ended up with a broken nose after talking about it. You were punished accordingly. So far, thankfully, no one in 141 seemed to be that way.

“How’s the gear on ya?” Soap asked while securing the straps around his chest. “Any different than your old?”

You shook your head, focusing on strapping the bands around your legs. “Not really, it’s roughly the same.” You followed him and the others out of the room. “What does Price mean by training? Is it physical or are we involving weapons?” Soap shrugged. “Guess it’s a gamble then. Wonder if it’ll be at all like it is at home…”

Price was waiting in a large room that was covered in obstacles. Next to him was a table that had multiple weapons laid across it. His arms were behind his back, and a hard expression was on his face. “Ah, about time you lot showed. Sergeant (L/n), select your weapon of choice.”

Damn. You stepped forward, looking over the weapons on the table. You picked a revolver, putting the extra ammo in your vest, then stepped away. Price raised a brow at your choice. “Are you sure? This training exercise is to see how you move on the field and react to your environment.” You thinned your lips, but continued to hold the gun in your hand as you loaded it.

“I’m fine with what I picked, Captain.” You snapped your wrist to the side in a motion that shut the barrel. You saw Soap and Gaz take a glance at each other, while Ghost gave you a look of interest. “‘S my best weapon the field. I can assure you.”

Price sighed. “Very well.” His throat cleared and he turned to the course behind him. “This obstacle course will have popouts of what you need to shoot. Be aware that some of these cutouts are civilians… so pay attention. And watch your six too.” He stepped away from the table and went to stand by the others. 

(Part Eight)

#mwii #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost x female reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain price #alejandro vargas

[salmonskinrolltf]

Don't Read This!

If you’ve continued on to this sentence, it’s already too late. The curse has taken hold. Your DNA will change to match the last celebrity you have saved in your phone, and you will then be forced to reblog this post and share your own story, so the curse can spread and affect as many people as possible. 

This might sound great, but trust me. It isn’t. I have no idea how this works, but even though you look like the celebrity, nobody will mistake you for them. You don’t have their fame or their money, and nobody in your own life will recognize you. And your thoughts… change. It’s different for everyone, but your life will be altered forever.

——

My story? Before this, I was an average straight nerd. Mid-20’s, 5 foot 8, brown buzz cut, slim, not at all toned, a treasure trail but no other body hair to speak of. More into reading and watching movies than going outside. Lived with my parents while I worked as an intern at an accounting firm. They were both out for the evening and I was jerking off to TF stories on Tumblr when I found this post. As soon as the curse set in and my body started tingling, my thoughts flicked through what celebrity could possibly be the last I had saved on my phone. Just my luck: it wasn’t a celebrity. It was TWO celebrities.

I had sent my gay friend Jason a photo of Penn Badgley from You and Tyler Hoechlin from Teen Wolf backstage at some TV award show or other. I sent it to him to make a joke and pretend I was more comfortable with his sexuality than I really ever was. I think I asked him what he thought it would look like if they had a baby together, but little did I know that I would soon become the answer to that question.

In my hands, my dick went back to full mast, plumping up and growing two extra inches before I let it fall against my leg. At that same moment, my legs and arms beefed up with some muscle, just a little, but enough to pop from my formerly skinny frame. My torso did the same, abs rising from my stomach into a tight six pack, my pecs firming up and stretching my shoulders into a broad expanse. The blank canvas of my chest suddenly darkened like a cloud passing over the sun, hundreds of dark brown hairs bursting forth from my follicles, tickling as they emerged, lengthened, and curls. 

I could see my face shift in the reflection of my computer screen, the forehead rising higher and the jaw widening as my hair grew out like Play-Doh spaghetti, defying gravity as it shaped itself up into a quiff that darkened to mahogany brown, then nearly pure black. The same ripple of color took over my eyebrows as they thickened into broad stripes drawing attention to my eyes that glowed palely in the dark. Stubble itched across my jaw as my nose straightened out.

The tingling stopped, and my transformation was over, or so I thought. I panicked and made a move to close Tumblr, but I noticed the dozens of photos of hot women I had scrolled through from various TF stories and instead of being filled with lust, I suddenly felt envy for how much dick they were probably getting. My mind suddenly filled with visions of hot men, and my dick started to stiffen again. Fuck, I needed to get laid. But wait… I had never done anything with a guy before! My dick didn’t care though, and its insistent need forced me to get up against my will.

I noticed that the clothes in the closet in my room were boring as fuck and a little small, but I found some oversized items that fit me OK and felt cool enough to be seen in. With that I left my old house, and my old life, behind. There was no way I could ever convince my parents that I was still me, so I knew I couldn’t come back. I left them a note explaining that I was leaving on a last-minute work trip, and figured I’d find an explanation I could email them later. 

I had $2,000 in my bank account thanks to all the work the old me had done. I’d have to make more money soon, but I was finding that I was having trouble focusing on all the numbers and figures I used to excel at.

I hadn’t even found a new apartment yet, but it’s been a week and that hasn’t been a problem, because I’ve spent every night in a different guy’s bed. I wish my dick wasn’t screaming to be sucked, caressed, and fucked by other guys, but I guess I’m grateful I’m hot enough now to have my increased libido satisfied regularly.

In fact, I’m typing this up at a bar right now. The manager said I might have promise as a bartender, but he was staring at my chest the whole time. I wasn’t sure if I minded.

#Curse #Celebrity #Tyler Hoechlin #Penn Badgley #Straight to Gay

[noahczreny]

i want to hear all ur rwrb movie thoughts x

OOF OKAY buckle up this is gonna be a long one. i'll put everything under a read more because i really really didnt like the movie and also it's gonna be spoilery

but i will leave my one opinion that has no bearing on anything above which is THEY FUCKED THE TURKEY SCENE WHICH IS ONE OF MY FAV SCENES IN THE WHOLE BOOK. i wanted alex to say "puttheturkeysinmyroomputtheturkeysinmyroomputtheturkeysinmyroom" to the fucking president and then have a complete meltdown about the gobble and it DIDNT HAPPEN

also i should probably mention that ive read this book like 7 times and it's my comfort read so im v close to the source material

i really feel like they took out all of the heart in the story. i was reading that variety article that said they wanted to take out everything that wasnt focused just on the relationship or whatever but everything in their lives is what makes the relationship so GOOD and relatable. they took out all of the angst and pining and buildup and made the characters so flat and i didn't believe a single thing about their relationship.

the characters truly felt like different people. alex had none of the desperation that he does in the books. we dont see him teetering on the edge of everything and barely holding it together while pretending everything is completely fine. we don't see him working SO hard to ignore everything bad in his life while pretending he's just this golden boy who has his whole life figured out. we don't see him working so hard towards his almost unattainable political goals while simultaneously trying to prove himself. we don't see his meltdowns and panic attacks and insomnia. we don't see henry being the boy who just wants to be a writer but is forced into this role that he doesn't fit into. we don't see him spilling his guts in emails because he can finally talk about all of the things he's kept hidden and found someone he can finally be himself with who doesn't just see him as the perfect little princeling. we don't get to see his deep grief and depression or his anxiety about being out in public and always being on display or the constant battle he has about his duty to his country and just wanting to be himself. he kinda just turned into this broy prince dude who was kinda concerned about being gay and also being a prince but also sorta didnt really seem to care?

the fact that they made alex kinda know he was bi before the story started also completely changed his entire character. we don't get to see him figuring out parts of himself with henry, we don't get to struggle with trying to figure out what it means to be bi and also want the reddest parts of the US to relate to him. we don't even get the convo he has with nora about him being bi, it just got turned him whether or not he likes henry which felt way less impactful. also, keeping his parents together made parts of the story not even make sense. like why the fuck did they go to lake house to meet his dad if henry had already met him because his parents are still together?

the secondary characters were also SO FLAT and basically nonexistent. the fact that pez was called percy the entire time annoyed me. like i know that's his name but i feel like they toned down his character so much and part of that was never calling him pez. bea was basically nonexistent and was just like the sweet little sister (which, also, why the fuck did they change the birth order??). taking june out was a HUGE blow to alex's characterization and the storytelling as a whole and nora was so bland. she's one of my fav characters in the book because she's so fun and chaotic and movie nora was just like ,, idk cool and chill and was a total different character. also making henry's mom just be absent because she's travelling or whatever and then not be there when they're talking to the king was such a weird choice. also don't get me started on miguel, i can't believe took out raf just to put that jealous fucker in. aghhhh. also zahra was much less of a boss bitch than she was in the books. when she called shaan and was all snippy i was like ma'am you sound SILLY right now.

taking out all of the mental health rep also made me really sad. so much of the story was exploring grief and depression and anxiety and adhd and addiction and that just didn't exist at all. if they wanted to just make it a love story then that's fine, but you can't tell me that two guys in their situations would be neurotypical and not deal with any sort of grief at all.

and the EMAILS. my god, who was fucking in charge of that change because i seriously c a n n o t. where was the poetry and the angst and the historical references? why were they just like "hi im in texas, miss you" and "im reading this cool book, miss you too". so much of their relationship development happens in those emails and there's so many iconic lines and we got none of that. it also made it feel way less impactful when the emails got leaked. was there really so many scandalous things in those emails? between these flat ass characters? you can't convince me anyone actually cared about those. also the fact that miguel leaked them made NO sense. what did he have to gain? he was just mad that alex didnt wanna hook up with him again so he decided to be jealous and petty? i don't understand. also if they didn't fuck the emails they wouldn't have had to awkwardly shoehorn the "history huh" line into the museum scene. i half expected alex to turn to the camera and wink like he was in the office or some shit.

they also changed the timeline enough that everything felt so weirdly paced. they apparently aged them up, which i didnt even realize when i was watching the movie, so the love story would feel "believable" or some shit, but why can't 23 year olds be in love? why do they have to be older? also henry being like "i want to be make love tonight" EXCUSE ME SIR? in this hotel room? book henry would fucking NEVER.

my last gripe is alex's coming out speech. first, why did they have to change it? the speech in the book was SO good and impactful and the one in the movie was just ,, bland? where was "love is indomitable" and "he is my choice" and "im the first son son of the united states and i'm bisexual. history will remember us"? also why did he make the speech before even talking to henry? he essentially outted him to the entire fucking world without even having a little chat with him first which was truly fucked.

WAIT MY ACTUAL LAST THING was why did their outfits suck so much in the show. where was alex's bomber jacket during the reelection? he looked like an office bro and i was not into it.

#wow that was so long #thanks for letting me rant coco #mutual: cossette #anti rwrb #rwrb

[127tyong]

Highway to Heaven Intro

Genre: Only plot, Jeno hates you, Yangyang loves you, Renjun is scared of you, Haechan wants to play with you, Jaemin is being Jaemin, Reader is oblivious by choice.

Warnings: No warnings for intro, only fluff for now x

Word Count: 1.2k

You’re losing your mind. How could you be so stupid? When you filled out housing applications to attend NCIT, you later received an email offering free dorming, so naturally, you accepted. You figured it was gonna be a run down, old dorm room which you’d have to clean, or something. You didn’t read the whole email, and somehow, you were the only girl stupid enough not to. The caveat was the fact you would be living in the boy’s dorms, and the only girl there. Honestly, you didn’t care enough to change it. After all, it’s free housing, and how bad could it really be?

Really bad, apparently. You have to live in a suite with 5 other guys! Sure, you do get your own room. Sure, you do get a beautiful living room, but 5 other people? You already knew they wouldn’t clean after themselves. This was going to ruin your college experience.

But all your best friend, Jisoo, can think about is how hot the 5 of them are.

“Look at that buff guy, oh my god, the things I would do…” Jisoo, giggled, looking at a guy from across your dorm hall.

“Oh my god, Jisoo, I have to live with him!” You whisper-screamed. 

Her eyes lit up. “If you don’t want him, you have to introduce me, I mean, you know what they say about guys with big noses!”

You rolled your eyes.

“C’mon, oral with guys with big noses is so~ much better.”

He walked over to you two, and extended his hand to you. “Jeno, the guy with the big nose, and your roommate.”

You awkwardly forced a laugh and shook his hand, praying he didn’t notice how sweaty and nervous you are.

Jeno crossed his arms. “All your stuff is up here now, yeah? Can she leave now? We need to make house rules and it’s already 10 pm.”

Jisoo practically ran out of the door. “Bye baby girl! I’ll see you tomorrow!” She blew you a kiss. 

You sighed. "So, rules, huh?"

~

You, Jeno, and the other boys sat around a dining table.

"So, to explain, all five of us have been friends since we were kids. So we're cool with no rules, but we wanted you to be able to make some rules so we don't cross the line.”

You nodded. "Well, thanks. First rule, for my sake, no walking around naked."

"I second that. But no walking around in lingerie in general." A boy with black hair and blonde underneath nodded his head.

Jeno started typing this all out into a Google Doc.

You continued. "Second rule, you make a mess, you clean it. But we all have to clean the dorm on Sundays. And if someone doesn't show up without letting us all know beforehand, they have to clean the bathrooms the week after."

"那么我们应该进行群聊吗?" A boy asked. (T/N: Shall we have a group chat?)

"好." Someone replied (T/N: Fine.)

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Haechan, language!"

"Jaemin, language!" Haechan said mockingly.

"It means, you all have to give her your phone number." You pulled out your phone and handed it to Jeno, and by the time you got your phone back, you had "Full Sun", "Nana", "Big Nose", "Sheep", and "Yellow" in your contacts list. 

"Guys, I need your real names." 

"Haechan."

"Na Jaemin."

"You already know my name."

"Yangyang, yang as in sheep."

"Huang Renjun, Huang as in yellow."

You sighed. "Well, we have an entire year to get to know each other…"

"Rule 3!" Jaemin yelled. "We split the cost of groceries evenly."

"God no. We all know you're gonna kill our wallets with your coffee addiction." Jeno looked up from his Macbook.

"Actual third rule," Renjun sighed, "No bringing other people over." He looks at you. "As nice as Jisoo seems to be-" Jeno scoffed. "I don't want random people over. And we'll all do the same. No guy friends over."

You chimed in. "How about I'll ask before I invite anyone over?"

"Fine, but that means we all have to agree."

Jeno typed all this out. "Fourth rule, to double down on that, no hook ups. We may all have our own rooms, but we all live here." He looked at you for confirmation. 

"Wasn't planning on it." You crossed your arms.

"This seems good enough for now." Yangyang said. "But the bigger issue is… who gets what room?"

"I thought the university assigned us rooms?" You looked at him, puzzled.

"Let me spell this out for you. There are two bedrooms left of the living room, and two right, and two behind. Each of those pairs has its own bathroom. You're in the room to the left of the living room. And that means whoever lives next to you has to share a bathroom with you, and the walls are thin so…"

"No offense, but we're planning on betting who has to take that room." Haechan finished Yangyang’s sentence. 

All the boys nodded. 

"Wait!" You sat there stunned. "Shouldn't I get to choose? I mean, it is my roommate.”

"Oh dear God, not me…" Renjun rambled.

"Just for that, I'm picking you." You replied snarkily.

"We have a winner!" Jaemin announced. "Renjun, please move your shit to the left hall!"

"Wait, wait. We should actually take this seriously, I mean, we're all out of state students so there's no going back, and we're living here for a year." Jeno rationalized.

"Yeah! I vote that we all sleep together in that one room!" Jaemin smiled. “We can cuddle.”

"JAEMIN NO." All the boys said at once.

"Damn, y'all treat him like a puppy." You laughed.

"Nah, he's a bunny." Jeno shook his head.

"You know what, you all can decide, I'm showering then going to sleep." You stood up, not waiting for a goodbye.

"Sleep well!" Jaemin smiled and waved at you.

You got the best night of sleep in your life while the boys played Mafia.

~

"HEY WAKE UP!" The sound of knocking ruined your blissful sleep.

"No!!" You groaned.

"Jeno and I ordered food for all of us, let's eat together!" It sounded like Yangyang.

"Fine…" You stepped out, groggily, and made your way to the dining table.

"Girl, put some actual clothes on." Jeno looked at you from across the table. You were just wearing a tank top and shorts.

"Get used to it." You sat down and grabbed the plate of omurice.

"It's not like she's wearing anything that bad." Yangyang stood behind you and gave you a back hug, then tied your hair up for you.

Jeno slammed his chopsticks on the table and mumbled something about waking up Jaemin.

"So, aren't you interested to know what happened while you were sleeping?" Yangyang sat next to you.

"Oh yeah… who's stuck with me?"

Yangyang laughed. "Jeno." He whispered.

Yangyang laughed. "Me."

"Oh really? How?" You stared at him with wide eyes.

"I won!" He giggled.

Jeno threw one of his t-shirts at you. "Cover up."

"Don't be fucking rude." You scoffed, but still put the shirt on.

Yangyang moved in closer to you, and put his lips next to your ear. "We all want that room. Jeno's just upset you're giving me attention instead of him."

"But… why?"

Yangyang pulled away, and smiled. “You’ll find out.”

(A/N: Edited due to suggestions)

#nct smut #nct fanfic #nct dream smut #jeno smut #renjun smut #jaemin smut #yangyang smut #haechan smut #nct x reader #'00 smut